#i feel like its really easy to guess who she's supposed to be. but i haven't said it outright

[petite-phthora]

This yours?

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 12]

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Part 1

Ao3

---

Somewhere else, in a seemingly abandoned building on the outskirts of the city, a figure shrouded in darkness and wearing a dark cloak plots.

In front of them is a whiteboard. It’s covered in pictures, sticky notes, and illegible texts. Some of the notes thrown about that are legible are ‘fight…’, ‘draw blood.’, and ‘DEATH!!!’.

There’s a crude stick figure drawn in the corner of the board, it’s impaled. Other small doodles can also be found all around the board.

Most of the information and pictures are connected by red strings, like you see in movies.

In the middle is a picture of 2 people sitting on a motorcycle, the arms of the person sitting in the back are around the waist of the person sitting in the front. The picture has some arrows pointing towards it and the people in the picture are very obviously circled.

Though the face of the person driving the motorcycle is obscured by their helmet, the other person seems to be heavily blushing and grinning broadly.

“Yes… yes! That’s it! I know what to do…” They seem to be speaking to themselves.

Quickly, the person scribbles down a barely legible ‘sacrifice!!‘.

They start cackling.

“Mwuahaha!”

It’s an evil laugh they’ve been working on for quite a while now, and they’re pretty proud of it.

However, the effect is slightly ruined when a fly enters their mouth, cutting off their cackling with choking as they gasp for air, grasping at their throat.

A few good thumps against their chest, with some coughing out their lungs, helps them dislodge the fly from their throat and they spit it out on the ground. They take a few deep breaths before straightening up again.

“Curse you” the person exclaims, angrily waving their fist at the fly as it flies away.

---

Bruce’s face gives off nothing as he stares at the streets down below. He’s dressed as Batman, crouched at the edge of a building with Damian by his side as Robin. Spoiler, Black Bat, Nightwing, and Red Robin are further back on the rooftop.

They watch in silence as another group of the Joker’s goons passes by. They’ve been all over the city, wandering around, not doing anything obviously illegal.

They don’t stay in one place and they don’t seem to have much of a purpose. No attacks… No stealing… No smuggling or transport of goods… No, instead they’re inspecting every single inch of the city.

They don’t seem to have any weapons on them. All they’re carrying on them are some flashlights. While most don’t give anything away with their body language or expressions, some seem to give off a bit of anxious energy.

Spoiler claimed she even saw some of them climb down into the sewers earlier and then climbing out again sometime later somewhere else, but this time ‘dejected and stinky’.

One thing seems clear to the Bats.

They’re searching for something… or someone.

“This basically confirms that not even the Joker’s henchmen know where he is. He’s missing.”

“I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing”

“Good… thing?”

“It’s… something. That’s for sure.”

“We don’t know if he’s really missing. For all we know it could be a trap. What if the Joker is hiding, pretending to be missing to have us bring our guard down? Besides, how could he be missing? He’s the Joker. No one’s just gonna kidnap him”

“For all we know he could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere”

“I highly doubt that”

“Everyone, focus” Bruce speaks up, having them draw their attention to him.

“It’s unclear whether the Joker is simply hiding away or missing. Instead of focusing on the why, we need to focus on the where. Missing or not, we need to find him and get him back to Arkham. Oracle, have you managed to find out anything from the footage yet?”

“Nope, still nothing. All the files from the moment he enters Crime Alley are wiped and any attempt at recovering them only brings back corrupted files.”

 “We need Red Hood. Where is he?” Bruce asks.

“He still has his phone on silent and he has removed the trackers and cams. We haven’t placed any new ones on him yet”

“Let’s visit him on his turf then. And keep an eye out for anything suspicious in the meantime. Oracle, try recovering the missing files. If that doesn’t work, go back to the breakout footage. Perhaps he left some kind of clues about his plans or whereabouts behind there.” Bruce states.

“Roger that.”

---

Red Hood has his arms by his sides as he gazes down upon the street below from the rooftop of a random apartment building in Crime Alley.

He’s lucky to have avoided the Bats so far. But he doubts his luck will last for long.

Red Hood stiffens as he suddenly feels something clamp down on his arm. As a reflex, his other hand has already drawn his gun.

He slowly raises the arm he felt something clamp down on and looks at it, only to make eye contact with a girl with black hair and blue eyes who has sunk her teeth into his arm and is now hanging off of it.

The teeth are sharp, as the girl seems to have some small fangs. They’ve gone through his jacket and sunken into his skin.

It doesn’t really hurt all that badly though, probably hasn’t even drawn much blood, and that’s one of the only reasons Jason hasn’t flung the kid off of him yet. Another reason is the fact that it’s a kid.

They both stare at each other for several seconds.

As Jason takes her appearance in, he notices that she seems rather familiar. In fact, she looks like a more feminine version of Danny, or if Danny had a twin.

The person hanging off of his arm looks younger than Danny though, probably a teenager around 13 or 14, if he had to make a guess.

Slowly, he puts his gun away and takes out his phone with his other hand, watching the random girl’s eyes follow his movements. He raises it level with her face and snaps a picture, quickly sending it to Danny and ignoring the girl’s curious gaze while she’s still hanging onto his arm by her fucking teeth.

---

Meanwhile, Danny checks his phone to see Red Hood sent him a message. He opens it and is greeted by a picture of Ellie in human form biting down on Red Hood’s arm with the caption ‘this yours???’

---

Taglist:

@i-always-say-yea   @uraniumwizard    @why-must-i-be-like-this   @griffinthing

[featherymainffins]

I always get weirdly excited about left-handed characters because my mother is left-handed but the government forced her to use her right hand when she was a child and as we all know that fucks with your development badly and she has never been able to use either of her hands to their full extent form then on, so even though she does a lot of things with her left hand these days, she has to eat the way right-handed people do, for example.

And idk it always just felt nice to show my mother a left-handed character like "Hey mom this cool character is left-handed just like you : )!!!" idk I guess I've always felt like she still feels bad about being left-handed.

And anyway it's kinda weird not being able to do that anymore. I'm so used to going "Look mom this character is left-handed : D!" that I was like "Slay can't wait to tell my mother that Gortash is left-handed!" until I remembered. Like oh can't do that anymore. Forgor.

[andy-wm]

So...Who then?

A BRIEF SYNOPSIS of WHO:

Jimin is searching for the girl he thinks is out there for him (one who he can give the world and more to). He can't understand why he hasn't found her. Who is his heart waiting for?

Clue: it's the person who literally falls into his path. This is the ONLY person for him - everyone else has walked away.

I have to confess... I didn't hear WHO as more than a generic pop song the first couple of times i listened. I was in my car driving home from work when i first listened, and then bustling around with domestic stuff as i listened a second time.

Its very unusual for me to be so casual and negligent with first listens but my head wasn't in the game. I didn't want to push it.

So I consciously put it aside until i could give it the attention it deserves.

I want to clearly state that if WHO was purely a fun and impersonal pop song i wouldn't be judging the song or Jimin for that. It's got a catchy tune and i enjoyed it, and I'm not expecting everything Jimin creates to speak to me personally.

Some things are just for fun and that's okay.

But I think there more to this song...

As with much of Jimin’s work, what seems simple on the surface is more complex when you dig a little deeper...

I watched the mv with the lyrics onscreen and my impression is forming (It's still basically a first impression though so i probably missed things)

What i notice, reading the lyrics as i listen, is that it's not the love song i first thought it was.

It's not a love song at all.

This song is all about about Jimin

and it's full of questions...

She's always on his mind, this woman he has yet to find. He thinks about her every day.

He's not telling us his standards are too high, or all the girls he likes are unavailable, or he never goes out to meet people.

He's telling us he's been searching but he hasn't even MET her yet.

Hes telling us he doesn't know why he hasn't found her.

((Why the insistence that it has to be a 'her'?

That's easy:

Anyone who was raised in a hereronormative environment is going to go through life thinking they will find love with the opposite sex. It's the default expectation. Everything in society tells us this from advertising, to entertainment, to the government. For a lot of gay or queer people, you expect that to happen. You kiss a lot of girls or boys and you expect to feel that spark (shoutout to the enbys who nobody can see).

And the spark just isnt there, so you keep looking. You search for that one individual who will make you feel the way you're *supposed* to feel.

The lyrics of this song are basically saying exactly this.

If you believe - as i do - that Jimin struggled with his identity and that he didn't recognise his love for JK as ROMANTIC love until JK started returning his affection, then it makes sense that he believed he would (or should) fall in love with a girl.

And look, he dances with ALL the girls. He has a red hot go at this. He really tries, but nothing sticks.))

Now back to the song...

He tells us that he goes out and meets a lot of people:

But he still doesn't know who she might be.

HE'S NEVER MET HER...

"We've never met" he says it twice in succession. So he hasnt even met a girl he thinks COULD be the one?

🤔

Can i take a guess?

MAYBE THERE'S A CLUE HERE:

"Who is my heart waiting for," sings Jimin as a BILLBOARD falls from the sky.

Its "crash landing on you" but figuratively, not literally.

The face on the billboard looks very familiar 🤔

And also...

KEEP GOING>> says the billboard.

When asked in an AMA what he would say to his debut self, Jimin said "You nice. Keep going."

We know how tough things were in the lead up to debut, especially for Jimin. He nearly lost his place in the group several times. And it's no secret that as a group they struggled to be taken seriously by the industry.

But wait... what else does the billboard say?

W H O

Not 'WHO?' but WHO

It's a statement, not a question.

If you're looking for a sign, this is it.

THIS IS LITERALLY A SIGN

Dont forget that this billboard/person crashes into his life - falls directly in his path - when hes alone out there.

There's nobody there but Jimin.

And for Jimin, there is nobody else

🐰🐥

ETA: Here's the next part of my response to 'WHO'. This post looks at the MV Specifically.

[badkitty3000]

Weak

Even Five Hargreeves is no stranger to temptation. He tries so hard to stay away. He wants to do the right thing for once in his life. If not for himself, then for her. But every man has his breaking point.

Five Hargreeves x Reader Smut

This one shot is an accompaniment to my other work "Addicted". This can be read on its own, but is a different side of the story, as told from Five's point of view.

My Master List Of Number Five Fanfiction

Weak:

I never meant to take it this far. I never meant to be cruel. That’s not who I am, or at least I didn’t think I was. I also thought I was strong and had will power. But I guess I was wrong about that, too. Because as much as I try to stay away, I don’t.

I know who I am and what I’m made of. The terrible things I’ve done. That’s not a secret and I’ve never lied to myself about that. My morals can’t even be called a gray area anymore; they’re more like an indistinct blur. But in this one tiny part of my soul, I was trying to be better. For her, at least.

I have failed miserably.

She knows what I am. When things got too comfortable and too familiar, I told her as a way to push her away and to scare her. It didn’t work, though. In fact, it had the opposite effect. She fucking loved it…and I didn’t know how to say no to that.

How could I say no when she was tearing at my clothes, practically panting with desire, and shoving her hand down my pants? All over a bloody stain on a shirt collar and the feel of my Glock against her skin. I’m sure there’s a way to resist that, but fuck if I know what it is. I’m not smart enough or strong enough to figure that one out.

I don’t particularly like all of the killing. But I’m pretty fucking good at it and someone has to do it, I suppose. I certainly never considered it sexy in any way. Then, after that first time, when she begged me to tell her all of the gruesome details, and I watched her skin start to flush and her pupils dilate…well, fuck, that put a new spin on everything.

I still don’t like it, that part hasn’t changed. I get no pleasure from pulling that trigger and watching their skull break open like a fucking pinata, spraying the contents of their brains all over the floor like the world’s worst party game. Now, however, there is a sick little spark that will ignite in me after it’s done. Because I know how it will turn her on.

And, fuck, I am weak.

That’s what this all boils down to. Weakness. For most people that meet me or know me in any way, weak is probably the last word they would use to describe me. Cold; bitter; sarcastic; asshole. Those adjectives are much more likely to be used. But weak? Doubtful.

I know the truth, though. Deep down, that is what I am. Because when you continue to break someone’s heart time and time again, just because you can’t control your own basic urges…that’s weakness. Pure and simple.

She has told me how much I’ve hurt her, and how much I am ruining her life. She has screamed and cried and told me all of the things I know I deserve to hear. She has called me an asshole more times than I can remember, and I have never disputed it. So, I stay away, like I know I should. Until she inevitably calls again. And I slip right back into it without another thought. Like the absolute fucking bastard that I am.

Weak.

Because even though I know it’s wrong and I’m slowly poisoning her with my selfishness, each time I think maybe it will be different. Maybe this time will be the time when I stay. When I will finally be the person I should be and really want to be.

All the way up until the early morning, I will convince myself that this is it. I’ve finally seen the light and I can be the man she deserves; it will be so easy. Because when it’s just the two of us, in our own little cocoon, hidden away from the outside world, the idea is magical. I would give anything to stay there, tucked away, fucking like animals until we’re both too exhausted to talk anymore. I want to stay there and listen to her voice, and her laugh, and feel her hands on my touch-starved body. And I think, yes, this is it. This is what I want.

Then morning comes and the spell is broken.

Once that first peek of dawn starts to light up the sky, all of my anxieties come rushing back, and I remember why I can’t stay. Morning brings back the real world, and with it all of its problems.

I will freeze up, practically paralyzed with fear, as she sleeps next to me, an arm draped over my chest. I will remember what kind of person I really am, and how that just doesn’t translate to boyfriend material. And it’s not just the little fact that I am a hired assassin, although that does put a slight snag in any future meetings with parents and the like.

It’s the mixing bowl of fucked up thoughts and feelings and history that lives inside my brain. Guilt. Regret. Sadness. Rage. Take your pick, none of them are great. And I can mask them for a night or two, while I’m pretending to be someone I’m not. But they will come back again, and that’s just not something anyone needs. Especially someone you care about.

So, I do the worst, shittiest thing in the world, and leave while she’s asleep. No kiss goodbye. No note. Not even a quick morning fuck. I grab my shit and leave in a flash of blue light, like the weak coward I am. Can’t even bother to use the god damn door.

I will stay away after that. At least for a while. I will ignore the incoming texts and voice mails that sometimes will follow, and sometimes don’t. I’ll pretend I don’t care about the lectures and pleas and rightly-deserved insults. But I do care. And that’s why I won’t answer.

A month might go past, maybe more. Just enough time for me to start thinking she really is done with me. Then the call will come through, late at night, and I won’t ignore it. Because, as we’ve determined…I am weak.

She is the only one, although I’ve never told her that and I bet she thinks she’s not. I’m not interested in anyone else. I don’t need anyone else. And when she stops calling for good, which one day I know will happen, that will be it. It’s either her or nobody. And it’s barely even her.

Our paths almost never cross outside of our little midnight meetings. After that first night when all of this started, I’ve never seen her anywhere else besides her apartment. I assume it’s because the types of bars and clubs I frequent are not anywhere a normal, sane person would want to spend their free evenings. But tonight, as fate would have it, I do see her. After I grab my drink off the cracked and peeling bar top and turn to look at the room behind me, I see her. And she’s not alone.

With my glass half way to my mouth, our eyes meet, and for a second neither of us move. It’s not a big place, so we aren’t that far away from one another. But it’s loud and crowded, and the guy is leaning in close to her ear, talking loudly to be heard over the constant bass thumping through the shitty speakers on the walls. Who the fuck is this guy?

It’s not fair, I know that. Believe me, I know that. And I try to give myself a stern talking-to inside my head. She is not yours. Not even remotely. You are an asshole and she deserves better. Leave her the fuck alone.

I take a drink. And then I see his hand disappear under the table, and I can see everything from where I’m standing. He’s squeezing her thigh, leaving his hand there to rest on her leg, rubbing his thumb across the bare skin that isn’t covered by her short skirt. A skirt I know I’ve had my face under before.

Fuck. I hate this guy.

In the thirty seconds that it takes for all of this to happen, she is watching me. Reading me. A faint smile plays on her lips and I know I’m caught. My thoughts must be written all over my face like a fucking billboard, and it’s too late to pretend I haven’t seen or that I don’t care. She’s got me.

If I were stronger, or a better person, I would leave. Pay my tab, collect my coat, and get the fuck out of there without another glance in her direction. Leave her be. Let her live her fucking life. But I am not. And I’m pissed.

My first instinct is to reach behind me, grab the Glock that’s hidden in the waistband of my pants and covered up by my suit jacket, and take care of this asshole right then and there. That would probably be the nicer thing to do, honestly. Then she’d finally see what a fucking psycho I am and that would end things once and for all. But I’m also not that stupid. Or that nice.

Instead, I stay and watch. I let her see me watching, too. I lean with my back against the bar, casually sipping my drink, and my eyes never leave her. I want her to know, even if it makes me more of a giant dick than I already am. I want her to know I am not pleased.

I have no idea who this guy is, and I don’t care. Maybe it’s their first date; maybe it’s their tenth. It doesn’t matter, I want him dead. And now that she knows that, because it’s pretty fucking obvious by the way I’m coiled like a cobra ready to strike right now, it’s quickly become a game. If she had feelings for him before, that seems to have been forgotten now. Because everything she is doing is for me.

Her eyes leave mine and she returns to what I can only imagine is a very dull conversation with the Neanderthal sitting next to her. She smiles and laughs, and moves her leg closer to his so that they are touching. She reaches up and fixes his hair, tucking a stray piece of it over his ear. She rests her chin on her hand and stares at him like he’s the most interesting person she’s ever encountered. And he’s eating this shit up; kicking his game up a notch with even more inane talk and rubbing her thigh up and down with his whole hand. He thinks she’s into him. Fucking dumbass.

That’s the only thing keeping me slightly calm at the moment. Knowing it’s all a play. She is a really good actress, I’ll give her that, but I’ve paid more attention to her than she realizes. I know her tells. I know the difference between her fake laugh and her real one. I can tell when she’s actively engaged in the conversation or she is just waiting for you to shut up. I know how she touches her face when she’s nervous and I know what she looks like when she wants to fuck you.

And, buddy…I got bad news for you.

The corner of my mouth lifts in an arrogant smirk as I take another drink. I shouldn’t be proud of this; I should be appalled. How dare I think I have any right to any of her little traits and quirks? I haven’t earned that. That kind of thing is reserved for boyfriends and husbands and people that can stand to stick around for more than a few hours.

When she runs her tongue over her lips in an obvious gesture meant only for me, I actually laugh out loud. Fuck, she knows what she’s doing. And it’s one hundred percent working.

As I order my second drink, feeling the calming buzz of the booze fill my brain, I start to care less and less. I don’t care if this is not fair. I don’t care that I’m being a complete and utter shit head. I don’t care if I’m weak. I’ll deal with all of that later.

I take out my phone and type out a quick text.

Enjoying yourself?

I watch as she glances to her phone on the table as it lights up. She picks it up, angling it away from Caveman Cliff, and reads it. It’s subtle, but I saw it. A brief twitch of her mouth and a quick flit of her eyes in my direction. I see her type out a quick reply and then she is back to him, completely enrapt in his droning.

Immensely, thank you

Not able to resist, I counter with:

Even I can tell from way over here that your panties are as dry as the desert

She holds in a smile as she responds back.

Too bad you’re not going to find out

Honey, if that pussy of yours is even slightly wet, it’s only because you’re thinking of me bending you over that table you’re sitting at right now

I see her legs shift and she crosses one over the other, squeezing them together as a faint blush covers her cheeks.

And why would I be thinking that?

Because that dipshit you’re with isn’t going to give you what I know you want

I watch as she swallows and then glances at the idiot to her left that is oblivious to all of this, the poor bastard. Her response is short.

Fuck you

She puts her phone away to end this exchange, but I see the small smile she is trying to hide and the way she touches her hand to her face. I can see her chest expand as she sucks in a deep breath, biting at the inside of her cheek.

I give a short snort of satisfaction and put my phone back in my inside jacket pocket. I got what I wanted. I throw back the rest of my drink, leave a few dollars for a tip, and head for the door without another look in her direction. But I know she saw me leave.

As I wait there in the dark, I think about how awful I’m being; what a shit bag move this is. I’m using her, that’s what it boils down to. Using her for her warmth and her openness, and to temporarily calm my mind. Also, for her body and her touch. She sees something in me that isn’t there; or at least something I can’t see. But I can’t or won’t give her what she needs, and I’m also not letting her move on.

Fuck, I’m an asshole.

I hear their voices coming down the hall, the rattle of keys in her hand. As they near the door, I can hear her made up excuses. She’s tired; she had too much to drink; she has a headache. Maybe next time. She’ll call him tomorrow. Then she slips inside her darkened apartment and the door closes behind her.

I’m on her before she has a chance to turn the light on, pressing her against the door as she drops her keys on the floor. Since I’ve been waiting, the anticipation has already made me fully hard and I push my groin into her while I circle my hand lightly around her neck.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? No love connection tonight?” I growl next to her ear.

She never even screams or fights back. She knew I would be there. But her hands grab my forearm and I hear her suck in a loud breath.

“I never knew you were the jealous type,” she smarts back.

 “Only when I see someone try to take what’s mine,” I hiss hotly against her neck, drawing my lips and then my tongue across her skin.

“I’m not your fucking property,” she snarls, but I can hear the break in her voice and she swallows hard against my hand.

I laugh cynically. “Well, then I can go and you can let him fuck you instead. Is that what you want?”

There’s a long pause and it’s just our loud breathing in the dark of the room. Then I feel her head move slowly from side to side.

“No,” she whispers.

As I crash my mouth onto hers, my hands in her hair and on her face, and down to her tits, she is reaching for the front of my pants. I had already removed my jacket and belt when I got there, as well as the pistol that I always carry with me. Our little act back at the bar was already enough foreplay and our bodies are screaming for each other.

Our hands can’t work fast enough as she is shoving my pants down my legs and tearing my shirt open while I rip her top off and yank her skirt up. My fingers are already pushing her panties to the side and entering her, sliding right in with no resistance.

I smile proudly against her neck. “I knew you were wet for me.”

As she moans and throws her head back, she is reaching down to stroke my cock, her warm hand tight and firm as she drags it slowly over my shaft.

My hips are already jerking into her and I want to be inside of her so badly I can’t think straight.

“Get these panties off so I can fuck you,” I snarl.

I pull my fingers out, pushing her underwear down roughly and she quickly steps out of them. With one pull of her hips into me, her arms clutching tightly to my shoulders, I lift her up and start fucking her against the door.

I tip my head back and groan loudly as she whines and pulls her legs tighter around my waist.

“Can he make you feel this good?” I ask between clenched teeth as I ram into her harder and the door rattles in its frame.

“No!” she cries out.

“Do you think about him when you’re alone and fingering yourself?”

Her moans are punctuated by the slamming of my body against hers and her fingers press deeper into my skin.

“No,” she breathes out. “No.”

“You think about me, don’t you?” I say with a sneer. When she doesn’t answer fast enough, I ask again, louder. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpers pitifully, her nails digging sharply into my shoulder blades.

I can’t believe what I’m saying and what I’m doing. But she’s loving it and so I continue.

“I’m going to fuck you until you forget all about him, and then I’m going to fuck you some more. And if I ever see you with him again, I will kill him.”

“You wanted to kill him, didn’t you?” she asks, and that knowing smile starts to form as she closes her eyes and bites her lip. “When you saw him with me?”

“Fuck yes I did,” I groan loudly into her neck.

She’s almost there, I can tell. So am I, but I’m going to make her finish first. I pick up the pace, thrusting into her as hard as I can, her back and head slamming against the door, my fingers digging deeper into the flesh of her thighs and ass. I’m practically ripping into the side of her neck, latching on with my mouth and teeth, desperate to mark her as my own.

I listen as she repeats my name over and over in gasps and moans and I can’t hold back anymore.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You are all mine.”

She is falling apart in my arms, violently shaking against me as I penetrate her one last time, letting out a loud, guttural moan. I’m as deep inside of her as I can be, and I fill her up with so much cum, I know it will start sliding out; dripping down her legs and onto the floor. Somewhere deep inside, in the primordial part of my brain, I take satisfaction in knowing that it’s my seed, and only mine, that is coating her insides.

Once the last spasm has left my body, I let her down and she falls back against the door, breathing hard. Her bra is still on, but the straps have fallen down, and her skirt is bunched up around her waist. I look at the painful looking purple bruise I left on her neck, which is large enough and obvious enough that she won’t be able to cover it. Her eye makeup is smeared and her lips are swollen and red. She looks completely ravished. And then she starts to cry.

It’s because of me, I know it is. Because of the things I said and the things I did, and the way I needed her so desperately. She had been trying to break away from me and I reeled her back in. And I did it knowingly and deliberately, just to feed my ego and maybe not feel so alone. I could have found anyone for that. But, like the prick I am, I only wanted her.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, my lungs still working hard to get air in and out.

She just nods silently, wiping her face with her hand, and pulls down her skirt. She picks her shirt and underwear off the floor and heads to the bathroom without a word. I’m left standing there with a softening dick and my pants around my ankles.

Fuck.

I could leave now, while she’s in there, and maybe I should. That feels wrong, though. But then again, so does staying. I feel like shit and I’m so full of shame that I want to punch my fist through the wall. Instead, I zip my pants back up and walk over to her couch to wait. I turn on the table lamp and even though it’s dim, it feels blaringly bright and I have to squint my eyes.

When she comes out, she has changed into some soft shorts and a t-shirt. Her face is cleaned up and I assume her thighs and the area between them are too. She is no longer crying, but I can still see the tell-tale signs of red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks. I’m surprised when she comes and sits down next to me, laying her head on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, because I can’t think of anything better to say.

“I know. Me too,” she says and she leans her body against mine.

She has nothing to be sorry for and I’m not sure what to do, so I put my arm around her and hug her to me. I kiss her forehead and she closes her eyes. I don’t know why she’s letting me do this, but it feels good and I like it. Just like every other time, I tell myself that maybe this time will be different. I can do this; I can be that person. I don’t want to be that other jealous, callous, hurtful person. I don’t want to be the asshole.

“Just don’t go yet, ok?” she says quietly with her cheek resting against my chest.

I smooth her hair and run my hand down her back. I don’t want to go. She feels good and warm and soft against my tension-filled body. She feels right. I want to tell her all of that, too. I want to say I’m sorry a million times over and beg for her forgiveness. I want to wake up with her next to me every day.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” I murmur into her hair as I brush my chin across the top of her head.

“Don’t do that,” she pleads, her voice soft. “Please.”

I decide I’m going to tell her how I really feel. Before the night is over, I’ll come clean. And then I’ll stay. If she’ll still have me.

“You are, though. I mean it.”

She doesn’t respond, but sighs and nestles in, holding me around my waist. Fuck, I have craved this. More than the dirty talk and the biting and the ferocious fucking. I want this. I want her. And I’m going to tell her.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. It’s there, on the tip of my tongue the whole time. All I have to do is say it. But I don’t.

We fuck again, rough and hard, on the couch and on the floor. I leave more marks on her chest, branding her as my own. I tell her she’s mine, and I make her scream my name again, but I don’t say what I really mean.

We fuck in her bed, while we’re both tired and slightly drunk. I pump lazily into her while she lies underneath me and moans softly. I kiss her lips and tell her how gorgeous she is, and it’s not a lie because she is. I worship her body, running my tongue over every part of it, tasting her skin and her delicious arousal. I can taste my own cum as I lick into her soft folds and inside her pussy that’s been stretched and abused by my cock several times over.

There are so many opportunities and I don’t take any of them. I let her fold her body into mine as I hold her in the dark and I can say it right now. It would be easy and it would be the truth.

I want to be with you.

I want to be yours.

I want you to be mine and mine alone.

I want to stay.

But I am weak, and so I don’t.

She sleeps against me and I listen to her rhythmic breathing while I lie there wide awake. I think about all of the things I should have said. Everything I should have done and should not have done. I hate myself for all of it.

When the sun creeps in, and the faintest light is leaking through the curtains and cutting through the safety of the darkness, it all comes crashing back. I remember why I can’t stay and why those words just wouldn’t come out. The reality of the real world is glaringly obvious in the light of day and I remember all of it.

The real world is filled with everyday things like jobs and homes and bills to pay. Coworkers and families that want to meet you. Graduation and birthday parties. Movie and dinner dates, holidays and vacations. Marriage. Children. Normalcy.

There’s just no way any of that would work. I can’t fit into that life, even though I want to. I think of all of the things holding me back and they keep piling up until they are crushing me and I feel like I can’t breathe.

I am an assassin. A killer. A murderer. I have seen the end of the world and survived the most horrific things. I have PTSD and crippling anxiety. There are nightmares and paranoia and episodes of manic rage. I am old and I am tired. There is nothing left of me and nothing left to give. I am not meant for normalcy.

As I slowly remove her arm from across my chest, she stirs but she doesn’t wake. I take a moment to look at her. Her mind isn’t betraying her with vivid dreams of the world collapsing around her in a fiery blaze or sprays of bullets piercing her body. She is at peace and I am envious of that.

I am not good for her, I know that. I need to go and stay gone. She deserves stability and happiness and a million other things I cannot give her. So, I will be the asshole that leaves in the morning before she wakes, just like I always do. She will hate me and curse me and cry for me. And I will stay away this time. I have to.

I chance it by leaning in and brushing my lips across her forehead. Her face wrinkles up and then relaxes again, but she doesn’t wake. I slip out of the bed and out of the room, following the trail of discarded clothes and put them back on one by one. Then I am gone in the same flash of light that allowed me to enter there in the first place. A convenient exit that I have misused way too many times.

Outside, the sun is bright and the world is waking up. I can feel my resolve growing stronger as the new day builds. That was it, I am done. It was awful and I shouldn’t have done it, but it’s over now and I will not be repeating it. I am a pillar of inner strength. That was the last time and she is finally free of me. I am doing the right thing.

My strength is impressive, both inside and out. But it is not impenetrable, especially when darkness falls and the world around me grows quiet. When I am alone with nothing but my thoughts, and I just need to feel something good again.

Everyone has a weakness.   

[venus-haze]

Watch It Bring You To Your Knees (Baby Firefly x Reader)

Summary: You should've never told your boyfriend to pick up the hitchhiker on the side of the road...right?

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Happy Femslash February y’all! Anyway, don’t interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Kidnapping. Sexually explicit content that involves extremely dubious consent, elements of petplay, sadism, degradation, spanking, oral sex (f. receiving), boot riding. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Baby Firefly was the most obnoxious, irritating, nasty bitch you’d ever had the displeasure of running into in your life. To make the situation you found yourself in worse, you were the one who told your boyfriend to pick up the hitchhiking woman, even though he wanted to keep driving. You supposed you were better off with her than with Otis, though. Your boyfriend’s anguished screams from down the hall put every horror movie you ever watched to shame. Baby wasn’t shy about using a knife, you had plenty of cuts of varying depth to show for it, but your last stupid burst of courage had yet to rear its ugly head as she gleefully snapped a dog collar around your neck.

“Okay, now sit!” she ordered.

You were silent, sending the meanest glare you could muster to her. As if it’d make a difference.

“C’mon, be a good puppy and sit!”

“Fuck you.” You spat in her face.

Your cheek stung with the force she used to backhand you, taking advantage of your moment of disorientation to press her knife against your throat. 

“I should cut your fucking tongue out for that,” she hissed, her nose touching yours. “But you did tell your dumbass boyfriend to pick me up.” She regarded you silently for a moment. “You still gotta pay.”

She hauled you up by your collar, choking you in the process. You fruitlessly clawed at her hand, but she didn’t release you until you were bent over her lap in front of her vanity, chest burning as she grabbed your ass cheeks. 

“I think ten is good to start, don’t you?”

“Ten?” you breathed hoarsely.

“Nah, you’re right, twenty-five’s more like it.”

Your eyes widened.

She grinned, slapping her hand against your ass. She did so again, harder, causing you to gasp in pain. “Hey dummy, it don’t count if you don’t count,” she taunted, spanking you again. “So count.”

“One.”

“There ya go!” 

At ten, she claimed her hand was sore, and you thought you were getting off easy. Except she grabbed a hairbrush from her vanity, each spank with that stinging even worse than her hand. You could barely choke out the number when it snapped in half against your welted asscheek at twenty-one.

You knew better by then to expect her to give you a break. She simply shrugged, throwing the broken hair brush aside and going back to spanking you with her hand. By the time you reached twenty-five, hot tears rolled down your face, both in pain and embarrassment at how wet you’d gotten. Each time you squirmed in her lap, you could feel your wetness slicking up your inner thighs.

She scratched her nails against your raw skin, giggling when you whimpered in pain. Her hand drifted between your thighs, her fingers prodding at your wet pussy. “I guess that wasn’t much of a punishment, was it? Feels like you liked it a lot.” She slipped two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out at a frustratingly slow pace. You moaned, rutting against her hand to try to get more friction. She hummed, curling her fingers inside you. Your pussy clenched around her fingers. Fuck, you were close, you were so fucking–“I think you still need to show me how sorry you are for bein’ so rude.”

A whine caught in your throat when she pulled her hand away, instead grabbing you by the collar and pushing you onto your knees in front of her. She shimmed out of her panties, throwing them aside and opening her legs. You looked from her pussy to her face, eyes wide in disbelief. She couldn’t really expect you to–

“Don’t go all prude on me. If you’re gonna run your mouth, you’re gonna put it to good use,” she said, before cruelly adding, “Just pretend you’re kissin’ your little boyfriend.”

With a shaky breath, you leaned in, too slowly for Baby’s liking, because she gripped the back of your head and pushed your face against her pussy. Your nose brushed her clit as you tentatively licked between her folds. You didn’t want to make her feel good, she didn’t deserve it, even if she was hot, but she’d do a hell of a lot worse than spank your ass raw if you didn’t do what you were told this time 

You tried thinking about what you liked when your boyfriend actually went down on you, what you wanted him to do when he did. You dragged your tongue up her pussy until you reached her clit, giving it a few flicks before closing your lips around it, the lewd sound of you sucking her wet cunt mixed with her moans, sending a rush of pleasure down your spine.

You reached between your legs, rubbing your clit, sloppily moaning against Baby’s pussy. She was practically riding your face at that point, though she got wise to her suddenly doing most of the heavy lifting. “Uh-uh, this is the only way you’re gonna cum,” she sneered, shoving her dirty cowboy boot between your legs. “C’mon, hump it like a good little bitch.”

With a shaky breath, you rubbed yourself against it, finding your rhythm more quickly than you cared to admit. Your calves ached the harder you grinded against Baby’s boot, but pleasure curled its tendrils through your abdomen, beckoning you closer to release. 

“Tell me my boot feels better than any dick you’ve let in your cunt.” When you moved away from her pussy to speak, she grabbed you by the hair. “Use your fingers, stupid, don’t leave me hangin’.” You nodded, fingering her in the absence of your mouth. She moaned, “Now say it.”

“Your boot–” She flexed her foot, pushing it against your pussy, the pressure hitting your clit at just the right spot to make your hips jerk. “Fuck–your boot feels better than any dick I’ve let in my cunt.”

“Now say, ‘Thank you for letting me your slut, Baby.’”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Thank you for letting me be your slut, Baby.”

She moaned, rolling her hips against your hand. Her fingers dug into the back of your head, pushing your face against her pussy again. You didn’t need to be told that time, your tongue lapping her up while rubbing circles against her clit. Static filled your brain as you tried to focus on Baby’s pleasure and your own, the two seeming to converge as she came on your tongue with a high-pitched whine, soaking your face. At the same time, her boot rubbed harder against your aching cunt, sending you over the edge as you clung to her leg, your wet face pressed against her thigh as you hopelessly rode out your orgasm on her boot. 

You couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed, not when you were seeing stars and she was probably the last person you were ever gonna see anyway. Fuck, if she was gonna kill you, at least you got the best orgasm of your life first.

“Will you two keep it the fuck down?” Otis shouted through the door, shattering the salacious haze you’d gotten lost in.

“Mind your fucking business!” Baby yelled back, grabbing the nearest object from her vanity and throwing it at the wall. “Perv!” Though she shouted that with a smile.

When she pulled her boot out from under you, she snickered as she kicked her foot around, watching how your juices glistened against the leather. “You liked that a lot, huh?” A grin spread across her face. “I’m gonna have to keep you around a while.”

[shanastoryteller]

Hi, I'm a huge fan of your Gods and Monsters series but I had a question: have you already written the piece where Aphrodite and Hephaestus fall in love? Bc I could have sworn there was one about that, but I Cannot find it so now I'm wondering if that's one of the things that isn't written/posted yet. No pressure either way, I just wanted to check!

Aphrodite is named the goddess of love and beauty by Hera, the queen of the gods herself, and is given a gleaming throne of pristine ivory in the pantheon.

Aphrodite is named the goddess of love, and many take that as an invitation.

She understands quickly that Hera has not only dictated her domain, but also offered Aphrodite her protection, however oblique. Hera’s power on her tempers greedy hands and greedy eyes, making them ask for what in other circumstances they might simply take, and she resents that it’s something she should be grateful for.

The sea that bore her isn’t even an option anymore. She feels Poseidon’s gaze on her like a snail crawling across her skin, leaving oozing evidence of all the places it’s been. She thinks that her mother would help her, but she does not know.

Amphitrite made her and left her and sent her to the pantheon, full of danger that she does not understand.

She’s known the sea and the sky but worries about venturing from Mount Olympus, where distance from Hera’s influence might embolden some of her suitors.

She is a daughter of Zeus and Amphitrite. Power comes to her as easily as breathing, but she has no wish to test that power against gods with far more experience than she.

Hestia’s fire is always warm and soft and no one dares approach her while she’s in its light. Aphrodite forces herself to stay in the oppressive heat far past the point of comfort, staying closer to the flame than anyone besides the hearth goddess herself.

“So you’re who everyone is talking about.”

She startles, turning, and is first faced with a broad, tanned chest, then lifts her gaze further to look into a face with dark amber eyes and hair as long as her own. There’s blood splatter along his neck and unease curls within her stomach.

“I can’t stay,” he continues, looking her over. She appreciates that he doesn’t linger too long in certain areas and looks her in the eye after. It’s a low bar, perhaps, but many fail to clear it. “You impressed my mother, which isn’t easy.”

“Lord Ares,” she greets. Hera only has one child – well, two, but only one that ever ventures onto Olympus.

She should have guessed sooner. He looks so much like Zeus, except for Hera’s eyes clear in his face.

He waves dismissively. “None of that. We’re equals, aren’t we?”

Not really. The beloved child of the king and queen of the gods, the god of war, someone who does not even sweat in the heat of Hestia’s flame. And her.

“I suppose,” she answers. “How can I help you, Ares?”

“I just wanted to talk,” he says. “Rumor has it that you haven’t left Olympus. You may be a goddess of the pantheon on my mother’s word, but you have to cultivate worshippers just the same. They know you, but they do not what you will do.”

Neither does she.

“Can I go with you?” she asks impulsively.

It’s a stupid request. If Ares wants to overpower her, he will, and there won’t be anything she can do about it.

But he’s Hera’s son. That has to mean something.

“A battlefield isn’t a place for love,” he says, which isn’t a refusal.

“Of course it is,” she says, taken aback. “Otherwise what are they fighting for?”

Ares stares at her for a long moment. She refuses to do anything besides meet his gaze.

Finally, he says, “I can’t tell if you’re naïve or I’m cynical.”

“Love starts wars, but it ends them too,” she says. Maybe she is naïve, when she’s never even met a mortal herself, but with power over a domain comes knowledge of it too. “If not for love, why do men so desperately want peace?”

“Love means peace then?” he asks.

There is something heavy in that question, something she doesn’t understand, and it causes her to hesitate. But in the end she says, “Yes,” because it’s the only answer that can be true and she wants to be truthful to someone.

Ares holds her gaze then says, “You can come with me, if you want. It won’t be pretty.”

“Then perhaps they can use a goddess of beauty,” she says, excitement pulling her lips into a grin.

He shakes his head, but offers her his hand, and she takes it.

~

Under Ares’s protection, she feels as if she can finally breathe.

Aphrodite doesn’t know if Ares is aware that he is protecting her, since it’s less something he does and more something that is achieved through him existing, but she doubts the son of Hera is a dull man. That doesn’t seem like the sort of thing that the queen would tolerate.

Gods and nymphs and other manner of creatures still approach her, but all it takes is for her to hurry back to Ares’s side for them to abandon their pursuit. She’s not sure if it’s his parentage, his domain, or just the striking figure he makes on the battlefield, but they don’t follow her when she goes to him.

But she is not always with him.

Athena corners her on the city path. Aphrodite meets the goddess’s grey eyed gaze squarely. “You’re causing too much trouble.”

She’d seemed nice when Aphrodite first met her in the pantheon, but after Hera gifted her her domain, that kindness hasn’t resurfaced. She doesn’t take it personally, although she does wonder at its absence.

Athena, like Aphrodite, is a daughter of Zeus that has escaped Hera’s wrath through the virtue of being motherless.

Aphrodite is not motherless, precisely, but no one can know of her connection to Amphitrite, and it’s not like her mother stuck around long after bringing her into this world anyway.

“Ares said he doesn’t mind,” she says.

“Of course he doesn’t,” she sneers, looking her up and down derisively. “Everyone is talking about you and pursing you and nothing else is getting done.”

She draws her shoulders back. “That’s not my fault.”

Athena shrugs, not willing to say it is outright but clearly comfortable with implying it.

“What do you want me to do about it?” she asks, and knows it’s a mistake as soon as it leaves her mouth.

Athena doesn’t miss a beat. “Put everyone out of their misery and get married. They’ll cool off and get back to work if you’re ineligible, even if only in name.”

She’s not a goddess of loyalty, but the implication still stings. She’s been going through all this effort to avoid either bedding or offending everyone, after all. “I can’t just marry someone.”

“Why not? Hera will probably even officiate it, considering the interest she’s taken in you,” she says.

Before Aphrodite can respond, Ares appears at her side, slipping out of air as easily as taking a step. He’s covered in viscera and for a moment she puzzles over his newly red hair before realizing it’s soaked in blood. She doesn’t even want to know how that happened.

“Hello Athena,” he says brightly. “It’s so rare to see you outside of a library, we should really catch up-”

She disappears mid eyeroll.

Ares grins. “What did you do to her?”

“Thank you,” she says first, then, “I have no idea. She’s so angry. Is she not well liked in the pantheon?”

He shrugs. “Depends what you mean by liked. She makes a lot of enemies, but she’s not that bad. She gets frustrated a lot because she thinks she’s smarter than everyone around her.”

“Is she?” Aphrodite asks.

“Usually, yeah,” he looks around then bends down to whisper in her ear, careful to angle his filthy body away from her, “Hestia says that when she sprung from Father’s head, she took all his intelligence with her. Mom says that’s giving him too much credit.”

She laughs before she can think not to, then claps her hand over her mouth, as if Zeus is standing around the corner ready to smite her for mocking him. He is the king of the gods. Maybe he is always watching.

“It’s alright,” he says warmly, “just don’t repeat it where he can hear it. Or Athena. She’d throw a fit at the implication that her intelligence is anything but her own.”

If she ever decides to invite trouble rather than avoiding it, that seems like an excellent way to do it. “Are you okay? That looks messy.”

“Battle’s won, for now,” he says casually, rolling back his shoulders and wincing at the motion. “I’ve got some time before another one calls me there. I could use a good soak. Want to meet my brother?”

“Which one?” she asks even though she already know the answer. Of all his siblings, Ares claims only one of them.

“You don’t have to play dumb when we’re alone,” he says, which is suitably stunning that when he holds out his filthy hand, she doesn’t think to clean it before taking it. She hadn’t thought he’d noticed. “Come on.”

There’s the strange rushing sensation of being pulled along rather than moving herself. They’re in someplace dark, compared to the outside, and it takes her several seconds to adjust to the low lighting.

Everything glitters.

There’s shining metal twisted into exquisite shapes and liquid gold dripping like fondue and even the walls themselves shimmer in the light of the magma, the mica flickering silver.

There is a man with deep, dark skin and narrowed amber eyes. He has broad shoulders and a tapered waist and as her gaze drops even further, she sees the golden legs supporting him below the knee, as delicate and beautiful as all strange things scattered around his workshop.

“I hope that’s not yours,” the man says.

He has a nice voice. It’s low and yet it almost echoes around them. It takes her a moment to process what he’s said, and her confusion lasts only until Ares’s lips twist into a not quite smile and he replies, “It never is,” and she realizes he’s talking about the blood and worse covering Ares.

She wonders at her place here, what to do or how to act around this man surrounded by beautiful things who doesn’t even look at her.

Ares pulls his hair from its braid and blood splatters on the floor. “I’m going for a dip. This is Aphrodite. Be nice. Aphrodite, this is my brother, Hephaestus.”

“Goddess,” Hephaestus murmurs, inclining his head.

She returns the gesture, trying to untangle the strange frown and the look in his eye. It’s not like Athena’s anger but it doesn’t exactly seem friendly either. She’s still pondering it when Ares’s words catch up with her. “Take a dip where? There’s no-”

She turns to see Ares slipping into a vat of lava, fully clothed. The blood and dirt and everything else is burned away, along with every stitch of clothing he’d been wearing. He tilts his head back into the magma to give his hair the same scouring treatment.

“Water,” she finishes faintly.

“It never gets any less disconcerting,” Hephaestus says. The strange tone is gone and when she turns back to him, he’s smiling.

He has a nice smile.

“What are you making?” she asks. “Are you the god of creation?”

She’s said the wrong thing again and she’s aware of it as soon as his amusement dims. She desperately wants to take it back, to say something different, but it’s too late. “I am the god of nothing.”

“People pray to you,” she says. “I have seen them.”

Her temples are all still being constructed but several of his already exist.

“Mortals pray to lots of things,” he answers, going back to tinkering. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yet,” she says. He survived being thrown from Olympus and being raised in the underworld and now he makes things he still hasn’t told her about. “When they pray to you, what do they pray for?”

“Same thing they pray to every god for,” he answers. She doesn’t say anything and he sighs. “It’s not exciting. Hotter ovens. Faster chariots. Sharper spears. My brother’s a better candidate for that one.”

Aphrodite turns to Ares, but finds him curled against the edge of the crevice, the lava lapping at his shoulders as he sleeps with his head tipped back.

“Heat always knocks him out. Hestia used to hold him as she sat it front of her fire.”

This time she knows it’s the wrong thing to say before she says it, but she can’t stop herself from asking, “How do you know? I thought that you didn’t come to Olympus.”

“Didn’t,” he echoes, “is a soft way to put it, when it’s can’t.”

Even nymphs sneak their way up the mountain. A god with temples, even a minor one, should be able to walk freely across Olympus. Then again, Hera insured he wouldn’t walk freely anywhere.

Or tried to. His shimmering gold calves are in defiance to that.

He clears his throat then says, “She told me. Ares badgered me into setting up a hearth in the center of the volcano, even though arguably the whole thing is a hearth, but,” he pauses. “She visits it, sometimes.”

Aphrodite is impressed. “I thought she never left her own hearth.”

“Any hearth is her hearth,” he says, shrugging.

He’s sidestepping her, but she’s brought up enough sensitive topics for now. “What are you making?”

“Nothing useful,” he says ruefully, looking around his workshop. “If I wanted to get more followers, I’d focus on making things people can use. A lot of these are godly tools – only we can use them effectively.”

“Will you show me?” she insists. “They’re beautiful.”

His lips part, his dark eyes catching hers, and there’s a breathless moment where neither of them move. Then he turns and says, “Sure, come with me,” and she follows behind him, watching the smooth gait of his handcrafted legs.

~

Next time she’s on Olympus, she goes to Hera to ask her advice.

Aphrodite is currently under both her and her son’s protection. This isn’t a decision it’s politically smart of her to make on her own.

She waits until Zeus has left. His absence tends to put Hera in a foul mood, considering what he’s likely to be doing out of her sight, but it’s worth that to make sure that they’re not overheard. Aphrodite doesn’t think that any advice Zeus gives will be in her self interest.

Hera’s might not be either, but so far whatever she’s doing for her own self interest has been beneficial to Aphrodite, and that’s enough for her.

She bows and offers her a bouquet of lilies that she’d picked herself, each one a bright orange reddish hue and perfectly in bloom. Hera reaches out to touch a petal, but pulls back and says, “Weave them into my hair while we speak.”

Aphrodite can’t help herself from being touched. Hera always does her own hair, not even allowing her servants to touch it. She delicately combs out Hera’s curls, giving her hair waves to match the curve of the lilies’ petals. Aphrodite tells her what Athena said to her, then waits.

“She’s right,” Hera says. “As the goddess of love and beauty, you’re inherently desirable. Until you make your own desires known, others can decide what they are, and decide that they qualify. Marriage at least sets your standards.”

Aphrodite frowns. “So you think I should marry?”

She shrugs. “Gods like to pretend that beauty is cheap and love is something bought.” Suddenly, Hera’s appointment of her domain makes a little more sense. “But if that were true, they wouldn’t be pursuing you so ardently. Marriage won’t change that. What it does is give you a tool that you can use.”

“That’s not very romantic,” she says, put out.

Hera laughs, tossing her head with the motion, and Aphrodite has to pull back to keep from crushing the flowers. “Is that what you value?”

“Yes,” she answers, but it comes out more like a question.

“Then that’s what you should marry for – romance. Apollo will likely come ahead on that scale.” She moves back in place so Aphrodite can continue. “There is a reason that as the goddess of marriage, love does not fall within my domain. Marriage is about getting what you want. Some want love, or beauty, and so that’s what they marry for. Other for money, for power, for protection. Decide what it is that you want and then marry the person who can give it to you. That’s why your marriage will be a deterrent to others. It will tell them what you value.”

Hera did not marry for love. Aphrodite doesn’t need to be a goddess of it to know that. “Do you think I should marry your son?”

Ares is the most obvious answer. She’s spent the most time with him, and he’s kind to her, and he protects her. He’s not especially romantic, but he cares for her. No one else pursuing her knows her enough to care for her.

“If he’ll give you what you want,” she says. Aphrodite finishes affixing the last lily to her hair, and she turns to face her, her amber eyes bright with an emotion Aphrodite can’t name. “Choose your spouse. We’ll hold the wedding on Olympus and I’ll marry you myself. No one will question it after that.”

“Thank you, Queen Hera,” she says.

When Hera walks away, it’s with fire weaved into her hair.  

~

Ares is silent for a long time when Aphrodite tells him that she’s looking to marry. She thinks he’s about to offer, and the ball of dread in her stomach is both surprising and informative. She loves Ares. She does not want to marry him.

This is an inopportune time for her to realize that.

“If we were to marry, would I find peace?” he asks. “Everything is so loud sometimes.”

Her heart clenches. In this moment she hates for the first time. Zeus did this to Ares and that makes Zeus her enemy.

“When you find love, you will find peace,” she says, placing her hands on his shoulders. “I can’t be your peace. If that’s what I was, you would know by now. But when you do find that person, that loudness will fade.”

There’s a pressure around them and centered in her head, giving her a searing headache, and then it’s gone and its only Ares’s hands on her elbows that keep her upright as she staggers, suddenly exhausted.

 “Your first blessing,” Ares says, smiling as she blinks up at him, dazed. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t know I could do that,” she says fuzzily.

He laughs. “You’re a goddess of the pantheon. There’s very little you can’t do. You’ll discover that in time.”

She thinks he’s trying to be comforting, but the idea that her abilities are beyond her own knowledge is terrifying. There’s a reason most gods have to earn their domains rather than be assigned them.

The problem is if not Ares, then who? It would be easier to narrow her options if she knew what she wanted, like Hera told her to do, but she doesn’t. She wants people to leave her alone. She wants to learn how to be a proper goddess. She wants to claw Ares away from Zeus’s grasp with her bare hands.

None of that is anything a husband can give her.

“Say that you’re willing to be courted and see what they offer,” Ares says. “Maybe you’ll know what you want when you see it.”

“But what if I don’t want any of it?” she asks. “Then I have to choose someone I don’t want.”

He hums, then says, “I’ll ask for your hand too, and offer more than anyone else. Then, if you don’t find someone you like, you can just pick me and we won’t marry. Mom will understand if I tell her.”

The thought of getting on Hera’s bad side is chilling, but if anyone can soothe her temper, it’s her son, so she agrees.

The news travels quickly, gods from all over climbing up to Olympus’s peak to ask for her. It’s spread to the point that she thinks some of them that are here don’t even want her, that it’s just a big show about what they’re able to offer. Which, of course, makes her choice even more difficult.

Ares, Apollo, and Hermes offer her the most, of course. They’re gods of the pantheon and have more influence and power at their disposal. But the minor gods still make a good show of it, stepping forward to off her castles and servants and land, nymphs even offering to grow a her a living manor from the forest and perfectly plump fruit every day of her life.

In one way or another, they all off her protection, luxury, and beauty. She struggles to find any of it of value.

She’s resigned herself to picking Ares just to get it all to stop when a hush falls over the crowd that’s then replaced with frantic whispering. They part like a wave retreating from shore and her breath catches in her throat when she sees who’s walking towards her.

Hephaestus is on Olympus for the first time since he’s been thrown from it.

He’s gilded gold as he passes by everyone else, his eyes on her alone, from his legs to the way the sun illuminates his amber eyes to the chiton wrapped snug around his waist with a golden belt. He could have worn a long robe to hide his legs. She likes that he didn’t.

He stops in front of her and she tries to think of something to say, but her throat is too dry.

“Goddess,” he murmurs, then pulls a single copper rose from thin air and offers it to her. “For you.”

She takes it, her fingers brushing his, and his hands are still warm like he’s just pulled them from the forge.

He came to the place where the worst thing that ever happened to him occurred. He’s given her a gift with no strings. He’s offering her only this – the skill of his hands and the bravery of his heart.

What she wants is someone who will take her as she is and grow with her, who will explain the world patiently and know her well enough to make her something beautiful.

She is the goddess of love and beauty. She cannot be bought with castles.

“Yes,” she says, holding the rose between their bodies as she pushes herself up to kiss Hephaestus in front of all of Olympus.  

 There are shouts of protests, people yelling in anger or betrayal, and Ares’s bright, warm laughter over it all.

~

Aphrodite expects Hera to be furious.

Instead the goddess says nothing of her choice, only holds the wedding as she promised. Zeus won’t even look at Hephaestus, but Hera stands in front of them and recites the vows for them to repeat back to each other as if it’s all normal, as if Hephaestus is just like any other god to her.

She has that same look in her eye that she had before while she does it, but Aphrodite barely notices it before her husband pulls her attention back to him, his promises of love and loyalty more worthy of her attention than anything going on in Hera’s mind.

She and Hephaestus walk down Olympus, hand in hand, husband and wife.

[t3ag3rs]

g e n s o - 1 3.

you groan feeling a sudden pressure hit your head as you wake up slowly in the infirmary.

fluttering your eyes you look around to see bakugou asleep in the chair by your side.

"what..?" you groan feeling disoriented, looking down you see your leg in a cast. "oh cmon...." you whine, waking up bakugou.

"goddamn your loud..." he mutters as he stretches, "took you long enough to wake up.."

"what happened? why am i here?" you ask signaling to your body and around you.

"okay so... you made it to the finals in the 1v1's... fought against me and thats why you're here.." he pauses, "but- you did get third out of everyone"

"really bakugou." you reply with a deadpan expression, "you really had to put me back in a cast after i had just gotten out of one?"

"its not like i was trying to genso!" he shouts, "would you rather me go easy on you and show everyone that you still cant beat me, or fight you like i would with everyone else to show that you are strong?" he asks with a scowl.

you widen your eyes as you realize his reason, "oh..." you look down, "thanks then.. i guess.." you mutter before looking up at him, "okay but seriously though howd i end up in here?? every time i get injured i somehow end up in here but i have no idea how..."

he clears his throat, "thats not important... but now since your up ill be heading out.. damn shitty hair forced me to stay here until you woke up.." he mutters standing up.

"oh.." you sigh slightly looking down. why do i feel kind of disappointed that hes leaving...?

he stops right before he exits, "for what its worth.. i think a lot of pros were impressed by our fight. you did well genso." he states before opening the door.

"thanks.." you mumble with a slight blush covering your cheeks.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you limp into class slowly the next day.

as soon as you open the door, your crushed by mina, "oh my gosh! are you okay?? are you feeling better?? i was so worried y/n!" she rambles pulling away and checking over your body.

"chill out mina... at this rate shes gonna get hurt from you.." chuckles kirishima walking up to you with a soft smile, "how you feeling?"

"way better.." you chuckle, "okay but seriously though.. who took me to the infirmary?? because whenever i get hurt i always end up there, but i dont know how..."

"okay babe.. get ready cause its quite shocking..." giggles mina, "its yours truly... mr. bakugou katsuki over there..." she whispers while jabbing her thumb in his direction.

you let out a laugh, "hah! thats a good one..! but no really.. who is it..?" you sigh as your laughter dies down.

"we're being serious.." repeats kirishima with a slight grin.

you widen your eyes, "no fucking way..." you look at mina, "but he hates me..!"

"well he must hate you soooo much that whenever you get injured during class he just has to pick you up and rush you to the infirmary..!" she says sarcastically.

"yeah.. he did that during entrace exams too! i honestly thought you two were a thing.. kinda like an old couple yknow?" kirishima quips in with a grin.

"yeah exactly!" mina agrees, bouncing on her heels. "im sure everyone in class thinks it too from the way you two act around each other..! theres just- so much tension!" she squeals.

you clasp your hand over her mouth, "shush..!" you blush, pulling her away from bakugous hearing range. "you two are so loud..!"

"is someone getting flusteredddd...?" teases kirishima with a dopey grin.

"kiri!" you gasp, "youre supposed to be on my side here..!" you grunt slapping his arm lightly.

"no way..! do you like him..?" she asks with a slight whisper. "cmon tell ussss..!" she repeats, poking your shoulder.

you blush heavily, "n-no..! i mean- i dont think so..! ughhh.. i dont know- im not sure..!" you respond frustrated.

"yknow what i just heard?" says mina with a grin, "i like him i just dont wanna accept it!!" she answers with enthusiasm.

right as you start to open your mouth mr. aizawa walks in. "this conversation isnt over..!" you whisper before sitting down in your seat.

"listen up everyone" sighs aizawa, "the hero offers for each one of you have came in..." he says before turning on the projector and presenting the results.

you widen your eyes as you find your name with 3632 offers, "geez... thats a lot.."

"now since you all have made a name for yourselves today you all will be figuring out your hero names." states aizawa, "to help with that midnight will be monitoring over you all" he says welcoming midnight to the front before walking out.

you look at the slate on your table. cmon... whats a hero name i can use..? you think groaning slightly.

"can you stop whining genso?! i cant concentrate!" barks bakugou as he hits you in the head with his slate.

huh. maybe genso isnt a bad hero name... you let out a small smile before quickly scribbling it on your board and raising your hand, "im ready..!"

midnight smiles beckoning you to the front, "okay.. im gonna be known as the elemental hero: genso" you state with a small smile.

"traditional japanese! i love it!" claps midnight with a happy smile on her face.

"HEY I MADE THAT NAME UP GENSO! YOU CANT JUST USE THAT AS YOUR HERO NAME-" yells bakugou as he shoots up.

"well then... i guess i can thank you for your brilliant nicknames" you grin playfully, sitting down.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you stare at the paper of offers with your eyebrows furrowed. which offer do i choose...? theres so many..!

soon the bell rings causing you to stand up and place the papers in your backpack. slinging it over your shoulder you head your way out.

"genso..!" calls a voice from behind you, "wait up."

you turn and see bakugou glaring at you, "what is it?" you ask slightly intrigued.

"where are you gonna go for your offer..?" he asks gruffly looking to the side.

"uhh.. im not sure yet. why..?" you ask slightly confused to why he wanted to know.

"you should go for endeavor... one of your weakest elements is fire no..?" he says walking beside you.

you nod a bit, "huh.. your right, maybe i might go for him then. what about you?"

"im going for best jeanist. he is the no. 4 hero for a reason so i might as well see what hes all about.." he mutters.

"really?" you ask incredulously, "i would never see you going for him to be honest... hes so reserved and well.. your so- not reserved..?" you say trying to sound as nice as possible about your true opinion.

"you calling me a mess genso?" he snarls, glaring at you.

"no..! not at all..!" you chuckle sheepishly. "okay well maybe i was..." you admit scratching your neck. he chortles slightly, causing you to widen your eyes in shock. "no way you just laughed..."

he suddenly snaps back to his original self, "the fuck you say..?" he says setting off mini sparks in his palm.

"well.. it was nice seeing you bakugou but ill be off- bye....!" you exclaim, quickly running away.

bakugou stared at you running off, chuckling to himself lightly.

what is this feeling...?

previous parts: pt. 0 0 / pt. 0 1 / pt. 02 / pt. 03 / pt. 04 / pt. 05 / pt. 06 / pt. 07 / pt. 08 / pt. 09 / pt. 10 / pt. 11 / pt. 12 next part: pt. 14 / pt. 15

☆taglist! @katszumi @coolgirl458 @niktwazny303 @crumbycrumb3

[bunny-bear-blogs]

Starstruck

Synopsis: A month ago, Lesser Lord Kusanali announced that Sumeru would be having its very first masquerade ball. She explained that it would take place in the Palace of Alcazarzaray and set two ground rules. Rule number one: no one is allowed to take off their masks at the event. Rule number two: you can only give hints about one's identity and are allowed to guess so. She exclaimed that the event would be fun, and she encouraged everyone to attend.

Word Count: 2475

A/N: I loved the concept of this :>

Since knowing the news of the masquerade ball, you have been running around town to find the perfect ball gown and mask to hide your identity. You were excited for the upcoming event, almost putting it above everything, except your feelings for him. You wondered if he would be attending the ball too. Who was he? It was the Wanderer; he was your partner for a big project within the Akademiya. During the time you both were working together, you two managed to grow closer, becoming friends, with residual feelings lingering on your side. At first, all you could think about was how insufferable he was and how you would have wished to get another partner. However, as time went on, all you could think about was how grateful you were to have him as your partner and how you couldn’t go a day without him being around. Hence, to why you were wondering if he would be at the ball. Everyone in Sumeru was supposed to be at the ball; that’s why you were hoping he would be too. You hadn’t seen the Indigo hair boy since the Dendro Archon’s announcement. It was as if he had disappeared without saying a word. You went asking around, during the time of his disappearance, from people in the Akademiya to people you would meet on the street, but no luck. The boy was gone from your sight.

The day of the ball came, and you had rushed home early to get ready. Your theme for the ball was to have something inspired by the stars. You had picked out a gorgeous blue-gray dress to wear to the ball. It was a sleeveless long gown with different sections of tulle decreasing as the gown went down. The top was corset-like, with the top part of it being the dress color and the bottom of it being embedded with small little stars. You did your hair as you planned and placed some small diamond stars on it. Your shoes were beautiful heels comparable to those of Cinderella, and then you put on your mask, the most important part of the ball. It was a white mask with outlines of blue around the eyeholes. It had blue embedded leaves on it with small pink stars on the corner, followed by pearls around and strings of gold at the end. You were all set to go to the ball; you felt content with your style choices. So, you really should be happy, but you left home with a heavy heart, wondering if you would find the Indigo eye boy today.

You had arrived at the ball, making your way through the palace doors. Walking in, you could see the archon mingling with her people, who seemed to be having a grand time. There was music blasting, and you could see the people dancing along. You then noticed a very familiar fox boy who had green hair leading back to his black roots talking with a white haired red-eyed male on the dance floor. You could hear one of them commenting on the other dance moves and the other saying to just go with it. You then saw the fox boy sigh and agree to dance. It was pretty easy to guess who those two were after hearing that conversation. Then, as you walked over to the buffet, you heard two men arguing. They were arguing about the architecture of the palace, with the blonde hair boy going on and on about the historical value while the gray hair boy brought up the other living situation. You did not want to get involved in this quarrel, so you continued walking until you found a balcony at the palace. 

The balcony was peaceful and had a clear view of the stars, which were just what you wanted to see. I mean, after all, you had based your whole outfit on the stars. You were admiring the view when you saw something from the corner of your eye that caught your attention. An indigo-haired boy walked to stand beside you on the balcony. He wore an outfit inspired by the stars. In his hair were a star hair pin and gold-dangling star earrings. He wore a purple top with a star in the middle, and then it was as if two fabrics crossed his chest, one being white and the other a mixture of purple and black. His shorts were purple, with a white, thin rope going across with a dangling, small star attached. Speaking of stars, it was a beautiful mix of purple and gold with small stars spread across. It was easy to say that the boy was breathtaking. You were starstruck just looking at him. It was as if he was the brightest star in the world.

“I like your outfit.”

He turned to face you, flashing a mesmerizing smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you. Can I ask your name?”

“I can’t do that, mister; remember the rules of the ball?”

"Aha, smart girl; well, smart for a mortal.”

That word, "mortal," It sounded just like something the Wanderer would say. It would explain the man’s indigo hair and eyes that matched. But that’s just a theory; after all, you don’t know for sure if that was him. I mean, he's been missing, remember?

“Mortal? You sound like someone I know."

You paused, waiting to hear his reaction to your words. Maybe he’d flinch? Or you’d get a telltale sign it wasn’t him.

“I’m not sure what you're talking about, Y/N.”

You froze; he knew who you were! How? What gave it away? You, out of nerves, began to scrunch your nose as a way to further your thinking about what was going on. Thinking rationally, you had never met this man before, so how would he know who you are or how to recognize you? Having limited options, you decided to lie and see how far it would go. Maybe he was just senselessly guessing.

“That’s not who I am; you're wrong star boy.”

“Starboy, is it? Is that my new name? I’d like to believe that my worth is that much higher than a star, one that surpasses even the heavens themselves. Plus, I know it’s you, Y/N.”

“Once again, I’m not Y/N; I’m someone else, and you won’t know my identity, okay?"

Then the starboy next to you turned to face you, grabbing your hand in the matter, and spoke confidently with his words, so confident that after they were said, a pink blush spread across his face.

“I know your Y/N because of your mannerisms and tone of speech. Like how you scrunch your nose when you're nervous or use your hands a lot when you talk. It’s small things like that that I know your Y/N."

You were shocked. This was definitely someone you knew, but who? His hair matched that of the Wanderer, but he had been missing for a month; it couldn't possibly be him.

“Fine, I admit defeat, but you recognizing all that means you're definitely someone I know.”

"Well, that's for a mortal like you to find out."

He was cocky, making it seem like a challenge to find out his identity.

“Well, according to the rules of the ball, I can ask you questions about your identity. Isn't that correct?”

"I didn't know a mortal like you could read, but yes, that is correct.”

Choosing to ignore his insult, you thought carefully about what questions to ask him that could confirm his identity.

“My first question is, have I met you personally?”

He feigned innocence on the question.

“I mean maybe or maybe not. It’s up to you to find out Y/N.”

“Don’t call me that out loud; people aren't supposed to know others' identities.”

"Stargirl, it is then.”

"Well, then answer my question, for real this time.”

“Fine, I do know you, stargirl, quite well, actually.”

“My second question is, do you attend the Akademiya?”

“Nope, I’m not answering personal questions like that. That would make it easy for me to find out, and we don’t want that, do we? I won’t answer super personal questions like that, and you just wasted a question.”

“What? That’s not fair. I didn’t know.”

“That’s common sense, stargirl. But, since I’m so generous, I’ll give you five questions.”

Ugh. He was infuriating, but you had faith you could still do this.

“My third question is, why did you choose to center your outfit around the stars?”

“I believe the stars are capable of making great things happen, such as making wishes come true and bringing people together. Not that it’s any mortal like you’s business, but there is someone I’d like to be brought together with.”

He seemed shy saying this, but it was a step closer to his identity.

“Now, my fourth question: do you like cats?”

“I will admit, I do enjoy their company.”

Now it was time for your fifth and final question. It was this or nothing; you had to think carefully about what you would ask the male, and then you got it.

“Starboy, are you in love?”

“Love?”

“Are you in love with someone?”

“I’m in love with you, stargirl.”

Your heart stopped. What if this really was the Wanderer? He matches the answers to the questions you asked. But is the Wanderer in love with you the way you are with him? However, before you could respond to the boy, he ran off. You ran with all your might to catch up to him. He was only a few seconds ahead of you, which doesn't seem hard to catch up to, but with heels, it was. You were running and, at this point, shouting for him.

“Starboy! Come back” 

No response.

“Please, listen to me!"

No response yet again.

He was already going down the stairs. You then had an idea. Well, a gamble, hoping it was true that he did love you as he said he did.

"Hey, Starboy, look up at me!"

You then waved your arms and jumped down the stairs, shutting your eyes and bracing for impact. You hoped this boy actually loves you enough to save you. Then you felt warmth; he had saved you. You were in his arms as he carried you bridal style.

“You idiot! What if I wasn't here to catch you or didn’t look back.”

“That was a gamble I was willing to take.”

"Well, don’t do that ever again. You're always doing dumb stuff like this at the Akademiya or when we go out to eat. Like that one time you fell into a river trying to save a cat or when you fell into a bookshelf trying to get a book you wanted me to try.” 

He then swiftly covered his mouth, a red blush spreading across his face like fire.

“Wanderer?”

“No, that's not me; you must have confused me with someone else.”

“No, it is you. You're the only one who was around me at that time. It’s you, Wanderer; that’s your identity.”

"Maybe I am him, okay?”

You were right! You felt content knowing now that the boy you love, loves you back, but it begs the question. Why did he leave? 

“Wanderer, why did you disappear for a month? You left me alone for a month without contact. It was so lonely, and so many bad thoughts ran through my head during that time.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I know my explanation might not help, but I do have one. You see, I have close relations with the Dendro archon, so for the month I was helping her set up for the ball. I meant to tell you; I just didn’t know how, and when I figured it out, I felt it was too late. So, I was just watching you from afar for a while. I’m really sorry, Y/N; I should’ve been better.”

“It’s okay; it just better not ever happen again.”

You chuckled at his response, then reached up to lift up his mask. You saw his gorgeous face; this was your indigo hair boy. You then broke out into a smile and lifted up your mask—not that it made a difference since he already knew who you were. 

“Also, going back to your love confession earlier. I love you too, dummy. I have for a long time now.”

He was stunned that you had actually returned his feelings.

“You love me?”

“Yes, I do more than anything.”

“Y/N, there was another reason my outfit was star-themed; I wanted to match with you and hoped that us dressed as two stars would bring us together. Y/N, you're my star; you light up my world, and you have ever since you came into my life. I want to be with you forever, united as lovers, because I truly do love you.”

You felt starstruck by his love confession; it was so full of love.

“I want to be your lover too.”

“Then let’s make it official.”

He then turned, moving closer to you, and placed one hand on your cheek. 

“May I?”

You nodded eagerly, excited for what was to come. 

He then kissed you; it was the perfect moment, and you two could practically feel each other smiling. After a few minutes, he pulled away from you, smiling, and then back again, until you both ran out of breath. He then put you down from his arms and placed his hand into yours.

“Shall we get back to the ball?”

“Yes!.”

You both then walked back to the ball hand in hand, with a new love brought between you both by the stars.

[butwhatifidothis]

Talking from a fe3h discourse perspective I get hating Rhea, as a Rhea lover. To a lesser extent I GUESS I get Seteth. But Flayn??????? She's just vibing and eating fish??? She has NOTHING to do with Rhea's decisions? Like at that point you're (not you op, general you) just looking for issues. To be clear if you hate her because of her personality or whatever sure, to each their own. But hating her because "church bad" feels really stupid to me. That's like a rhea/church fan hating the black eagles on principal because they're part of edelgard's house or because they don't hate edelgard.

When you realize they ascribe to this kind of mentality

it starts to make a lot more sense. Yeah, if two members of a race being bad if enough for you to ascribe malice and evil to every single member of said race, it's pretty easy to also say that the very blood of that race is evil and having it course through your veins makes you evil.

Which they've been saying for a while now!

Yes, you are in fact seeing a ~year-and-a-half old screenshot of them saying the exact same racist garbage they're saying now.

Also, just. This fucker keeps repeating this stupid fucking point about Nemesis and frankly it pisses me off.

Two years. From as early as two days ago (as of July 11th 2024) to as far back as two fucking years, they've been repeating "Nemesis couldn't have been THAT BAD you guys, because the people he's been tyrannically ruling over for over a century and who didn't know the full extent of his actions which include the genocide he committed believed in the lie about him being a liberator! A supposed liberator of a group of people these oppressed ignorant civilians would have had literally no contact with whatsoever given Nemesis has been ruling for over a century! Meaning any human alive during the actual reign of the Nabateans would have been fucking dead by the time Nemesis was killed, meaning any alive during Nemesis' reign had no way of knowing how that rule actually was! This lie was so imprinted into the people's conscious that Rhea couldn't erase it, so it has to be true and not a lie anymore!"

Literally saying that Nemesis was right to do what he did because he said he was and the people who had no choice but to believe him believed he was. Like I said, they are so fucking desperate to defend this genocider and to degrade the Nabateans as an entire race to be biologically inclined towards evil, and have been desperate to do this for years.

Here are a couple more choice words Shandale has said!

"He didn't genocide them because he WANTED to, he did it because he HAD to! If he didn't, anyone he brought with him to genocide the Nabateans would have been killed!"

Oh, but silly me! What I am talking about?

It wasn't a genocide! It was getting rid of oppressor and conquerors! Those oppressors and conquerors, you know, just so happening to be the entirety of the Nabatean race.

Which, hm! Guess what nonnie!

Explicitly includes Flayn! Someone who literally never did anything to anyone! Oh, except be willing to kill followers... who are a direct threat to others and are desecrating her mother's grave. Oh, but who cares about silly little nitpicks like that, she's willing to kill her followers!! ...Oh wait, there's only reference to Cichol in that paralogue? Cethleann isn't even mentioned once anywhere in the paralogue? Like literally anywhere? Bah! Who cares! Flayn is evil, just like all the other Nabateans! Let's """"""""joke"""""""" about killing her over and over and over and over and over again!

Teehee isn't it so funny guys! They're killing Flayn, haha, soooo funny! Ignore how they think Flayn's race in its entirety needs to be killed and how they lie about what Flayn's done to paint her as evil, they're just jokingly killing Flayn and joking about how fun they find the idea of killing this member of a race they clearly hate over and over keekeekee!!! This race isn't real guys you're not allowed to find this disturbing plus they're just joking anyway hahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!

(there's actually more of these "jokes". Like way more of them. Just, lettin' everybody know)

And, oh, wow!

This includes Indech and Macuil! Nabateans who cut off all contact with humanity after they had helped kill the genocider of their race. Macuil isn't even in Fodlan anymore, he's in the middle of a Sreng desert, but, nope! They helped kill Nemesis, meaning they are also completely evil :)

Funny how every single Nabatean who stood up against the human who killed them all is deemed irrevocably evil no matter what, but the human Agarthans are just poor little victims who deserved more nuance and sympathy even after they literally murder children. But we're the mean ones for pointing all of this out as bad tho

[cindersnows]

i think as viewers we find it easy to sit back and judge each character until their motivations are explained to us in detail like with purple and king and chosen. even with victim its fairly easy to guess a portion of why she is doing this. and that's partially because avam is just made to be like that so all audiences can understand it and why the characters do what they do, and also partially because it's a little difficult to do more subtle storytelling when you can only express character feelings through their body language (and the body language has to be fairly exaggerated so that everyone can understand how the character is feeling).

so then as a result when we see green falling deep into the hole of social media it's easy to scoff and judge and say come on green, do better. we see it as him just getting too cocky again- look at green with his ego and his need to seem cool, he's sucking up to people again so he can get validation. and people understand that, they're even comparing his arc to purple, but they're forgetting to actually see things from his point of view.

like yeah. green was mean to yellow! and that was a kind of assholey thing to do, agreeing with people when they say yellow didn't do much. but like people do stupid shit all the time, especially to get approval. green hearting mean comments wasn't him on his villain arc, he probably barely thought about it. haven't you ever done anything without thinking or made a joke in bad taste. honestly it's a little ironic how quick people were to jump on him when he did something kind of mean, it reminded me of actual cancel culture! fascinating shit. we really are a part of the story.

anyways green started off as the weakest. he tries his best to be good at other things, first building, then music, but for some reason whenever he does well in something his friends get jealous or upset. (he pours himself into that thing and unintentionally ignore s or snaps at his friends--- its a repeating pattern at this point). it's mostly because their competitive spirit, something which is seen in a lighthearted manner but has gotten them killed or hurt on multiple occasions and i feel like they're going to have to address that at some point. whenever green sets boundaries, they're ignored, even if cg think they're just acting in the greater good.

hell, even purple, we've barely seen them interact after s3- who's to say purple wouldn't just scoff at him as well? she's already not very experienced with actual friendships (based on the way they just expected green to brush the betrayal off in parkour, they acted more like it was a small disagreement than a full on issue), so he may just assume this is how friends are.

basically the point of this is to say, no one ever celebrates his success. obviously he's competitive with his friends too, but having been at the bottom of the group from the start, he's visibly very insecure about this stuff, and having people attempt to kick him down during every success he gets (which he works very hard for) will lead to him needing validation from elsewhere. clearly, social media is supposed to give him this.

but like someone in the community pointed out, now he's appealing to hundreds of thousands of people instead of just 5 or 6. the praise is awesome, but seeing that people still have criticism of him just makes him throw himself into his work even more. it also probably functions as a form of escapism for him; he's so busy working, editing, writing, he barely even notices that his friends are avoiding him. it's possible he's purposely using youtube as a way to ignore his gut. anyways, blue's still willing to hang out and record with him, so what's the issue? (it's not as if blue is the least confrontational of the cg lol)

i have. been in this exact position. the moment you make anything, you're looking straight at the numbers. it becomes what you think of in the morning and during the creation process. you're skimming comments for keywords--- good, bad, more, less, etc. you listen even when you don't mean to. yeah maybe the guy was a little mean about one of my friends but ultimately it's just constructive criticism! it's not like she'll see this anyway. it's fine.

and yeah green needs to stop being so obsessive but i think he deserves to break down first. like what ash said--- he expresses his negative emotions the least out of everyone, he barely takes breaks, it's going to come crashing down. and i think when cg confront him about his behaviour he deserves to yell at them for the way he gets treated. it really hurts when all you are is the butt of the joke even when they mean it in a lighthearted way. if the arc just ends with green being knocked down a peg as usual, i will be very fucking upset because he's literally already at the bottom of the ladder, what more do you want?

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for taking pleasure knowing that a girl who fatphobically bullied me in school has gotten really fat since.

I (25f) am a bar tender. I work in a city thats an easy commute to from my home town - like 40 mins to get into the city from the town- so it's not super uncommon for me to see people I vaguely know come into my bar while I'm working.

The other day, a woman comes in and I was like 'I'm sure I recognise her but I can't put my finger on where from'. She clearly recognises me, and smiles, so I did the thing where I pretend I know who someone is while she was ordering. She mentioned our high-school (saying something like oh it's been so long since we left, I'd wondered what you'd gotten up to) and then it clicked who she was. We'll call her Hannah.

Hannah was in my grade, and from 6th grade onwards, she and her group of sporty girl friends took every opportunity to fatphobically bully me. I got all the usual uncreative fat insults from them, they stole food from me being all "Oh you don't need it" etc and it was just generally not a good time. They made my life absolutely miserable for years.

I'm still a big woman, but I've found body positivity/body neutrality and been unpacking all the self hate that was instilled within me because I was bigger. I've taken up power lifting, which was a big step for a girl who cried every time we did sports at school, and I love it. I generally, with a few ups and downs, feel confident in my appearance now.

Hannah, on the other hand, has gone from typical skinny mini runner to a very fat woman (guessing like 300lbs and she is SHORT) and to be honest I was immediately pretty smug. She was dressed very badly too - the dress she was wearing was fine but the pattern was awful (it was a mix of Eiffel towers and leaning towers of ]

Piza, which...well I just don't understand that choice). When I recognised her, all the horrid things she'd said to me over the years were buzzing in my head, particularly her comparisons of how much better she thought she looked than me. Internally, I was like "ha, who looks better now!?"

I handed her the cocktail she ordered, and she said "Oh its good to see you're doing well", and I don't know what came over me when I did this, but my eyes sort of looked her over, and I said "yeah, good to see you looking so healthy". She definitely knew the subtext, and she went back to her friends without saying anything, and she sent her friends up to order from me after that.

Genuinely I would never say that to anyone else (aside from that group of girls I mean). I am generally a very body positive person, and I usually strive to make sure everyone feels beautiful in their own skin. Something about the irony got to me, I suppose.

AITA

What are these acronyms?

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Do you think Adrien is a bad hero?

That's a complex question. It's kind of like asking, "Are Alya and Nino bad friends?"

The way canon has written them, I do kind of have to answer, "Yes," but at the same time, I would never write them as such because it's so antithetical to their role in the narrative. They're victims of bad writing who were never intended to read the way canon has made them read. You can tell this because almost every instance of them being terrible friends is not treated as them being terrible friends by the narrative.

Adrien is in a similar boat. The writers have consistently had him do unheroic things, but the narrative doesn't treat these actions as unheroic. I think this happens for a very obvious reason: he's a fictional character whose actions will always reflect the writers' vision of what's fine for a hero/romantic lead to do no matter how messed up that vision is.

For example, in Glaciator, Adrien ignores Ladybug telling him that she's too busy to meet up that night, but the narrative somehow paints this as Ladybug being in the wrong by giving Marinette a massive guilt trip for... sticking to the plan she and Adrien had already agreed to?

Marinette:(looks around in awe) Wow! Cat Noir, this is... beautiful! (notices Cat Noir looking glum) I'm so sorry. Cat Noir: Why? It's not your fault. Marinette: No— Yeah— I mean— What I mean is I'm very sorry for you because, um, you prepared all of this and then... she didn't show. Cat Noir: She told me she might not make it but I had my fingers crossed. I really wanted her to come. Marinette:(walks over next to him) Maybe she had a really good reason for not coming. Like, a problem or something. Cat Noir: You're only saying that to make me feel better.

And the akuma in this episode is Marinette's fault, not Adrien's, even though Adrien is the one breaking plans and ignoring people telling him that they're too busy. I have no idea what the lesson of that episode was supposed to be, I just know that it was weird. But none of that is Adrien's fault because he's a fictional character who is a slave to the writer's vision. Adrien has no power to be better than the writers. No character does.

So, yeah, the show often paints Adrien as a pretty lack luster hero and I cringe every time it happens, but I still have no issue writing or reading him as a good hero because it's blatantly obvious that he's not supposed to read as a bad hero. Otherwise you wouldn't get him constantly having the role of picking Ladybug up when she's at her lowest. That whole "you and me against the world, my Lady" thing that sounds really cool, but never amounts to anything because the writing sucks. I mean, season five literally ends with Ladybug up against the world and he doesn't show, but it's totally cool, I guess!

In summary, I think Adrien is often written as a bad hero, but pretty much every character in this show is a bad person if we take their actions at face value, so I won't slap him with that label in my own writing as its unfair to hold him to a standard I don't hold any other character to. It is extremely easy to make a few minor tweaks to his character and make him a wonderful hero.

[i-love-your-shades-of-wrong]

you want complex characters? here's Gale.

I am fully convinced that people only hate Gale bc it's Liam Hemsworth and because they think he's annoying - and yeah, it's true, he IS annoying, but to like president snow more than him? (its pretty privilege)

Most people know by now that the love triangle in thg is for metaphorical purposes - the choice between peace and war. And it's not even a choice as a reader - there is quite literally no chemistry between gale and katniss (in my opinion). But that doesn't merit hatred for the character himself.

He grows up in the seam, poor and being the breadwinner for his siblings. (how sad) We're supposed to disagree with his motives by the end of it - he shouldn't want to get revenge because that makes him as bad as the capitol (yada yada yada). And Peeta is in the right because he wants to show mercy. (peace vs war)

But Peeta grows up as the bakers son. Has he ever gone hungry? No. Are we meant to feel bad for him because of his mum? idk. His name was in the bowl far, far less times. Does that make it any better? No, because he's picked (and this is meant to be about how the system is awful... you get it). But Peeta doesn't grow up hating the capitol because they don't hurt him... until the games.

Is this an attack on Peeta? No, of course not, but circumstances are important as the actions taken within them (situation ethics). Peeta goes into the games and you'd think his outlook on life changes, but it doesn't. Some people have stronger cores - a lifetime of security within yourself does that.

Peeta goes into the games again, Gale saves the citizens of 12 in the bombing. Peeta's kidnapped. And Gale says this:

"He might have been tortured. Or persuaded. My guess is he made some kind of deal to protect you. He'd put forth the idea of the cease- fire if Snow let him present you as a confused pregnant girl who had no idea what was going on when she was taken prisoner by the rebels. This way, if the districts lose, there's still a chance of leniency for you. If you play it right." I must still look perplexed because Gale delivers the next line very slowly. "Katniss…he's still trying to keep you alive."

So, he's annoying, but is he a liar? No. He's ever the strategist, thinking of things from the logical point of view. (really grasping for straws but I need a pro and less cons😭)

People really hated Gale for bombs - killing innocent people that just want to help the fallen? (ohno how sad). But are capitol citizens ever really innocent? Bystanders that simply allow children to be murdered year after year? The idea that they simply have no idea of the harm being caused is ludicrous. Do they not have critical thinking skills? No matter what happens in life, you KNOW murder is wrong. No matter what propaganda media shows you.

(also Beetee helped make those bombs too like gale was annoying but stop giving him full credit like if I was beetee I'd be pissed)

So, that comes to the idea that killing people as a whole is unethical, and it doesn't matter that they're awful people. Is that untrue? No. Is it far to those that have been oppressed their entire lives, being told that using force against their oppressors is wrong? Maybe. It's not an easy issue to resolve (kinda explains the metaphor, doesn't it?)

Neoliberalism probably wants you to blame the individuals. Coin, Gale, Snow. Coin and Snow were two sides of the same coin (ooh pun) - politicians, adults, playing for their own power. Is it wrong to enjoy power? No, of course not, just don't abuse it. Gale enjoyed power. But he was fighting for the freedom of the country, not himself. And he's only 19/20. You're a lot angrier when you're younger, as many adults forget.

The system is the real problem, clearly. Why should the capitol have all the power? Why are the districts being used? We don't know. But that's unimportant.

And then there's Katniss. She's the one making the decision - peace or war. On paper, its peace anyday. Katniss has seen both Peeta and Gale's hardships - Gale is a metaphor for who she could have been. Bitter, angry and hateful. It's not unjustified hatred but under Kantian ethics, murder is always wrong. Katniss does not want to retaliate because it's a vicious cycle of violence.

As far as we know, the capitol don't really pay for all they do. I know if I was a district citizen who suffered, I'd want capitol citizens to feel the same way. That is not to say that it is ethical, but it is not unjustified.

It would be more of a fair argument if Peeta and Gale suffered equally, but can you really quantify suffering. Their experiences shape them. Its easier for Peeta to want mercy for the capitol because he wasn't starved his whole life. And Peeta's stance is the right one.

But see, that's why we say complex character and not good person. Because the decisions aren't malicious in intent, just with clashing personal values to the norm. Like, bffr, half the people online hating on this guy would NOT have stood for mercy for the capitol.

(anyway have a nice day this was my ethics essay plan and I'd better get a 9 on it or else <333)

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

For future reference: this fandom absolutely DOES prompts!! Some people more than others, but we even have whole blogs dedicated to giving out prompts! ;) (shout-out to @jilymicrofics and @jilychallenge) Prompt lists are great too, of course!

Anyways, a lot of good prompts here but of course it jumped out at me:

"I love you."

"You couldn't have picked a worse time for a confession."

(Tied-up back-to-back Order!Jily go! Or whatever you want to do with it, really, but that's how I pictured it. 😁)

❤

ah this is brilliant information!! thank you!

from this prompt list

It was supposed to be a calm, quick, easy mission.

“Give it to the kids,” Moody had said, waving his hand dismissively as if it wasn’t worth his time to care or follow-up with which ‘kids’ ended up taking on the mission.

That was the only reason James and Lily had ended up doing it together anyway, because Mad-Eye’s universal distaste for romance and relationships and, well, happiness usually keeps the couple separate.

Now, though—Lily’s starting to wonder if maybe the old man had a point, because nothing as elementary as Incarcerous has ever managed to ensnare her when she was on a mission with Mary or Remus or Sirius or anyone other than the idiot currently tied behind her.

“So,” he drawls, “do you think they’ll come back soon or…”

“Shut up, Potter.”

She can feel him shrug casually against her. “I’m just wondering.”

“Do something more useful,” she hisses, struggling against the ropes again.

“I dunno why you’re so upset,” James quips. “This is quality time, Evans. Sure, I usually prefer to be able to actually look at you on our dates, and yeah, I guess the blood stain in that corner over there is a bit of a mood-killer, but, oh, I don’t know. It all has a certain charm to it. Don’t you think it’s all a little sexy?”

“If we ever get out of here,” she says through gritted teeth, “I’m going to kill you.”

The Death Eaters had confiscated both of their wands, but—given James and Lily’s concealed identities—had hesitated to do any more than that. It’s a disturbing advantage, revealing the level of bureaucracy even within their enemy's ranks, that they have to check with their esteemed Dark Lord, or whoever, before proceeding with torture.

So, here Lily and James sit, bound together, their backs pressed against each other in an unidentified room within an unspecified house. The opulence of the marble floors and the imposing darkness of the towering ceilings hinted at its owner's aristocratic (Pureblood) pedigree.

“Should we play a game to pass the time?” James chirps.

“I need to concentrate.”

“Good idea. I love that game!”

“Wh—”

“This is the game of concentration, no repeats or hesitation, I go first, you go second, category is—”

“Jesus Christ, James!” she shouts, shrilly. “How can you sing at a time like this?”

He shifts, his back pressing more firmly into hers, and immediately she knows he's heard what she's been trying so hard to keep concealed. His physical presence succeeds in grounding her, as it always does. “Evans.”

Lily feels awful for snapping at him. None of this is his fault, obviously. He’s been nothing short of wonderful from the beginning. She takes a shaky breath and shuts her eyes. “Yeah?”

“You all right?”

She leans back into him. “No,” she whispers hoarsely, “I don’t think so.”

The ropes shift against her skin as James moves again. She feels his arm bumping along hers and then, out of the corner of her eyes, she sees his hand, moving toward hers. How he’s contorting himself to manage it, she doesn’t know, but she moves her own hand to clasp his without thinking.

He squeezes her hand. “We’re gonna be okay,” he says. “Moody’ll have gotten our Patronus by now. Any minute now—”

“But what if they—”

“It’s not gonna happen,” he says, his voice firm, instilling a sense of confidence in her. “We’ll be out of here before they even find out who we are.”

“I—” Her voice breaks.

“Not gonna happen, Evans. I’ve got your back.” He chuckles a bit pathetically. “Incidentally, right now, I actually do.”

Her head drops, a pitiful snort escaping her at the miserable irony of all this. “Tell me something good,” she murmurs.

“Well, obviously—”

“Something other than your new cat, James.”

“Okay, fine,” he says, a little grumpily. She smiles, clearly imagining the pout on his lips. “How about…oh! My mum is baking a cake for Padfoot’s birthday this weekend. And I don’t know if you’ve had a Euphemia Potter cake before, but—” He pauses for dramatic effect. “You’ll never have something more disgusting in your life.”

“James!”

“No, I’m being so serious, Evans. It’s like…Merlin, it’s like she sweeps the back-streets of London and dumps the contents of her dustbin into a pan with some eggs and just bakes it. We stick a candle in it and sing and fuck, it’s literally so bad.”

“You’re terrible.”

“No, Lily,” he says, seriously. “The cake is terrible. You’ll see.” He hums to himself. “But I see the humorous tragedy of my mum’s cake isn’t going to do it for you, so I’ll move on to another topic. Let’s see, let’s see.”

“I didn’t know it would be so much trouble to think of something good for your girlfriend to—”

“Oh, you’re playing dirty now, Evans. Pulling the girlfriend card, like you don’t know what that does to me, every single time.”

She grins, even though he can’t see her. “What if—”

“Hang on, I’ve got something,” he interrupts her. “Something good.”

“Alright, let’s hear it,” she says, waiting. “I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“Actually, your arse is firmly planted against mine, a fact I have not stopped thinking about since we were thrown in here, but seeing as it’s not an appropriate time to do something about that—”

She bumps the back of her head lightly against his. “Oh my God, Potter, get on with it!”

“I love you.”

Lily freezes, her back going rigid against James’s. “You—” She feels him squeeze her hand again. “You couldn’t have picked a worse time for a confession,” she murmurs numbly.

He doesn’t say anything at first, but before Lily can give a proper response, she feels him shaking against her.

“James?” She shifts to try and get any sort of vantage point to see him. “James, what are—” He’s laughing. Absolutely, hysterically laughing! “Was that a joke?” she demands sharply, trying to withdraw her hand from his. “You’re a terrible person, James Potter! I don’t—”

“No,” he manages, through peals of laughter, trapping her hand back between his. She can feel his head shake back and forth. “No, I was being…completely…serious.”

Jesus, she wishes she could see his face right now. Not that it’s ever aided her in being able to understand this mad man before, but…

“I don’t know why I said it,” he continues, still snorting in laughter. “I mean, I do. Obviously, I…I love you beyond reason, Lily. But—Merlin’s beard, I can’t believe I just—”

“You…love me?” she asks, quietly.

His hand turns over, palm meeting palm, so he can properly intertwine their fingers. “Of course I do,” he says.

“But—”

“I love you.”

She feels a surge of emotion. “I love you, too,” she manages. “So much. A pathetic amount, really. And—”

“I swear to Merlin the second we’re out of here, Evans, I’m going to kiss you so good.”

“So good?” she repeats, giggling at the absurdity of it. He’s ridiculous. She loves him so much.

“Yeah, I’d—” He dissolves into laughter again.

“What now?” she cries.

“It’s just—” He snorts loudly, his head bumping against hers. “Well, see, I’d kiss you now, but I’m…” A loud peal of laughter echoes through the dark room. “I’m a bit…tied up…at the moment.”

[ravewing]

you know what i feel like yapping and none of my friends have any interest in wof so i will yap here instead . felt like sharing my favorite dragons from every tribe so if you guys want to yap too then yannow . perchance reblog with your favorite wof characters

also i have not read the entirety of arc three in one sitting since 2022 so my memory on the pantala characters are rather hazy

mudwings - unfortunately since tui likes neglecting mudwings i cant really say that im necessarily passionate about any of them ... i liked bullfrog i suppose? ooh and crocodile. i think im gonna have to go with crocodile for this one .. wish tui did more with her but i guess that kind of applies to all my favs

seawings - you know before i finished rereading all of arc 2 today i would have confidently said pike but oughhh indigo and anemone and turtle ........ and also nautilus and squid i like them very much too ..... i think im sticking with pike for now because hes been my favorite seawing for like almost a decade but i really like the other ones too

rainwings - chameleon EASY next . i also quite liked liana and jambu and coconut and obviously kinkajou but i think chameleon has to be my favorite .. old slimy evil pathetic dragons they could never make me hate you

nightwings - im gonna be real with you all here i have no idea who id pick for my top fav . i really like fierceteeth but also morrowseer and i really liked thoughtful and also clearsight and mastermind too and obviously moon and starflight i liked a lot .... i think probably fierceteeth but in all honesty i like these guys the same amount

sandwings - my mind is telling me onyx but when i was really young i LOVED six claws but tbhonest i cant remember all that much about him other than that hes ostrichs dad .. vulture and jerboa i were cool too though .. but yeah probably onyx i think shes neat

icewings - winter . like this isnt even a competition . winter they could never never never never never make me hate you

skywings - come on guys . flame flame flame flame flame flame flame flame flame he is my number one favorite character of all time is this even a question flame flame flame flame flame .

silkwings - this is a toughie guys . i remember liking swordtail a lot ? but like i said its been years since ive touched arc three, i think im gonna reread it after i reread dragonslayer or something . i think i liked daniad too but i dont remember why or who she was but her name is in my brain

hivewings - the librarian was cool . jewel was also neat

leafwings - hawthorn ?? i feel like theres another one that i liked but nothing is coming to mind so i dont know

anyways thats all thank you for listening to my yap session

[dangopango00]

The Amazing Digital Circus and Escapism

A/N: Just watched and I LOOVEEEE cooking theories for these kinda of Youtube Series even if they turn out to be wrong so Heres the incomprehensible youtube comment I made just now bye

I like to put preliminary theories for series like this and my theory for this is that the circus is some kind of representation of escapism and/or maladaptive daydreaming

1. There's a shit ton of religious symbolism, maybe suggesting that the circus is supposed to be “heaven” although it has underlying hellish elements. For example, cain being portrayed as god and the fact that he doesn’t seem to really get why anyone would want to leave. In contrast, his name references the brother of abel who was cursed by god for his jealous rage. Not only this but, how everything is generally upbeat but there are momentary mental breaks when they are brought back to reality.

2. Reality is often blurred: The characters are real people but its suggested the lines are easily blurred like in the fact that pomni gets attached to a character that was never real to begin with or the fact that cain hints that it can be hard to tell the difference between real characters and npcs

3. Anecdotal but the fact that everyone seems to have a different vision for how the adventures should be played out: Jax wants action and violence, ragatha just wants something stimulating and pomni wants something comforting; the fact that jax gets upset when his vision isn't fulfilled feels very similar to mishaps when maladaptive daydreaming

4. Glitches and the video game setting overall: Idk if its just me but in maladaptive daydreaming its very easy for the mind to wander or mess up, causing a “glitch” in the story which I think is very similar to the glitches in the show

More UTC

5. The concept of VR itself is pretty much one step away from active escapism and although a bit of a stretch, I think the fact that the characters can’t take off their headset references their unwillingness to live in reality rather than actually being forced

6. Character behavior: How pomni goes from extremely weirded out to accepting and even slightly enjoying the circus feels very reminiscent of how it feels to first start maladaptive daydreaming as its an entirely odd thing to do but when you get into it it turns out to be fun and you keep doing it for hours. Ragatha is also interesting because she seems to ignore reality in favor of keeping herself sane, even ignoring devastating truths she realizes when she moves on from her mental breaks so quickly which is pretty much what maladaptive daydreaming is.

7. Exit: When pomni makes it to the exit and sees the desk setup with the headset, she began to lose her mind and instead of going forward to the next door she started going back (i think). I think this was her momentarily remembering how she felt like nothing in real life but in the circus she could be the main character (i think she struggled with feeling like nothing in the real world because of how much she brings it up and sympathizes with gummigoo, probably feeling like an npc irl) though either way she leaves the scene, likely not wanting to remember how her life was before.

8. Abstraction: Since we haven’t seen much of it Im still not completely sure but if I had to guess— I think abstraction is when you completely separate yourself from reality and live in a daydream full time since abstraction means “The quality of dealing with ideas rather than events” which is pretty much what escapism is; I think abstraction is likely a state of complete delusion as is hinted in the show by saying people who abstract are crazy

Overall I think the digital circus is probably either about escapism in general and/or a commentary on how we distract ourselves from serious topics almost as if we are children protecting ourselves from real life.