#i mean what else are you supposed to do at this point if you were a ghost trapped in a puppet? at that point i'd just joke to cope too

[confuzing]

I know this flies in the face of all established timelines but Head Disciple Shang Qinghua on a business trip to Huan Hua Palace his Shizun didn't want to do when he sees they have a baby ice demon in their holding cells- soon to be transferred to the Water Prison proper.

And like, it's clearly Mobei-Jun, who else would it be? And he's so little! And he's crying! What is SQH supposed to do??

So he steals that demon baby and takes him home to An Ding Peak and hides him in his rooms.

He brings Mu-shidi in on the secret because he wants to make sure Mobei-Baby is ok. And he's pretty sure he can trust MQF.

LQG and SQQ find out when one of their fights spills over onto An Ding and through the wall of SQH's rooms. They're both very pro- murdering the little demon until SQH calls their bluffs and tells them to do it then.

MBJ, sucking his thumb: 🥺

LQG: ...you do it

SQQ: No you

They both agree to keep it quiet - though SQQ immediately tells YQY the liar...

Soon half the future Peak Lords know about SQH's secret. Which is good because he needs their help figuring out what to do when MBJ's Dad eventually starts prowling around the base of the mountain looking for his kid.

YQY eventually shows off his leadership skills by meeting the senior Mobei and negotiating his son's return on the conditions that he not kill them when they give his kid back, and also please don't tell our shizuns about this. Which the senior Mobei is cool with because honestly losing a kid this badly is kinda embarrassing.

SQH is super attached by this point so he gives MBJ this long rambling good bye he thinks there's no way he'll remember because he's just a baby. (I love you you're my favorite don't trust your uncle and be safe I'll see you again soon my king I promise you're definitely going to be king some day by the way you're gonna be so big and strong and cool no one will be mean to you again I swear I'll beat them up if they do)

But of course, a decade and change later when MBJ meets him again he not only remembers but has missed his Hua-ge dearly.

Even later when the spying is revealed all the Peak Lords who were involved are just like, "Ohhh that makes sense. You betrayed us for Your Baby" (<what they all called MBJ)

[wizard-of-interesting-failure]

No you know what I'm gonna take a second here. [Highly unhinged rant at the fundamental injustice, inefficiency, and sheer bloody-minded stupidity of current social technology below the cut]

Absolute horse piss. God, even setting aside how she deserved better from everyone around her and had the same right to a fully accepted authentic life as everyone else, imagine what she could have done if she was supported instead of being treated like this. If she wasn't fired from her job, ejected from her support network, and didn't have to constantly advocate for herself and people like her to be treated like human beings (which was brave and good work worthy of being honored but should never have been necessary in the first place, like rescuing people from a building that collapsed because it was built like shit)

Like okay I don't talk about this that often but I'm a kidney transplant recipient and I think a lot about how the field (like every other avenue of human endeavour) has been crippled by short-sighted bigotry. STEM fields are still hugely male-dominated (sidebar STEM is not the be all and end all creatives y'all super valid and important and your work is foundational to the functioning of STEM and human endeavour and quality of life as a whole; this is just the example that highlights the point for me personally) and it's like. If we didn't push literally everyone except cishet white guys well off enough to afford tertiary education away from everything in the area, would I just have an artificial kidney by now? Who knows?? I'm probably never fucking going to because stupid nonsense.

It's the same shit. And don't get me wrong, the individual human tragedy of unnecessary hardships on the part of this (and every) trans woman (and so many other groups besides) is morally horrible and an indictment of culture as a whole. But we'd probably have fucking blade runner robots or quantum computers or working fusion reactors or Actual Cool AI Instead Of The Current Horseshit by this point! Or a real Mars colony instead of some blowhard yammering on about it while he inflicts suffering on untold millions! Or God knows what else!

And don't even get me started on lack of opportunity for almost everybody in the world. It's like that quote about all the potential einsteins who were born and died impoverished without ever even touching a science textbook.

Like you wanna know why we're struggling so much? Population increase is supposed to mean more hands and minds on every problem but it doesn't because...ugh! Imagine if we cared about global poverty. Imagine how many more lives free of hunger. Imagine how many more people thinking about how to solve everything that needs solving.

I just. The morality is bad enough. It's a great evil by itself. But the sheer fucking gall of dressing it up behind progress and hard decisions. Do you have any idea how much "progress" this costs us? What a good investment humanity would be if we pulled our heads out of our asses for two seconds? What you, personally, have lost because the person who would have given it to you lived and died in preventable despair?

Again, I have to emphasise. People are worthy without contributing huge individual achievements to the arc of history. Society is a collective and everything everyone does adds to the weave and adds up to what we as a whole achieve, there's no real separating out of "this person did this thing" when they were supported by the entire collective of humanity past and present, and even if there was achievement is not the sole benchmark by which life is measured. A better life for everyone is the point, and the idea of "if I don't think you're contributing then you don't deserve anything" is a big part of how we got here in the first place.

There is no culling of the "unproductive". They are the ones who need this most of all. Every life matters, every life (yes, even that one) is a roll of the dice for a miracle of insight (not just in STEM; it all fucking matters and it always has), every life is its own purpose, every life is worthy, to save one life is to save all of mankind, to enrich one life is to enrich all of mankind, to be a life that is enriched is to be enriched on behalf of all of mankind, and none of these facts depend upon any others. There's a mind in there! A self-perceiving miracle of reality! Of course it's precious beyond measure regardless of context, you dipshit!

We can celebrate great advances and exceptional performances without ignoring that we, as a whole, made these things possible too. And we can recognise that these things are valuable because of what they do for everyone, and that the more everyone there is the more valuable they are, and that in order for making life better for the worse off to matter the worse off themselves must matter, and that every life is worthy and every soul is sacred and the people using Lynn's technology to help with their disabilities or live hidden from those who wish them harm or resist the forces I'm talking about here are why the technology is a force for good in the first place.

But I weep for the fact that we have squandered almost all human potential across all of history in short-sighted power-seeking and arbitrary outgroup punishments, and everyone everywhere has suffered for it. Yes, even the stupid billionaires; they'd probably live longer if they hadn't stepped on the people who would have discovered the cure for whatever ends up killing them. Today's average well-off human knows riches that would be the envy of the kings of old, and the average human if none of this was a problem would know riches that would be the envy of the oligarchs of today.

Lives being lived in ways that diminish other lives are ideally changed minimally so that they no longer do (this is the maximisation of collective freedom) and consigned to any other fate only with great sorrow. Even if it is right to do so, I do not believe it is ever righteous. Even if it is not regrettable that it was done in the present, it is regrettable that the past produced a present that required it, and a future that does better should ever be sought.

Just...fucking stupid. That we're so willing impoverish ourselves so that some other people we don't like for no reason can be impoverished more. That the only thing keeping us from Star Trek (not just the spaceships but everything else too) is petty fucking spite (and physics but who knows what backdoor bullshit we could find to work around that).

That Lynn Conway's life, extraordinary and laudable as it was, was made smaller by this rank fucking idiocy. I do not aim to diminish her work by considering what it could have been. I aim to diminish the age she was forced to live in.

Rest in peace, Lynn. You deserved unfathomably, infinitely fucking better, and we are all richer for what you managed to pull off in spite of it all.

[innies-goth-gf]

How they like to hold your hand

[Skz Headcanons - Hyung Edition]

How the skz boys like to hold your hand

Pairing : Hyung line 🐺🐈‍⬛🐰🥟 x Reader Genre : Fluff 🪽 Sypnosis : How the Skz Hyung line would hold your hand Notes : Hey it’s been a while since I updated sorry about that. A while ago I took a break from school which was supposed to be a few months but it’s been extended till next year so I thought I should make the most of this time and get more into writing. Anyways this is my first post like this so I hope you enjoyyy! (No beta we die like Jeongin!) [Masterlist]

Bangchan :

Chris isn’t one to interlock fingers, he much rather hold your palm against his, feeling how it engulfs your very own

This also makes it easier to kiss the back of your hand, he loves nothing more than doing that

He never fails to kiss it hello or goodbye anytime he picks it up or has to let it go

He’ll basically do it any chance he gets, often when you both stop before crossing the street

He also loves to swing his hand while he’s holding yours, he just can’t be still with you

Chris is one to lead the way while you walk, but especially while you hold hands

He likes being able to lead you anywhere he pleases

When it gets colder he likes to slip your hand with his in his pocket, often switching between both your hands to warm one at a time (even tho you could put your free one in your pocket)

“Chris you know you don’t have to keep switching like this right?” You giggled as you looked up at him. “How else will I be your personal hand warmer then?!” He exclaims right back at you with a big grin on his face.

Lee know :

This man loves to have you as close as possible to him and having a firm grip on your hand

That’s why he lovesss wrapping his arm around yours and interlocking your fingers together

He likes to pull you in randomly whenever he feels like it, grabbing your arm and yanking you next to his side

He’s usually not super into pda but sometimes he just gets the urge to let everyone know what’s his

Quite often he likes to squeeze your hand to get your attention, only to turn away from you and ignore you as you question him

If he’s feeling extra mischievous he likes to bite your hand and keep an iron grip on it as you try to pull away

Other than that he’s really nice with hand holding

He often subconsciously starts to rub his thumb over the back of your hand

“Hey min,” you call to your boyfriend who seemed to be lost in his thoughts, your hands intertwined. He hums in response, his eyes falling on you right after. “Did you know when you stare off like that you start to rub my hand with your thumb? It’s really cute.” You say pointing at his still moving thumb. His eyes follow your finger, now looking down at your interwoven hands. He pauses for a bit before lifting your hand and chomping on it. “WHAT THE FUCK?”

Changbin :

Binnie likes to place his hand over yours and curl his fingers into your own as a means to hold on

He likes the way your fingers feel in his hand, it just feels right to him

Definitively keeps a tight grip on your hand, almost as if you’d disappear if he were to let go of it

Sometimes he ends up hurting your hand at times from squeezing too hard

It’s not on purpose though! His subconscious just thinks you’re too cute to let go (forgive him pls he didn’t mean to)

It’s not like you’d complain about him being clingy anyways, though he can be just a bit too much

Sometimes he likes to bring your hand up to his face and press his cheek into it

He says it’s because your hands and warmer and soft so they feel really nice on his face

“Binnie that’s the 10th time you’ve done that now,” a giggle escapes your lips as you coo at your boyfriend. “If you wanted me to pet you you could’ve asked.” You boyfriend pouts at you “It’s better this way.” He replies as he presses himself further into your hand.

Hyunjin :

He likes to interlock fingers, it makes him feel like your hands are fit together like a puzzle piece

Plus his grip on your hand is pretty loose so the intertwining makes it so your hands don’t separate

Hyunjin is one to appreciate and observe the scenery of the walk

That’s why he likes to let you lead the way while walking together

It lets him observe more without having to watch where he goes (including you, best part of the scenery ofc!)

He’s also a hand swinger, just kinda start randomly without realizing it

Also a hand kisser but definitely not as much as Chris

He always compliments and kisses you right after wards, he feels it’s only right

“Mwah!” Your boyfriend says as he lays a kiss right one the back of your hand. You fluster up, a shyness interlaced with your voice. “Why do you always do that at the most random times?” .“I just get the urge to, it’s hard to resist,” he replies with a grin. “But also you look really cute like that.” Before you get to reply Hyunjin lands a peck on your lips and starts pulling you down the street like nothing ever happened.

[petertingle-yipyip]

SENSES - JOAQUIN TORRES

(will probably change the gif when i can find a better one of him in that suit. also, testing the waters with a new character bc @fallingfavourites basically dared me to. what do we think?)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Reader // Word Count: 2,840

Summary: What was supposed to be a simple in and out ends up with a lot of blood and admissions.

“The gala’s an easy in.” You reasoned.

“It’s a stupid way in.” Sam shook his head.

“It’s not stupid!”

“We can admit it’s a risk, right?” Bucky tried.

You blew out a sigh and leaned further back in your chair. Sam sat in the chair closest, leaning elbows on the table in thought. Bucky was sitting on the edge of the table across from you with the permanent frown he seemed to point in your direction.

“We need the ledger.” You calmly stated. “I have an invitation to their building. They’ve been inviting my family to their events for years trying to win back my mom’s money. I have the best chance at getting in and out.”

“If we go along with this, you’re not going alone.” Sam continued.

“Course not. I’d never go to an event like that without a date.”

“This is serious, Y/N.” Bucky scolded.

“Well aware, thank you.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m not going with either of you. My mom would never let me.”

“Your mom’s not here.”

“But these people know my mother. We went to a couple

of these before she got tired of the ass kissing. I had a date each time with a specific image.”

“What kind of image?” Sam asked though Bucky simply groaned in annoyance.

“Pretty boy.” You shrugged.

“Oh.” Sam scoffed. “I’m not pretty enough for you mom?”

“No.” You laughed. “Neither of you are, but…”

“Don’t say it.” Bucky pointed firmly at you. “He’s not going.”

“I don’t like this anymore than you, Barnes.” You snapped. “You really think I want to take him anywhere?”

“What ever happened between you two anyway?” Sam asked so you turned his way with a fierce glare. “Just asking.” His hands went up in surrender.

“He didn’t tell you?” You stared in suspicion.

“For once, the kid wouldn’t talk.” Bucky answered.

“He’s not a kid.”

“You both are.”

“Buck’s right.” Sam chimed in. “You two used to not be able to stop making eyes at each other then suddenly, you’re avoiding each other like the plague.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You pushed yourself to stand. “I’m bringing him, regardless of anyone’s feelings about it.”

“And if he says no?” Bucky asked.

You frowned at the valid question. If Joaquin said no, you didn’t have a backup plan ready. Instead of confessing that, you spun on your heel and headed to find your former flame.

It wasn’t hard. He was at his computers. You stood beside him and leaned against the edge of his desk. It took a minute for him to register that it was you beside him.

“Hey.” He said carefully. You watched his eyes scan your face quickly before he frowned. “Everything good?”

“You have a suit?” You asked.

“Like a… Like a suit suit?” His voice dropped to a hushed tone.

“No.” You rolled your eyes with a small smile. You quickly shook the expression. “Like a nice suit, for going out.”

“Oh… Yeah, I’ve got one somewhere. Why?”

“We’re going to a gala to take a ledger.” You shrugged.

“Why us?” His brows furrowed but you noticed there was no objection.

“My family has an invite and you clean up nice… You can say no.”

“No!” He said quickly and you raised a brow. “I mean… No, it’s not that I don’t want to. I just kinda figured you’d wanna take someone else.” He explained carefully.

“Unfortunately, no one else fits the bill.” You sighed. 

“You never know.” He shrugged slightly. “Might be fun… Kinda like old times, right?”

“We’ll see… Tomorrow night, be ready by five to head to New York.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned at you, the same damned grin that made your heart beat a little faster.

You had to force your features to remain neutral until you were sure he couldn’t see. You assumed he had seen the flush of your cheeks at the least and you cursed yourself for that.

You hated that you and him didn’t end on necessarily bad terms. You two just couldn’t make it work. Both of you were too focused on other things to truly be present

in your relationship so for all the “moon eyes” Sam swore he saw and the “lost puppy looks” Bucky teased you about, it just hadn’t gone the way you wanted.

But damn it all if you didn’t wish otherwise. Keeping

distance from him was what you thought was best so you both could move on. Your heart, however, didn’t seem to get the memo.

The night of the gala was relatively predictable. Joaquin dawned an all-black ensemble that had you in silent awe when you first saw him. You knew he could dress up when the occasion called for it, but something about the monochrome look hit you hard. You forced yourself

to focus.

Joaquin, however, didn’t hide the way he was blown away by your look. The perfectly tailored gown took his breath away. He couldn’t stop himself from trailing his eyes up and down your figure, tracing the lines of the bodice down to the shape of your hips to that teasingly

high slit in the skirt, which dangerously showed off your legs that looked even longer with the heels you wore.

He didn’t have words for the way the color suited your skin tone, the complimentary tones of your makeup, the delicate pinned style of your hair. He ran a hand over his mouth to hide the smile at the necklace around your throat, the one he had given you for your birthday when you were together.

Sam was waiting with Joaquin and the man let out a long whistle that snapped Joaquin out of his trance.

You laughed slightly before flipping your teammate off.

“Ha ha.” You said sarcastically. “I’ll have you know my mother designed this dress.”

“It’s nice.” Joaquin offered honestly. “You look…” He blew out a breath. “Wow.”

“Thanks.” You nodded slightly, fiddling with the fabric of the skirt. “You look good, too.” You confessed.

He smiled proudly and it was hard not to smile back.

“Alright, alright. Enough of that.” Sam laughed slightly. “Tonight you need to have each others backs, got it? None of this scorned lovers bullshit you pull around here.”

“No one is scorned.” You rolled your eyes. “We’re going to a gala, not infiltrating an enemy stronghold.”

“You kinda are.” Sam countered. “Be quick and be careful. Sooner you guys are back, sooner this is over.”

“Well aware, thank you.” You took hold of Joaquin’s arm and dragged him to the car.

The ride to the event was relatively quiet. The music from the stereo filled the gaps and you were thankful to be driving so you could focus on the road rather than the man in the car with you. Your fingers tapped to the music while Joaquin was playing on his phone.

The gala itself was the same as you remembered. Your arm laced through Joaquin’s, you two fell into an easy stride. You liked the confidence he showed, offering a welcome grin to the people who came to kiss up to you and engaging in conversations when prompted.

“I like this one.” One of the older female investors quietly told you with a sly smile while her husband chatted with Joaquin a few feet away about something you weren’t listening to. “He’s much better than the rest you’ve brought to these things.”

You smiled in agreement and looked over at your date. He waved slightly and you found yourself returning the gesture.

“He’s great.” You agreed, trying unsuccessfully to keep the sadness from your voice.

“Let me guess.” She put a hand over yours. “Mommy doesn’t approve?”

You forced a laugh as if you’d been caught. You hadn’t even considered what your mother would say about Joaquin. She’d probably love him, probably would’ve started dishing out down-payments for your wedding by now.

“My father hated my husband when I brought him home.” The woman laughed. “Destiny used to seem make-believe, but you’re destined for fall. You can’t choose who it is, and neither can your mother.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You nodded in thanks and made it back to Joaquin. You tucked yourself into his side and looked to the man he spoke with. “I hate to be rude, but I’d like to reclaim my date.”

“By all means.” The man gestured for you to go. “He’s a charming young man. Well done, Ms. Y/L/N.”

You nodded in thanks and pulled Joaquin away.

“You know, I think I’m getting the hang of this whole ‘rich people party’ thing.” Joaquin said proudly, tugging the front of his jacket slightly.

“Cool it, Casanova.” You laughed slightly. “We’re not here to network.”

“Right.” He nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. So… Where do we go now?”

You two managed to sneak away relatively quickly. You searched various offices, going up and up in floors until you nearly gave up. It was practically the last office on the last floor when Joaquin found it wedged behind a bookcase.

“I could kiss you!” You said happily.

He flushed immediately, stammering for a real response, and you had to laugh. You hugged the book and went for the exit.

You had only a split second to regret that decision. Not enough time for you to recognize the threat, to register the flash of silver, to reach for your own blade in your corset.

A sharp pain ignited in a long line down your back. The burning sensation wrapped from your back, around your waist and stopped near your belly button. You looked down in shock and saw the split in your gown, the growing stain of blood.

You wobbled on your feet from the explosion of pain and felt a strong pair of arms catch you. A warm piece of fabric was draped over your shoulders and pulled close. The hand that wasn’t locked on the ledger was wrapped around your midsection, trying to keep the blood inside your body.

That sword almost cut you in half.

You didn’t even register he was talking to you until he shook your shoulders.

“Y/N, we need to move. Can you walk?” He asked firmly.

Any hint of the charming, flirty man you masqueraded with was gone. In his place was the battle trained soldier, looking out for his own. He was looking into your eyes, and your heart sank at the worry reflected.

It really was bad.

“You’re not dying here. Understand?” He insisted.

You managed a weak nod and followed him out. He managed to keep you two in the shadows for the most part, avoiding the brunt of the search for you. You had only encountered three men, thankful they didn’t have swords as well, and you used the ledger to knock one of them out while Joaquin managed against the other two.

When you came back to the gala, Joaquin did the talking. He said you two were heading out for a much funner night but you’d sing their praises to your mother. A few name drops and handshakes later, Joaquin was able to get you into the car and begin the drive back.

Maybe an hour into the drive, you began to slip in and out of consciousness.

He reached over and immediately took your hand in his. He gave it a squeeze and your eyes opened a little wider.

“Stay with me, Y/N… C’mon.” He begged.

“We need to… to stop somewhere.” You said between shallow breaths. The bleeding had slowed but you were left exhausted and cold, despite Joaquin’s jacket still over your shoulders, and you had kicked off your heels at some point. You had half a thought to ask if you had bled through it. “We can’t drive… all the… all the way back…  like this.”

“Where are we gonna stop?” His voice was near desperation and you couldn’t stop the pang of guilt.

“Anywhere.” You gritted your teeth as you shifted in the seat. You took as deep a breath as you could manage and rapidly spoke in one long exhale. “First hotel you see. I don’t care the price or the quality or the size. You find us a room and make sure I live through this night.”

He said nothing but squeezed your hand again.

You didn’t know how long it was until you were pulling into a run down roadside hotel. You rummaged through your purse for your credit card and shoved it at him. He promised he’d be quick before locking you in the car.

True to his word, he was at your door with a room key quickly. He practically carried you to the hotel room.

Once the door closed, you all but collapsed. He was quick to catch you, but he wasn’t able to avoid your injury. You cried out at the pain, gripping his shirt sleeve.

He helped you to the bathroom and you needed his help to get the dress off. You didn’t know if it was his hands shaking or your body. The dress fell with a thud, leaving you in short spandex and a bra. Joaquin ran the tap and used one of the towels to clear the blood away. The friction of the rough fabric against the tender skin had you gripping the sink and wincing sharply.

“Shit, Y/N.” He muttered. You glanced up to meet his eyes in the mirror.

“That bad?” You rasped. Your body weight was mostly supported by the countertop.

“Now would be a great time for some special healing ability.” He flicked his attention to you with a nervous smile. “Any chance?”

“No.” You offered the same smile. “My bag in the trunk… It has a kit if you…”

“Hey.” His hands found your hips and turned you around. “Stay with me.”

“Trying…”

“Try harder.”

You nodded quietly, placing a hand on his arm. He looked down at it, smiled to himself, then focused on the slash across your stomach.

“Keep talking.” Your voice was close to a whisper but somehow, Joaquin heard.

“I, uh…” He began nervously. “I used to think you’d come to your senses, but you never did. You left me alone with all these questions… I didn't have answers but I also couldn’t have given you more.”

He squeezed your hip slightly and you made a noise of acknowledgement.

“I guess I accepted that you wouldn’t be mine again but…”

“But?” You croaked.

“I’ll always be yours, Y/N.”

You chuckled slightly as Joaquin’s eyes met yours.

“Tell me that when I’m coherent.” You smiled slightly.

He laughed a bit and nodded. “Let’s dress these wounds and get you something to eat. The guys’ll be pissed if you don’t make it back.”

You hummed in agreement and leaned into him. He guided you to the bed and sat you on the edge before he scurried off. Within five minutes, he was back with your pack on his shoulders and an arm full of vending machine treats.

He shoved an orange juice bottle and packet of pretzels into your hands while he rummaged in your pack. You lifted your arms while he placed, wrapped, and taped the dressing into place. The pain had dulled since you first got the wound or maybe you were used to it. The dizziness was receding slowly thanks to the snack Joaquin brought, which were both empty by the time he finished.

“Thank you.” You dropped the trash to the end table.

“I’m always here for you, Y/N, whether you want it or not.” He put a hand to your cheek for a moment.

“Joaquin, I…” You began, then found yourself lost for words.

There were things you could apologize for. But should you apologize for breaking up with him? For avoiding him? For getting yourself nearly sliced in half?

“We can talk about it later.” He offered kindly. “You feel okay?”

“All things considered, yeah… I’ll make it.”

“Good.” The relief was palpable in his tone. “You should rest now.”

You nodded quietly and shifted back against the flat pillow. The blanket was thin and scratchy, but the exhaustion overruled the quality of the bedding. You were lucid enough, however, to notice Joaquin wasn’t lying down.

“Joaquin?”

“The couch pulls out.” He reasoned.

“You should have the bed.” You began to push yourself up but his hands were gently forcing you back down. “Let me-“

“You almost bled out tonight. I think you deserve the bed.”

You grabbed one of his hands. “We can share. We’ve done it before.”

“You sure?”

“Please?” You pulled your best pout and he broke almost immediately.

He discarded his dress shirt and slacks before climbing into the bed beside you. You rolled to your other side to face him.

“Maybe it’s the near death experience talking…” You said quietly, as if you two were sharing secrets. “But I think I’ve come to my senses.”

“Yeah?” He brushed some loose hairs off your forehead. “Tell me in the morning.”

[zorilleerrant]

Vampires were less hidden, in the old days. We'd form our own noble courts that look just like the mortals', but we mingled. They'd invite us to their parties - lest we take offense - and we'd invite them to ours, if only because parties become awfully dull if there are always the same handful of people around. We never bit them. There used to be hospitality, in those days.

These days, parties are a free-for-all. The host takes no responsibility for anything anyone does, not even if someone turns to them for help. So while I'd never bite a friend who invited me over for coffee, and I'd never bite our dinner party guests... it's no longer a matter of checking invitations. Someone inevitably snuck in, but even the ones who didn't have no real expectation of politesse. So, yes, sometimes I bite them. I never check whether they survive.

Everything else is getting the slightest edge over someone by any means possible, too. Used to be they'd formally declare war, or send out a champion to duel me, or get too caught up in some religious thing and send out the monster hunters. Even they, back then, would nail a warning to our door, leaving us enough time to flee.

Not that we did. I've fought a lot of monster hunters, then and now. It was harder, then. They spent their lives training. They believed in the cause. Monster hunters now are picking it up late in life trying to fit it in around a 9 to 5, and the job doesn't even fit the hours anymore. One punch and they're out like a light - you can blow a handful of dust in their face and it doesn't have to be more than antihistamines now. I never felt bad for them, those early days.

I was young and idealistic, too, to be fair. They picked me for it. There's no use having a bodyguard who doesn't care to guard you, is there? And I do still care about Felix - I wouldn't stick around if I didn't - but everything else just seems unnecessary at this point. We're not making friends. We're not even making impressions. We barely fund the arts, and I have to say, what we do fund? Does not seem worth it these days.

We used to be champions. We used to duel to the death, but it was a rare, anticipated thing, held in coliseums worthy of the weight of the battle. We dueled a lot with lower stakes. Learned to respect each other. Some of us still talk.

New vampires? They'll sign people up off a dating app or some anonymous listing on any number of websites, turning fledges in droves. They hear vampire and don't understand there are limits to that strength, the same way there are limits to anyone else's. You wouldn't send a yellow belt into the international circuit, and yet. Easiest to take them from behind, before they notice. Easiest to put them out of their misery before they understand.

I expected the humans to be the worst of it. We always did. It was always looking at the innovation of war and thinking what the monster hunters might do to further it, dedicating their lives to the pursuit. It was supposed to be those that thought they had a higher calling - the monster hunters, or those caught in a religious frenzy, or some man of learning calmly explaining why things had to be this way to disciples dedicated to bothering me.

It wasn't supposed to be kids. It wasn't supposed to be the same idiots from the get-rich-quick schemes all the baby vampires like to pull. It was supposed to be elite assassins whose families had worked with someone for generations, or some prodigy trained up to kill with more finesse than ever seen before, not some intern dedicated to the grind. It was supposed to be more than convenience, more than something that might be nice if it went through.

Felix is safe enough at the business meetings, at the dinners, at the high society poker game. The parties are different; everyone there is a danger to everyone else, and I try to stick close by his side. Some people try something. I can never tell if it's planned, or an attack of opportunity, or if I'm thwarting some carefully orchestrated mind game. Or playing into one. It's the bars and clubs where he goes into the back rooms to talk about opportunities that worry me.

So I wait. Not inside, where the lights and the smoke and the screaming noise exist just to throw me off the scent. I wait in the alley, and every now and then there's someone there, and I make them disappear. It's not the real danger. Felix doesn't believe me about the real dangers, anyway, so it's never something I can protect him from. Just catching the occasional shitty assassin, learning to disarm bombs, and keeping an eye out in case the monster hunters invent a poison we're not immune to.

We never tried to hide. People just stopped believing in us. It makes it harder to intimidate them, sometimes, easier to catch them by surprise others. It's never bothered me that they can't see us. It's the fact that Felix can't see me, anymore. And he hasn't noticed yet that he's stopped thinking of us as his court.

You are the knight bodyguard of a vampire, but as the centuries went by it became less and less noble. Now you're mostly just a glorified servant, and when you fight it is not an honourable duel, it's shanking someone in an alleyway.

[chuulyssa]

there’s glitter on the floor after the party !

teaser it’s your birthday tonight, but do they remember, or care? pair gojo, nanami, geto, toji, sukuna x reader cw angst, just pure torture™, not proofread !

a/n it’s my birthday on 28th wooohoooo ! i wanted to be a sad girl tho *lana intensifies* let’s hope my parents take some notes and NOT do this

GOJO

for someone who liked cakes, sweets and celebrations so much, you didn’t think it would take this long for satoru to realize what day it was. you didn’t want to remind him either; he should remember it on his own, shouldn’t he? moreover, you had hated the look on his face when you reminded him of the anniversary date the two of you had planned together. he had panicked so hard and begun checking his notes and calendars, it was a pathetic sight, honestly.

“what?” his face had fallen immediately.

“don’t you remember?”

“uh, sweets, what exactly am i supposed to remember?” he had said.

he was just busy. but you had agreed upon this when you began dating him. not everyone was the strongest sorcerer in the world, not everyone had the number of things to do that he did.

“no, it’s fine.”

“you sure?” he had asked.

“yeah, it’s nothing, really.”

but you were quite sure he hadn’t forgotten. not this time. because you had checked in on his calendar a week before this, and today was marked rightly “her birthday” with a shit ton of emojis. so what was taking so long? maybe he was planning a surprise party? whatever it was, you didn’t think the prank needed to be dragged on for so long. since he remembered it, he ought to come out and celebrate already. and if he didn’t, well, whatever. you had many other birthdays to celebrate.

not when you saw that the party he kept was for someone else, some other girl, no

NANAMI

you’d been waiting for hours at this point. and it was nanami, the kento nanami. kento was never late, how could he be? if there was something he always relied on it was his ability to tell the time, whether it was his refusal to work overtime or his arrival on your dates before you.

so where was he now? he had hurried off in the morning before you had gotten a word out.

“i’m terribly sorry, sweetheart, i have to leave early today,” he had planted a quick kiss on your forehead.

“okay, okay,” you had blinked in confusion at his hurry. “where are you going though?”

“i have decided something.”

“decided what?”

he’d sighed cryptically. what was he hiding?

“it’s best if you didn’t know.”

“excuse me?”

he’d shaken his head and just… left? he hadn’t even wished you, not the night before, not the morning after. and just what had he decided? you were hurt, of course you were. where was he going in such a hurry? you had felt he had been growing distant from you for long now. but it did not make the pain of being left alone on your fucking birthday any better. but what could you do either way now? you had many other birthdays to celebrate.

not when you saw that he had returned to his sorcerer status, and completely abandoned all the plans the two of you had made for your future, no

GETO

he was too in love with his cult to notice, of course he was. suguru dumbass geto. of course it was his cult’s birthday today, who were you even? when he had first told you, to prevent yourself from crashing the fuck out, you had tried to shut up.

“oh.”

“yeah, so are you joining us tonight?” he had asked, as if he was bestowing an honour upon you by inviting you to his stupid party.

“i didn’t know you kept birthdays for your cult, haha,” please get the hint, you had prayed.

“we do, yes. you will join us tonight, hm? i want to take you there as my date.”

“oh, no, no i don’t think i will, actually.”

“huh, why not? you had been looking forward to this day for a long time, hadn’t you?”

yeah, you had. obviously you had. but when you were jumping around two weeks ago talking excitedly about a ‘birthday’, you did not mean it to be his cult’s day. was that too hard to notice? but all was okay, of course. ‘how could you ruin such a long relationship over a forgotten birthday?’ you were sure that’s what the older women of the cult would talk about if they knew. and besides, you had many other birthdays to celebrate.

not when he had decided to take another woman as his date for the event, showing that you were completely replaceable to him, no

TOJI

he had a mission planned out conveniently at midnight, just when the clock would strike 12 and you’d be a year older. but what could you say? it wasn’t as if it was in his control when someone wanted a person to die or not, he was just the man doing the job.

so you had let it go. one hour, two hours, twelve hours, eighteen hours, where the fuck was he?

“hey, sorry ma,” there was loud cheering from his side of the phone.

“where are you?”

“got this race i wanted to bet on actually—”

“shut up, no seriously, shut the fuck up, toji—”

“what? are you okay?”

“no i’m not, what the fuck—”

there was another cheer of celebration from his side. then silence.

“calm d—”

you hung up. 6pm and he was nowhere. you were sure even if he didn’t pick your call up that time. after this, he would go out drinking with shiu all night long, then come back home drunk and wobbling around, mumbling the tune to ‘happy birthday’ if he realized what day it was, and even then, you thought, you were being too optimistic with that last part. but he was an assassin, and you knew that. didn’t he deserve some happiness in life too? and you, you had many other birthdays to celebrate.

not when everyone tried to remind him of the day but he was too far gone to know, no

SUKUNA

what did you expect? your chamber to be full of decorations? the dining room to be laid with the most beautiful gifts ever? the corridors to be filled with balloons? though none of that was here, the mere mental image of sukuna blowing up balloons and trying not to pop them with his nails was funny.

funny. everything that could make your mind get off right now was funny. blowing the fire of your candelabrum out, leaving behind just smoke and discomfort. funny. pretending the dinner you had been served for the night was your highly expensive banquet designed just for tonight. funny. acting as if sukuna was right by your side, giggling, as if he didn’t always behave like human traditions meant nothing to him. funny.

“it’s my birthday, you know.”

“birthday? alright. what of it?”

“uh, birthday birthday? shouldn’t you be celebrating it?”

“what is there to celebrate? it is merely a day, no?” he had said it so simply that it made you backtrack.

“yes but—”

“and besides, you are only growing older. it would’ve been remarkable and truly something to celebrate if you had been growing younger by the days,” he chuckled, turning away from you to make his way to the council.

you laughed. funny. he was right though, wasn’t he? you had many other birthdays to celebrate.

not when he knew, he knew and he could not care less, showing his disdain for it too, no

of course, of course you had many other birthdays, many other years yet to come.

but not when it came at the expense of your self-respect, and you had to make a choice between loving and loving yourself, no

[youngsadlesbian]

THE ONE SHE CHOSE

pairing: taylor swift x reader

summary: what started as a secret turned into heartbreak. but when taylor finally chooses love over fear, will you be able to trust her again?

a/n: my first with taylor x reader in a romantic way. hope u like it <3

word count: 2,5k

warnings: angst but with a happy ending <3

The first time you met Taylor Swift, it was at a high-profile music industry party—one of those events where champagne flowed endlessly, executives laughed a little too loudly, and every conversation felt like a transaction. You had just landed your first major record deal, your name beginning to make its way through the industry like an echo of something promising.

And Taylor? She was already Taylor Swift. The empire. The legend. The woman whose songs had narrated your teenage heartbreaks and dreams in equal measure.

You hadn’t expected to meet her, much less talk to her. But somehow, fate—or maybe just good timing—placed you right beside her at the bar.

She turned her head, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, and smiled. "I don't think we've met yet."

Your throat dried instantly. "Uh—no. I mean, I’d remember if we had."

Her laugh was soft, effortless. "You’re the one everyone’s talking about. The rising star."

You tried to play it cool, shrugging as you picked up your drink. "And you’re the one everyone’s been talking about for, what? Almost two decades now?"

She smirked, swirling the wine in her glass. "Touché."

That night, the two of you talked like old friends. It was easy—too easy. She made you feel like you belonged, like you weren’t just another newcomer struggling to prove your worth. The industry could be ruthless, but in that moment, with Taylor by your side, you almost believed it didn’t have to be.

And so, the friendship began. The kind that was private, stolen between studio sessions and late-night texts.

The kind that turned into something more before you even had the chance to realize it.

It started as an adventure.

The kisses behind closed doors, the whispered secrets in dimly lit hotel rooms. You told yourself it was fine—this was Taylor Swift, and of course, things had to be complicated.

"Just us," she’d murmur against your lips, her hands tangled in your hair. "No cameras, no headlines."

And for a while, you didn’t mind. You were still finding your place in the world, and she was offering you something so intoxicating it felt worth the secrecy.

But then, the contract happened.

You had known about Hollywood relationships being fake before, but when you heard about this one—Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce, the golden couple—your heart clenched in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

At first, you pretended it didn’t bother you.

"He’s just for the public," she told you, lying in your bed after sneaking away from yet another high-profile event with him. "You know that."

And you did. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

Because then came the moments you hadn’t prepared for—watching her hold his hand in public, hearing her gush about him in interviews, seeing her eyes light up for him in a way that looked too real.

The way you had always wished she’d look at you.

The breaking point came on a quiet evening in your apartment. You were supposed to be happy—your album had just gone platinum, your name was no longer just a whisper but a headline of its own.

But all you could think about was Taylor.

About how you had been the one there in the silence, in the moments in between the flashing lights. And yet, she could never claim you the way she claimed him.

When she walked through your door that night, you didn’t even let her speak before saying, "I can’t do this anymore."

Her brows furrowed. "What?"

"This." You gestured between you. "Loving you in the shadows while the world thinks you love someone else."

She stepped closer, panic flashing in her eyes. "You know why I can’t—"

You shook your head. "I did know. And I let myself believe it was enough." You swallowed hard. "But it’s not."

Her hands reached for yours, but you pulled away.

"I wanted to be the person you’d be proud to love in front of the world," you admitted, voice breaking. "But I can’t keep pretending that hiding is the same thing as being loved."

The silence between you was deafening.

And then, barely above a whisper, she said, "I’m sorry."

But "sorry" wasn’t enough to stay.

So you left.

Years passed.

You became someone. The world knew your name, your music, your story. You stood on the biggest stages, your voice echoing in sold-out arenas.

And unlike Taylor, you had made the choice to be open.

You came out, let the world see you for who you were, and never hid the way your heart loved. And the world loved you for it.

Taylor never stopped watching from the sidelines.

She cheered for you in private, liked your posts from a secret account, hummed your songs when no one was listening.

She never stopped wanting you.

And then, one night, she found you again.

At another industry event, just like the first time.

You felt her before you saw her. And when you turned, there she was.

Older. Wiser. Still the most beautiful person you’d ever seen.

"Hey," she said, as if no time had passed at all.

"Hey," you replied, though your heart was hammering in your chest.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

And then, softly, she asked, "Are you happy?"

You hesitated. Because the truth was, you were. You had built a life for yourself, one where you didn’t have to hide, where love wasn’t a secret.

But Taylor had been your great love, your burning red, your almost.

And so you answered honestly. "I am."

She nodded, exhaling. "Good."

You should have left it at that.

But then, before you could stop yourself, you asked, "Are you?"

She looked at you for a long time, as if debating whether to tell the truth.

And finally, she whispered, "I could be."

For a moment, you weren’t sure you had heard her correctly.

"I could be."

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. Because that wasn't a yes, wasn't a declaration of contentment—it was a quiet admission that somewhere along the way, she had lost herself in the life she had chosen.

And then, as if realizing she had said too much, Taylor cleared her throat and offered a small smile. "I, um—I've been keeping up with you."

You raised an eyebrow, attempting to ignore the way your pulse quickened. "Oh?"

"Yeah." She tilted her head, watching you carefully. "You've been doing amazing. Headlining stadiums, breaking records." A pause. "Coming out."

You swallowed. That had been a turning point for you, a choice to live freely, without fear or shame. A choice you had made knowing full well that Taylor could never make the same one.

She shifted on her feet, gaze flickering away before she murmured, "And… dating a certain British pop star?"

Ah. There it was.

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. "Are you fishing for information, Swift?"

She gave you a look, one that was half-amused, half-something else—something unreadable. "Can you blame me?"

You thought about lying. About teasing her, leading her to believe the rumors were true just to see if it would crack that perfectly composed exterior of hers.

But you weren’t that person.

"She’s a friend," you admitted, watching her carefully. "We’ve collaborated, we spend time together, but—" You sighed. "No. I’m not dating her."

Taylor let out a breath, something that sounded dangerously close to relief, but she quickly masked it with a sip of her drink.

Still, you saw it.

You felt it.

"Why do you care?" you asked, keeping your voice soft but steady.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. "I don't know."

Liar.

She did know. She knew exactly why she cared.

"Taylor—"

"I shouldn't have let you go."

The words slipped out so quietly, so suddenly, that for a second you thought you had imagined them.

But then she was looking at you, truly looking at you, and you saw it—the weight of all the years, all the regrets.

And just like that, you were twenty-two again, sitting in your apartment with your heart in your hands, listening to her tell you she couldn’t.

Couldn’t love you the way you deserved.

Couldn’t give you a future where you didn’t have to hide.

Couldn’t be brave enough to choose you.

Your throat tightened. "Taylor, don’t do this if you’re not sure."

She stepped closer. "I am sure."

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. "No, you’re not. You weren’t back then, and I can’t—" You swallowed hard. "I can't go through that again. I won't."

Her eyes softened, and this time, when she spoke, it was almost a plea. "I've spent years pretending that I don’t miss you. That I don’t regret every single moment I let you believe you weren’t enough for me."

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the way your heart was screaming at you to believe her.

"Let me prove it to you," she whispered.

You hesitated. Because this—this was everything you had wanted back then.

But was it still what you wanted now?

Could you risk it?

Could you let her back in, knowing what it had cost you the first time?

Taylor reached for your hand, fingers barely brushing against yours.

"You don’t have to decide right now," she murmured. "But if there’s even a part of you that still believes in us, I—" She swallowed. "I won’t hide anymore."

The weight of her words settled between you, heavy and undeniable.

And for the first time in years, you felt something crack open in your chest.

Hope.

Maybe—just maybe—this time, you wouldn’t have to be her secret.

Maybe this time, she would choose you.

You didn't give her an answer that night.

Despite the raw honesty in Taylor's words, the years of unspoken longing, and the way your heart ached to believe her, you weren't ready to just fall back into her arms.

She had to prove it.

And she did.

Slowly. Patiently.

Taylor started texting you again—not in the casual, distant way she had before, but genuinely. She wanted to know how your day was, if you had eaten, what book you were reading. She sent you songs she had been working on, asking for your opinion. It was a small thing, but you knew what it meant coming from her—sharing her work had always been the most intimate way she could express herself.

Still, you kept your distance, only meeting up with her a few times over the next couple of months. And always in private.

Because as much as you wanted to believe she had changed, a part of you still feared history repeating itself.

But then she started doing something different. Something she never would have done back then.

She started mentioning you in interviews.

Nothing obvious at first. Just small things. A passing comment about how talented you were. A story about a song you had written together years ago.

Then, she started going to your shows.

It was discreet at first—backstage visits, sitting in the VIP area with a hoodie pulled over her curls. But the real shift came when she posted about your album.

Not a cryptic like on a tweet. Not an anonymous Spotify playlist addition.

An actual Instagram post.

"This record is magic. I'm so proud of you, always."

The internet exploded.

For the first time, Taylor Swift wasn’t pretending you didn’t exist.

For the first time, she was acknowledging you in a way she never had before.

And you? You felt something shift inside of you.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not yet.

The real turning point came one night in New York.

You were at an awards afterparty, chatting with a few friends, when you felt it—the unmistakable weight of her gaze from across the room.

When you looked up, Taylor was already making her way toward you, completely ignoring the small group of people she had been talking to.

Your heart did that thing again. That stupid, hopeful, aching thing.

But you forced yourself to stay put as she finally stopped in front of you.

"Hey," she said, voice warm but hesitant.

"Hey," you returned, tilting your head. "What are you doing over here? Thought you were busy charming the room."

A small smirk played at her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "I got bored."

"Of them?"

"Of pretending I wanted to be talking to anyone else but you."

Your breath hitched, but you refused to let her see how much those words affected you. "Smooth, Swift."

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. But then her expression softened.

"Come outside with me?" she asked.

You hesitated, but something in her voice, in the quiet please hidden between her words, made you nod.

The air was crisp as the two of you stepped onto the balcony, the city buzzing below. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, Taylor exhaled and turned to you. "I meant what I said."

You looked at her, waiting.

She swallowed. "That I don’t want to pretend anymore. That I want to be with you—for real, this time."

Your chest tightened. "You say that, but—"

"I'm going to tell them," she interrupted, voice firm.

You blinked. "Tell who?"

"Everyone."

It took you a second to process her words. "Taylor—"

"I don’t care what happens. I don’t care about the rumors, or the media, or the backlash. The only thing I care about is you."

Your throat felt tight. "Are you sure?"

She stepped closer, reaching for your hands. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."

And when she looked at you like that, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, you believed her.

Maybe—just maybe—this time, she really had chosen you.

It happened a week later.

It was a random Tuesday, and you were in your apartment when your phone started blowing up.

You frowned, unlocking it, only to see her name trending everywhere.

With shaky fingers, you clicked on the video that everyone was talking about.

It was a clip from an interview. Taylor, sitting across from the host, answering a question about love.

And then, with a soft, almost nervous smile, she said your name.

Out loud.

In front of the whole damn world.

"She’s incredible. One of the most talented, kind, and beautiful people I’ve ever known. And, um—" She laughed, almost to herself, shaking her head. "I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m very, very in love with her."

You stared at the screen, barely breathing.

Taylor had just confirmed it.

No contracts. No secrecy. No hiding.

She had chosen you.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe—

This was the beginning of something real.

[luvfae]

BAD INVESTMENT

PART NINE

summary: while you and thanos are both dealing with your growing feelings for each other (as much as thanos will never admit it), you believe that you can have the best of both worlds.

parings: thanos/choi su bong x f!reader, lee myung gi x f!reader

warnings: swearing, cheating, implied smut

bad investment masterlist

It was at this moment Thanos knew he fucked up.

You weren’t supposed to matter. You were supposed to be a means to an end—a way to get under Myung-Gi’s skin, to make him suffer the way Thanos had suffered.

But now? Now, you were in his fucking head.

It started small. Random flashes of your body, the way you moved on top of him, the bruises you left on his skin. He’d be sitting at a poker table, listening to some guy ramble about investments, and suddenly his brain would short-circuit because fuck, he could still hear your voice in his ear, that filthy, breathless moan when you came all over his cock.

He tried to shake it. Tried to fuck someone else to clear his mind.

Didn’t work.

He had some girl under him, moaning like she thought it would make up for the fact that she wasn’t you. But the moment he closed his eyes, all he could picture was you—your hands, your voice, your fucking laugh.

And just like that, he went soft.

Pissed him off so bad that he kicked her out without a word, then tried to get himself off alone.

Didn’t work either.

You had fucking ruined him.

But the thing was—he had ruined you, too.

You were going to break up with Myung-Gi.

That was the plan. That was the only thing that made sense, because after what happened with Thanos, there was no way you could just go back to playing the role of Myung-Gi’s sweet, doting girlfriend.

But then he came home drunk, slurring about how much he loved you, how much he needed you. His hands were all over you, his voice sticky with desperation, and before you knew it, his head was between your thighs.

And you actually came.

Albeit—you were thinking about Thanos.

But still, Myung-Gi’s tongue had gotten you there, and that had to count for something, right?

That was the moment you realized… maybe you didn’t have to choose.

Maybe you could have the best of both worlds.

It was reckless.

It was fucked up.

But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t care.

So, one night, curled up on the couch beside Myung-Gi, you tested the waters.

“What’s your opinion on open relationships?” you asked casually.

He barely glanced up from his phone. “What do you mean?”

“Like, two people date, but they also fuck other people on the side.”

Myung-Gi frowned, finally looking at you. “So… cheating?”

“It’s not cheating if both people agree,” you shrugged. “It’s, like, a mutual thing.”

He blinked at you, confused. “Why are you asking me this?” His voice sharpened, his eyes narrowing. “Are you thinking about someone else?”

Your heart kicked against your ribs. Shit.

“No,” you said quickly, forcing a laugh. “It’s just something my friends were talking about. I was curious what you thought.”

He hummed, eyes lingering on you like he wasn’t sure whether to believe you.

“What’s the point of dating if you’re just gonna fuck other people?” he asked finally.

You nodded, laughing like you hadn’t just been caught red-handed. “Yeah. It’s dumb, right?”

Myung-Gi didn’t laugh.

Instead, he watched you a little too closely.

And that was the moment he started getting suspicious.

The suspicion started small.

Little things, little changes in the way Myung-Gi looked at you, how he lingered when you spoke, how his hand stayed on your waist a second too long—like he was trying to remind you he was there, like he was scared you’d forget.

You started catching him staring when he thought you weren’t looking, his jaw clenched, his fingers drumming against the table.

You hadn’t seen Thanos since that night—almost two weeks ago—but that didn’t mean you weren’t still tangled up in him.

You were sending him pictures when Myung-Gi was asleep, bare and glistening in the dim glow of your living room, your fingers spreading yourself open just how Thanos liked.

You were slipping into the shower just to hear his voice, whispering filthy things into the speaker while hot water drowned out your moans.

And when it was over—when you were spent and breathless, shaking from the high—you scrubbed yourself clean, erased the messages, deleted the call logs.

Like it had never happened.

Like Thanos wasn’t always on your mind.

And for a while, it worked.

But Myung-Gi was no idiot.

The paranoia started seeping in, bleeding into the cracks of your relationship, turning everything into a fucking interrogation.

He started checking your phone when you were asleep.

Started keeping tabs on your location.

Started touching you more, kissing you longer, whispering things like, You’re mine, right? in between slow, desperate kisses.

It was suffocating.

And yet—you stayed.

Because you loved him so fucking much it hurt.

But the second Myung-Gi left for work this morning, you were slipping out of your apartment, taking a cab to the one place you weren’t supposed to be.

Thanos’ place.

And the second he opened the door, hair messy, eyes dark, you knew you had made the right fucking choice.

“You again?” he smirked, leaning against the doorframe, eyes dragging over you in that slow, devouring way. “What, Myung-Gi not doing it for you?”

You stepped inside, pressing your body against his.

“No,” you admitted, your lips brushing against his jaw. “Not even close.”

His hands were on you in an instant, rough, impatient. And then he was dragging you to his bedroom, where you let him ruin you all over again.

[sal-absinthii]

I sincerely think that a lot of this comes from the fact that it's so popular to hate JKR as a person, and specifically anything to do with her real or projected/imagined social views, that most of the people doing this are simply not interested in giving her any credit as a writer, or else they assume the worst because that's what they want to assume. I saw someone make the accusation that it must be "her dream" to see a functionally apartheid society like that which exists between wizards and muggles, based I can only assume on her relatively conservative views about transgender people, from which they extrapolate that she must hold any view they personally disagree with, even though she has never to my knowledge expressed anything other than mainstream liberal-leaning views about any other topic.

I'm not going to argue about the content of her more-recently-than-HP expressed views or that people ought to feel any particular way about her, everyone is certainly allowed to have their opinions, including both her and her haters, but I do think that this is a very poor attitude to have for anyone who wants to do any literary analysis. As a reader, you're supposed to find instances of things not adding up, or being different than what they appear on the surface, and to ask yourself "why is this the case? What is the author trying to say by this incongruency?" If the way a character is described by other characters seems at odds with that character's actions, that is not ~the narrative~ saying that they are not at odds, nor is it a plot hole, or an indication that the author "really means" that bad actions are actually good or vice versa. You're supposed to ask, that's the point, and as this in particular is a recurring theme in the series, the failure of people to even try to do this is alarming and frustrating. While JKR has certainly not been entirely original in all of her ideas and leaves much to be desired in terms of worldbuilding if you are expecting Tolkien-level consistency, that does not mean that she does not know how to construct a story or portray characters. Writing off everything that seems like a contradiction to what you've previously been told as a plot hole is very unfruitful; what can you do with that? If you can simply write off everything you don't want to poke into further as being a mistake, then there is nothing left to do as a reader and you might as well go back to picture books, as apparently chapter books are too mentally taxing for you at this stage of development.

Any halfway-competent author will give the audience enough credit to be able to read between the lines a bit and pick up on patterns and hints, and any halfway-competent audience must in turn operate under the assumption that the writer is putting things in there in a certain way for a reason. This is not a "sometimes the curtains are just blue" kind of thing, this goes beyond that into a level of wilful ignorance that I cannot believe this many people really have when it comes to all media in general. This is not Ulysses, this is a book series meant for and about children/teenagers; it is not meant to be particularly difficult for readers to see the symbolism and meaning of, and therefore I think they must be choosing not to. The frustrating recurring thing I see is adult readers (many with the benefit of having read it usually more than once) being less capable than traumatised teenage Harry himself to understand that initial perceptions can be wrong and things aren't necessarily to be taken at face value. Harry, who is half the age or less of the average fan these days, who has been abused and manipulated and slandered his whole life, and who is actually affected in real ways by the other characters and events of the story, is still able to understand concepts like "maybe there are shades of grey and the world isn't all good people and Death Eaters" and that the people you thought were heroes as a child are actually complex and flawed people like everyone else and to understand the motivations of antagonistic characters, when these adult fans who have seen the whole thing laid out for them still refuse to acknowledge that a character may have an agenda or be an unreliable narrator or being unduly influenced by their projections, and often act like anyone who doesn't adequately despise the characters they don't like and defend the characters they relate to are personally attacking them.

There is also the Tumblr-popular element of demanding every piece of media come with a neat and unproblematic moral that is then gently and unambiguously spoonfed to the audience as if they were three years old, which is developmentally well below even a book series meant for young teenagers and irritating as hell. A character doing/saying/supporting/allowing bad things does not mean that unless ~the narrative~ literally spells out "but this is evil and bad and now he's going to be punished for it" the author must be trying to say that it's morally correct and praiseworthy. As I choose to believe that most people are not actually that stupid, I think this again comes down to a desire to feel smug by finding anything you can to claim that a work or a creator is "problematic" and that by condemning them loudly for it, even when that is completely ridiculous, you establish yourself as clearly morally superior (and, I suspect, safe from the attacks of fellow internet extremists who will attack you if you show any reluctance or hesitancy about saying exactly how much you hate so-and-so/such-and-such for being Bad -- better make sure you pin that post/bio about how much you hate JKR, the actual devil incarnate, before anyone accuses you of being a bigot by association).

It's always frustrating to me when I see people's misunderstandings about the degree to which a writer's words and writing choices are intentional. There are many types of writing and some people may be writing for fun or whatever, but in a story that is complex and carefully put together, the writer's choices are not coincidences or things that just so happen to be that way, they are carefully and precisely made choices that are designed that way to communicate something to the reader.

Surprisingly often I will see people write these complex and meaningful HP analyses, and then end their post with 'but I'm sure Rowling didn't mean any of that, or even think about it, she just wrote it this way because she's stupid.' All of that was somehow magically in the text for you to find and analyze, and she didn't even mean to write it? EVERY word of these books was typed by a human hand and reread with human eyes.

Think of how for example people will say foolish things like 'Did JKR just forget that Bellatrix was married?' Bellatrix being married is a HUGE part of who she is, who Voldemort is, how the DEs function, how the traditional pureblood families and marriages and culture function... You're missing SO MUCH of the meaning in the text by denying the writer's intentionality.

Same with things like mistaking her world-building for being statements of her real-world beliefs. 'Here's an in-depth analysis of what the text implies about gender and sexism in pureblood culture... but JKR probably just wrote all this because she's sexist, and I magically put meaning into it that makes perfect sense' ??? The idea that a writer will only write sexism into their fictional world because they're communicating that they think sexism is good is insanity. Characters don't do things solely because their writer thinks that is proper behavior. Characters' behaviors or words, or elements of the fictional world the story exists in, are not straight-forward statements of what the writer thinks is good or ideal, and in fact are often the opposite. If you can't analyze things with such complexity, that's a problem with your reading comprehension, not with the text.

Or, when people will treat the text too much like it's a real life event that happened, rather than something that was carefully put together by hand to mean something. I love analyzing characters and the HP world like they're real, but when you find yourself denying meaning by using logic like 'well it probably just happened that way for no deeper reason' you're just misunderstanding what fiction is.

For example attempting to disprove the numerous hints at the Bellatrix/Voldemort relationship by saying things like 'but other people call her Bella so it could have meant anything' or 'there are other types of pleasure than sexual so it could have meant anything.' But why would Rowling choose that word? And put it right next to Bellatrix longing for his physical closeness? And why would she set up this exchange at all? Why 'lover'? Why 'lover' placed so directly with physical closeness and care? Why 'lover' and 'pleasure' and 'longing' and 'closeness' in the same book? Why have Harry point out that she's acting in an intimate way that invokes being lovers? Why do other characters later use 'Bella,' if not to communicate that it's used by people she considers/ed family?

When everything that 'could mean anything' all lead to the same answer, why is that? Why are you assuming Rowling's implications are for some reason unintentional? Unintentional over and over and over again? If many readers are catching it, why are you assuming she's not smart enough to catch it herself? The only person not catching it here is you. Word choices or words with clear connotations are not random or accidents or coincidences, particularly when several of them occur in quick succession or when it's associated repeatedly with the same two characters. Nor are characterizations or patterns in the text. If you read that way, that's a misunderstanding on your end (not with the author, not with other readers) so don't complain when you can't understand the text. 'I'm going to act like the person who wrote this is stupid, and therefore ignore everything that the text is saying, and then say the text sucks' is YOU being an idiot. Notice how other people don't have this issue when they analyze actual meaning and intentionality in the text

[porters-fangs]

and what if i said that when treasure asked to be turned, porter refused to be the one to do it

treasure knew what they wanted. deep down, they always had - they’d just always been too reluctant to take it.

they were always preoccupied with the feelings of others, bending over backwards to make life just a little easier for everyone else, no matter what that meant for them.

they’d never done anything for themself before. never been selfish. guilt settled like lead in the pit of their stomach at the mere thought. they were supposed to be helpful.

they were supposed to be kind. people only ever liked them when they made themself useful. people only ever wanted them around if they promised to make it worthwhile.

“hey, bring drinks when you come over later.”

“do my hair for me? please? you’re so good at it.”

“mind picking us up? what? no, i’m not drunk.”

they would drag themself out of bed every morning at 2AM if it meant their friends would let them stick around. they needed this.

until they’d met him, that was.

he’d taken them by the hand and guided them from the haze that was their need to please. he’d kissed their eyes and cleared the fog from their vision. he’d convinced them that they were worth more than they ever could’ve imagined.

maybe it was time to be selfish.

————————

porter solaire didn’t get attached. porter solaire didn’t love. porter solaire didn’t let people mean something to him.

they’d wormed their way into his heart like a parasite that he didn’t want to be rid of, knocking down his walls with reckless abandon and picking at the weakest parts of him until they bled.

he’d always liked the sting.

if he could hurt, he could feel. if he could bleed, he could breathe. if he was in pain, he was alive.

hit me.

choke me.

bite me.

it was more than pleasure. their skin flush against his, their palm striking his cheek with a hot flash, their blood pooling on his tongue. it was rapture.

it was existing.

laying under them, their flesh warm and alive, their eyes wide and bright, he existed and he was allowed to be.

not the right hand of a king.

not the cold-blooded assassin.

not the bastard progeny of some frenzied lunatic.

porter.

————————

porter had dreaded those words from the moment he’d realised that this human meant something to him

try as he might to protect his treasure from the cruel reality of his world, their curiosity wouldn’t go unsated.

he knew he was a fool to withhold the truth. his treasure was perceptive. they knew every twitch of his mouth, every hitch of his breath, every stutter of his heart.

he could try to push them away for as long as he wanted. they’d keep coming back.

he should’ve seen it coming. every time their eyes glinted when he bared his fangs. every time they placed their soft hand over his heart, feeling it slowly pick up beneath those unyielding muscles. every time their fingers brushed over the delicate points of his ears.

hell, when they first met, even. they’d stared into his eyes like they were trying to drown themself in the silver they found there.

when they finally asked him to turn them, he just stared, those same eyes glazing over.

he couldn’t.

bear progeny of his own? he’d banished that idea long ago.

allow his treasure to become his pawn?

never.

he couldn’t stomach the thought of them at his mercy.

he’d contemplated their power imbalance once before, the first time treasure had begged him to let them in - let them help.

he’d shut them out then, too.

porter considered his answer as they blinked at him expectantly, hopeful eyes shining in anticipation.

those eyes.

in his head, he saw treasure - but something was wrong. they weren’t his treasure.

ears pulled up into sloping points, sharp teeth and a sharper tongue - and those eyes.

flat and grey, dull gaze meeting his, just like every time he looked in the mirror, bile searing his throat, just like every time he had to face himself.

he couldn’t.

and so they’d go elsewhere.

and they’d come back to him, just like they always did.

but they would never be his treasure again.

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Last (Sam Winchester x female reader)

It was never supposed to happen. But this is the last time. It has to be.

Read it on AO3

My 2024 Kinktober series

Rated E. 1.1k words. Cheating (kind of the worst kind). Secrets. Grief. Temptation.

The sheets rustle behind you when Sam sits up, and from the way he sounds you can tell he’s leaning forward, long outstretched legs slightly angled, elbows resting on knees. You know the white sheet must have slipped off him far enough to reveal his chest, his arms, the tan skin and the hair on both, the feeling of it ghosting under your fingertips.

You know that he’s staring at the back of your head with those sweet, dark eyes. Guilt probably making him feel sick to his stomach as well.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed and your hand goes up to wipe at the tears you started crying after you woke up. You wait for Sam to say something, but he doesn’t.

“This was the last time,” you say, not turning to him. Your voice sounds thick from the tears, but you don’t care. “I can’t do this anymore.” Sam’s quiet for a moment before he answers.

“I know,” he says.

“It’s not right,” you add, and he only repeats it. You bite your lip in the hope it will stop new tears from flowing.

“If he’s…” you start, but can’t continue, the thought too horrible.

“He can never know,” Sam says, voice final. Sam’s moral, always tries to do the right thing, but he knows how tremendously he has fucked up. He knows there’s no path that leads to being able to justify this, even if his brother is out there howling at the moon with Crowley. There is no explanation, nothing that can ever make this right.

So, he has decided, a lie is, in this case, the best and only solution. Because he could not stand it if Dean ever finds out. He wouldn’t survive it. And neither would Dean.

You turn around, look at Sam. In the low light of the room, Sam can see the glistening trail of tears on your cheeks. You’re naked, and somehow the bunker’s sterile light makes it look like you’re bathed in moonlight. Sam can’t stop his eyes from flickering down to your breasts, remembering how just a little while ago he wrapped his lips around your nipple and you arched up at him, ran your hand into the thick hair at the back of his neck to pull him closer.

He blinks a few times, tries to shake himself out of the memory. You are still looking at him.

“If he comes back… if we can heal him…” you start, but then stop again. It’s not like either of you hasn’t said the same thing a million times. Grief over Dean’s death and then relief that he wasn’t dead has thrown you both for a loop. You’ve both been on edge for weeks, too little sleep, too much caffeine. Too much fear. That you can’t get Dean back, or worse, that he will come back, but as he is now. A demon.

That he’ll come back and you save him and that he finds out.

It wasn’t until one night not so long ago that Sam decided he needed assistance to sleep, which was when you found him drinking in the library. Your first instinct was to stop him, but there was no point, so you joined him instead. You didn’t have the energy for anything else, not with Dean out there, doing God knows what. God knows who.

You want to scoff at yourself, at the fact that he is a demon and your biggest worry is that he is with other women. The thought of it, of the gold band on your finger not meaning anything anymore, that he is out there, back to his old ways…

No. No, you tell yourself, don’t lie. Is that really your greatest worry? That he’s sleeping around? Or are you just trying to justify what you have been doing? Trying to justify why only an hour earlier you were on your back, ass at the foot of the bed, body covered in a sheen of sweat, one of your legs hooked over Sam’s elbow while your husband’s brother fucked you without abandon?

Is this the payback? The payback for what Dean might be doing? Not even Dean. This demon inside of him. You don’t want to think like that, don’t want to be this petty, but your brain keeps grasping at things to justify yourself. All it lands on is the image of your fingernails scratching down Sam’s thick biceps, begging him to fuck you harder while he lowers his head to suck a mark into your neck in response.

A mark. The irony isn’t lost on you.

Neither of you is sure who made the first move that night in the library, who cracked first. Who was more desperate, lonelier. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe you stopped caring the moment Sam pushed you down on the table, held you in place and slammed himself into you, your mind blissfully emptied by the fullness he provided.

You’ve ended up like this most nights since. You both tell yourselves you need this, that it helps you focus. It’s a lie. You don’t know what it is.

The good thing, and the horrible thing at the same time, is that it’s the only time you don’t think about Dean. Not the bad parts, not the good parts. And maybe that is the real betrayal. That you and Sam are together, the two people closest to Dean, who are supposed to love him the most, and you don’t think about him. You only think about each other. Bodies moving in the dark, gasps and moans and heads filled with nothing but the want for more.

Sam is sitting there, beautiful and sad. You swallow and then you crawl onto the bed. Kneel naked before him, chest rising and falling slowly.

“This was the last time,” you say, just like you do every night. Sam nods, and then he reaches for you. Drags you towards him, runs his hands all over, your lips meet, roughly, desperately.

This is the last time, you repeat in your head.

His fingers find your wetness and you work yourself down on him while he watches you, sees your face contort and your body squirm. He wonders if you look the same when Dean touches you, and then he stops thinking about anyone else, fills his mind with you.

This is the last time.

You ride Sam, him sitting up, large hand splayed over your back. The other hand goes up to brush your hair out of your face and the gentleness of it nearly undoes you.

This is the last time.

One of these nights, it will be. And it will be because Dean is back, because you’ve saved him. The other option is too horrible, too terrifying. You can’t think about it.

But then Sam makes you forget and you make him forget and at least for a little while, you are free.

[alfascorpiionux]

The dilemma of Moon in 8th house | Moon in Scorpio

“Have you ever felt like a lone and abandoned hair band steeped in mud and then stepped over by gigantic heels of strange creatures you can call by name? Sure enough, a hair band can be cleaned but what if it’s torn? Could it still be used to proudly hold and adorn your hair, whilst the two of its ends are tied in a knot? How long will that band fulfill its function? Playfully a person might decide to twist it between their fingers, testing its elasticity, how far and wide it could be stretched or what shapes and designs could it create before rupturing again. Well, it’s just a a band, surely it can be retied or replaced altogether. But what if you’ve got only one gigantic band your whole life that’s wrapped tightly against your soul and that is ruptured in not a singular place but a multitude? Every rupture brings unimaginable pain and a lingering sense that it’s all a tasteless joke, a stage act that had become way too personal, that it’s a ultimately all worthless and this feeling of doom will have no end. Emotional distress on this natives hits harder than on anybody else. They live and breath the people they care for and any pain caused to or by them is a true tragedy that’s to be remembered for an undetermined length of time. Possibly their whole lives.

8th house is the house of death and new beginnings and as such is the emotional life of these natives. A perpetual oscillation from chaos to clarity and then back again. This means constant change in the way they view and relate to things. A deep and very transformative journey that’s profoundly lonesome at its core. You probably felt like you cannot truly confide in people, even those closest to your heart and that have never disappointed you, let alone strangers. Who, if not you, knows better than anyone about the deceptive and reprehensible ways in which people can act, at times in the name of love or just to prove a point to themselves? You cannot fully trust even yourself, can you? But that’s the closest bet you can find. So there is no other choice.

Continuing my hair band analogy, let’s suppose that a different person was responsible for each of the ruptures, which in turns gives us at least a couple of lingering ghosts that’ll keep hunting the graveyard of this person’s heart, never to leave. A reminder of what should never be allowed again.

I like to think that inside this graveyard, there is a golden church with a priest and then there’s everything outside of the gates which is the outside world. Only the very select and special few will be given the privilege to enter this church and take on the role of priests. For this native loves certain people not only deeply but also with admiration and abandon to the point they would do anything for them. The ghosts hunting the graveyards represent the past that never leaves them. Sometimes they are so insistent they try strangling both the appointed priest and its follower (who is the native him/herself). The ultimate goal would be to disrobe the priest turning them back into what they were before entering the gates: flawed humans reaching out for a connection. Only this time they would stand side by side holding hands, bravely walking through the graveyard, headless of ghosts and step out the front gate towards a future that’s entirely theirs: a new home or a new journey. Unfortunately people usually won’t even ring the bell at the gate, let alone reach the church to become a priest. And thus, mostly the natives face their army of ghosts alone. In the lack of a priest something else becomes their guiding star, ultimately. The way outside will be a lot more arduous and long-lasting.

Such is the nature of these people: constantly changing and yet always somehow the same. These are the people that will cry in despair when everyone is gleaming with joy. The one person silently jotting down ideas in his notebook with a forlorn expression. The one that says I am happy, and maybe truly thinks he is, but truthfully believes happiness is overrated and too abstract of a concept to aim towards. Will I find meaning in what I do or will my life be just a mere mirage so easy to shatter, a copy of other people’s ? Better yet, will I find the sort of deep connection I am longing for?”

[somethings-are-meant-tobe]

"All the Stars in the Sky"

Dean doesn’t do big speeches. He doesn’t do grand, sweeping declarations.

But he does do road trips.

So, after everything—after fighting his way through the Empty, after pulling Cas back, after finally saying the words—Dean does what feels right. He packs up the Impala, tells Cas they’re going for a drive, and just goes.

They end up in the middle of nowhere, somewhere with open roads and golden fields. Cas doesn’t question it, just sits in the passenger seat like he’s belonged there forever. Dean slips a tape into the player—one he made just for this, full of songs that don’t quite say "I love you" outright, but sure as hell mean it.

Cas doesn’t say anything, but his hand lingers on the seat between them, close enough that Dean could take it if he wanted.

And maybe someday, he will.

---

By the time they stop, the sun is setting over a lake. It’s quiet, still, nothing but the sound of water lapping against the shore. Dean grabs two fishing poles from the trunk.

Cas raises an eyebrow. “You fish?”

Dean smirks. “It’s supposed to be relaxing.”

Cas hums like he’s not convinced, but he follows Dean to the dock anyway. They sit there, legs dangling over the edge, lines cast into the water. They don’t catch a damn thing, but Dean doesn’t care. Cas looks content, and that’s enough.

---

Later, when the sky turns to velvet and the first stars flicker to life, Dean turns on the radio. A slow song plays—soft, old, the kind that makes you want to sway without thinking about it.

Dean hesitates for all of two seconds before holding out a hand. “C’mon, angel. Humor me.”

Cas blinks. “You want to dance?”

Dean shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Figured you earned it, what with me dragging your ass outta the Empty and all.”

Cas smiles—small, fond—and stands.

Dean’s not graceful, never has been, but Cas doesn’t seem to care. They move slowly, swaying under the open sky, the Impala’s headlights casting them in gold. Dean’s hand is warm against Cas’s back. Cas’s fingers are steady where they curl around Dean’s shoulder.

The song ends, but neither of them lets go.

---

They lay on the hood of the Impala, looking up at the stars. The night stretches wide above them, endless.

Cas points toward a cluster of stars, tracing them with his finger. “That’s Orion. A great hunter, like you.”

Dean scoffs. “Dude got stuck in the sky. Not exactly my kinda ending.”

Cas turns his head, watching Dean carefully. “I could tell you another story.”

Dean smirks. “Yeah?”

Cas nods, then points to another constellation. “That’s Cygnus. In one story, it was a man who sacrificed himself to save his friend. The gods turned him into a swan so he could live among the stars.”

Dean swallows. “Sounds like a raw deal.”

Cas tilts his head. “He got to be with the people he loved. I don’t think he saw it that way.”

Dean doesn’t have a response for that. Instead, he looks at the sky—at all of it—and thinks about how Cas helped build it. How the angel who shaped the stars, who stitched light into the universe, loves him.

It’s almost too big to hold in his chest.

Cas shifts beside him, quiet for a long moment before whispering, “Do you think you would have loved me, if I were still an angel?”

Dean turns his head, meets Cas’s gaze in the dark. “Cas,” he says, voice rough, soft. “I did.”

Cas doesn’t breathe for a second. Then, slowly, he reaches out, taking Dean’s hand where it rests on the hood of the car. Dean squeezes back.

They don’t need to say anything else. The stars above them have already heard enough love stories.

------------‐--------the end---------------------

What do you think?? This was so beautiful to write, and I love the idea of Dean being awed by the fact that the angel who built the stars loves him back. It’s such a perfect way for him to realize just how huge and real Cas’s love is.

[snakebites-and-ink]

Hí hí!!! I have a request :3

A villain Whumpee whom was a big big issue for the heroes, until the heroes managed to capture them and torture them in the name of "justice" before becoming their Caretaker once they believe the villain's been thoroughly "redeemed", the villain having become a mass of coping mechanisms and survival strategies due to the trauma and reduced to an overly-fawning constantly-afraid mess despite previously being super cocky and arrogant :3 (bonus if the villain's winged!!!!!)

Thanks for the request! I had fun with it :)

CW: Imprisonment, corrupt "heroes", stress position, implied other tortures, conditioning, messed up view of redemption

Villain was marched into the superheroes’ headquarter by a triumphant hero. Villain was kept bound in power-dampening cuffs, and surrounded by heroes ready to overpower any attempt at escape. They tried to break free, of course, they had to at least try, but they were quickly snagged and towed back to the center of their escort.

As they were taken through the building, Villain was met with taunts and disdain, while the hero who’d caught them was greeted with cheers and congratulations. Villain tried to lash out but was manhandled back into position.

“Thank goodness. You’ve been a thorn in our side for far too long,” one of the heroes said to Villain as they neared the procession.

“All the things you’ve destroyed, the people you’ve hurt…You’re a demon. You even look like one.” The hero reached out to touch the edge of their wing, and Villain jerked it away with a dark glare.

“Now, now,” Superhero interjected, “We don’t judge people based on what they look like, we judge what they’ve done. But I’m afraid Villain has done some rather horrible things.” The regret in their tone sounded more mocking than genuine. Then they spoke to Villain directly: “But don’t worry. We’ll give you a chance to make up for it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Villain snarled.

“Nasty temper, too,” Superhero tsked. “But no matter. The point is, everyone deserves a chance at redemption. And we’re going to help you with that. You pay for your crimes, and you might get a chance at something better. That’ll all depend on you.”

“I don’t need your redemption.”

“Of course you do, villain.”

Superhero barked some orders, and Villain was dragged to a cell. They struggled once more, but couldn’t get free, not surrounded by superheroes and with their powers dampened. They were thrown in, to wait for their ‘redemption’ to start, whatever that would mean.

* * *

Villain shook with strain as they were held in a stress position, the latest in a string of torments. They’d tried, more as an automatic response than anything, to hide behind their wings from Hero, who hadn’t taken kindly to it. This wasn’t about redemption, this was about the heroes’ preferences. Of course, they still construed it as some form of redemption or betterment. Something about not trying to conceal themself or escape justice.

Some of the heroes had rigged up a system designed to keep them in place, and stab into them if they moved too far out of position.

A bead of blood trickled down the skin of their wing. Villain corrected the position to stop the sharpness from biting into them.

Their own treacherous thoughts murmured to them that they wouldn’t be in this position—both literally and figuratively—if they’d only done what the heroes wanted.

They glared towards nothing in particular. The expression was undermined with a pained grimace. It was one thing after another in this so-called path to redemption. The heroes seemed convinced that the only way for Villain to make up for their past villainy was through suffering. Suffering of every kind. And more suffering.

This was just one of the many ways they were hurt. If it wasn’t a stress position enforced by biting sharpness, it would be something else. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to bear.

* * *

Walking more or less freely among the heroes, Villain felt like they were walking on eggshells.

They’d been redeemed. The heroes had assured them. They’d reached that invisible threshold only the heroes seemed to be able to discern, that inscrutable point at which they’d suffered enough to pay for their evils.

All the pain and suffering they’d struggled through….It was worth it, right? Right. They were finally redeemed.

But they were still nervous. Even as they told themself it was done, a part of them waited for the other shoe to drop, for the heroes to be upset by something, for Villain to be hurt again.

Villain trembled slightly, doing their best to hide it. They knew the heroes wouldn’t be happy to see them still afraid now that they’d been redeemed. Their disapproval was gentle (now), but it still scared Villain.

They kept their wings politely folded behind them, not trying to duck beneath them no matter how Villain wanted to hide from the world and the people who’d hurt them.

A hand rested on them, and Villain stiffened—not quite flinching, never flinching away from what was right and just.

The hero noticed. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Villain smiled, polite and agreeable hoping it was enough to cover the hint of panic in their eyes.

“Good. Well, we’re having a game night and we’d like you to join us. Help you reintegrate.” The hero smiled back, and Villain nodded. “Come on.” The hero took Villain by the arm—gently, they were always gentle now that Villain had been redeemed—and led them through the headquarters.

On the way, they passed the holding wing, full of cells and torture chambers anything else the heroes needed to keep villains in check. Villain couldn’t help but step back when they saw a door they’d come to associate with torment, pulling out of the hero’s gentle grip.

“Please, I—” They bit their tongue, halting the protests.

Their hero escort looked at them with patience and pity (and was that a hint of amusement?). “You’ve paid your dues. You don’t need to be afraid of that anymore—unless you return to your evil ways.”

Villain shook their head frantically. They wouldn’t! They knew better. They were better, now, they had to keep reminding themself of that.

(They didn’t feel better.)

“Okay, let’s just move on past here,” The hero said, a touch of sympathy imbuing their voice. They gently pushed Villain through the hall. Villain’s racing heart started to calm when the area was out of sight.

“Better?” the hero asked. Villain hesitated, then nodded. It was okay. They were better now. Their redemption was done. They weren’t supposed to be afraid anymore. “Great. Let’s go play some games.”

[owiil]

Sterek prompt: birthday surprise!

“No.”

“You can’t just say ‘no.’ Besides—” Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes. “—if you didn’t actually want him, you would have said something.”

Derek stared at him for a long handful of moments. Blinked. Continued starting. “I would have said— Stiles. This. I opened the door and you literally said ‘surprise.’ For what part of a surprise am I supposed to tell you, in advance, that I don’t want it?”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed in an attempt to read Derek’s face better, to see if there was some lingering hint of an expression other that exasperated… disappointment? Irritation? Whatever was accompanying the exasperation wasn’t positive. And, unfortunately, it didn’t look like there were any secrete messages lingering in Derek’s eyebrows or any other part of his face.

He snorted. “You have werewolf hearing Derek. I’ve been actively working toward this for three months.” Twisting, he gestured emphatically at the living room, which now, aside from Derek’s normal living room furniture (and the couch that Stiles will always say is his since he picked it out), there was an empty pet crate on the floor and a rather cozy looking orange cat curled on the middle cushion of said couch. "You really expect me to believe that you didn’t overhear what I was doing? I mean, come on. I was zero percent expecting this to be an actual surprise. How are you surprised?”

At that, Derek looked… lost, almost. Caught off guard by the undeniable truth of Stiles’ argument. After a moment, his jaw went square and his brow furrowed. “You spelled yourself.”

Stiles snorted, again, louder, more derisive. “No.”

A moment passed between them during which the only sound came from Clive’s monstrously loud purring from across the room—which, Stiles hadn’t gotten the cat because his name was Clive, but… honestly, hilarious. No. No... Clive had been a scalpel sharp application of an accumulated full year of research into both Derek and cats.

“I’ve literally been asking you about pets.”

“That was a year ago,” Derek said, immediately, because clearly he was catching on, knew Stiles well enough to know that, at this point, despite all appearances, the appearance of Clive in his home at six PM on a Wednesday was not, in fact, spontaneous.

“I got you to sign up as a shelter volunteer with me.”

“Last summer,” Derek said, also immediately, but less confident, and Stiles knew what was happening, knew he was starting to collect all of the pieces, put them all together.

“I mean, I said ‘surprise’ when you walked in— Also, Derek, why… Please tell me you didn’t not hear two heart beats? What is wrong with you?”

“I—” Derek said, the words choking in his mouth but the flush blossoming over the tips of his ears giving him away better than anything else could have and Stiles couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh. My. God!” He laughed some more while taking a step forward and sliding into Derek’s space. “You were thinking about birthday sex. You were so distracted by the thought of bending me in half like a… I don’t even know, bendy straw—”

Derek’s brow pinched as he looked away—to the side and up, as though praying to someone or something, anything.

“—you didn’t even notice there was another heart in your own house. I don’t know if I should be flattered or mortified for my own safety.”

Derek’s eyes rolled and took their sweet time drifting back to him, his lips pressed into a fine line. “You are the last person I need to worry about the safety of these days. At this point, I’m more of a damsel than you are.”

Unable to help from grinning, Stiles shrugged, preening as he continued to lean even further into Derek’s space. “I mean, you’re not necessarily wrong. And while I’m very happy that we’re at a point in our lives now where the biggest drama of the week is the fact that you, adorably, think you are not keeping Clive—”

“Clive,” Derek sighed, like it was curse or, perhaps, the most ridiculous word to leave his mouth.

“—Clive,” Stiles repeated, raising his hands and pressing them to Derek’s chest, massaging his fingers against Derek’s pectorals. “—I do get a little sad that I don’t get the opportunity to treat you like the pretty princess you are.”

Despite looking thoroughly put out and begrudged, warm hands settled on Stiles’ ass. “You did save me plenty in high school.”

“Never got to carry you princess style,” Stiles lamented.

And then, finally, the corners of Derek’s lips twitched and he laughed. A soft huff of a thing, but a laugh nonetheless and more than enough to break the utter sourness that had been his expression since the moment he walked into the room. “You think you could now?”

Stiles shrugged. “Give me three weeks to do some charting and scrounge up the money for another tattoo and I’m sure I could inject some super strength into my body that would last long enough to traipse you around beautifully.”

Rolling his eyes, again, Derek leaned forward and pressed his smile and his face into the junction of Stiles’ neck. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“I’m adorable, and the biggest reason you’re mad at Clive is that you probably think that him being on the couch means that you have to do something cat dad-ish right now instead of screwing me literally anywhere else except the couch. Except you don’t, because I already moved all of his things into the coat closet and he’s fed and watered and ten years old so all he’s going to do is sit around and sleep while you both take naps in the sun.”

He tilted his head as he spoke, giving Derek more access to rub his stubble against him until the skin turned red and became sensitive, just to stop before it could become borderline painful and start kissing. “I’m not into voyeurism.”

Stiles laughed, loud and bright, hands sliding down Derek’s chest to hook in the belt loops of his pants. “Oh my god, Derek. It’s a cat, not Scott.” Just to gasp and cackle when, with an indifferent hum, Derek hooked his hands around the backs of Stiles’ thighs and hauled him up over his shoulder. “Wait. Wait!”

Obediently, Derek waited, standing still, fingers tapping an impatient tempo against the backs of Stiles’ legs. “What?”

“Close the door. Clive’s never been outside and he’s far too old and too precious to be let roam around.”

Heaving a put upon sigh, Derek turned around and closed the door. “I knew you would love him.”

Derek snorted. “I love you. I’ll tolerate Clive.”

“You’re going to be a great cat dad,” Stiles said with a laugh that cut off with a soft grunt when Derek slapped his ass hard enough to sting—the good kind that went straight to his dick. “Come on. Get me behind a door before Clive sees something he shouldn’t.”

[libblesdoodles]

Alright, alright I’ll talk about my Moon Boys.

Also this is gonna probably be a bit lengthy soooooo BUCKLE UP!!!

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1. Was there any specific point / any specific moment that suddenly made them your Blorbo, or did you slowly grow to love them more and more until they became a Blorbo to you?

From the moment each of them were on screen, I was like “😏 Oh… 😳 Oh… 😭 OHHHHH….”

2. What’s the thing you love the most about your Blorbo?

Steven is quirky and sassy. Marc is reserved but protective. Jake… uhm… well he speaks Spanish /hj, and he looks out for people (in the comics at least). But to see them as an accurate representation of DID is so awesome, especially for DID systems themselves.

3. What’s the thing you dislike the most about your Blorbo?

Steven is great, I love Marc… Jake absolutely deserved a bit more screen time.

4. If you could talk to your Blorbo, what would you say to them?

Oh my god, I would just give them a fucking hug. I don’t think I need to use words.

5. What’s the one thing the fandom gets wrong about your Blorbo?

Uhhhhhhh… I honestly don’t know.

6. Is your Blorbo an introvert or extrovert?

Depends who is fronting at that time. Marc is very introverted. I’d say Steven ambiverted. Jake is very much an extrovert.

7. Describe your Blorbo in 3 words

Steven: British Autistic Dork

Marc: Traumatized Depressed Soldier

Jake: Killer Suave Driver

8. If your Blorbo were real, would you trust them with your life?

Again, it would depend on who’s fronting. Marc and Steven? Absolutely without a doubt. Jake? Uhhhh if we’re going with the comic version, yes. I just hope when Marvel brings him back, they don’t go with the “violent alter” stereotype or I will be pissed

9. Do you talk to your family or in-real-life friends about your Blorbo?

… No. And I will continue to not tell them.

10. Is there any crime, any wrongdoing your Blorbo could commit that would make you stop loving them and remove them from your hyperfixation entirely?

Something like super fucked up for sure.

11. Do you like seeing your Blorbo suffer?

… Yes and no. I love me some angst, but oh my goddddd my moon boys deserve the world!

12. Do you ship your Blorbo with any character?

Layla. Just Layla. I don’t have a lot of ships. But man, Marc and Layla? MY. HEART!!! Steven and Layla? AAAAAAAAAA. I’ve already read a couple fanfics with Jake and Layla and DAMN… just DAMNNNNN.

13. If your Blorbo is from a live-action media, are you also a fan of the actor who plays them?

I mean, it’s Oscar fucking Isaac MAN! YES!

Okay so I remember when Moon Knight first came out, I was like “Hell yeah” and then like forgot about it because college… and then last year after I graduated, someone on Twitter (before I deleted my account) was like “hey, now’s a good time to rewatch Moon Knight” and I was like “Eh, fuck it. I’ll rewatch it.” Little did I know that this would not only reawaken my love for the Moon boys, but to fall down the Oscar Isaac rabbit hole was something else.

14. Would you still love your Blorbo if they were real?

YESSSSSSSS! OMG YES I WOULD!

15. Is your Blorbo a victim of badly written script / bad plot / character assassination in the hands of canon?

Sadly, yeah a bit. Again, going back to giving Jake more screen time so that we can get a better idea of who he is. I get it. It was supposed to be a buildup to this mystery of like “oh why are Marc and Steven having these blackouts?” But mannnnn now I want more Jake. And more Steven. Also that Kaiju fight at the climax of episode 6 always throws me off.

16. If you could change one canonical thing about your Blorbo, what would it be?

Uhmmmmmmmm… I don’t know.

17. When you first discovered your Blorbo, did you realize from that moment that they would become your Blorbo?

After my first watch, kinda. Again I was in college and I was focused on college things. But after my first rewatch after a couple years, YES.

18. Do you gatekeep your Blorbo? / would you want more people to know about your Blorbo?

In this Chili’s I don’t gatekeep (except for AI bs). I am always excited when someone has watched Moon Knight for the first time and someone either writes fan fiction or draws fanart (like me), or just rambles about the show or the comics, I’m happy.

19. Has a fanfic about your Blorbo ever made you cry?

Oh my god yes. You guys in the Moon Knight community (and extended Oscar Isaac community) that write fanfics, MAN YOU GUYS WRITE SOME SAD SHIT. AND SOME SAPPY SHIT. There was one where the Moon Boys are like a father figure to a teenage reader and like…. MAN I WAS SOBBING AT SOME POINTS. You fanfic writers always deserve your flowers for your time and dedication for keeping us fans who can’t write for shit entertained whilst we wait for more. Especially after the news we got that about Moon Knight’s eventual return, we’ll definitely to keep ourselves occupied with the wonderful fanfics and headcanons about the moon boys. I love you guys. Keep writing!

20. Do you think this character will still be your Blorbo three years from now on?

I think so. These three mean so much to me. I love them way too much, and I really do hope we get to see them again in the future… and hopefully not as a side character with all the buildup to Jake and everything being completely tarnished because then I will sob.

————————

Anyways this was fun, if anyone wants to do this, be my guest. Much love 💜

20 Questions

BLORBO ASKS GAME

reblog if you’d like people to send you asks about your Blorbo

was there any specific point / any specific moment that suddenly made them your Blorbo, or did you slowly grow to love them more and more until they became a Blorbo to you?

It was immediate. Watching Steven flounder then discovering the tragedy that is Marc. I started on the show, then began collecting the comics.

what’s the thing you love the most about your Blorbo?

I loved the representation of DID, autism and childhood trauma.

what’s the thing you dislike the most about your Blorbo?

We barely got any Jake in the show, and he’s such a fantastic character in the comics. Comic Jake is the only way I can imagine him. Moustache and all.

if you could talk to your Blorbo, what would you say to them?

Not a thing. He’d get a damn hug.

what’s the one thing the fandom gets wrong about your Blorbo?

I think every adaptation is unique to that person and they’re wonderful for sharing. I’m a hoe for every crumb I’m not even sorry.

is your Blorbo an introvert or extrovert?

Depends who’s fronting. Steven’s an ambivert: extroverted to avoid the feeling of loneliness, introverted in his hobbies and day-to-day. Marc’s a huge introvert and doesn’t like many people, how Frenchie puts up with him I don’t know. Jake is a natural extrovert, it comes easy to him to find a friend in anyone.

describe your Blorbo in 3 words

Damaged hot mess

if your Blorbo were real, would you trust them with your life?

Most likely… kinda. Squinting real hard at you, Khonshu.

do you talk to your family or in-real-life friends about your Blorbo?

My partner can’t get away from my obsession. My brother brought me the same MK action figure Marc's holding in the asylum. It was really unexpected and touching. They let me drag them all over the city stopping in as many comic stores as I could visit.

is there any crime, any wrongdoing your Blorbo could commit that would make you stop loving them and remove them from your hyperfixation entirely?

Mean to animals would make me very sad.

do you like seeing your Blorbo suffer?

Every damn day of the week.

do you ship your Blorbo with any character?

I ship him with anyone and everyone, it’s such a problem. I love all ships in all shapes and sizes. All the new ships coming out of Marvel Rivals has sustained me well lately.

if your Blorbo is from a live-action media, are you also a fan of the actor who plays them?

Oscar Isaac is one of the best humans alive. I love his face, his personality—everything. He made it easy to love the characters he plays.

would you still love your Blorbo if they were real?

Probably. I’d always be rooting for him that’s for sure.

is your Blorbo a victim of badly written script / bad plot / character assassination in the hands of canon?

Kind of. How they handled Jake suucked.

if you could change one canonical thing about your Blorbo, what would it be?

Make comics Jake canon!

when you first discovered your Blorbo, did you realize from that moment that they would become your Blorbo?

I didn’t expect to go down as bad as I did. It wasn’t until I started writing him in 1x1 & group roleplays was where I truly fell down the hole.

do you gatekeep your Blorbo? / would you want more people to know about your Blorbo?

No gatekeeping allowed in this house! I am thrilled anytime more people discover MK by any means. It’s so much fun seeing new people arrive and interact with the fandom.

has a fanfic about your Blorbo ever made you cry?

Not a fanfic, but episode 5 made me ball. Hit close to home. I’m not one to cry easily so have yet to find a fanfic that will.

do you think this character will still be your Blorbo three years from now on?

Probably, I still have a lot more to write and explore.

Questions posted below empty for easy copy paste:

was there any specific point / any specific moment that suddenly made them your Blorbo, or did you slowly grow to love them more and more until they became a Blorbo to you?

what’s the thing you love the most about your Blorbo?

what’s the thing you dislike the most about your Blorbo?

if you could talk to your Blorbo, what would you say to them?

what’s the one thing the fandom gets wrong about your Blorbo?

is your Blorbo an introvert or extrovert?

describe your Blorbo in 3 words

if your Blorbo were real, would you trust them with your life?

do you talk to your family or in-real-life friends about your Blorbo?

is there any crime, any wrongdoing your Blorbo could commit that would make you stop loving them and remove them from your hyperfixation entirely?

do you like seeing your Blorbo suffer?

do you ship your Blorbo with any character?

if your Blorbo is from a live-action media, are you also a fan of the actor who plays them?

would you still love your Blorbo if they were real?

is your Blorbo a victim of badly written script / bad plot / character assassination in the hands of canon?

if you could change one canonical thing about your Blorbo, what would it be?

when you first discovered your Blorbo, did you realize from that moment that they would become your Blorbo?

do you gatekeep your Blorbo? / would you want more people to know about your Blorbo?

has a fanfic about your Blorbo ever made you cry?

do you think this character will still be your Blorbo three years from now on?

Inspired by the wonderful @psycheetamore Hitting a few others I'd love to see do this! @mystra-midnight @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @faretheeoscar @moonbeammist @therapardalis @weheartchrisevans @silvermoon343