#i shouldn't stoop to their level

[ikamigami]

I'm glad that Jack told Sun that he captured Moon.

Unfortunately due to Sun being in another dimension it turned out that Moon spend there 30+ hours (I don't remember exactly) so not good..

At least from this alone we know that Sun didn't plan on leaving Moon alone in the cell.

He knows that being locked in small space alone have a negative impact on mental state cause he experienced this himself..

Another thing that we could take out form this episode is that Sun, Earth and Lunar were talking about Moon before Jack told Sun that he caught Moon.

This at least clears any confusion about whether Moon's family abandoned him or not.. because they didn't. They vented their frustrations and emotions regarding this situation which is a good thing.

Because thanks to that they don't have their emotions bottled in and also they have clearer heads to figure out how to stop/help Moon..

Let's hope that Moon didn't do anything to hurt himself or hopefully he didn't escape yet..

I'm pretty sure that Sun will try to ask why Moon is doing it and maybe he'll ask how he feels and also I hope that he'll open up about his own situation from last year.. cause maybe it'll help Moon even if a bit..

I'm glad that Sun was able to get his cat back though QwQ poor dumb kitty 🥺

Sadly, I'm afraid that the conversation between Sun and Moon will go wrong.. not only because angst but seeing how much the past repeats itself.. it seems inevitable that their conversation will go wrong and Moon will somehow escape..

I wish it won't be like that but I'm trying to brace myself a bit.. and also Sun can stand up for himself more but he's still greatly affected by trauma and abuse which unfortunately won't help Sun in this situation..

At least Sun isn't alone. He has support which is willing to offer him a helping hand.. which is something that Sun and Old Moon didn't have last year..

[etz-ashashiyot]

Okay so the list of medical supplies that the protesters put out that has a lot of sex and STD related care items on it — I know that a lot of people are laughing about this (amongst criticisms that the protesters should really be doing things in a way in which they don't need aid and aren't taking away donations that could be going to Gaza) — but I came across an anecdotal statement that these are actually needed because of the high rates of sexual assault in the protester camp-outs.

And just...... look, if that's true, that says so many more things about what's going on than I ever could, but I'll just leave my comments at: rape is still never resistance. It's also never deserved and should never be mocked even when the victims are part of a racist encampment.

[fubuwu]

Fuck it. Since I'm being spat on and tarnished by jc antis I'm unashamedly doing call out posts as they have harassed me on all my posts and got their little friends to gang up on me. Starting with this "lovely" person

Calling me an abuse apologist just because I said that madame yu had tough love methods..... I was in no way excusing her abuse towards wwx with that FYI. Wwx wasnt even mentioned in the og post.... Never once denied she was abusive in the post either (in fact i ackowledged her abuse numerous times in the post and how her children act around her. But apparently you willfully missed that part). I said she had tough love methods towards her children. NOT WWX. Wwx was not her child or have you forgotten that? She has a tough love attitude in the sense that she toughens up her kids, expects no nonsense, wants them to strive to do better, get on with it, stiff upper lip attitude etc. This does not mean it's a good parenting tactic.

---

Using tough love to describe her parenting technique isn't a compliment. Apparently some of you don't know what it means because tough love, whilst there is love and good intentions behind the actions, it can also have unintended bad consequences on your children and is not a form of love you should expose your child to if you want them to become normal, emotionally stable people.

---

It can lead to unhealthy coping mechanisms and suppressing emotions amongst other things I won't go into. I was in no way complimenting her. It was a critique. That should have been obvious. But in your words, ig some of you don't have reading comprehension.

---

To accuse me of something so extreme as excusing abuse over a FICTIONAL CHARACTER and trying to get all your friends to agree and jump on my posts because I never explicitly made the above points obvious is what a bully would do. You know nothing about me and decided to make such allegations over a single post. I will not stand for this bullying.

---

YOU should be ashamed of your behavior. I've seen your other posts and how you talk about and to REAL PEOPLE.

---

You acting all morally superior whilst attacking me and many others like this makes you an abusive person FYI. And I won't sit there and take it from you or your friends.

---

Moving on to specimen number two

This person has been spamming my notifications jumping on EVERY post, being disrespectful and pretty much accusing me, an ace person, for being ignorant about MY OWN IDENTITY and using ace stereotypes just because I surmised that jc could be ace due to his lack of interest in romance.

---

Echoing the words used by another user in the thread, but denying that such ace persons exist is acephobic in itself. I'm an ace person who isnt interested in relationships outside anything that is close, platonic but meaningful. Many others in the jc fandom say the same thing which is why they see themselves in him. A large portion of the jc fandom are actually ace in fact and we love to see him used in ace rep posts. We're already made to feel like freaks, so to have that thrown in my face is very hurtful. Above all twisting my words and making out I said every ace person hates romance is very disingenuous. I NEVER once said that in the post. I wont have my character attacked and lied about like that.

---

Also, once again TWISTING my words, implying I was pissed off about the incel claims when it was so obvious that I was merely asking out of curiosity where these claims come from?? Because it was never implied in the canon text. There was no anger or malice behind my questions. It was all open discussion. I can see now that this was mental gymnastics at play here to justify your hcs that you know are not canon and use it as an excuse to attack my posts with your friends, all because you were proven wrong. You lashed out on what was an otherwise polite discussion. That behavior is all entirely on you.

---

Ive only ever been respectful in my posts and they were never done to provoke arguments or hate on others opinions. So to wake up and be accused of all sorts over a fictional character is very hurtful and just shows how terribly low your side of the fandom has to stoop just to prove a point and hate on jc.

---

Im not tolerating it and these blatant LIES any longer. I hope other jc antis read these posts and see how nasty you all are. And if anyone thinks this sort of treatment is okay, then you need to look inwardly and step away from the computer. I'm done here.

[idiotwhosigneduptoreddit]

ALL OF YOU LET IT DIE ALREADY IM SO SERIOUS PLEASE

PLEASE FORGIVE MY HUBRIS IN WANTING TO MILDLY ANNOY HEAVYTANKER1945 WHO THE QUOTE COMES FROM AND USED TO DO NOTHING BUT STUPID SHIP WAR GENERATING POSTS LIKE THAT IN R/BREATH_OF_THE_WILD

PLEASE LET IT DIE. OR LET ME INVENT A TIME MACHINE TO TELL MY PAST SELF NOT TO MAKE THIS FUCKING IMAGE

GIRL ITS ALL THE EXACT SAME FACE 😭

[pricegouge]

shovel talk

it's not even six in the morning and yet the shovel grates across the walkway, grit of pebbles beneath its steel edge scraping and catching. it balks in unsteady hands, tries again with another drawn out rasp before meeting the wall of the bank. trembling as it rises, it spills a portion its spare load back across the pavers before being tipped meticulously atop the mountain of snow that runs parallel the walk. she lets the shovel fall carelessly ahead of her and grits her teeth, rises an inch and scoots forward minutely, dragging the cheap lawn chair she's been perched on along by a hand shoved between her knees, gripping the seat. it scrapes just as much as the shovel, heavy with implication. she's not even wearing a proper jacket, just a flannel over a zip up hoodie, the wool weave of her button up already beaded with melted snow.

she looks ornery and mulish, but so are you and you can't just keep walking past.

clear blue eyes turn on you when you call to her, ask if you can help. her hands might shake but her gaze is level, taking you in from head to toe before scooting herself along another inch. "shouldn't be doin' that," she advises, voice croaky in her old age.

"neither should you," you counter, nodding at her makeshift mobility aid. it teeters when she turns to chuckle at you, though she hides it in a cough. stubborn old bat, you can already tell.

"anyway my son will be here soon."

pursing your lips, you look the walk over properly. the poor woman's already done over half of it - how late is the son exactly? but you don't comment on it, step closer when her shovel catches on a shelf of ice instead. "give it here, please," you offer rather diplomatically. she frowns apprehensively but does as told, shuffling her seat back a smidge to give you room to work. it takes a couple tries but you catch the bottom edge of the ice, ply it back and huck it over the bank easily enough. it thunks as it sinks through the snow, a real ice breaker.

"and here i'd pegged you for some soft, sweet thing," she laughs, sheepish.

"must've loosened it for me," you shrug, and turn to finish the walk while she's distracted, laughing herself into a minor coughing fit. "should you go inside?" you offer, unsure if it's a good suggestion seeing as that would leave some strange woman alone on her front lawn.

thankfully she just waves you off as she calms herself down, heavy breaths clouding around her like the smoke that's probably catching up to her. "can't. gotta take credit for your work when my son gets here."

"oh, i see how it is," you snark, and purposefully leave a good quarter inch on the paver, a base level that will freeze solid soon enough and create another sheet of ice for her to struggle with in the future.

she just eyes you, thin eyebrow pulled low on a once-heavy brow. she may be old and frail but it's a sort of sternness that doesn't dull with age and you can only smile to yourself as you fix it. no wonder her son still comes by to help. "he running late?" you ask conversationally, nod up the path where she's already done most of the work by way of explanation when she hmm's at you.

"oh, no. he'll be two hours early, probably. which is why i'm out here three hours early. a woman's got to have her pride, after all."

you nod along as if that's reasonable. "well what's he gonna do when he gets here, then?"

"fix my water heater," she gripes. "say, you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

it earns an unladylike snort from you, but you don't think she's the type to mind. "'fraid not."

the stoop is easy enough, just a quick swipe to clean the steps. you note the name above the door with some interest, a misplaced desire to keep tags on her, come back and check maybe. "got any salt, mrs. price?"

she motions you toward the open garage behind her but sticks a hand out for help as you pass. her grip is surprisingly strong on your forearm, the fingers of her other hand digging into your tricep almost cruelly when she uses you to drag herself up. you snatch the lawn chair up before she can even try it, nod toward the garage questioningly.

"next to the overhead, please," she agrees, and you find the bucket of salt right beside it, an empty coffee can already filled and ready for dispensing. when you emerge from the garage, there's a truck parked out front.

"give me that," mrs. price hisses and you jump to find her so close, already snatching the can from your fingers. old bat can still move.

the driver's door creaks when it closes. you can only see the top of a blue beanie from over the roof of it but mrs. price doesn't wait to see him before hollering at her son. "i thought you wouldn't be here until nine!?"

tall and burly with his mother's same stern brow, price junior rounds the corner of his truck and frowns between the two of you."and i thought you didn't like when other people shoveled for you," he counters before tacking on a quick hi pet towards you.

"hi -."

"who's shoveled for me?" she demands, motioning up the walk with another spray of salt. "did this all on my own."

he hums as he comes closer, boots crunching over the thin dusting of snow that still coats the driveway. you sincerely hope mrs. price didn't shovel all that, but judging by the banks that line the drive you suspect a service was likely hired. why they couldn't take an extra two minutes to clear an old lady's walkway you'd never know. you think maybe the son is wondering the same, the way he's inspecting the short stretch critically, but when he opens his mouth it's not at all meant to insult the snow removal service. "you're losing your touch, woman."

you're unsure who's more offended, yourself or his mother. "what's wrong with it?" you blurt, unheeding of the way mrs. price elbows you again.

"i've done a fine job," she supplies, trying to save face.

he just tilts his head at her patronizingly, rocks up onto his toes to appear unnecessarily bigger. "you've forgotten we're expecting more snowfall soon. you'll want to widen the walk to push the banks back, make it easier to shovel out the next storm."

this ass. "well if you'd wanted it done right, you should have shown up on time," you huff, unreasonably defensive of the quick job you'd done.

he's still got that insufferable expression on when he turns to you, but you think you see an edge of something playful glimmering in his clear blue eyes, that same expression his mother had worn when she'd asked if you could perhaps also take his job fixing her water heater. "'on time' would be hours from now," he reminds you. "would you have had this all fixed by then?"

the worst part is, calling him out on the insult would mean admitting you'd done it, and you're suddenly very aligned with this man's mother re: his versus her pride. instead you turn his own words back on him, leaning close to your new friend to ask her if she's going to take that.

she chuckles. "oh, don't mind him. john here's just scared because he knows his job is at risk."

you watch john frown between the two of you, the furrow between his brows deepening in a way which brings you too much pleasure. part of you wants to stay, keep carving away at his pride, but you're now running late for work and you still have a few blocks to walk. "well, it was lovely to meet you, mrs. price," you say with an overly formal shake of her hand.

"pleasure doing business," she agrees with a wry smile. "see you again bright and early next snow storm."

john doesn't budge to let you pass, instead squints down at you in open assessment. you note his cheeks are rosy with the cold and you briefly hope he gets stuck outside fixing the damn walk, cold wind stinging the chapped apples of cheeks which his ridiculous beard doesn't quite cover. they scrunch up when he affects a smile, lend a sort of disarmingly childish quality to the patronizing tone he still can't quite drop. it just pisses you off even more. "didn't actually catch your name," he prompts, gloved hand extended, as if attempting to continue the ruse.

"that's because i didn't give it," you chirp in your best customer service voice. you brush past him when he can only blink in confusion, the contrast between your words and your tone evidently too much for him to process so early in the morning.

"she usually pays me with breakfast if you want to stick around!" he calls after you, far too late to start acting sweet.

you nearly slip in your haste to spin around and fix him with an overly saccharine smile. "oh, i already ate. got here at five," you lie, just to watch his face crumble into genuine concern.

behind him, his mother's thin mouth twists into a cheshire grin and you stumble away before she can solidify any real plans.

too bad she's just as stubborn and ornery as you.

too bad john's worse than both of you.

[sideeve]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘

⸝⸝⸝ ࿔ how the bats ( bruce and jason ) leave you ᵎᵎ

⸝⸝⸝ ࿔ disclaimer !! these are not accurate depictions of the characters. please do not let this influence your view on the selected characters written and/or mentioned.

BRUCE WAYNE ᵎᵎ

the newspaper rolled up at your feet gifted you a present you feared. the picture of bruce and selina walking out of a fancy restaurant made your swell up. but what was worse was the headline.

'POTENTIAL MRS. WAYNE ?!'

you drop the paper, gasping.

a tear slips through your water line, rolling down the apple of your cheek. the memories of bruce and you sharing intimate moments rolls in your mind as your body stands still in shock. the possibility that he could've been with her the day before and after baffles you. the sweet promises he whispered in your ears were now recycled and given to her.

that's why he kept you a secret...he didn't want any controversies.

maybe it was your fault. maybe you were at fault for thinking that bruce wayne, the prince of gotham would actually stoop to your level of notoriety and become a 'normal person'. someone of his stature shouldn't be caught dead with you, you told yourself.

for the next few days, you brainstormed your next move. you also took into consideration how you'd be in the aftermath. you'd be lying to yourself if you said bruce wasn't your love. you poured yourself into him. the detachment process would be a battle.

move from gotham? no, you're not that much of a loser to run away from your problems. but could you bare seeing his face everywhere after this? what if you got word that she was pregnant? or the extravagant wedding he hosted just for her. seeing her dolled up like a princess on the day you dreamed of with him.

you made your plan.

bruce was out doing his duties at Wayne Enterprises and wasn't expected to return back to the Manor for a few hours. you could buy plenty of time.

JASON TODD ᵎᵎ

"do you not understand how your words contradict the shit you do?" you argue, trying to get him to look at you. every time you moved into his line of sight, he turned away; like he was ashamed to see you.

his anger from being revived grew and grew. it was taking a toll on your relationship. the benign robin you knew from your teenage years was gone. his face was always contorted into a scowl at any given moment. he was never happy.

his eyes screwed shut as he heard the same words he heard every single time. yes, he did feel pain every time you cried due to his lack of compassion and his absence of love. but could he change? he didn’t know. nor did he try.

“you keep stay after it happens again and again. just fucking leave. you keep wasting your breath on the thing you don’t like knowing i won’t change. i’m not changing so you can experience your little fantasy you want with me.”

his blunt words make the crease in your brows relax. your jaws goes slack in…shock? pain? realization?

you didn’t know. but his words made your cheeks burn and your eyes gloss.

“it’s your fault that you keep staying. i don’t have to change.” he sneers, finally turning to you. for the first time since this conversation started again, his first look at you is in anger.

“that’s it?” you manage to choke out.

“that’s it.”

happy thanksgiving, y’all! my inbox is open for requests and i’m on a dc high rn ( especially for adrian chase! ) and if you want a follow up or add characters, ask! so send em ! request forum.

[justfreakynothingelse]

The Sweetest Perfection...

Word count: 3100-ish

(CW; Mommy kink, lactation, medical mentions, general Mortarion self-depreciation)

It has been… a very long week. Mortarion has not slept since he last had his beloved by his side. He's been preparing for yet another thankless campaign, and has been unable to stop and go rest with her. This brings him to now; he has finally collapsed onto his meager bed and is just waiting for his beloved to join him… though she's taking far longer than usual. He is a patient man, though; this delay is nothing.

But as the minutes slide into over an hour and his beloved is still in the bathroom, he does get… concerned. He finds it far easier to truly rest, with her around, and this absence is unusual, given the gusto she usually greets him with. He slinks over to the door, rapping near-silently against the metal.

“Eeeh!- Tari?” she's so quiet… something is wrong. “Something is wrong. You are never away this long after I return. Let me in.”

He can hear her throat click, as she swallows. He can smell the fear-scent leaking under the door; a pungent, acrid smell. But she obeys, and the door unlocks. He slides it open and enters; filling the room like endless fog on a field. She's curled up on the floor, trying to be small… She never does this. What is wrong? Is she hurt? If she is hurt, he will tear this ship apart-

The scent of terror fills the room. She has never been afraid of him before; why now? He stoops low, to be more on her level, though of course he still towers above her.

“What is wrong? Tell me.”

“Tari, it's really weird, I shouldn't-”

“Tell. Me,” he hisses, a tone he seldom uses with her - “Now.”

She looks like she's about to cry, as she uncurls and drops her knees, revealing… oh. Oh. Her breasts have ballooned in size. They were proportional, before, but this is almost comical. Mortarion restrains a blush, as he realizes just how much he has stared at her, in the past… he truly is revolting, to spend such time enjoying her charms, even if they haven't done anything yet. But oh, tears are slipping down her face… why? This is something many baseline women want; why is this bad?

“How did this happen?”

“I got sick and went to the medicae… they gave me medicine and it worked, I was fine in a day, but then this happened… I feel like a grox…”

Mortarion suppresses a huff—the most humor he typically expresses—at that. It would not help. She's clearly distressed, and her distress is not something he savors. He does not want her to be upset like this, but what can he do?

“They must have had the astartes medication mixed in with the medication for baselines… I will ensure that is dealt with.”

“Thank you, Tari, but… that doesn't fix… well, this! I can't go around like this! My robes would never hide it, and everyone would make fun of me… I don't even know how long it'll last.”

Mortarion pushes down his appreciation of her newfound form; she would never want him like that. He is everything she is not. He is everything she should despise, and yet she treats him with such kindness. He will not repay that kindness with lust; with any sort of desire to… to desecrate her. Her purity. Her beauty. With his lanky, awkward, grotesque form.

He's about to start attempting to comfort her, but she sneezes. He goes to hand her a tissue, and hears her gasp. He looks over immediately, and swiftly notices the issue… her breasts are leaking, and they are leaking copiously. The sweet scent of milk hits the back of his throat, then, and he withholds a whine. He wets his lips and slicks his tongue over the jacobson's organ in the roof of his mouth, and his eyes roll back for a moment from the raw, primal, crazed lust that floods him.

What could this event be but a gift?

She starts crying anew, and he all but lunges for her; a single giant hand cupping her chin. This is more contact than he usually initiates, so she startles at having his (brilliant, beautiful) lavender eyes so close to hers. He stifles a growl; her smell is so much stronger, this close to her.

“I feel like I should curl up and die,” she whimpers, mortification evident in her voice.

It's then that she notices his staring, straight at the stain of milk on her robes. It's still dripping down… and a downright sinful idea comes to her mind. She fears to act on it, but Mortarion keeps staring and wetting his lips, not even blinking…

“Tari, I have an idea, but you probably won't like it…”

He grunts in response; ever practical. His eyes don't leave her breasts for a moment.

“Do you… are you okay with… could you… help me? With this?”

He releases a breath she hadn't realized he was holding, and meets her eyes.

“How?”

---------------------------------------------------

“There you go, just like that,” she practically purrs as he first latches his lips onto her breast. His face is bright red, now; an almost inhuman flush on his pallid skin.

He's not sure what to expect, and only scarcely more sure what to do, but he carefully sucks on her breast like she praised him for, and the first rivulet of milk hits his tongue. He almost passes out, then, and a rich, deep moan thunders from within him. She bites her lip as he looks up at her (his eyes are heavy with need), and a quiet moan flows from her like water from a hidden spring. He's not sure he could stop even if she begged him to. Somehow, this is everything he's ever wanted… no, everything he's ever needed. One of her hands comes down to pet his hair, and his eyes roll back. A high-pitched whine leaves his throat.

Minutes pass; her breast slowly lightens. Is this how mothers feel, as their child nurses? Thoughts similar to that flicker through both of their minds, as time passes. The better part of an hour is whiled away, with Mortarion suckling and kneading at the same breast. Eventually, though, the seemingly endless spring of ambrosia runs dry, and Mortarion whimpers, his face as red as a wildflower and his eyes hooded.

“Mommy… ‘s no more… Mommy, I need more, I need-” He slurs out, and her heart almost breaks, seeing her strong, proud man so desperate. She feels like she can breathe again, with one breast drained; how much better would it feel to have both emptied…?

She unzips her nightdress; freeing her other breast, and gasps. Mortarion practically throws himself against the newly available breast, but she's just stuck, mouth gaped wide, at how much larger her full breast is… what kind of stuff is in that astartes medication?

Mortarion, however, is almost completely milk drunk, at this point. Suckling like this is fulfilling some need he never knew he had. His stomach has so much more space, and every drop of milk he gets is like a taste of the finest ambrosia. His mommy beloved is petting his hair, his face is pressed against warm, plush breasts, he doesn't have to think or lead… he just wants to stay here. He kneads a little bit harder, causing a large amount of milk to flood his mouth. He moans and bucks against the floor, and oh, what is wrong with him? He shouldn't like this. He shouldn’t be thinking these things about his mommyyyy darling. But this all tastes so good… and she doesn't seem to mind. She just tells him to be gentle, if he suckles or kneads too hard.

He even smelled a different type of sweetness hit the air, when he called her mommy for the first time…

She adjusts a bit, under him; seemingly about to make him stop.

“Mommy… you taste so good. I can't stop, mommy, mommy, please don't make me stop…” and he whines it; every word practically a prayer for her to let him keep going. To not make him stop; to never make him stop. The milk entering his mouth is almost a flood, now; his mind is getting crazed with blind lust. The milk is just so plentiful. How many of their children could she feed?

He actually starts feeling full, now, but there's still more milk, and he can't stop. It's too good; he just can't. He has to drink until she's empty... and so he does.

---------------------------------------------------

With a slight pop, Mortarion releases her breast. He's panting, and his lips are almost sore from suckling for so long. He presses his face to her chest as he purrs; he's so full, and has never felt so loved. Though, that seems to be manifesting in more ways than one…

She startles; feeling him press against her foot. It's the only part of her he can reach like this. He's so hard; he feels like he'll explode. His mommy is under him… his soft, pretty, fertile mommy… his face is pressed against her breast still, though he's no longer suckling. No; now he's panting and chuffing and inhaling her scent like it's the only thing keeping him alive, all while grinding his cock against her foot.

And oh, this is getting her all bothered, now. He's so big; even with him pressed against so little of her, she can tell that much very easily. He's panting, as he grinds against her, and internally, he's going wild. With need, yes, but also embarrassment. This is so new; they hadn't even kissed yet, and now this? It's too much, but he needs it. He needs to be inside her - he needs to bury his seed as deep as it can go and not stop until he's empty.

He needs to breed her.

Mortarion picks her up in one arm, then, and begins carrying her back to his bed. It's not very comfortable (she deserves better), but it's better than the bathroom floor.

“Tari, what are you doing-”

“I need more; I need more I need more-”

He rests her down on the bed and pushes up her night dress. It's a white, flowing thing; almost like the long petals of some flower, cloistered away in a hidden garden. All for him The zipper that goes partially down the front is, of course, undone. He feels like he's committing a terrible violation, by revealing her in this new way. How could he be worthy? He could only ever defile her in the most base and disgusting ways, but… she's not fighting him. She's taking her underwear off by herself, as he hesitates to even touch her thighs. She's guiding his hands up her legs; spreading her open, and he moans as her scent hits him. She puts a hand on his head; long, white hair draping over the bed, and pulls him closer so carefully, so kindly.

Mortarion presses trembling kisses up the soft skin of her inner thigh; a single huge, skeletal hand holding it as he does. He never thought he would get this far with anyone… but now his nose is pressing against her clit, and she whimpers as he carefully, with her guidance, moves up and flicks his tongue against the tiny bundle of nerves. She jolts against his face, and his eyes grow heavy and half-lidded. He thought her milk was ambrosia enough, but now this?

He can't stop tasting her; every lick brings new beautiful sounds. She begs him to slip a finger inside her, and they both gasp, though for different reasons. Her, because even just a single finger of his is so big. Him, because she's so tight and hot and wet and… and she feels like those velvets Fulgrim won't shut up about.

“Tari… ‘s so big! ‘S just one and it's so big…” and he groans… he doesn't know how much baseline women can take, but… he knows his cock is a lot bigger than a single one of his fingers. He's seen the statistics; a single one of his fingers is longer than an average baseline man's entire cock… (He'll breed her so thoroughly)

He slips another finger in, soon after, and she whimpers. She's begging him to move his fingers in and out as he licks, and he does, and…

“Ahn- Good boy-”

He snaps his hips against the bed, and it takes all the restraint he has left to not yell. This must be bliss, because if this isn't—if being milk-drunk, hard, having his hair played with, and getting all these needy hormones shot straight into his brain—isn't bliss, then the very concept of it must be a lie. At the thought of her milk, his mouth moves up to one of her breasts; trying to see if there's any more milk for him as he fingers her. He's pleasantly surprised when a stream of it spurts into his mouth, and he suckles until she runs dry, driving his fingers deeper, spreading her open and rubbing her clit, all the while.

“Tari, please, I need you inside me! Please, please-” and he operates on instinct alone, now. Raising himself to his knees and all but ripping off his belt, he fishes his cock from within his pants and it springs into view; hard and aching, the head of it practically purple from pent up need. She spreads her legs as wide and as high as she can, and spreads her soft folds to allow him to line up easily. He almost cums then and there.

She's presenting herself for him.

Part of him still feels like he should be curling into a ball and throwing himself out of the airlock, but… he can see how he's stretched her open. He can see how she's a mess, and it's all for him. She whimpered about how she's never done any of this before, as he stuffed his second finger into her, and he felt self-directed revulsion… and incredible desire. She wants him to be her first?

He starts wheezing out gasps, as he sinks into her. His hips and thighs tremble with the effort it takes to not just slam himself balls-deep immediately; to not sink as deep as her body can take and then some. To not immediately claim her.

“Mommy… M- ah, ah… Mommy, please…”

“Don't stop, don't stop,” she whispers in response. He bites his lip as he slowly sinks deeper; tearing chunks of dead, dry skin off of his lips as he does. Her hands are on him, desperately trying to pull him closer; to take him deeper. He pulls out and pushes back in, inch by inch, and he understands why baselines kill for their partners. He bottoms out inside her—she's shaking and moaning underneath him—and his body feels like it's on fire. He's gasping for breath, as he lets her pull him down. All he can do is cage her in, now, as he testingly thrusts within her, earning a ragged moan. She's so soft. He moves so slowly, but she keeps begging him for more. For faster. For deeper. She moves her legs up, to be pressed against his chest, and he feels like he'll combust.

Oh, she's so small and sweet and fertile and he'd kill for her; he'd level cities for the crime of a citizen of them even looking at her. He'd give her a whole planet all for herself, if he could; just for her and some friends or helpers… and their babies Just him and mommy his beloved...

Plap plap plap plap

It feels like it's been hours, but the clock on the wall shows that it's so clearly only been about half an hour. Every whimper and sigh from her is like the sweetest song; he can't get enough. Her every action stokes the flames of his passion higher and higher, and he can feel an orgasm creeping up on him. He never thought he would have this… he always thought he'd only have her in his most shameful, private moments, when he has his legs thrown wide; one hand cupping his balls, heavy and full, as the other furiously works his aching cock. But somehow, here he is, and every slap of skin against skin reminds him that it's really happening.

His panting increases in pitch; his orgasm is almost here. He's fighting the urge to sheath himself within her; to defile her deepest reaches with his wretched seed, but her little hands on his thighs, desperately clawing him closer, make that prospect more and more difficult to entertain.

“Tari, cum in me! Fill me, please,” and he almost blacks out, hearing those words. She wants him. Her innermost depths, practically holy… she would invite him to fill them. His thrusting picks up speed, his panting starting to take on a whining edge.

“Ohh… Mommyyy,” he whines; a high pitch so unusual, for the normally stoic primarch, that it almost startles his lover out of her state of crazed, fuck-drunk need. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… take it, mommy, take it! Take it all, please!”

He hilts himself within her, and his head falls limp to the bed. The only sounds Mortarion can make now are panting and wheezing, as spurt after spurt of thick, sticky, and (unknown to both) fertile transhuman cum coats every crevice of her insides. He feels like it'll never end; it just keeps coming. Her hands are all over him, as she feels his almost boiling-hot seed flood her. His drool is making a puddle on the freshly-cleaned sheets; his hips twitching slightly as his orgasm winds down.

What has he done?

Suddenly, he's stiff, in her arms. He slowly lifts himself from her, watching her legs finally go slack as pressure is removed from them, earning a happy groan from the mouth of his lover. He can see some of his seed leaking out around him, and he wants to scream… he's ruined her. How could he do this to her? How could he destroy her opportunity to have a husband? A family? His putrid, cursed cum fills her, now… no one would want her, even though she's still the one who moves the stars and planets in his sky. He looks down at her; not willing to meet her eyes, and feels her shift under him, hands coming up to cradle his head.

“Tari?”

“I've soiled you… I've polluted you. I'm sorry, I should never have tried to find out what was wrong.”

She pulls herself off of him, then; cock moving easily since it's slicked by inhuman amounts of cum. A small whine leaves her, but she just grabs him and pulls him down onto the bed… with her. Holding him tightly.

“You're everything I've ever wanted, my love.”

Tags: @undeaddream

[leo-interactive-fiction]

ROs being teleported to the past and finding MC as a cute child

Haha, let's see...

E: Your wide, saucer like eyes look up at the smiling figure as they squat down to your level.

"Hey MC... It's been a while... since I've seen you like this..."

"You look familiar..." you murmur quizzically.

"I know... you don't have to recognize me now, but always know..." They envelop your small hands in theirs, "I'll always be by your side, so please don't forget me... okay...?"

------

R: You see them brush a strand of golden hair from their face as they stoop down.

"Well, I wasn't expecting this..."

"Who are you...?" You tilt your head obliviously.

"Oh, me? You don't have to worry about it for now," R looks into your eyes for a moment, finding something in it that makes them chuckle before standing back up and turning away, "Yeah... just forget about me for now, okay? I want our first meeting to be just as it is..."

------

You have to crane your neck to look up at the towering figure before you.

"A-Ah, that must be uncomfortable... my apologies," They awkwardly move to sit on the floor with you, "My curiosity got the better of me, and I wished to see..."

"Who are you...?" You ask, still having to tilt your head slightly to look at them.

"I am, um..." L tinkers with the small silver hairpin that catches your youthful fascination, "Oh! Would you like to see? Be careful though... it's important to me..."

As you grasp the elegantly crafted spiral shaped hairpin, you sense a vague, foreign feeling welling up within you.

L continues softly, "Maybe... you would like to keep it? I truly believe that someday... it will find it's way back to me..."

------

You watch as the silver haired figure sits down next to you, taking in the world around them.

"This is... where you came from..." They draw their legs to their knees, as if trying to shield themselves, "There's no gunshots... no smoke... no death..."

"Who are you...?" You ask hesitantly.

"I will tell you... next time..." They look at you for a fleeting moment before turning away, continuing quietly, "When you see me again... tell me that I'll be okay..."

------

You gaze up at the brutish redhead standing before you.

"So it's actually you, huh...?"

"Do you know me...?" You wonder aloud.

"Yeah, something like that..." They huff and crouch low to look you in the eyes, "Don't worry too much about it. Eventually we'll see each other again."

"When?"

"I don't know, but when we do... try to ignore what I tell you."

------

Your attention is taken by the humming redhead crouching in front of you, wearing an amused smile.

"Oh... you're so... adorable... as a kid..."

"Do you know me...?" You wonder aloud.

M taps a finger to your lips, hushing you playfully, "You shouldn't... ruin... the surprise... Just look forward... to when... you're ready for it... okay...?

------

K: You feel a sense of overwhelming unease as the unkempt stranger reaches towards you, gripping you by your shoulders in a tight claim as they look deep in your eyes.

"You are important. Do you understand? So very important..."

"W-Who are you...?"

"Me? You want to know... me?" A strangely sharp smile creeps onto the strangers face, "I am... the only one you need... Promise me... that you will remember me..."

------

S: You yelp as the homely stranger suddenly picks you up.

"What! Ya got so small! I could throw ya!"

"W-wha-- AH!" You scream in fright as S does a small practice toss of you up in the air, nearly dropping you onto the hard floor below before finally catching you.

"Oop! That could'a been bad! Nearly pancaked your head there!" S merely laughs it off as you are striken with unrecoverable childhood trauma.

-------

You instinctively shudder under the frigid gaze of the stranger before you, even as they bend over to look at you more closely.

"Oh...? How wholly unremarkable... to think you would grow to be..." They pause, seeming to silently berate themselves.

"Do you know me?" You murmur hesitantly.

"That is correct... though it appears you do not know me... rest assured, though, that will not be the case for long..." A devilish smile creases the thin line on their face as they pat your head, "Perhaps if I start feeding you information from a developmental stage, it may expedite our process later... I look forward to seeing how you internalize this..."

F chuckles darkly and settles in as you are subjected to everlasting mental trauma.

-------

Thank you for the ask! I had a lot of fun with it haha

[0rb0t]

no but i fucking LOVE the concept of "evil morty" being considered "evil" because he's tired of Rick and wants to do anything he can to get away from him. This is like a PERFECT metaphor for victims of abuse.

You do not owe your abusers kindness. In fact, if you're trying to get away from someone who is TORMENTING you, actively hurting you, etc., I personally believe you are within your rights to do whatever you can to get away from them. Of course, I'd personally say that you shouldn't endanger surrounding family, friends etc, but that's just it... Evil Morty is symbolic of someone who has been stuck in this cycle of abuse for so long he doesn't fucking CARE if there's collateral damage, and why should he?

When no matter who you go to, and try to explain your case to, and they take the side of your abuser. When no matter where you go, your abuser is praised or adored, and it feels like only you are aware of how this CAN'T continue-- and anyone who IS sympathetic is telling you things like "Oh you have to be the bigger person, you can't stoop to their level, just think positive" or whatever.

Evil Morty says it himself "I'm only evil because I'm sick of him. If you've ever been sick of him, then you're evil, too." And I resonated so strongly with that line.

So what does he do? He gets the fuck out. He does the work, he gets to a point where he feels like he has the same pull, the same influence, and then he burns it all down just so he can get the fuck away. It's not meant to be emulated, but I really feel like you're supposed to, in some ways, root for him. Because it resonates with some part of you, more so if you've been where he's been, metaphorically.

And when we next see him, he's not trying to "win" or amass power, he really, TRULY, just wants to be left alone, but he's willing to defend himself if necessary. And I think that's beautiful.

There's so much I could say, I just adore that character so SO much. I don't mind calling him Evil Morty, it feels empowering honestly. I've been considered Evil, but those standards. I'd rather be Evil than Good.

[queenshelby]

An Illicit Affair

Part 31: Taking a Turn

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

After he left the hospital, Cillian tried to call Danielle but, as he had expected, she did not pick up the phone.

Following three attempts to reach her, he gave up and made contact with the bank in an attempt to figure out the make and model of the car that she had bought. After a lengthy exchange with an employee, he found out the name of the agency through which Danielle had purchased the car and after ringing them, he got the details he was hoping for. 

His heart sank as the make and model matched those of the car that had been following you and whilst he realized that Danielle was upset and hurt, he had never considered her to be a woman who could kill.

"Do you need any more assistance, sir?" the employee asked.

"No, that will be all. Thank you," Cillian muttered, cutting the call as a barrage of thoughts consumed his mind, conjuring a whirlwind of uncertainties, fears and danger.

He sat there, in his car, the engine humming in the background, and stared blankly out the windshield, contemplating his next move.

He knew he shouldn't jump to conclusions, but the evidence stacked against Danielle was enough to incriminate her.

He took a deep breath, unsure of what to do, conscious of the risk he was about to take.

Cillian pulled out his phone and dialed the first number that came to his mind. It was the phone number of his divorce lawyer, Ari, and whilst Cillian knew that Ari did not handle criminal cases, he was certain that he could provide him with some much-needed guidance.  After all, the situation he found himself in was as far from normal as it could be.

He couldn't believe that the woman he had once loved and admired had stooped so low and he knew that he had to tread carefully now. 

"Cillian," Ari's voice echoed through the speaker as he picked up the phone. "What can I do for you?"

Cillian took a deep breath, bracing himself for the onslaught of questions and concerns that were sure to follow. "Ari, I need your help," he began, his voice low and tense.

"Alright, tell me what's going on," Ari replied calmly, his tone level and measured and Cillian hesitated, unsure of where to begin, knowing that the revelations he was about to make would change everything. 

"It's Danielle," he admitted, his voice heavy with guilt and regret. "I think she has been following Y/N and I have reason to believe that she intentionally hit her before driving off," he continued, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Cillian could imagine the surprise and confusion on Ari's face.

"Y/N?" Ari asked, trying to recall your name. "She is the women you have been seeing, correct?" he then asked, still processing the information that Cillian had presented to him.

"Yes, that's her," Cillian confirmed. "She was hit by a car and is in hospital now with significant injuries, man. She could have died," Cillian told his lawyer with a shaky voice who sighed deeply before responding. 

"And you think that Danielle caused the accident, intentionally?" Ari asked, his voice laced with disbelief, though Cillian could hear the skepticism in his tone.

"That is a very serious accusation. Have you spoken to her about it?" he continued.

Cillian sighed, running a hand through his hair, leaving it in disarray, his composure crumbling. "She hasn't been answering any of my calls or messages," he admitted, kicking himself for not having done anything about his ex-wife's obsessive behavior sooner. "The car that hit Y/N is the same make and model she recently purchased  for our son," he added, anxiety tinging his voice.

"I see," Ari replied, his tone now more guarded. "Cillian, I understand that you're upset, but accusing someone of attempted murder is a very serious matter. Do you have any other evidence to support your suspicions?" he asked, seeking clarity.

Cillian sighed, frustration building up in his chest. "Apart from a series of threatening messages towards me, no, I don't. But I have a feeling that this is not a coincidence," Cillian replied, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

Ari sighed, taking in the information. "Okay, I hear what you're saying, Cillian. But we can't just go to the police with a hunch," he said, trying to reason with his client.

Cillian nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "You're right. I just...need to know that she's not going to hurt Y/N again," Cillian finished, his voice laced with desperation.

"She doesn't have a separate bank account yet and I can probably get copies of the statements for her credit card to see if it has been used in the past few weeks. If she did it, she would have had to be in London," Ari suggested, trying to help Cillian to figure things out. 

"If we can prove that she has been in London then maybe it is enough for the police to question her, but again, Cillian, I must insist that you tread carefully. It would be terrible for everyone involved if this turns out to be a misunderstanding and it would most certainly impact your divorce proceedings against her," Ari warned, concern coloring his voice.

Cillian nodded, understanding the weight of the consequences. "I understand," he told Ari who then told him that he would be calling him back in about an hour or so, after looking through the bank statements.

Cillian agreed and after hanging up, he didn't move an inch. He just sat there, his thoughts and emotions at war, his mind racing with a thousand scenarios, each more terrifying than the one before. 

As the minutes passed, the surroundings began to fade away until there was nothing left but the deafening pounding of his heart. It echoed painfully throughout his entire body, a painful reminder of his fears.

Eventually, he drew a shaky breath and forced himself back to reality.

Cillian cast a glance over his shoulder and out the window. The bustling streets of the city were a welcome distraction from the turmoil that raged within. The sun was beginning to set, brilliant hues of orange and pink painted the sky and cast long shadows over the buildings. He watched as people hurried to and from, pursuing their daily lives until, suddenly, the phone rang again. It was Ari.

"Cillian, I've got some news," his voice was serious, the tone of his voice reason enough to set Cillian's heart racing.

"Danielle has been taking frequent trips to London over the last month but she wasn't there on the day of the accident. She used her card in Dublin that day," Ari informed Cillian, his voice grave.

Cillian's heart sank as he took in the news. He was so sure that Danielle was the culprit and the fact that someone else could have hit you  made him feel slightly relieved and, at the same time, frustrated. He needed answers, and fast.

"There is something else I found though ," Ari continued, snapping Cillian back to attention. "There was a transaction on your account ending 0865 this morning for 189 pounds. It was a charge from CemClean, a car detailing business in Chelsea,"  Ari informed Cillian, the significance of the information not lost on him.

Cillian frowned, puzzled by the revelation. "I didn't go to Chelsea today," he wondered aloud, his thoughts racing as he tried to piece together the puzzle which is when, suddenly, he remembered that he had given his card to Max who wanted to catch a taxi back home from the hospital when he had left. 

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred

[ice-cap-k]

So... Unstable Universe Parrot. I've got thoughts I want to get off my chest about his character, so I'm here to ramble about it.

Parrot kind of drives me crazy. I know I'm not the only one upset by some of his choices throughout the series. But something kind of dawned on me that put the guy in a new light.

Spoilers ahead. Tldr at the end.

Parrot's regularly proven himself to be a hypocrite, what with telling Wemmbu off about how stealing is wrong and you shouldn't stoop to your enemy's levels, only to immediately turn around and talk about stealing from Reddoons the next video later BEFORE he even realized there was anything wrong with Red or Capitol City's way of business. Then there's the blatant killing off of Dean and Wifies' pets while arguing it's fine for him to have an allay just to make it super obvious that, yes, he is a hypocrite.

Then there's the entire mess with Wifies during their fight. They "broke up," sure. Parrot ran away despite Wifies begging him to come back and then later accused Wifies of being the one to leave. Wifies has since apologized profusely and no longer made any attempt to argue with Parrot on the matter of his own safety because he fears Parrot will leave again. Parrot has not yet apologized as of the time I am writing this. Wifies may have overstepped by burning the compass, but Parrot refused to hear him out on a very real concern that Parrot is throwing himself into danger, and Wifies just doesn't want to lose him. Considering Parrot's hero complex, as shown by repeatedly jumping into fights that aren't necessarily his with little to no regard for personal safety, this is a very real risk.

And, you know, also hypocritical on Parrot's behalf for refusing to listen when he himself has expressed one-sided concern for Wifies' well-being during the entire confrontation with Clown. A scenario where Parrot literally refused to let Wifies help despite Wifies wanting to because he did not want to risk Wifies safety.

I think Parrot was telling the truth. He doesn't understand.

And that, when I really thought about it with this last episode, is kind of fascinating. Even when Parrot has lived through an exact scenario beforehand where he felt the desire to keep someone he cared about safe, he refused to listen when the situation was reversed. In fact, Parrot said his usual "I don't understand" multiple times after Wifies burned the compass and explained he wanted to keep Parrot safe.

He doesn't understand, despite having been in a very similar situation before.

The more I thought about Parrot's actions throughout the entirety of Unstable Universe, the more I realize that Parrot doesn't seem to experience empathy. At all.

He feels sympathy. He feels bad for the people forced to mine for ores to line Capitol City's koffers. He feels bad for Wifies being chunk banned and missed him dearly because he does care about him. He felt bad for Dean's predicament with the mafia and took him under his wing. He has a strong sense of justice. He helps people. He knows what's wrong and fights for what is right. In fact, Parrot is an objectably good guy. But he can't put himself in someone elses place. And when he does end up in the other person's shoes, he can't handle it.

Just look at how freaked out he was over Clown saying they were a lot alike. Something that had a profound impact on one, possibly more videos. Let's ignore the moral high ground Parrot tried to scrape together at the end that was absolutely unjustified and focus on Parrot's actions after Clown said that for the moment. Even after getting Wifies back from the threat of Clown almost killing his friend, Parrot STILL wanted to go after Branzy again despite very clearly seeing what that kind of a hostage situation would lead to. Even after experiencing the same threat to a loved one that he was trying to hold over Clown's head, Parrot could not make the connection that Clown may feel the same. That history would just repeat itself.

Heck, he doesn't even care that he's planning on dragging into a war a bunch of innocents who had only been trying to escape the mafia when he went to the Farlands. Despite the fact that he had his own civilization already taken over by the mafia.

Parrot has his hero complex and acts narcissistic and hypocritical because he can not make the emotional connection between his own feelings and others.

I'm no psychologist, but he strikes me as someone with Empathy Deficiency Disorder. People with this disorder tend to criticize or blame others without understanding where they are coming from, don't take responsibility for their own actions, have little to no patience, rarely show any appreciation for others, and regularly put themselves first and foremost.

Sound familier?

You could probably consider someone like Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean as someone with something similar to this disorder. That or more of a narcissistic disorder, but those tend to go hand in hand.

I don't know if this was the content creator's intention as he wrote up his character, but it certainly helped me put Parrot's actions into perspective. It's really cool to think about watching a character go through the hero's journey without something as basic as empathy. While it's too early to tell, the only other character that might come close to such low empathy is Ash, who is literally the big bad. Then again, we see so little of Ash and his spoken word makes him an unreliable narrator regarding his own goings-ons. Not even Clown, who we've seen has plenty in common with Parrot. Clown experiences empathy, because he knew how upset Parrot would be if Wifies was threatened. Just as upset as Clown would be if Branzy was threatened.

Parrot has changed a lot as a character through the series, but his ability to empathize has remained static. I imagine at the true climax of the story whenever that may be that Parrot will somehow come to understand that other people can and do feel the same. And I'd like to say that will be a satisfying moment, but who knows what it might take to reach that point. A lot has been lost already.

(Tldr: I think Parrot's character has Empathy Deficiency Disorder and that's why he does the most frustrating, seemingly selfish things.)

[spideyhexx]

i need sub coryo thoughts. all of them. please i am

begging

i am here to oblige

mdni - fem!reader

He constantly thinks of himself as being defiant enough to classify as a brat, but he's barely scratched the surface.

Coroy instead, is a whimpery and whiny man when it comes to the harder things you put on him, and suddenly any confidence he may have gathered earlier is pushed out the door. Cause his confidence is all talk and no action.

He's a charmer! He knows his way with words. It's the easiest way to get you to fold, to give him a semblance of power. And there are moments of weakness for you with this. Coryo's tongue is too sharp sometimes, his touch is too tight, and his eyes are too intense, you can't help but give in to him and give him everything he pleases. Let him do whatever he wants to you.

But sometimes you get the upper hand. You learn his own weaknesses over time. How much he loves it when you casually rest your hand on his thigh, rubbing circles on the inner part and your hand gradually making its way to his bulge. Just resting it there, you'd tell him. You learn how much he loves his hair pulled or when you smooth it back, guiding his head where you want it. How much he squirms when you trail kisses all over his chest and tummy, or even rub at his chest while cuddling. You use these things to get him right where you want him and soon his sharp tongue is kept quiet, only replying when you tell him to.

Coryo's bad at it though, he's bad at keeping quiet. He's bad at following directions because his brain turns to complete mush in your hands. All he can focus on is how good his cock feels and how much he loves you.

He'd whimper, "'m sorry, baby, I couldn't...couldn't focus, 'm sorry," and it would keep tumbling from his lips, little stupid apologies that mean nothing because you know he's not sorry. You know he wanted to fuck his cock into you and he started thrusting before you told him to.

When you first discovered this side of Coriolanus, he was always so reluctant to beg. He would have felt as though it was beneath him, that he shouldn't let anyone make him stoop to that level, but he'd soon realize how much he actually loved begging for you. It's like as soon as he had your body, as soon as he tasted your cunt and rutted his dick into you for the first time, he was a goner.

So now, it was easier for him to beg, but that didn't mean you would give in as easily. It was fun making him trot around the penthouse, making you dinner, folding your laundry, and doing whatever miscellaneous task you could think of until Coriolanus was practically crying at how hard he was despite you not even paying attention to him. You'd end up taking pity on him, seeing how tight his pants were and how he was breaking out in a sweat.

And like clockwork, as soon as he's released his load wherever you let him (and sometimes multiple loads at that), something inside of him would snap and his sharp tongue is back. Even the times he's too fucked out to take back some control and he's lying in your embrace, nuzzling his head against you, he can't help but make a quip or a jab, which would send you rolling your eyes, trying to decide if you should use this to punish him again.

let's chat about coryo, here :)

[somecluelessidiot]

I shouldn't spoil what I want to include in my fics in the future, but I'm sooooo excited for the end of this one (it hasn't been published yet, don't come at me) that I just had to share my thoughts. This probably won't be the final version, but we'll see...

TW: SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, DEATH

Barty stares at the Dementor as it slowly creeps closer. He should be scared in the face of death. It should terrify him, chill him to the bone like all those years in Azkaban did. He should be scrambling around, pleading with his father, begging for his life to be spared. But he can't find it in himself to act as such.

Maybe, many years ago, he would have been afraid. He would have screamed and cried and sobbed because there were things worth clinging onto. Perhaps he never would have been so foolish in the first place, or maybe he would've been so blinded by love that he would've acted even more recklessly.

Still, he doesn't beg. He won't stoop to that level. He's the last one left. The last of the ones he cares about, anyway. Regulus was the first to go. He was young, too young - they all were, really - and perhaps Barty is too. Perhaps there's something equally as tragic in dying now as dying sooner, when there were still people to mourn you.

At least he'll get to see them again. Barty has wished for this sweet relief for years, the only thing keeping him going being his need for vengeance.

He should've wished for death sooner, before the insanity crept into the edges of his mind and he lost all semblance of himself. He should've died while Barty was still Barty, so full of life and rebellious to a T , doing anything in his power to get his own way.

This is not Barty. This is a ghost of a man, a hollowed-out shell where the soul used to be. Barty died when he first set foot in Azkaban, he just didn't realise it. There is no fear the Dementor can drag out of him, nothing he hasn't already seen. Death is mercy. He longs for it.

He only wishes Evan didn't have to watch from above as he changed into who he is now.

This is not the Barty that Evan loved.

This is someone else.

Barty hopes he regains his spirit in the afterlife. He hopes beyond all hope that someone is there, waiting for him, and he hopes that that person is Evan Rosier, for there is not another soul that could compare to the joy that boy brings him.

There are none like Evan Rosier, and Barty can't wait to see him again.

[hoiststowline]

only you

cliffjumper x f!reader ao3

While there was always a chance of an unexpected arrival in your driveway, the culprit almost always being the same, it would be tonight that there would be zero anticipation of any guests. The night you had slipped away fast, having spent the late afternoon until evening at work, entirely exhausted as you barely shuffled across the floor to make it to your couch.

With the day's events, you were content enough to rest when a few sloppy knocks echoed at your front door. It startled you wildly, now wide awake and alert as you scramble to stand, nearly falling over your shoes. 

"y/n!"  It's a whine and sufficiently loud that it passes through the locked door. "I know you're here, I saw your car!"

The voice can only belong to one mech, but the slurred speech and tumultuous behavior do not match the one in question. On unsteady feet, you rush to the door, hastily flipping the lock before swinging it open, entirely appalled. "Cliff-" 

He's slumped, seemingly leaning most of his weight on the doorframe, because he jolts when the door moves. At your appearance, a wide smile breaks across his face, a hum of delight getting stuck in his throat. "y/n..." He purrs on unreliable pedes, shifting his weight back and forth. "I've been out here forever."

"You shouldn't be out here at all." You deadpan, looking just past his body to make sure no one was around to see such an unexplainable display. Looking back up at him, you see how he can’t support his weight, disoriented and heavy. "Are you drunk?" 

Cliffjumper reels back, looking down at you with a frown. "No, I'm not drunk." He pauses, a few seconds longer than normal, before continuing. "I want a kiss." 

"And I want you to go home." At your defiance, the mech growls, a buzz no longer adjacent to his words. The switch in his behavior only unnerves you that he is wasted, a circumstance you’ve never encountered him in before.

"This is your house, right?" He takes a step forward, forcing you to take one back, your balance nearly lost as you stumble across the tiled floor. He continues his absurd argument as he stoops to clear your doorway now standing over you in the foyer. "I am."

"You do not live here, Cliff." Your fingers curl around the doorknob, slamming the egress shut behind him, possibly a little louder than you intended. "Dude, how plastered are you?" 

Cliffjumper decides to ignore you completely, bending down to your level as he taps his dermas impatiently. "Kiss."

"I'm calling Ratchet." Any other night, you'd be partial to entertaining such a notion, but the idea of trying to keep him away while you were still trying to recover from the night was too overwhelming. Evidently, you'd found your patience was at zero, and though Cliffjumper was inebriated and not entirely aware he was adding to your agitation, he still was. 

What you were not banking on was for him to grab you once you had your back turned, metal arms winding around your waist as he hauls you off the floor. "y/n." He mumbles into your skin, kissing your shoulder up to your cheek, his entire frame hot to the touch. "Don't. He'll offline me."

"Put me down," You're trying to be adamant, a scowl on your face, but at your wriggling, he squeezes you tighter. Not enough to hurt, but quite enough that you had no chance of escaping by your force alone.

"What's wrong?" He asks, tilting his helm as he catches sight of your glassy eyes. Though intoxicated, he still had a sliver of his better judgment, able to tell you were not your usual self, even with being annoyed at him. "Y'alright?"

You want to shout, but come to the rapid conclusion it would do little to help the current situation. If anything, even though you didn't necessarily want to, it would be best to tolerate Cliffjumper's seemingly innocent wishes. Perhaps you could shift this to a route that would satisfy both of you. 

"I'm tired." You sigh, chin sitting glumly in your palm as your elbow rests on his forearm. "I was just about to go to sleep, I had a long day." 

At this, the mech behind you goes eerily silent. His grip loosens considerably, but still holds you taught, as if you would run away. "I'm sorry." He whispers words garbled marginally. "Okay, and maybe I'm a little drunk."

"Yeah. Maybe just a bit." A dry laugh, then you squirm in his arms until you can properly face him, a plea he grants immediately. "Why are you here, Cliff?"

From a mech that had the hardest time divulging his feelings, lest to you, in his current state, it tumbled out from those silver lips faster than you could blink. "I missed you," He hoists you just a bit higher, now level with his helm. "I always get lonely when you work a couple of days in a row." 

It would be a fair complaint when your schedule tended to run over a few days, you would opt to meet up with Cliffjumper at the end of the week rather than be poor company in the late hours after work. It was an agreement you assumed was fine until now, realizing that you had gone four days without physically seeing the mech. "I'm sorry," It still feels awkward in his grasp, gently tapping his arm to attempt to get yourself free. "You could have called,"

"That's not the same," Instead of doing what you wordlessly asked, he burrows deeper into your collarbone, chin defiantly resting on your shoulder. "You know it's not, y/n."

"You also have responsibilities too, Cliff." Giving in, your arms wind around his shoulders, fingers mindlessly doodling shapes on his back. "I love you, but you're too much sometimes."

Cliffjumper scoffs, his ex-vent tickling your exposed skin. "I am responsible." 

"That's not-" You laugh, head tipping backward at his misunderstanding. "I said you have responsibilities, not that you weren't responsible." 

"Oh." He offers you two languid blinks, displaying a pitiful effort that he did not understand what you meant. 

"But you also never showed up here drunk before." A palm cups his cheek, liking the way he leans some of his weight into your hold. "Aren't you full of surprises?"

His brow furrows, optics trained on your lips as if he was trying to understand what you were saying. "You aren't speaking English anymore."

"Okay," It was obvious Cliffjumper was starting to crash, swaying gently. "Put me down now," 

Somehow, he comprehends what that means, leaning forward to complete your request. He deposits you on the cold linoleum, your sock-clad feet doing little to protect against the chill the floor emits. "Y'know Ironhide?" He makes a scratchy noise, making grabby hands at you once more. "Did you know he has high grade?" 

"I do now," Dodging his servos, you round him and begin pushing at his back, gesturing him towards your couch. "Something tells me he doesn't know you took it." 

"I'm a dead bot." Eventually, he relents, moving into the room. "Will you tell y/n that I love her?" 

"I can send a message, sure." It's alarming how fast he's tumbling downhill, but there was nothing to compare it to. You've never been around any of the bots while they were inebriated, and even if you had, Cliffjumper would be a wholly different story. "Sit," 

Obliging, but he lowers himself the the floor instead of the sofa. "Your rug is sooo soft," 

"Fine, that's fine." You roll your eyes, grabbing a blanket off the recliner before shedding your jacket, and tossing it somewhere you don't care of at the moment. "I'm going to do something. You need to recharge." 

Sitting on the ground, he looks up at you with dimming optics. "Where are you going?"

"Don't worry about it." Walking away, you shuffle down the hall and retrieve your phone, quietly slipping into the bathroom to make a fast phone call. 

"Ah. So that's where he went." Ratchet was helpful, though Ironhide was heavily displeased. "He's fine, y/n, it's comparative to liquor in your terms." 

"Fair enough," Laughing, you push some stray hairs away from your face. "Just wanted to make sure. He's pretty tipsy." 

"When he sobers up, send him my way." You're pretty certain Ironhide was swearing in the background, but it remained unclear if he was drunk also, or angered about the stolen alcohol. "You can have fun with that. I ain't touching Cliffjumper when he's intoxicated, he's ten times more aggravating than usual." 

"I'm sure I will." You couldn't describe him as aggravating, more clingy, and unruly. "Thanks Ratch." 

After concluding the call, when you re-entered the living room, Cliff was aiming to fight sleep as his forehead kept smashing against the couch cushions before he bolted upright, more confused than ever. "Alright," You hum, flicking the light off before walking into the room, settling on the couch as Cliffjumper chatters happily. "Good night, Cliff."

He wastes little time, one arm wrapping over your waist as his helm rests just by your sternum. "Mhm...night, y/n." 

It's mildly humorous to think that Cliffjumper was hungover, a comical sulk on his face as he grumbles into your chest the next morning. His presence is heavy, wanting to be practically on top of you, but your control of the situation was quickly being lost. "I don't even remember coming here." He groans, voice muffled by your shirt. "Ironhide's gonna kill me." 

"You were so sweet last night," Lying on your side, cheek smushed up against a pillow that landed up where the cushion meets the armrest. "Why must you always antagonize him? Just leave him alone, Cliff. It's not that hard." 

Seemingly offended by your first statement, the mech pulls back slightly, glowering down at you. "I am pleasant." 

"Sometimes." Cliffjumper scoffs, rolling his optics before returning to his original spot, shrinking away from the light that filtered in through the open curtain. "I've got shit I need to do today Cliff, you can't hang out here." 

"y/n, you left me all week for your stupid job, and now you're kicking me out?" The plush metal of his lips moves across your skin, causing you to shiver. "I thought you were nicer than that." 

You blink thrice before your eyes catch the clock on the wall, realizing it is already a late start to the day. Though there was a slim chance to try and salvage it, you thought better than to try and rush around when you had your favorite person right here, who you missed dearly. He did show up drunk blubbering about how you unintentionally made him feel lonely, and the last thing you wanted was to ruin a perfectly good day.

"You're right." As if he wasn't used to hearing those words, he yanks his head back a second time, this time looking your way with soft features. "I'm sorry. I'm not kicking you out, I want you to stay. Really." You can't figure out if it's because you're being sincere, or because you changed your mind, but he nearly clocks you on the nose with how fast he dives, erupting you in a fit of laughter as he kisses all over your face. 

You fight to return the gesture, but he holds you down, eventually landing on your lips with enough fervor that you swear his voicebox hitched. "My y/n," Cliff murmurs, eventually tugging backward just enough to talk. "It's not like I can go back to base,"

"Ratchet does want to see you," A grander smile twitches onto your lips. "When you sober up," 

"As far as I'm concerned, everything is non-existent except for you." He nearly tackles you as your arms circle his neck, keeping his warm frame close as he envelops your body. 

[asmimir]

ORIGINS; TALE 1

Hi yes hello, this is intended to be a vent fic, but it turned to be something more hopeful. I know the current situation I am in has no happy ending, but at least I can still write. Even in amidst white halls.

So have this small mini-fic that was supposed to be Kallamar-centric but then turned into Narinder-centric and then Heket- kinda idk augehaghe

Anyways, have a nice day, and always know that you are loved

...

Down the long halls of an anchordeepian temple, a lone God rests on his throne, the second of three, which will become four, which will become five.

"I Rule over Blight,not Death" he says, scripted, though his tentacles always shiver, he confronts his brother, who is knelt before him with a large black cat in his arms, her bone structure made her big, but her limbs were spindly, her breath was short and her fingers were cold and only getting colder.

"I can only heal so much" he says, quietly "the worst of it, I can erase...but even I do not control nature itself"

"*LIAR*" his kin all but screams at his face "I HAVE SEEN YOU CURE MUCH WORSE- HEAL HER, LEST THESE CLAWS MEET YOUR FACE"

and so he had tried, day and night, weeks after weeks, months after months, time stretched further before he can even tell, a multitude of medicines, concoctions, hell, even modified poisons were administered, and yet.

And yet.

She lies pale, on a mattress that can barely fit her body, a number of tubes attached to bruised arms devoid of fur, shaven in order to search for any vein that hasn't collapsed

"*please*" his kin weeps at his feet, his devotion mixing with despair

"*please*"

He of blight can only stoop down to his level and bring him close for an embrace, first there was babbling, then anger, a lot of anger, but even as his eye bled, even as his vision blurred from the eternal injury of an infant God. He had stayed.

The next day he wouldn't emerge from his quarters, nor sleep, nor stop his tears.

On the final day, The one who will soon wait draws his scythe. His heart that was always so tender, left scarred and cold.

He never ate another meal that day

Or the next

Or the next.

...

...

There was a loud croak in a bog one day, the land of Anura was always well dwelled by amphibians of all kinds, there, amidst flies and rot, was but a tadpole who definitely shouldn't be making a noise of any sort, not while it lacked limbs. Not while it lacked a mout-

It had a mouth

Kallamar raised a brow, looking at this..*thing* that crawled through the mud, blood in it's tiny maw and even tinier limbs.

He picked it up, and nursed it to health alongside with the embodiment of wisdom and, equally soon, might.

"This is Heket" Shamura had whispered, their chelicerae clicking as they did "she wasn't able to leave the waters, so I could've only have introduced you now that she can walk, be kind to her, as she will be one of us"

...

"What are you doing?" Narinder said, a mess of scrolls in his arm, while his crown, his newly gifted crown, lied askew on his head, he knew of his fate, yet had only now known of his duty, and he'd be damned if he said it wasn't a huge responsibility

"Dinner" the frog croaked, no less than 10 mortal years, suprisingly the hearth burned sweetly, the scent of fish and spices fill the air.

"This- for you. Kallamar said. Give gift"

Narinder stared as his new sister, Heket, presents him with a sorry excuse of a meal, the fish laid messily on the plate, it's belly stuffed full of herbs that smelled too strong, one stiff causes him to make a face

She makes a questioning sound which brings him out of it "we do not eat in this household" he says gruffly "we have no need of sustenance"

Now she huffs "well I want to eat. So you. Sit. We share meal, Or I call Shamura."

He pinches his forehead but her declaration was sound, his studies get placed next to him as he sits cross legged atop a shaggy carpet, a hundred years and worse for wear but the eldest *still* refuses to part with it. Damned arachnids and their silk.

Pitiful

She takes her own ration, something in a cup that's mixed together- he can't tell from here, but she scoops out a colorful handful and pops it all in her mouth, the squishy sound it emits suggests they were fruits, the faint crunch suggest non-sentient insects.

He makes yet another face.

Luckily she doesn't see it, and simply continues, her gluttony makes Narinder sick, the mess she makes will have to be cleaned, but perhaps maybe this wretched carpet would finally be replaced.

He pokes around the dish with a finger before setting it down, intending to stand for a pair of utensi-

"NO-" she bellows, making him jolt "eat with hand. Fish has bone-" she swallows her food "you might choke. Besides, it's tastier"

She returns to her ravenous affair, and Narinder, seeing as how he has no clear definite out of this (and the fact that he really doesn't feel like yet another lecture) sighs, relents, and humors her wish, slicing a piece of fish of it's vertibrae before tentatively popping it in his mouth.

...

And for the first time in centuries, his famine is sated

...

"...mPRGH?" Heket quickly swallows her meal and waddles over to the cat who chokes with both skeletal hands pressed to his lips, she raises her hands and aggressively slams it on his back but with her being much smaller than him by comparison, it doesn't make much of a difference.

Narinder waves a hand, dismissing her "I...am fine" he says, despite his throat feeling tight "there is no food stuck in my gullet"

She steps back and goes back infront of him, but instead of returning to her "mess" (the cup of mysteries' contents are sprawled on the carpet) she simply sits infront of Narinder

"...what are you doing?"

She lets out a small ribbit "is it good?"

...

...

He wolfs it down, bones and all, then afterwards he licks his plate clean

"Another"

Heket smiles

"Okay!"

"But you are to clean this mess"

"Wha-"

"Yes"

"No. You do it. You older"

"Percisely, I am your better, therefore you do as I say"

"I hate you"

Narinder snickers as she storms off, and yet he hears the chest of ice being opened then shut, then the sound of a knife scraping against scales.

It was only then when he allows himself to cry.

[ryuusei-boi]

hey guys. what if, in Inazuma Japan, Midorikawa's negative self image starts to fester, and he gets to thinking about the Aliea crystal again. and he of course knows that this is bad, that he shouldn't want it again, that he shouldn't even entertain the idea- because he's better than that, isn't he? but that little voice in his mind never shuts up, never quits. with each pass fumbled and each shot at the goal missed, it wears him down more and more until it all comes to a head.

(2.2k words)

he seeks out Hiroto and asks to talk, tells him what's going on. admits that he's been wishing to feel that power surge through him again. mirroring the scene in season 2 between Kazemaru and Endou, Hiroto tells him not to think about it, that he doesn't need the crystal, that the crystal is the easy way out and that he shouldn't stoop down to that level.

but Midorikawa retorts that he's already been at that level. he was at rock-bottom back in Aliea, and what did it matter? at least he was powerful then. at least he didn't lie awake at night kicking himself over the smallest mistakes. at least he didn't cry himself to sleep thinking that he doesn't deserve any of this, that he's ruining someone else's dream by taking a spot on this team in the first place.

Hiroto still claims that he's not thinking straight, tells him that they'll practice together and he'll show Midorikawa just how skilled he is, that he does deserve to be on this team. but Midorikawa feels like he's not listening, doesn't feel like he's being taken seriously. he says Hiroto doesn't know what it's like- Genesis didn't even use the crystal, so how would he know?

he raises his voice, Hiroto does too, and their teammates overhear and try to break it up. but once they learn what it's about, they want to give their two cents, too. "nothing about Aliea was good", "the crystal's power wasn't real", "you don't need it, you're here because you deserve to be". but Midorikawa doesn't feel deserving of anything- he just feels overwhelmed.

nobody follows him when he runs out the door with the excuse of "I need to clear my head", and he's grateful, but it also stings in a way that continues to hurt even after running for half an hour. it's not soothed by the wind in his ears or the ache in his legs like it usually would. he knows that he's the one that ran away, but it still feels like everyone abandoned him.

he stops in a park and sits down on a bench and starts to cry. it's dark, and it's quiet, and for a moment he feels like he's the only person on planet earth. and it weighs so heavy on him, borders on crushing him. he's only felt that way once before, back in the orphanage. he doesn't remember the context, only the feeling it gave him... and the voice that talked him down again.

it's another half hour run to Hitomiko's place. Midorikawa desparately pleads to whatever deity is listening that she hadn't moved house since he last saw her. his worries dissipate when he reaches the front door and the sign still reads "the Kira residence". he breathes a little easier, until he hears voices inside- many of them. if she's having people over, Midorikawa isn't sure he wants to interrupt. not with his dramatics, his insignificant problems.

against his better judgement, his hand finds the doorbell and rings it. the short moment he spends waiting for someone to answer it feels like eternity, but his feet are rooted in place and he can't will himself to turn around and leave. then finally, the door opens.

coming face to face with the person who answered it makes Midorikawa wish he'd left when he still had the chance. Saginuma's dressed casually and his hair is down, and neither of them say anything as they stare at each other in a mix of confusion and disbelief. the silence is broken by Hitomiko turning up behind him, only taking a second to process Midorikawa being at her doorstep before inviting him in like it's the most normal thing in the world.

Saginuma awkwardly steps aside to give him some space and Midorikawa awkwardly enters. they don't say anything to each other as Hitomiko tells him to follow her and he does. walking past the entrance to the living room however, he stops dead in his tracks like a deer in headlights once he realizes the company she's keeping.

Neo Japan is in the middle of a game of UNO at the coffee table when they turn and look at him. standing there in his Inazuma Japan tracksuit, exhausted and sporting tear marks on his face, Midorikawa wants to turn to dust right then and there. but Hitomiko calls him from the kitchen and he panics, and he bows to the team and their shocked faces before disappearing. Saginuma walks in after him and looks at his team and just gives a disbelieving shrug.

"I should go," Neo Japan's nosiest players overhear Midorikawa say from the kitchen as they press up to the door. "I didn't mean to interrupt." Hitomiko just sits him down and asks him if he's had dinner, and starts heating up leftovers once Midorikawa admits that he skipped it, again. she hands him a paper towel to wipe his eyes with and asks what's going on.

she tries not to show how it hits her when he starts talking about the crystal. he prefaces it with a countless "I know"'s and "it's not that I"'s, and she can already imagine the argument that lead to him running away. Midorikawa's voice is quiet when he admits that he saw this coming, that he knew the team would react the way they did. maybe he wanted them to. maybe he wanted to feel alone again. he says he didn't want it, not really, but at the same time he does, and he doesn't understand why. some of the guys listening in on the other side of the door feel a lump in their throat as they realize that Midorikawa may be a lot like them.

their thoughts go from "he thinks he's better than us" to "oh, he thinks he's worthless and is trying to find a way to look at himself in the mirror again". and maybe Midorikawa is saying what a lot of them are thinking, regarding the crystal. that it's the easy way out, yes, and that he hates himself for desiring it, but that things just get so overwhelming at times. that if he had it, he wouldn't have to worry about his performance. then he could just do his thing, because his self confidence issues wouldn't be eating away at him 24/7.

they all work so hard to prove to themselves that they don't need it, but still, that little voice in the back of their minds persists. it tells them, "you used to be able to do this". they try not to listen, but sometimes that voice just gets so loud. and knowing that a player from Inazuma Japan, who's living that unattainable dream that they've all been grasping for, is being tormented by that voice as well... it's both comforting and terrifying. they realize that maybe, he's no better than them. maybe they're no worse. maybe stealing that representative spot wouldn't be the end all be all to their issues, after all.

Midorikawa eats in silence, grateful to not be made to sit in the living room with the others, and Hitomiko steps out for a moment to find half the team crowded into the hallway. she simply shakes her head in disapproval and Saginuma herds them all back to their places. once alone, he asks Hitomiko if he's alright. they all saw Midorikawa when he walked in- the tired eyes, the tears on his cheeks, he shake of his legs that suggested he ran a long distance to get there. even the less outwardly sympathetic members showed worry at seeing him in such a state.

she just sighs. "it's... complicated," she says. Saginuma understands. he shares her frustration. having been one of the older kids at the orphanage, he'd often offered a listening ear to the younger ones' problems. he knows what it's like to feel like you can't do much more than listen.

Hitomiko says she needs to make a phone call to Kudou and let him know that Midorikawa is with her and that he's safe. it's too dark out to go back, and Midorikawa is too tired. she asks Saginuma to prepare a spare room for him while she talks to the team and lets them know what's going on.

they all listen intently as she informs them that Midorikawa is going through some stuff at the moment, and that he'll be spending the night. "is he okay? did he get kicked out? did he... use something?" it's Segata who asks what some of them were thinking, and it collectively earns wide eyes and shock from the ones who weren't already wondering the same. she shakes her head, says he's fine, mostly. the team can't help but sigh in relief.

nobody feels like continuing their game of UNO after that. Izuno, Gouin and Atsuishi try to, but they're too caught up in their own thoughts. Yuukoku finally puts his cards down and asks what it was like for them.

Izuno admits that he'd never used the crystal, but that the promise of power had always spoken to some part of him buried deep inside, and that it never really left. being a part of Gaia, his team had trained against the others, who had been using it. it was difficult at the start, and he wondered why they weren't allowed to use it, too. Ishidaira isn't up to talking, but nods along to his teammate's words.

Atsuishi adds that he'd always wondered why they had to be divided, why that power was meant for him and the rest of Prominence and not Gaia. whether he was expected to revel in the sick enjoyment of seeing them getting beat down at the start, before they'd grown stronger than those using the crystal. It had never sat right with him to always be the victor over those puny humans, because back then, that was all they were. it was all he used to be, before Aliea. Segata solemnly agrees.

Gouin admits that he was frightened by the way the crystal made him feel. that power surging through him was unlike anything he'd ever felt. feeling on top of the world like that, it brought out the worst in him. Genda just looks away.

"sometimes," Demete starts, "I still wish I had God's Aqua." he compares training hard to get better to scaling a cliff with your bare hands. he muses that achieving it is the best feeling in the world, but that his self worth issues make reaching that end feel impossible. "you start thinking you need outward help to get there, and then it's all you can think about. it's a vicious cycle. getting trapped in it can break you if you don't know how to get out."

Hera doesn't say anything. he'd been stuck, even before Zeus, and thinking about it again makes his head spin. he doesn't want to listen to the rest of their conversation. he gets up from the couch and bids the team a rushed goodnight.

climbing the stairs to the second floor, he bumps into Midorikawa on his way to the bathroom. he looks intimidated, and neither of them know what to say to each other. "sorry," he finally says, hesitant. "I didn't mean to make things awkward for everyone."

Hera frowns and shakes his head. he puts a hand on Midorikawa's shoulder and looks at him intently. "by some grace of God, I've been given a third chance. you might not be granted that mercy. do not fall into that pit, okay?" his voice is firm, still Midorikawa picks up on the silent desparation that lines it. he isn't sure how to answer, so he just nods. Hera pats his shoulder once and then disappears into the bathroom.

he stands frozen in place as he considers Hera's words. Saginuma gets his attention from across the hallway as he declares the guest room to be ready for him. he walks up and Saginuma asks if he's okay. Midorikawa shrugs.

"I don't want to fuck this up. I just..." he trails off. Saginuma nods. he says he understands. Midorikawa knows he truly does. he tells him to get some sleep. Midorikawa says he will.

it's odd. entering Hitomiko's home an hour ago and finding Neo Japan there, Midorikawa felt like he was on enemy turf. but he's reminded that most of them are just like him, or at least similar. it's not enough to soothe that shame of feeling like he's ruined their lives by being chosen over them, but they no longer feel like his enemies. that fear of being pulled from his throne, so to speak, feels less incapacitating when the ones doing it have worked so hard to claw their way out of the same place he was in.

might continue later but I need to make dinner and tired of this sitting in my drafts. enjoy!