#if i was rich and not living with my family........ .

[ellaofoakhill]

I do think there is some merit in the idea of avoiding unnecessary or gratuitous character death, though. Depending on the genre you're working with and, especially, the tone you're intending to convey in your story, having a character die may be a bad route to take. Kill no one in a WW2 drama about the horrors of war and, unless you're doing something unusual with the genre conventions, your narrative's going to be pretty toothless. Kill nine characters out of ten that walk on screen, and you risk all those deaths blending into each other, and your audience disconnecting from your narrative, bc why should they care if chances are the character(s) they're most invested in will likely die anyway? I know some genres, like horror, are usually Like That anyway, but that is the nature of that type of story, and the good ones are deliberately writing with that tone in mind.

Genre conventions aside, there are other significant drawbacks to killing a character. For starters, they can contribute nothing else to the story going forward. The funny if cynical mentor who was disillusioned with the apathetic nature of the ruling class was secretly a member of the royal family, and could've served as the perfect agent to add legitimacy to the rebellion and bring support to its cause, while also highlighting the themes you've incorporated into your work of the importance of self-determination, trying to find a way forward without resorting to violence, and that all life should be treated with dignity and kindness? Too bad, you killed him off in that one skuffle outside the port city at the end of act one.

My other point is, even if the character in question is a tertiary character, there should be a reason for their death, and that reason needs to be weighted in proportion to that character's significance to the narrative. Logically, the bodyguard we've seen in the background might very well take a lethal bullet or a sword-stroke for her charge, bc that is her job, and a very real risk her job entails. Tonally, this might be a political drama, with intrigue and lethal backstabbing and assassination attempts left, right, and centre, where it would be weird if some bodyguard somewhere along the line didn't die, but it'd be most impactful for the one we've shared a viewpoint with to be the one who dies. Thematically, her death might also underscore the exploitation of people with rich inner lives of their own being crushed beneath the weight of classist ideology and the apathy of the rich and powerful. If she is a major character, her death and its aftereffects should be given suitable page space throughout the rest of your story. If she' was a tertiary character, we might not even get her name, let alone her perspective, and her death might be one among tens, hundreds, or thousands.

And it can be even less than this. The footman will literally be the guy to die bc he's the guy who answers the door the assassin's waiting on the other side of, and it'd make very little sense for the lord of the manor to get the door if the footman's also in the room during protag's plot-revealing conversation with his lordship. We might know nothing else about the footman, no one might ever mention him again, and he might never have touched on the plot prior--we might not even know his name--but it makes no sense for anyone else to take the action leading to that death, and even less sense for an assassin to spare his life. So the footman has to die. But it makes sense for him to die, given the circumstances.

Tl;dr: Character death is a tool for a storyteller to use to further the aims of a story, in terms of plot, character arcs, and theming. Use it too little and a story might--depending on genre and tone--lack in tension; use it too much and your story might not only lack tension, but actively damage its own narrative by removing characters who might have enhanced its plot, character arcs, and theming.

The salient point is: Make character deaths make sense, and in the case of major characters especially, make them matter.

im starting to think you guys dont like it when stories make you feel things

[dcxdpdabbles]

I love freelance inventor so much, Danny is the dad that stepped up.

Does Bruce know about Talia's assassination attempt ? Does he know Dany sent back bodies ?

Danny: I'm going to help this man raise his children, occasionally sleeping in the same bed while cuddling; I will call him whenever I get a chance and have my family treat him like a son-in-law. I would like to hold his hand, kiss his lips, and grow old together.....but like platonically. What do you mean this feeling is not platonic???

Bruce and his kids (minus Damian) do not know about Talia's assassination attempts. They think that Danny is a regular world-traveling civilian inventing random gadgets for fun because he's from a family that randomly invents gadgets for fun. The Fentons have been known to do that throughout five generations, and while not sticking wealthy, they do have a good-sized bank account. How else would they afford to pay for their portal's materials and power?

Meanwhile, Danny thinks that Bruce and his kids are just a regular, super-rich family he constantly thinks about. He believes the League of Assassins is a cult that is obsessed with immortality and death, which is why they are bothering him. They somehow found out about Phantom, which is his assumption. He killed in self-defense or in the defense of those around him whenever they attacked. Unlike Bruce he doesn't have a problem ending a life if it means keeping someone he values alive.

He is unaware it's one of Bruce's ex.

Damian is the only one who knows both sides but assumes no one is bringing it up out of politeness because he was raised with the idea that no one shared league secrets. He lives by the Oath.

[larkandkatydid]

"No live organism can continue to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream..."

Book Recs: The Gothic After Shirley Jackson

Peter Straub, Ghost Story: One of the great horror novles about misogyny that is also misogynistic. But, I will say in the 30 or so years that this book has been in my life, I've come to see it as smarter and more interesting with its unreliable protagonists than I had previously thought. And this is partially the skill of the writer unfolding for me as I mature, but I cannot help but think that Current Events make it impossible to not see the Chowder Society as an allegory for the U.S. Supreme Court

Rene Depestre, Hadriana In All My Dreams: A gorgeous, richly written zombie story but I also think a very early exploration of the ideas you find in a lot of feminist horror critiques. What if the beauitful dead girl wants to be something other than beautiful and pure and perfect and dead?

Susannah Clark, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrel: The hype over this book when it came out was so intense that I think I undervalued it at first because it could not possibly have lived up to that hype. But it truly is excellent.

Tananarive Due, The Good House: This book is such a perfect iteration of the Steven Speilberg/Stephen King style of normal family in peril. Due's latest book, The Reformatory has won so many horror awards this year and it also a wonderful new version of books about the children fighting evil. There's so much heart and warmth in all her books, even when awful things happen.

Helen Oyeyemi, White is for Witching: A austere, Jackon-esque haunted house book that also reminds me a lot of Sarah Waters' The Little Stranger. It's very much rooted in the conservative, nightmarish era of the 1980s, which makes it now relevant for today.

Jeanette Ng, Under the Pendulum Sun: This book about Victorian missionaries in the fairy realm ends up on so many of my recomendation lists. If Under the Pendulum Sun has one fan, and it might, that fan is me. But I remain ever hopeful that I will be able to persuade enough of the reading public that it gets a sequel.

Afia Atakora, Conjure Women: A book that is riffing on both Jane Eyre and The Beguiled and, most of all, digging in the rich gothic soil of "how do we live together after betraying each other to survive?"

Olga Tokarczuk, Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead: What else can be said about this book? It's an ecofeminist Hannibal episode in the most complimentary way possible. It's probably insulting to put Tokarczuk on a list with such goofy books, but she's having fun here.

Emma Rous, The Au Pair: This is the stupidest book on this list. It is possibly one of the stupidest books ever written, something I say with profound love and admiration. Nothing that happens in this book makes emotional or medical sense, and yet, it's a fucking blast.

[unknownogre]

They say it’s for the betterment of the world. That I’m not a prisoner…that I’m free to wonder in between moments of recovery. Still…this hospital is a prison and I am the most important patient. I am the perfect match for everyone on the planet. My blood, my organs…not a single body will reject them. I’m kept here by the Hero’s league. This is my ‘post’ after registration and trying to do good to help the world, I don’t know what I was thinking.

Do I make money? Not enough. I’m told it is my duty to give and as a member of the Hero’s League that I’m doing my part so wealth shouldn’t be a deciding factor. I’m also blessed with an insane healing factor. They can pull organs out of me once a day as long as they are careful about which ones. If it is the heart, I need a few days to recover. I can’t work out because no matter what the organs are new when they regrow. So even if my arms are stronger, my lungs are new, my heart…its new. I can’t train them to work more efficiently, I can’t get stronger. I suppose that is their plan.

I don’t pick, its congress, house reps…politicians that affect laws that govern how the Hero’s League work. Hell my organs are in the founding members as well. Entire medicine lines have been developed on my blood alone. I’d be worth billions if I held any control over my parts. I’m just worth thousands not that I even get to spend that much. No vacations, no time off…no rest.

…I want to feel better about this. I hate it. If I don’t make money from this, then I’d rather be helping the poor and children. I’m not though. I’m helping fund the League and their greed. Why give me what I’m due when they can just lock me away.

…I want out…I WANT OUT! I WANT OUT!

Then there was a faint explosion…well the first one was faint. The subsequent ones got louder…and closer until the floor shook. I could see smoke billowing from the side of the hospital. I’d was worried for a second but then I realized that the only people here are rich politicians and their families. I can’t be bothered to care anymore. I was just standing by my window, looking upon a city I was ‘saving’ but couldn’t live amongst. If I’m lucky the building will do so much damage to my body I’ll be allowed the sweet release of death…but I doubt I’ll be that lucky.

I could hear fighting in the hall, yes they had guards around me all the time. Said it was for my safety but it has been ten years and no one tried to attack me once…so I was convinced they were put there to make sure I didn’t run. How dare I dream of living on my own right?

I’m curious now as I take a position opposite the door. I wonder what is going on. I know nothing. I don’t have news, or social media…I’m a phantom in this city. A mere whisper of a legend that no one is sure exists. Civil war in the Hero’s League? Random attack on a politician here and I’m to be taken hostage so they can get their freedom? I have no idea. I don’t care really.

“This is the room…he has to be here!”

It was an alto feminine presenting voice. Rather lovely if you ask me. I hate the nurses here, they keep sending in ones they think are ‘pretty’ so I bond with them and want to be more compliant, but their eyes are all the same…distant. They were acting, all of them were acting. No one wants one sided love…I took what I could get but I knew it was empty. I wonder if Sarah survived the initial assault? The door was ripped off the hinged and there was a woman standing nearly seven feet tall with arms and legs like tree trunks covered in Kevlar body armor. She looked DOPE. She stepped aside though and a pair came past her. A man and a woman with themes of purple black and blue in their ‘armor’. The woman floated surrounded by a purple energy and the man had a million different blades all over his body.

“We’d like you to come with us. We are From The Dark League.”

I sighed and just grabbed a water bottle and opened it looking to them. The large woman was looking nervous and the man with the blades looked impatient but the magical woman looked calm.

“Why? Is going with you better than staying here. This cage is gilded ya know?”

I took a sip and the man looked me up and down and then turned away to stand with the large woman by the door. I wasn’t sure if they were a couple or not, I guess just minions. Hell, I don’t know why I’m thinking about such things.

“Well, we know of you and your situation. We’d offer help. In exchange for harvesting your organs once a week, we’ll pay you obscene amounts of money and make sure you are safe. You’ll be under contract for a duration and once that duration is up you’ll be free to do as you choose. How does that sound?”

This woman, this wonderful Witchy woman just said perhaps the most wonderful words I’ve ever heard in my entire life. I was just about to agree too until the wall near where I stood was smashed to bits and the leader of the Hero’s League called Justice stood there in his suit of white and gold. He could fly, was immune to bullets and most physical damage and the only reason there was still crime was because he couldn’t be bothered to actually stop it anymore, I made him more money than he knew what to do with.

“Stop right there Morticia…you won’t take him and I’ll paint the sidewalk with your blood in order to keep him here.”

There was no more show huh? No kind of sympthay. I get it, he’ll kill to keep me here and I don’t know. I thought apathy was my existence, but there was something to be said for the show, the fake emotions. I could pretend that I was doing this for the right reasons, that I was helping. No! I was getting angry. I was a pawn for too long…and as Morticia fired off a few impotent blasts my heart started to hammer in my chest…

…what was this I was feeling. Aside from the pent up rage of a decade of torture and solitary confinement. I felt something from Justice. Something familiar…my eyes locked on him as he approached the increasingly desperate woman. Her minions came in but where brushed aside…no they were killed right away. Not yet, he was going to make an example out of her.

“NO!”

I shouted and held out my hand…Justice stopped cold. I could feel it. I held his heart. No…no it wasn’t his heart it was mine. I HELD HIS HEART IN MY HAND! It was mine, it would always be mine. Sure it adapted to be in his body…but it was mine. I don’t know when he had the surgery. I never knew who got what and when. Still he had a bit of me in him and I had control.

“You don’t get to keep me here anymore! I’m SO sick of this. I don’t care if I’m helping rich assholes stay alive longer than the gods want. LET THEM DIE! You don’t help children, you don’t help the poor which is what I SIGNED ON TO DO! YOU LINE YOUR POCKETS BECAUSE OE ME! I HATE IT! I HATE ALL OF IT! You know they offered me money, protection AND freedom. Not to lock me up and rip out organs from my body, which they very well could do. NO! These ‘villains’ are going to treat me better than the heroes ever have.”

Justice looked at me and for the first time anywhere I saw genuine fear in the so called hero’s face. I was drunk in that moment. I loved this. Do villains get to feel like this all the time? Or maybe the really powerful ones do.

“Please…don’t. I…I’ll give you more freedom okay. More money too…just…”

Why wasn’t this working for him. I had him under control for life…no not for life. Then he’d really lock me away, keeping me sedated for a long as possible. My body will adapt eventually to the drugs, but  then he’ll just rip out organs while I’m awake. I can see it behind the fear. The rage he has.

“Sorry my friend. I don’t think you have a better counteroffer.”

Then I closed my hand in a fist and instantly I saw blood come from his eyes and mouth and he just fell over to the side. I walked over to help the man with the knives get up and I dusted him off.

“Morticia, consider me under your protection and employ. I am going to ask for something right off the bat, if you don’t mind. I want a beer so bad I dream about them every night. Can we go get a drink somewhere? I’m not trying to hit on you but something tells me you are wonderful company.”

I offered her the crook of my arm so she could pull herself up to stand. I could see a whole range of emotions play across her face as she looked at the fallen hero just dead on the floor. I looked at him as well…oh I was giddy. I had suppressed myself so much that I couldn’t feel. Now just letting my emotions out I could feel so much power, I had so much control over so many politicians now.

“Or maybe I would like a better contract. I’d like to join the Shadow League. Seeing as now I have dirt on politicians, war lords, despots…so many people have a vital organ of mine in them. We’ll get so much money. Eventually they’ll all die but then we can burn that bridge when we come to it. Also we’ll need to workshop a name and costume for me. Who ever does yours I would love their number.”

Morticia just started to laugh at this completely improbably situation before her and she hoisted herself up using my elbow. She pulled me close just resting her other hand on my arm. She looked truly amused and happy with the outcome. The large woman patted me on the back smiling as well. I liked them already. These were my true heroes. My saviors that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to truly repay.

“I think…you’ll be a wonderful addition to the Shadow League. I think we are about to enter a new age of villainy, if I dare be so optimistic.”

The funny thing about villains. They don’t really want to do evil. They are beat and broken people rebelling against a system that hurt them. I will force change…and when I make them happy they’ll stop being ‘evil’. Most of them will anyway, some are just sick and twisted…and they’ll be put down. The reasonable ones though…gods I’m using evil to get so much good done in the world. A new age indeed.

“I think you should dare.” I offered her a smile. She had me floating at this point…this was so cool. GODS I can’t wait

You're a literal universal donor for a superpower, that even your organs are compatible. And right now, the villains have decided to hit the hospital.

[megumimania]

A silly ask and I'm kinda surprised no one has done this yet and I like your writing so I'm sending it to you but basically fem reader and toji on an episode on maury :3

WHO’S YOUR DADDY? — toji fushiguro

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

a/n: the way this has sat in the drafts for well over a year, loved writing this btw, thanks anon!

it’s no secret that toji has his doubts about whether megumi is his.

but you’re officially over going back and forth with him. especially when he still owes you child support that he refuses to pay until you show him valid proof that megumi is his son.

and what better way to give him that confirmation that he desires than on the messiest show on daytime television, in front of a live studio audience.

“for those who have joined us after the break, today we are joined by y/n, who claims that her ex boyfriend toji is pretending to act like he isn’t the father to their two year old son megumi so he doesn’t have to pay child support.”

the camera pans to you and toji sat a few feet away from each other. you can tell that he thinks this whole thing is a joke from the way he’s slouching in the chair and the constant sarcastic replies he gives maury each time he’s asked a simple question.

“maury how do i know she’s not tryna hustle me outta my hard earned money, huh?” he asks, seemingly thinking that he’s caught you in a tight spot. “besides have you seen the kid? his hair is spiky as fuck, nobody in my family has that hair type.”

the laugh that threatens to leave your lips is almost sickening, using hair as reason to not claim his child was absurd.

it was almost as wild as trying to accuse you of being a good-for-nothing money hungry vulture. which was rich coming from him. considering that your job was practically funding his lifestyle, aside from the large dose of cash he received from his 'work trips’ that cropped up once in a while.

the cash did nothing for you as he spent it as fast as he received it. rather than putting it towards megumi’s trust fund or college fund, he squandered it all on drinking and gambling, especially when it came to the races.

it turns out his charming looks and smiles do not work on the biggest gamble of all time: betting on damn race horses.

but in the rare instance he had some had some heart he contributed towards the bills and groceries. yet that still wasn’t enough.

“when was the last time you paid for megumi’s diapers or his formula or anything related to the apartment, hm?”

you retort, revelling at how all the fight and bravado he once held was slowly seeping out of him, as if he had all of his blood sucked out of him. the host looks expectantly at toji, awaiting a response.

the audience sets off in a chorus of ‘boos’ before toji even has a chance to respond to clear his name. he feels ambushed, the humiliation of admitting to be a terrible father on television creeping up on him.

but what did he expect? he always pushed too hard and now he’s paying the price as you unsurprisingly pushed back even harder.

and of course in the sea of 'boos', there’s a few cheers in the crowd from people who are more interested in getting into his pants instead of the main reason to why you were here in the first place.

“oh and maury if you think i’m lying, i’ve got invoices, bank statements and receipts spanning the last three months.” you add “i can tell you for a fact that this man doesn’t spend a dime on anything—he might as well put on a diaper and sleep in our son's crib.”

"and so what?" toji shrugs, ever so nonchalant. to the degree it pisses you off, he could at least try to act like he cares in front of the camera and the audience.

“i still make it up to you though, don’t i?” he replies, a teasing edge to his tone that has implications that you don’t want to unpack on national television, which was ironic since your business was already out there anyway.

the look on your face is almost murderous, and luckily maury manages to pick up on before this turns into a bloodbath. he quickly perks up as he holds up the manilla envelope that was going to make or break your day.

“In here we have the results of the paternity test, come back after the break!” he says clasping his hand together as you head to the commercial break. immediately you head backstage, grabbing megumi from the staff member who seemed smitten with him.

he latched onto you as you doted on him, before he waddled off to play with his firetrucks that you brought with you in your bag. “he’s getting so big.” a familiar voice says and you turn to see him in the doorway.

“megumi look! daddy’s come back with his tail between his legs because he knows he’s about to be publicly embarrassed on tv!” you say in a mocking voice, pointing out to where toji is standing and he toddles over, smacking his arm as he adorably glowers at his dad.

“bad daddy!” he says and you stop him before he gets out of control and starts to barrel toji with his kicking and slapping. you pull megumi onto your lap trying to calm him down whilst biting back a laugh.

“we don’t hit megumi, unless people deserve it like your daddy.” you tell him softly but you doubt he’s retained any of what you said anyway.

megumi is nestled into your lap, his focus back onto the firetruck that he’s playing with. for his age the kid is incredibly perceptive to the point where it spooks you out.

and if toji feels more like an idiot now, he doesn’t say so.

—

“and we’re back! for those who have just joined us, y/n claims that her ex boyfriend is denying that he’s the father of their child to avoid child support payments.”

the clips of the past half hour play back as you sit down, the manilla envelope in your eye level making your heart race slightly. deep down you knew that he was the father so why was the anticipation making you doubt that?

the crowds cheering and whooping comes to a close once maury grabs hold of the manilla envelope, he opens it, dragging out the grand reveal for dramatic purposes as the suspense builds in the room.

“when it comes to two year old megumi fushiguro, toji… you are the father!” he announces setting off the crowd in a series of cheers. you look over at toji and notice the red flush that covers his neck and ears, a sure tell sign of embarrassment and guilt.

“all i gotta say is that i fucking told you so, hell i didn’t even have to say anything you should’ve known!” you said to him, as he did nothing but take the well deserved lecture from you.

toji felt really fucking stupid, like really stupid but he didn’t want to add to your tirade already, he already wanted to melt of pure embarrassment under the hot studio lights. he really underestimated the lengths you’d go to prove him wrong.

“it’s time to start scrimping and saving, old man. food, clothes and diapers aint cheap. I’m sure your poor race horses will understand right?” you said teasingly, biting back a laugh as you clapped his shoulder.

toji let out an annoyed huff as the sound of your laughter ricocheted in his head, the high from your victory lap still present. he couldn’t be more of a fool if he tried. “haha very funny.” he said drily, despite his head burning, now he owed you and shiu money over his stupid antics.

he knew that as long as the internet and tv were still around, he was never going to live this day down, knowing you’d use this moment to embarrass him and deservedly so.

“i’ve been your host, maury! come back tomorrow where we have suguru and satoru. two former best friends and alleged lovers with satoru claiming that suguru’s affair with the kfc worker ruined their relationship!”

[witchofawoman]

LATE NIGHTS ⋆｡°✩

1. Blooming ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

featuring : jj maybank x kook!reader

summary : growing up in kildare seems like a dream, especially as a kook and even more if they were you, everyone woukd kill to be you : you were rich, everyone loved your family and most of all you were going out with him : Rafe. But behind closed doors, everything was different...

words count : 1.5k

warnings : drug and alcohol usage, explicit content, angst, violence, smut, addiction, cheating, unprotected sex.

a/n : I'm sorry if this is baddly written, this is my first book and I will try to do my best

You were always partying. No one truly cared about you; they only cared about whether you’d attend their party. Your presence was a symbol of status. You had everything that could elevate someone socially: connections, image, and wealth. But for you, parties weren’t about social standing. They were an escape. You drank, smoked, and did drugs, not for fun, but to numb yourself. What started as an indulgence became an addiction.

Everyone wanted to be your friend, but no one truly cared about you. On the surface, they treated you as their friend, but it was one-sided. They never asked how you were, even as you spiraled at their events. You would take whatever was available : pills, weed, alcohol. Just to escape and forget your problems.

Behind closed doors, the "kook princess" title meant nothing. Your parents didn’t care about you. They gave you everything you wanted but never noticed when you began self-harming. They were too absorbed in their own lives, often away in another part of the country. Yet, they demanded perfection to protect their image. Any scandal involving you would bring their wrath.

Your boyfriend was no different. Like your parents, he only cared about appearances. He stayed with you because you were the ideal trophy: calm, compliant, and perfect. He controlled you, loved having that power, and dismissed your feelings. Even when you learned about his multiple affairs, you didn’t react. He saw you as a submissive little doll.

To the world, you were perfect. People thought you were a ray of sunshine : effortlessly beautiful, always saying the right things. But at parties, you let your mask slip. You attended every parties in Figure eight, always showing up even when your soul screamed to be elsewhere.

One summer evening, you went to the annual bonfire, but this this time it was in The Cut. You arrived with Rafe, but he quickly disappeared with a touron. Left alone, you filled a cup with a random drink. Sarah was there too, but she soon left to be with her boyfriend. You danced for a while, but the urge to smoke overwhelmed you. Seeking solitude, you wandered to the water’s edge, sat on the sand with your toes in the surf, and lit a joint.

As you stared at the waves, lost in thought, someone approached. You didn’t turn to look until he spoke.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you replied coldly.

“That’s not very polite. As a kook, you should know what respect is,” he teased, pulling out his own joint. He asked for a lighter, and you handed it to him, briefly locking eyes. That’s when you recognized him: JJ Maybank. You didn’t care for him, mostly because of his constant run-ins with Rafe. You thought he was reckless, but beyond that, you knew little about him, except that he was a Pogue and had a troubled upbringing.

When he handed the lighter back, he smirked. “What’s Y/N Y/L/N doing in The Cut?”

You sighed, not wanting to answer. After taking one last hit from your joint, you stood to leave, but he grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer. The touch unsettled you, not in a bad way, but in a way you didn’t expect.

“What are you doing here, huh? And why aren’t you with your sweet little boyfriend?”

You yanked your hand away. “It’s none of your business, Maybank.”

His smirk widened. His piercing blue eyes held yours, making it impossible to look away. “Let me guess, he ditched you for another girl.”

His words didn’t sting. You were relieved whenever Rafe wasn’t around. He was toxic, manipulative, and full of himself. You sighed again, which JJ took as confirmation.

“Oh, I see. It doesn’t bother you, does it? Is it because he’s a trainwreck, or…” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper near your ear. “Is it because he can’t fuck you right?”

He wasn’t wrong. Rafe was selfish, in and out of bed. He never cared about your needs, only his own gratification. You remained silent, but JJ saw through you. His smirk grew, and his gaze deepened as he looked into your eyes, devoid of any spark.

Then, without warning, he kissed you. You should have pushed him away, but you didn’t. Instead, you kissed him back. His touch made you feel weak in a way you hadn’t felt before. The longing in your eyes didn’t escape him, and soon, the two of you found yourselves at the Chateau, lost in each other.

Piece by piece, your clothes fell away, each barrier removed with deliberate care. He didn’t rush or treat you as an object to conquer. For the first time, you felt truly seen—not as an image or a facade, but as a person stripped of all pretense.

His lips followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of soft kisses and tender marks across your skin. When he paused in front of your most sensitive spot, his eyes locked with yours, silently asking for permission. A simple, desperate “Please” escaped your lips, and that was all he needed.

He began with his tongue, moving in rhythmic circles over your clit, making you gasp with pleasure. When he slid a finger inside, your body arched instinctively, and soon, he added another, intensifying the sensation. You became a trembling, moaning mess, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. With every movement, he seemed to unravel you further, taking you to places you’d never been before.

Your hands gripped his blonde hair tightly as the tension within you grew unbearable. “I’m gonna—c-cum, JJ,” you managed to stammer, your voice quivering as your body reached its peak. He responded by quickening his pace, pushing you over the edge. Your vision blurred as you cried out his name, your release overwhelming you completely.

He moved back up to face you, placing gentle kisses on your lips as if to ground you. The intimacy between you felt electric, but you wanted more. He seemed to sense it, turning you over so your back pressed into the soft pillows. As he teased your entrance, you couldn’t help but let out a string of curses under your breath.

Despite the passion, guilt crept into your mind, you were cheating on your boyfriend, and with his nemesis, no less. But those thoughts vanished the moment he entered you fully. A gasp escaped your lips as he started slow, allowing your body to adjust. “You’re so tight, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice laced with pleasure. Soon, his movements quickened, and the two of you were lost in each other, the world outside forgotten.

Every thrust hit the right spot, sending waves of pleasure through your body. The tension built again, and you felt yourself nearing another climax. “JJ, I—” you tried to speak, but your words dissolved into incoherent moans as your body convulsed around him.

He didn’t stop, driving you further into overstimulation as he chased his own release. When he finally found it, he stilled, his warmth filling you completely. You lay together in the aftermath, your bodies tangled and hearts racing. You kissed him deeply, savoring the connection you’d shared.

But as the euphoria faded, reality crept back in. You had a boyfriend. This moment, as incredible as it was, could never happen again. And yet, lying there in his bed, you couldn’t help but wish it could.

a/n : I'm sorry, I know it's not really great, but tell me if you want a Part 2 or smth 🙏🙏

[misctf]

This is an ask for the "Welcome to the Crew" but what if a preppy rich guy got one of the drinks slipped to him from a guy that he used to bully. He drinks it not knowing the effects.

“It’s been so long.”

Dustin frowns as he made his way down the busy street, taking in the scene before him. It had been some time since he’d return to the small town where he spent high school. And while he always remembered hating it, he couldn’t deny the nostalgia brewing inside him.

“Weird to be back.” He thinks, “Just don’t know why dad picked this place for such a big talk.” He enters the lively sports bar, avoiding eye contact with the patrons, “Dad always loved this kind of atmosphere.” He thinks bitterly, “He didn’t even know how stupid he looked.” Dustin recalled his dad getting laughed at and judged as a coastal elite behind his back.  

Despite being wealthy, his father’s humble roots certainly came through. His dad wanted to move here, taking his family from their mansion on the coast to this smaller, midwestern town. Dustin recalled the fights they had over this decision. How stupid he thought his dad was- and how stupid it made Dustin look. So to compensate, he’d flaunt his superiority to the poorer kids at school. Not his proudest moments. Dustin cringed at the memory. In truth, as time went on and he matured, he realized how terrible he’d been.  

“I’ve changed.” He thought, “God I was such an asshole back then.” He looks down at his phone, noticing a text from his dad saying he was running late, “Oh well.” He looked around, smiling when he saw an open stool at the bar, “Might as well.”

Dustin sat at the bar, noticing he looked a bit out of place amongst the patrons. They were going on about the big game on the TV. Yelling at the screen and cursing when their team lost yards. He remembered his dad would act similarly if you got him really riled up. Probably why Dustin rejected football and focused on golf when growing up.

“They’re really getting into it.” Dustin thought, “I forgot how much the town livens up.” He looks up to be greeted by the sight of the bartender, a flash of recognition passing over him, “Eric?” He smiles, “Eric, is that you?”

“Dustin?” Eric’s tone is far less jovial, “I reckon I recognized you.”

Dustin’s smile faltered, “Yeah... well how’s it going?”

Memories of his times insulting and belittling Eric made their way to the surface. It always seemed odd to outsiders. Eric was a bigger guy, always had been. Bulky with both fat and muscle. He could’ve probably broken the lean Dustin in two had he wanted. But Eric was gentle. He took Dustin’s disparaging remarks about his family’s poverty, repeated years in school, and brutish appearance in stride. And while Dustin made his life a living hell, while also charming everyone else around him, Eric took it.

“Besides,” Eric had once remarked to a smug Dustin, “you must be pretty miserable yourself if you treatin’ others this way.”

Dustin frowned as he recalled these memories. And while his time away from town helped him grow up and recognize how much of an asshole he was, he knew he couldn’t make up for the hell he put some of these people through.

“I’m good. You?”

“I’m meeting my dad today. He wants to discuss my position on the board.” Dustin noticed a spark of irritation in Eric’s wary eyes, “I uh... nice tattoos.” He said awkwardly, gazing at the man’s thick arm, adorned in a full sleeve.

“Thank ya.” Eric replied, glaring at Dustin. The younger man shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the two silent for just a moment, “Where are my manners?” A sly smile formed on Eric’s bearded face, “Congratulations, you must be excited!”

Dustin’s smile returned, “I really am. Thank you.” He watches as Eric grabbed a beer and pour it into a glass.

“On the house.” Eric leaned forward, “Got this just a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, well thank you.” Dustin remarks.

Part of him wants to turn it down, but another part of him wants to show he appreciates Eric’s kindness. To put the past behind them. As he takes a swig of the beer, a tingling sensation spreads through his body. At first, it felt pleasant, like a warm glow emanating from his core. But soon, his stomach began to churn and roil, as if a cauldron of acid was bubbling up inside him.

“Whoa, what's happening?” Dustin gasped, setting the glass down hastily.

He clutched his abdomen, doubling over in discomfort. The burps started soon after, loud and uncontrollable. Each one echoed through the bar, drawing curious glances from the other patrons. Dustin's face turned a deep shade of crimson as he tried to muffle the embarrassing sounds with his hand.

“I think I need to get out of here.” He gasped.

Eric chuckled, “Aw, come on Dustin, it ain't that bad! You're just experiencing the magic of Gridiron Brew.”

As if on cue, Dustin let out another thunderous belch, causing several nearby patrons to look, “Nice one, man!” One called out, followed by other. Despite the cheers, the poor guy looked absolutely mortified, sweat beading on his forehead.

“I'm serious, Eric, I don't feel right.” Dustin wheezed, still clutching his gut.

Dustin's discomfort quickly morphed into astonishment as he felt a strange sensation coursing through his body. His muscles, previously lean and wiry, began to swell and thicken, growing larger with each passing second. At first, it was just a subtle increase in bulk, almost imperceptible. But soon, the transformation accelerated, and Dustin found himself engulfed in a whirlwind of rapid growth.

“Ah fuck....” He groaned, gripping his shirt tightly.

With a loud rip, Dustin tore his once-pristine button-up shirt apart, sending buttons flying across the bar floor. He stood before Eric, his chest now heaving with broad, defined pecs, and powerful shoulders that looked capable of crushing steel. His lean arms now bulged with rippling slabs of meat, veins pulsating beneath his skin.

“Holy shit, what's happening to me?!” Dustin exclaimed, gawking at his newfound muscular physique. 

It was a physique of all the stupid jocks he’d seen on campus. And as he ran a hand of his chiseled torso and meaty pecs, he could feel his stomach churning. As if on cue, another loud belch ripped through his body, followed by a series of increasingly disturbing noises from deeper within his gut.

“N-no... please, whatever you've done, reverse it!” Dustin begged Eric desperately, fear etched on his face as he stumbled backward.

And as Dustin backed away from Eric, a strange sensation crept across his smooth, hairless muscles. Dark brown fur erupted from every bulging fiber, covering him from neck to toe in a thick coat of dense body hair. It itched horribly, causing him to scratch at his transformed torso with shaking hands.

“H-hair?! Oh god, what the f-fuck is happening?!” Dustin shrieked in horror, suddenly catching a glimpse in the mirror mounted above the bar. He gasped as he watched his golden locks fall from his head, “My hair...” He whispered, feeling the unfamiliar smoothness of his bald head, “Make it stop! Please!”

He turned towards Eric, who placed a ball cap on Dustin's head, "Gotta show some team spirit." He motioned towards the TV above the bar.

And as Dustin's eyes settled on the big game he felt content. Despite the ongoing turmoil wracking his body, Dustin found himself inexplicably drawn to the spectacle unfolding on the television.

“Look at that tackling! Fucking beautiful!” Dustin bellowed, slapping a large, meaty palm against the countertop. He grabbed a glass and took another swig of the beer.

And as he drank, Dustin's thoughts drifted to simpler times – high school football games, weekends spent cheering on his teammates, relishing in the brotherhood forged on the field. Yet, a nagging sense of disconnection tugged at the edges of his consciousness. Football? Hadn't he spent his time on the pristine fairways of golf courses?

“Nah...” Dustin shook his head, dismissing the nagging doubts. Golf was for rich guys who couldn't rough it; real men played football.

While his memories shifted away from the preppy golfer, thickening fat layers accumulated around his muscular frame, encasing his biceps and pecs in a soft, flabby padding. His six-pack abs dissolved into a protruding beer gut. Despite the addition of fat, his underlying musculature remained evident, he wasn't just chubby, but more ruggedly built.

“Damn, if I ever got in shape again, I'd crush those punks on the field!” Dustin boasted, his belly jiggling with each enthusiastic gesture. He laughed heartily, the sound rumbling deep within his barrel chest, “Man, I miss those days...” He smirked at Eric, “So when are ya done with this shift. No offense, but I'd rather be outside drinkin’ and celebratin’ than all cooped up in here.”

“All done, bro.” Eric smirks, “C’mon, it’s been a bit since we’ve hung out.”

As they exited the bar, Eric led the way onto the sidewalk. Dustin lagged behind, holding the heavy wooden door open for a well-dressed man hurrying inside. For a fleeting instant, their eyes locked - the suited businessman's eyes casting judgment, likely amused by the scruffy, beer-bellied hulk blocking his path. And then the door closes, Dustin turning to Eric.

“He looks like he's got a couple million stuck up his ass.” Dustin chuckled, “Always playing the rich card. Probably pays someone to polish his balls daily.”

Eric snorted, shaking his head in amusement, “Sounds about right.”

And as the two walked down the bustling sidewalk, their boisterous laughter filled the air. The two buddies sharing stories of their shared high-school days- their triumphs on the field and love for the game. Dustin settling nicely into his new life as a small-town ex-jock, his best days already far behind him.

[doe-eyed-disaster]

Reading the new Vulture article about Neil Gaiman's serial sexual abuse (and Amanda Palmer's complicity) has shaken me, maybe most viscerally in the way it describes the weird kind of normal that victims so often have to construct.

Many survivors of sexual violence do not process their experience as such, not at first. I was one of them. It's such a shock to the system that lots of us kind of just... erase it? Like the tape is fuzzy there or the file got corrupted or the footage is just abruptly missing for that stretch of time. You just go on and don't really account for that lost time.

I got changed and threw out the clothes I'd been wearing in a dumpster, came back to the room, and woke the rest of the band up to start loading the trailer so we could get to the next show. One of the men in that room had raped me only a few hours earlier.

One of my band mates was having marriage trouble and asked us, his friends and me, for advice. I gave him genuinely good insight and helped navigate a tough moment in the relationship. He had raped me less than 12 hours previously.

We played a show with some artists I looked up to. I was in the green room with them and him. He saw how excited I was to be talking to these people and started talking me up as a musician to them. He had raped me only a few weeks prior.

Who do you tell? Who can you tell? Who will believe you? Who will do something, anything, to help you? I wasn't talking to my family. I didn't have other friends. I didn't know anyone in the scene. I wasn't thinking explicitly in those terms, but they lurked in the back of my head, the kinds of things that redirect you out of any critical analysis.

Lots of things went unexamined: why I'd thrown those clothes out; why I was bleeding and bruised the next day; why I was still nursing those injuries weeks later. That sort of thing. I didn't think to wonder why I didn't like to let him out of my sight when we hang out. I didn't pay any mind to how I'd get so anxious that I could barely breathe if he walked behind me or between me and a door. I couldn't bear to think precisely *whose* hands I kept feeling around my waist and neck when I woke up in a panic.

And you just keep on with that fractured kind of normal for as long as it takes, every day that you can't admit it adding interest to the emotional devastation. You wonder sometimes "am I crazy? I must be. Normal people don't feel that way." You deflect when the conversation veers too close. You feel afraid to label your experience *that* way because really it wasn't all that bad and I'm just exaggerating like I do.

And then one day you can't keep up the facade. Something slips. Someone sees something you didn't want them to. Someone comments and then doesn't buy the deflection. The details are different every time for every person, but two things are always true:

* you're gonna grieve hideously for the hideous thing that was done to you

* you're gonna have to deal with the thought that no one might ever believe you

It's a power thing. He had the power to do that to you. To me. To her. To them. That's what made you vulnerable. He wasn't suave or seductive or darkly brilliant. He was just stronger than you, more powerful. That's what keeps you quiet. He'll be able to shut the conversation down, deflect and move on, label you a libellous slut and call it a day with no more inconvenience than wiping off his shoes. He'll have friends that help him find his marks, who make him opportunities. He'll toss you right out and not think twice about doing it. My guy got to do it to me once, and it took everything in me to manage to keep it from happening again without *looking* like that's what I was doing. Sometimes though, when they're rich and powerful, they just get to keep doing and doing and doing. Dozens of times to dozens of women, every one of them living the same fractured reality that I and so many others have woken up into.

If you're reading the accusations against Neil Gaiman and wondering how it went on so long and so far, that's the whole equation: powerful men surrounded by enablers, living in a culture that sees their trauma as fodder for literary awards and ours as something so inconvenient to consider that it's easier to leave us all alone with nothing to console the sense that, even though you can't quite remember it, something terrible happened right where the tape skips.

[themagicafox]

Hogwarts AU: Slytherin Rafayel and Sylus Headcanons

I'm not a professional ficwriter, I’m just having fun

English is not my first language; sorry for the grammar mistakes

Maybe I`ll do part 2 if someone likes it and wants more

@peacedreamer14 I promised drawings but I am busy at uni right now and don't have enough time, but it’ll come!!

I hope someone will like it \ (•◡•) /

Sylus

Smug, calm, and prideful, but never seeks fights with others—he’s too above it. He doesn’t care about the common rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin unless it affects him directly. But no one wants to fight him anyway

He is an excellent student. Favorite subject is Defense Against the Dark Arts. He also mastered the Apparition spell at a young age

Sylus can cast spells without a wand

Mephisto as his companion animal that can mimic speech. Sylus takes great pleasure in watching people jump in fear when Mephisto speaks in a devilish voice out of nowhere

Has declined every offer to join the Quidditch team

His favorite activity is annoying Rafayel

“Oh no, your girlfriends ran away,” he said after releasing toads from Rafayel’s terrarium

Once, he changed Rafayel’s hair color to pink by adding a potion to his shampoo in the bathroom

“What? It suits you, charm boy”

He would never admit that Rafayel is his only friend actually

“Friend? I barely remember his name”

Sylus has sensitive eyes. During a duel with Xavier, he almost lost due to a surprisingly strong light spell

“Professor! That’s cheating, oi!”

“Hey, don’t embarrass me”

“You’re the only one embarrassing yourself and Slytherin. Get up and beat him like you know, jerk”

Sylus goes to bed only after everyone else is asleep. He often sneaks into the Restricted Section of the library, which leads to frequent arguments with Ravenclaw prefect Zayne, who always catches him

“I thought I told you not to roam around at night”

“Sincerely sorry, but I don’t believe I’m under your command. Anyway, I was already heading to my room”

Sylus is a mystery. No one knows much about him. Is he pureblood? Who is his family? How rich is he?! (His entire demeanor screams “beyond rich”)

No one gets close to him except for Rafayel and MC

Sylus and Rafayel often fall asleep in class due to their late-night antics

He absolutely hates Zayne and Xavier because they’re too close to MC

“You know, even you don’t annoy me as much as those two,”

“Mutual”

After working together perfectly on pranks or mischiefs, they instantly start fighting again

“That’s enough teamwork for today with a sly half-blood crow”

“Come again, mermaid misunderstanding”

Rafayel

Very popular among students, Rafayel comes from a famous, wealthy pureblood family

Naturally talented in magic, his favorite class is Transfiguration

He despises worn books, cheap clothes, and people who don’t take care of their appearance

His custom wand cost as much as a new brand car, but he insisted on designing it with mermaid hair and black pearls

He helps restore Hogwarts’ old paintings in his free time

Once, Rafayel saved a group of first-years from mermaids in the Black Lake

“Idiots! What were you thinking? Ugh, I think I’m dying. Now you owe me your lives until graduation”

Rafayel spends way too much time in the bathroom, which annoys Sylus, who also likes his showers

There’s endless competition between him and Sylus in everything: academics, wealth, and even MC’s attention

He once bought the entire Slytherin Quidditch team new brooms just to show off in front of Sylus

MC often has to step in to prevent their heated arguments from escalating into full-blown duels in the common room

Rafayel gets visibly irritated whenever MC compliments someone else’s skills

Extremely protective of Slytherin’s honor, he’ll often team up with Sylus (if he is in the mood, of course) to humiliate Gryffindor or Ravenclaw students who insult their house

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Give me a minute; I’ll get closer,” Sylus says, lifting a student he’s just transfigured into a rabbit up to his ear. “Still nothing. Rafayel, care to try?” Rafayel approaches with an exaggerated, theatrical expression, nodding and humming as though he understands the rabbit’s trembling squeaks

[fandom-lover2]

Hope To Stay A While, Just Till The Rain Stops

Chapter Four - Pajama Parties Are More Fun When You're Invited

Word Count - 1865

-image not mine-

Chapter Three - This Is Why We Don't Have Knives At The Table

My eyes snapped open, my body jolting as something let off a loud bang.

What the hell was happening?

Then, it sounded like thunder, or something some form of stomping at least. And voices, angry voices. Loud, angry voices.

I rolled over, squinting at my digital clock on my desk.

2.05 am glared back at me in red.

I rolled over again, trying to get comfortable on my preferred side of sleeping.

Thunder again, and the voices were louder this time. Why was I cursed to live in a house of only men?

Screw this shit. I had an exam tomorrow.

Yanking my sheet off myself, I slipped out of bed and stormed to my bedroom door, yanking it open and marching towards the voices.

After Bruce had, without my consent, enrolled me into Gotham Academy, the pressure was on. Even under the guise of a visiting relative of Alfred’s, because I refused to be involved in the Gotham elite society, the expectation to achieve perfect grades and be involved in rich people sports was one I had to shoulder.

Etiquette Monday and Thursday, tennis on Tuesday, horse riding on Wednesday and Friday, archery Saturday. And I still needed to study, do homework and assignments, and attend parties to keep up appearances.

I was running on fumes and about 5 seconds away from running back to Central City. Now, I had to deal with this?!

Oh no. No no no no. I was getting another 4 hours of sleep, if I had to kill whoever the hell was screaming to get it.

The voices were getting louder and louder as I headed to the main floor, the kitchen specifically.

An odd place for a domestic screaming match but hey, this family was fucking weird.

I’m 80% sure Tim died last week, his combination of Red Bull and black coffee that he chugged in 30 seconds flat no doubt doing some damage.

Not to mention Damian, who was literally a little psychopath. I walked in on him waving around a sword last week. And not a fencing sword, a real ass Japanese sword.

Jason was never around, other than to sneak into the library or have screaming matches with Bruce when he was caught. He always looked like he was in deep physical pain, and avoided me like I had some disease. He would literally walk out of a room if I entered it.

And Dick, dude was just a mess. He was crying about an elephant the other day, and last month did a whole circus trapeze routine in the living room, using the chandelier.

And Bruce doesn’t even blink at any of it! He and Alfred act like this is normal!

Well, I was over this family thinking they were a functional system. It ended today, with a good night’s sleep.

If I wasn’t so fueled by the rage, the volume at which Bruce and Jason were yelling would have probably stopped me from entering the kitchen, but I was seeing red and nearing sleep deprivation.

“Can you all shut the fuck up!” I rounded the corner into the kitchen and froze.

Alfred, my father, Jason and Dick stood in the kitchen, Alfred and my oldest brother looking like they were trying to break something up before it turned physical.

Now, either I was too tired, or something was very wrong with my vision, because my father was dressed as Batman.

I looked at them, they looked at me. Tim and Damian stuck their heads around the other doorway at the opposite end of the kitchen, both dressed up in vigilant attire I’d seen Red Robin and Robin wore. Dick and Jason were also dressed, Nightwing and Red Hood respectfully.

Suddenly, everything made so much more sense. Bruce’s constant state of looking exhausted despite only ever working and then going to bed before me. Damian’s limp from two weeks ago, Tim falling out of bed and spraining his wrist, the gash Dick got on his forehead despite having two days off from work.

They were running around at night playing heroes.

I stared at them, and they stared back at me, each looking like I’d caught them with their hands in the cookie jar. Even Alfred seemed slightly alarmed, and the dude didn’t flinch at anything.

“I’m too tired for this shit. Go argue outside.” Spinning on my heels, I sped back to my bedroom and shut the door.

That whatever-the-hell-just-happened was tomorrow morning’s problem. Tonight, I was sleeping. Deeply, peacefully. Ignorantly.

Climbing back into bed, I pulled the cover over myself and closed my eyes. For someone who’s entire perception of their family just got flipped upside down, I managed to fall asleep pretty quickly.

When I awoke, it was to my alarm set on my phone.

For a while, I forgot what happened the previous night. I stumbled out of bed with a groan, stood somewhat straight in the shower, and managed to get my scratchy uniform on. And then, I opened my bedroom door and Damian was on the other side.

He eyed me up and down, arms crossed over his chest. “Father requests your presence at breakfast.”

“Well I’m not gonna miss it.” I mumbled back, shouldering past it.

It was as I tried to shove passed him and was met with an impressive amount of resistance for someone so small that I remembered what I’d seen last night. Who I had seen.

Oh my god, Bruce was Batman!

Mr Billionaire, life handed to him on a golden spoon, was the madman who dressed up in all black at night and ran around the city terrorizing Gotham’s criminals.

Why? What the hell even made him go down this path?

I turned around to look at my little brother.

The latest Robin, if the whispering around school was to be taken truthfully. So far considered the most violent of the masked crusader’s group.

Well, they got the violent part down.

But he was freaking 13 years old. Why the hell would Bruce let a 13 year old face armed murderers?

Shit, why the hell was Bruce letting a 13 year old stay up all night?

I thought he was just a distant parent, but this was straight up child endangerment.

Would I be arrested if it turned out I knew he was allowing Damian to do this? Would I be arrested for knowing he’d Batman and not handing him over?

Was what I saw even real?

Sleep deprivation could cause hallucinations.

Yeah, that’s all it was. A hallucination. This was all just some big misunderstanding. I was over tired, Bruce had dark pajamas, everyone had rainbow pajamas, Alfred was still just Alfred. All was good.

My summons for breakfast was just to wish me luck for my exam, or to tell me about an event that was coming up.

Nothing was wrong, my life was still normal-ish. Everything would be fine.

I made my way to the breakfast room, because yes this house was so big we had a room for eating breakfast and a room for dinner, and found Bruce seated at the head of the table.

He was reading a newspaper, Alfred seated beside him. To his left, Dick and Tim.

I was surprised to see that Jason was actually here. Had he stayed the night? Judging by the fact that he was not seated at the table but rather leaning against the wall and had his arms crossed, I guessed it wasn’t voluntary.

“Men.” I greeted, walking to take a seat next to Alfred, Damian following behind me and sitting next to Dick.

On my plate, a wonderful stack of vegan pancakes.

One of the few things Damian and I had in common, we were both vegan. Or, I tried to be as vegan as possible. At times, ice-cream and pizza were too strong to resist. You’d think it’d bring us closer together but nope, still got glared at for simply being alive.

My only sanctuary away from it was weeks at my mom’s, since they’d decided to have a one week, one week custody deal.

I hated weeks at Bruce’s for two reasons. One, Damian. Two, I had to wake up earlier cause it took forever to drive into the city from here. The apartment with Mom was so close to school I walked. At Bruce’s, I had to endure a 40 minute drive with Damian.

Bruce never took us, always having to leave either before or after. Sometimes Tim took us, or Dick. It was mostly Alfred, in the Rolls Royce.

Picking up my knife and fork, I prepared to dig in.

“Y/n,” Bruce tried to start, but I cut him off by pointing my knife at him. In hindsight, not the best idea considering who he was. My father or not, I didn’t doubt he’d kick my ass.

“Breakfast first.”

And I left no room for discussion as I cut into my pancakes and took a huge bite, and then another and another.

Everyone else followed my lead, silently beginning to eat their breakfast. Jason left his spot of brooding eventually and joined me, actually sitting beside me. This was the closest we’d ever been to one another.

I tried to not make too big a deal of that fact, keeping my eyes forward when they so desperately wanted to take in all his scars.

I guess now it made sense where they came from, but it didn’t make it right.

How young had he been when Bruce had let him loose on the streets? Had he even wanted to do it, or was he forced into this life?

Were any of them in it by choice?

I glanced over and Bruce and found him staring at me.

Yesterday, he’d look at me with a smile, and his eyes seemed warm. Now, there was no familiarity. There wasn’t even care.

Had these last 3 months all been fake? Did he love me at all? Was I here because he wanted me or because he wanted another sidekick?

“I won’t tell anyone.” I spoke, barely louder than a whisper.

Bruce didn’t say anything, didn’t blink. Just watched me, analyzed me. I almost jumped when he finally spoke.

“You have an exam to get to. We’ll discuss this tonight.”

And that seemed to be the magic words. Everyone stood up, all done with their breakfasts and ready to start the day.

I still had half my plate left and rushed to shovel it all in, charging to the garage when Alfred called that it was time to go.

I hopped in the back, beside Damian, and intended to get my textbook out for some last-minute studying before school, but the little shit spoke up.

“You tell anyone about us, make one tiny slip up or remark, and I will sever your voice box.”

For once, I actually understood the gravity behind the threat. It wasn’t just siblings bickering, it was a promise.

And given how Bruce had looked at me this morning, I doubted he’d do anything to stop it.

Nobody knew Batman’s identity. Nobody had ever figured it out.

Maybe there was a reason for that.

[auguryofjellyfish]

[next to you, before]

Hasegawa Ken, a university student, is living the best life he could possibly ask for. He has a loving and supportive family, studies that challenge him, and gets to spend most of his days with his best friend and housemate, Kazutoshi. He wonders how he managed to get so lucky. One day, he has a very disturbing dream.

Inspired by the College AU by the amazing @causeimcrayzeebee! 3k words, oneshot. Spoilers for the end of chapter 3 of Tetro Danganronpa Pink. Heavily implied Hasemura.

TW: heavy angst, self-injurious behaviour.

“Ken...”

“Keeen...”

“Ken. WAKE UP!”

“AUGGHHH!” Hasegawa shot up from his bed with an ear-piercing yell. His eyes darted around frantically, chest heaving, until his eyes settled on...

“Wow. Right in my ear.” Kamimura drawled, unsticking his hands from the sides of his head and smoothing out his ponytail.

“Ka...Kazuto...shi...” Hasegawa panted, tears rapidly filling his eyes and falling down.

At once, concern melted away the irritation on Kamimura's face. “Hey, you alright?” he asked softly, lightly touching Hasegawa's wet cheek with the back of his finger.

Hasegawa flinched away, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a few deep breaths. He slowly blinked them open, and looked around the room once more, through blurry eyes.

He was in a room...his room? Everywhere he looked, there were books and loose pieces of paper laying around. On his desk, the floor, spilling from the bookshelf. The walls, covered with paintings depicting marine life and a few awards, were a pleasant shade of baby blue.

Of course. It was his room, in the apartment he bought for himself and Kamimura, for university.

“Oh...” his shoulders sagged, and he rubbed his face roughly. “I had...such a messed up dream...”

“I can see that. It's late, you can tell me about it at breakfast, come on.” Kamimura said, ushering him out of bed.

Hasegawa followed him dazedly. Passing by the desk, he noticed a few photo frames standing in the corner. In one, there was his mom, Mao, himself, and Kamimura sitting around a table with fancy looking dishes on it. In another, there was just him and Kamimura standing in front of a tall, modern building, consisting mostly of glass. In the photo, Hasegawa is smiling, looking down at Kamimura, who is looking straight at the camera with a proud smile. Hasegawa looked away.

“Breakfast?” he blinked. “Ah...you didn't have to...”

“I know. I wanted to. I know you stayed up until, like, 3AM today, so you wouldn't be able to make it anyway. I had to save our kitchen from burning down.” Kamimura smiled cheekily.

Oh, yeah. He had to work on his assignments for university, so he stayed up late.

Hasegawa's cheeks burned. “Hey, I'm not that bad!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I like your cooking.” Kamimura bumped Hasegawa's elbow with his own.

They got to the living room, where two bowls were on the table, emanating a pleasant smell of miso.

“Ooh...that smells really good. And it's with edamame, too.” Hasegawa sat down and clapped his hands. “Thank you for the meal.” he said, Kamimura echoing him.

He put the spoon in his mouth, and the rich flavour put a smile on his face. The cooking lessons they were taking together were starting to pay off.

“So, what are your plans for today?” Hasegawa asked, dipping into his bowl.

“Uh... Just meeting up with my supervisor. Might also swing by the lab later. You know I like this stuff, but the analytical chapter's been really kicking my ass.” Kamimura responded with a dry tone, focused on slowly eating his meal.

“Tell me about it...” Hasegawa groaned, hanging his head. “I had to finish two huge book reports yesterday...”

“Uh-huh, is mighty Ken having problems at school for the first time in his life? Now you know what it's like for the rest of us plebeians.” Kamimura teased, making Hasegawa chuckle.

“Plebeians? Says the guy taking advanced forensic chemistry courses!”

“Oh yeah, no, I'm suuuuper smart, thanks. Basically, they should just give me the degree already. Maybe also throw in a Nobel Prize.”

Hasegawa snickered. “O-oh, yeah? What would it even be for?”

“Uh,” Kamimura thought, "I dunno, for revolutionizing the entire field of chemistry as we know it? They should give me a bazillion yen too while we're at it.”

“We really don't need that...We already have way too much money.”

“No, you have too much money. I'm like...a freeloader. Some guy living in your house.”

“You're not a freeloader! You do a lot around here, uh...You made us breakfast?”

“Oh gee, then my status has increased to live-in cook, amazing.”

“That's not—!” Hasegawa tried to interject, while Kamimura laughed, in that bright, airy way he always does.

Hasegawa joined in.

After they calmed down, Hasegawa caught Kamimura's eyes. “But, really...You're doing great, Kazutoshi. You're gonna knock them dead with your research.”

“Eh...I wouldn't go that far...But...Thanks.” Kamimura responded, smiling softly into his soup. They continued eating in comfortable silence.

“Soooo...do you wanna talk to me about that dream you had?” Kamimura asked nonchalantly, not looking up from his bowl.

Hasegawa's spoon stilled in front of his mouth, his earlier mirth evaporating into mist. He set the spoon back on the table. “I, uh...I don't...know? I...I don't even want to think about it, really...” he mumbled. “Most of it is already a blur anyway.”

Kamimura hummed, pursing his lips. “I mean...Sure, but, you didn't see yourself, Ken. Your face...you looked terrified. Like, really terrified.”

Hasegawa took a deep breath and closed his eyes, forcing himself to think back to his dream. The only things he can remember are flashes...of darkness, ever-present cold...and blood. So much blood, everywhere. The stench was overwhelming, and every time he took a breath he could feel it stuck in his nose- and he- and Kazutoshi-

Shivering, he shook his head, trying to get rid of the sensation. It wasn't real. It was just a nightmare. “Ma-maybe later...”

“Mhm. Okay. Just...y'know that, I'm here for you, yeah? You don't have to bottle that shit up. I...care about you, Ken.”

For a reason he didn't know, Hasegawa was awestruck. He wanted to cry again. He swallowed the urge and simply smiled back. “Yeah. You too. Thank you, Kazutoshi.”

“Yeah...Anytime.”

After they'd finished breakfast and Hasegawa cleaned the dishes, the two of them started preparing for their day. Hasegawa's classes were first, while Kamimura had his meeting later during the afternoon.

Hasegawa slipped on his shoes, and stepped out of the door, looking back at Kamimura. “Well...see you later, Kazutoshi.”

Kamimura nodded. “Wait. You forgot something. C'mere for a sec.” Kamimura gestured, beckoning for him to lean down. Hasegawa complied, bemused.

He got pulled down the rest of the way with a tug on his sleeve, and then Kamimura placed a soft kiss on his cheek. Hasegawa's face instantly erupted into flames, his hand flying up to press on the exact spot. “...Wh-wha..!”

“What?” Kamimura said casually, his cheeks dusted pink. “You can't give your homie a goodbye kiss on the cheek anymore? Damn, Ken. Keep up.”

Hasegawa sighed, tension melting from his body. “...Please don't say that word ever again. It sounds so wrong.” and yet, he couldn't help but smile.

“What, 'homie'? I can say whatever I want. Like...go hit the gym, bro. Work on these noodle arms!”

“Stooop...” Hasegawa whined, giggling into his hand. “And you know I work out!”

“Whatever. Just go already.”

“Sure.” Hasegawa said, an easy 'I'm off' falling from his lips as he slipped out of the door, closing it behind him. He walked a few steps further into the hallway and put his face in his hands, letting out a muffled groan.

He shook it off, walked into the elevator, and once inside, he pumped his fist with a quiet, “Yes!”

He made his way towards campus. His steps were so light he was almost skipping, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. It was going to be a great day.

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

Later, in the early evening, Hasegawa got back home from his classes. He'd stopped by the store on the way, buying groceries for the next few days. He set his heavy bags on the counter with a sigh.

He looked around the apartment. Kamimura wasn't there, so.. He must be at the lab. So Hasegawa might as well do some chores in the meantime, instead of waiting.

Cleaning the apartment was a task that was done by Kamimura, typically. That involves mopping, vacuuming, dusting...Hasegawa tried to help at first, but he just can't do it as well as him. When his friend is indisposed, though, he does his best. And Hasegawa does try to clean his room regularly for both of their sakes, so it's not that bad...mostly...

He has other tasks to that fall to him, anyway. He monitors both of their medication, making sure they're refilled on time, he keeps track of the appointments, makes plans whenever they go out somewhere, restocks the fridge and essential items, he cooks, most of the time-they take turns- and...he does the laundry.

He went to the bathroom, and saw that the laundry basket was almost full. He dumped it out. Something caught his eye- laying there in the pile was Kamimura's favourite sweater, that Hasegawa got him on his birthday. He wears it often.

It was a dark navy colour, and made of cashmere, as soft as he could find it. Hasegawa had cut off all the tags before giving it to Kamimura, and when asked about the price, he said 'not that much, really', stammering all the way.

Kamimura dropped the matter, probably just not feeling like calling him out on his obvious lie. Still...if he knew how much it cost, Hasegawa'd never hear the end of it.

Hasegawa rubbed the fabric between his fingers, looking down at the sweater with soft eyes.

Seeing that smile on Kamimura's face was worth any amount of money.

He smoothed it out, and set it aside for later. He always hand-washes this one.

He put the dirty laundry in the washing machine and turned it on. Kamimura still wasn't home. He decided to go make them some dinner. Something simple. He was kind of tired.

He took out a pot, poured water into it from their filtering pitcher, and turned on the stove. He yawned. He was way too tired to soak in the bath today...Maybe he'll just take a nice hot shower later...

Hasegawa was thrown out of his thoughts by the sound of his phone ringing. He answered it without looking.

“Hey, Ken....Can you, uh...come get me?” Kamimura sounded out, his voice quiet and speaking slower than usual.

Hasegawa straightened out, immediately on high alert. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” a terse, staticky sigh was heard through the receiver. “I just...don't want to walk back by myself. I'm in front of the chem building.”

“O-okay. I'm coming. Hang on tight.” Hasegawa said, and when Kamimura hung up, he all but booked it out of the apartment, turning the stove off first, and pausing only to slip on his shoes. He forced himself to slow down slightly, feeling anxiety creep in from his stomach, up and outwards, starting to shake him from head to toe.

He didn't know where it was coming from. Kamimura said he was fine. He didn't sound all that bad too.

Hasegawa wished he could just will this horrible dread away.

Fortunately, the campus was situated rather close to their apartment. After 11 minutes, he was in front of the chemistry building, and upon seeing Kamimura sitting on the bench nearby, he almost melted with relief.

He walked up to him, briefly pausing to catch his breath.

“Shit, Ken, you didn't need to run.” Kamimura blinked.

“I...know...What's...up?” Hasegawa panted out, and then straightened with a groan.

“I'm...I'm okay. Or, eh, I don't know. I just probably ate something bad, or...y'know.”

“Alright...I-If you say so.” Hasegawa said, remaining on his guard either way. He couldn't help it. He was always worried about something.

Plus...If he was really fine, then why would he call? Kamimura knew his limits. He wouldn't just call for him for no reason. It wasn't adding up.

Kamimura stood up from the bench, and swayed slightly in place.

Hasegawa reached out his hand, stilling, before lightly touching Kamimura's shoulder. “A-are you sure you're alright?”

Kamimura rubbed his forehead. “Ye-yeah...I'm fine. Just...feeling dizzy. Let's just go home. I just need to lie down in my bed.”

Hasegawa nodded, and both men started walking back, step by step. Hasegawa tried to stick close, but took care not to crowd him.

They walked in silence. When Hasegawa glanced at him from the corner of his eye, Kamimura looked tired, his expression somber, looking straight ahead. It didn't seem like he was in the mood to talk anyway.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn't notice Kamimura stumbling. He managed to catch him by the elbow, and steadied him. “C-careful!”

“H-huh? Oh...Yeah...” Kamimura mumbled, sluggishly raising his arms and looping them around Hasegawa's own, clutching it.

Hasegawa bit the inside of his cheek. If Kamimura willingly leaned on him for support, without any complaint and attempts at saving face, it must be bad bad.

He observed him more intently, going through a mental checklist of his symptoms. Tiredness, dizziness, sluggishness, confusion, drowsiness, impaired breathing, general weakness. Still, this is only from what he could see externally. A flare-up?

“Kazutoshi...” he started, as calmly as he could. “Maybe...we could go to a hospital, just in case...”

Kamimura flinched.

“N-no...I just...wanna go home....”

“Kazutoshi—”

“Fucking hell- please, Ken...Please. Just let me g-go home...”

His voice sounded so rough, it made Hasegawa's heart clench. The taller man pursed his lips, and said nothing. He breathed, in and out.

They'd need to get some stuff from home either way. He relented.

But it didn't feel right. Something was wrong. Really wrong.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Kamimura leaned on him the whole time, eyes half-closed in a daze. Hasegawa wanted to enjoy Kamimura's weight on his arm, the warmth emanating from his body, like he normally would. But it was overshadowed by a cloying miasma of worry.

Finally getting to the front entrance of their apartment complex, Hasegawa pulled him into the hallway, and pushed the button to open the elevator. They stepped inside.

Standing in silence, Hasegawa heard Kamimura shift, and then felt a weight on his shoulder. Kamimura leaned his head against him.

Despite everything, Hasegawa felt his heart flutter, warmth flooding his face. He breathed in, shakily.

They...didn't really...talk about what they are, to each other? He knows Kamimura is the best friend he's ever had. With him, his days are filled with laughter, easy banter, discussions about everything and anything. He's been more comfortable with him than anyone he's ever met, outside of his family.

It's not always easy. There are days when Kamimura shuts himself in his room and doesn't come out. When he feels awful, physically and mentally, and lashes out. Hasegawa hides away too, occasionally, when everything just gets too much. Their lives aren't free of struggle and pain, but still, Hasegawa wouldn't give it up for anything.

And...sometimes...things happen, and it makes him wonder.

Well, they did...cuddle, the other day. And the thing from this morning, too...Still, he can't be sure. If he's not the one initiating the conversation, Kamimura doesn't really want to talk about sensitive topics. And Hasegawa is...scared. Scared that it would be awkward, that he would come on too strong, that Kamimura wouldn't feel the same and he would pull away and and-

...He doesn't want to lose this. Lose him. He wants anything but that.

Still. He still hopes, that...maybe...

Hasegawa sighed, and shifted, nuzzling his cheek on the top of Kamimura's head. His hair was so soft. He smelled really nice. So fresh and light, like ocean breeze.

Even if they never talked about it, Hasegawa wouldn't change a thing. He was still satisfied. Just getting to be next to him...was more than enough. He was lucky. So, so lucky to have this.

His heart felt so full.

“Hey... Don't fall asleep,” he whispered.

Kamimura jerked awake, his breath hitching. His eyes shifted around the elevator. He furrowed his brow, and his expression turned grim. “Yeah. Right,” he said flatly, but while at least looking more alert than before.

They arrived at their floor. Kamimura's hand tightened on his arm.

“You couldn't have known this would happen, Ken. Don't blame yourself.”

“...Huh?”

Outside the elevator, Kamimura let go of Hasegawa's elbow and went on ahead. Hasegawa was rooted to the spot. His feet wouldn't move.

He blinked, and the shorter man had already opened the door, having walked halfway through it.

Kamimura looked back at him. He opened his mouth, and sighed.

“Ken...I...”

Then he smiled, looking so sad and so tender that it took Hasegawa's breath away.

“Thank you. You know. For being there.

“I'm glad that at least... we were able to meet each other in that hellhole.

“...You were really the only one who made it bearable, anyway.”

He waved his hand.

“Seeya.”

Hasegawa blinked, his mouth opening.

“Wha-huh? Kazutoshi, wai—”

Hasegawa reached out his hand, just as Kamimura's image slipped away, the door closing behind him with a bang.

With his legs working again, Hasegawa stumbled to the door, and grabbed at the handle frantically.

“Kazutoshi! H-hey! Wh-what are you do-doing? Open the door!”

He pulled at it, to no avail. He didn't understand what was happening. Everything was fine one second, and the next, Kamimura was just gone.

He was gone.

“Th-this isn't fucking funny!” Hasegawa's voice cracked. “Kazutoshi! Please...”

Silence.

With shaking hands, he took out the key from his pocket and tried one, two, three times before he managed to put it in the keyhole, and turned it.

He pulled at the handle, and threw the door open.

“Kazuto—”

Blood.

So much blood.

On the floor. On the shelves.

Coating every inch of the small space.

And in the middle, there was a chair, where a small, decapicated body of Kazutoshi was sitting, quiet and still.

It was still cold in the art supply room.

Hasegawa screamed.

He wakes up, a loud cry tearing out of his throat. The blanket falls to the floor in a heap.

No- no-

Oh god-

Kazutoshi- he- he was- he is-

Immediately, he falls into heaving sobs, his hands flying up to clutch at his face. His throat constricts, and he coughs. He swallows roughly, pushing the bile down.

“Oh god, please no, please no, no more, please...,” he wails. “No, no, no, nononononoNO!”

He brings his hand up, curled into a fist, and lands a blow on the side of his head, once. Twice. It's not working.

He screams again and then swerves his body to the side wall, banging the top of his head on it hard.

“AGHH! FUCK!”

The pain shocks him enough to make the panic recede, but only slightly. He covers his face and breathes loudly, groaning into his arm. “Mmmh....mmghh...”

He feels like he's dying. He might as well be.

He whimpers and clenches fistfuls of hair in his hands. He feels nauseous, his head aches like crazy, he's soaked with sweat, he has no meds and he can't take it anymore.

He can't take it anymore.

For no fucking reason at all...!

Hasegawa curls up into himself, bringing his knees to his chest.

He thinks about his mom. Dad. Mao. Reina.

Kazutoshi.

He wants to go home. He just wants to go home.

He starts mumbling into his arms, voice hoarse, muffled by the fabric.

“Kazutoshi...Kazutoshi...Oh, god...Kazutoshi...

“I'm sorry....I'm s-so, so sorry...!

“I need you...

“Please... Please...Come back...

“Please...”

He continues to plead, until the morning comes.

‎

‎

[deezee112]

Concept twst AU Squid Game

( Before you guys read this, let me tell you that English is not my first language. If I type something wrong, you can tell me and I will fix it. )

P.S. MC is clearly written as a woman, height, history, and personality, but does not specify physical appearance.

GN!MC

First of all, this AU takes place in a timeline before MC enters the twst world, so I think it would be interesting that before MC meets them in the twst world, MC meets them in the real world first.

And another interesting thing for me is that in the world of twst, they are rich, have a good status, and have a stable job. But in the real world, they have a lot of debt and are poor. (ruggie is still as poor as ever)

I think when MC came to play this game, it was because of the debt he had, maybe from his family or whatever he wanted.

But I think MC has some history similar to 120 (I can't remember her name) that she used to be a special forces soldier So I think she might be several times taller than the average woman, maybe over 180, and might have a figure similar to a man.

And in this AU, Grim and ortho are humans, so I guess they also have debts.

I think this game timeline can be viewed in two ways as part 1 or part 2. So you can imagine that you are in part 1 or part 2.

And of course as I said MC is number 456.

And here are the debts they probably have ( me and my friend discussed this And I randomize the numbers so most of the numbers I randomize.).

Riddle Rosehearts

Player : 101

Debt : Financial ruin after trying to uphold impossible standards as a perfectionist lawyer.

Trey Clover

Player : 277

Debt : Financial ruin after trying to uphold impossible standards as a perfectionist lawyer.

Cater Diamond

Player : 345

Debt : Overspending on his fake social media persona left him bankrupt.

Ace Trappola

Player : 089

Debt : Lost everything gambling after being scammed by friends.

Deuce Spade

Player : 112

Debt : His desire to help his struggling family led him to loan sharks.

Leona Kingscholar

Player : 150

Debt : Reckless spending and failed investments drained his family’s fortune.

Ruggie Bucchi

Player : 223

Debt : Grew up in poverty and borrowed money to support his family but fell deeper into debt.

Jack Howl

Player : 309

Debt : Took on debts to pay for college but was unable to keep up with payments.

Azul Ashengrotto

Player : 175

Debt : His once-successful luxury food business collapsed under competition, leaving him with unpaid loans.

Jade Leech

Player : 051

Debt : Co-signed Azul’s loans and got dragged into the fallout.

Floyd Leech

Player : 052

Debt : Recklessly spent money on gambling and lost big.

Kalim Al-Asim

Player : 304

Debt : His once-wealthy family was conned out of their fortune, leaving him penniless.

Jamil Viper

Player : 174

Debt : Took on Kalim’s debts to protect him but is bitter about the situation.

Vil Schoenheit

Player : 091

Debt : Fell from fame due to scandals and lawsuits, losing everything.

Epel Felmier

Player : 333

Debt : Family farm went bankrupt, and he took on loans to try saving it.

Rook Hunt

Player : 404

Debt : Spent exorbitant amounts pursuing his artistic hobbies, leading to financial ruin.

Idia Shroud

Player : 012

Debt : Crippling gambling addiction tied to his love of online games.

Ortho Shroud (Human)

Player : 101

Debt : Ortho’s debt stems from medical bills, failed technological projects, and personal loans that he took out to try and keep his family business alive after their passing. These debts were exacerbated by his desperation

Malleus Draconia

Player : 065

Debt : Lost his family fortune due to mysterious circumstances, now a recluse.

Lilia Vanrouge

Player : 184

Debt : Took on debts trying to help others but was betrayed

Silver

Player : 217

Debt : Inherited debt from his family, despite trying to live modestly.

Sebek zigvolt

Player : 324

Debt : He owes a large sum of money to a powerful group that used his debts to manipulate and control him.

y/n

Player : 456

Debt : No personal debt but Need money to pay off family debts

Grim (Human)

Player : 067

Debt : Gambling addiction left him deeply in debt after losing his family’s inheritance

Che'nya

Player : 297

Debt : A combination of gambling debts and reckless investments in travel and lifestyle.

Neige LeBlanche

Player : 209

Debt : His extravagant lifestyle, including luxury purchases and costly beauty treatments, left him in crippling debt after his fame faded.

Rollo Flamme

Player : 315

Debt : Lost his fortune after an unsuccessful business venture in the entertainment industry, now trying to regain his family’s lost wealth.

Ernesto Foulworth

Player : 234

Debt : A high-stakes gambler with an obsession with luxury cars and expensive hobbies. His addiction led to his financial downfall.

Skully J Graves

Player : 103

Debt : A failed actor with mountains of debt after gambling away his small inheritance. His pursuit of fame turned into an obsession with keeping up appearances.

Imagine MC playing Six-Legged Pentathlon with Azul.

[bogkeep]

so im watching breaking bad for the first time

i've just started season 3, for reference. i didn't think i would binge this much so fast but i've been sick all weekend with little else to do u_u

i didn't know anything about the show except for the basic premise, and that certain demographics revere walter white as this Cool, Morally Complex, Badass Aspirational Character (and inversely, that skyler is an Annoying, Nagging Wife) - so i thought there would be a slow and gradual descent into darkness.

i was genuinely so surprised to learn that walter is sympathetic for maybe a whole two or three episodes before it becomes so so clear that he just wants to do crimes as an enrichment outlet and then die before he can experience any of the quencies. that he was fully buying into the idea of making this Big Sacrifice for his family and going out in a blaze of glory. like, he could have solved All Of His Problems by swallowing his pride and toxic masculinity for two seconds in episode 4!!!! but NO!!!!! he would rather go down a maelstrom of destruction and tear his family apart with lies and worry and when he learns that he WILL live to see the Quencies... oh boy!!!! oh boy!!!!!!!

incredible writing i'm enjoying it immensely. my poor friends have to witness my constant liveblogging of "AHH HE SUCKS SO MUCHHHHHH" "WHAT A HYPOCRITE!!!!!!!!! WALTER GET OVER YOURSELF" and "MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE YOU LIED TO YOUR FAMILY FOR MONTHS AND MONTHS!!!!!" and of course the occasional "pizza on roof hehe"

he's had a couple of Badass Moments (tm) so far (i liked it when he sploded the rich guy's car), but so far in the show he's such a pathetic, angry man taking his frustrations out on everyone around him. i can only assume the people thinking he's aspirational have bought into the narrative walter is selling (badly, might i add. his speeches suck so much. he's just constantly trying to justify the damages he's done to himself). he is Good at maybe one or two things but so clueless at everything else!!!!!

skyler's only crime is being a suburban white mom, she's being wayyy more patient and reasonable than anyone else would be in this situation holy shit. i am absolutely watching this show from a pro skyler and pro jesse perspective. i want good things for them!!!!! i want them to catch a break!!!!!!!!! unfortunately. the maelstrom of destruction

i also thought i knew what i was in for when i started the show but then there was the Meat Goop. that was so absolutely revolting

anyway this has been the newest isntallment of Haiz Engages With A Critically Acclaimed Piece Of Media Many Years After Its Hype And Having A Great Time Thank You Very Much

[phantom248]

Inspired by this.

"There is no bigger test than the Cloud Light sword. It hurts demons, and no one else besides those who have the Bing Yi clan blood can touch it. He must have Bing Yi clan blood."

The little lord frowned infront of him. "But there is so little we know of the sword. Maybe the sword didn't hurt him despite his demon blood because he is a child?"

"No, the legends are very clear. Demons cannot touch the sword without getting hurt. There has been no demon in history who has been able to touch this sword without getting hurt... unless we missed something in history."

Both of them sat there, mulling over the limited information they had to work with. Fan Ying darren peered over their little lord. The young boy, who had just become a man had barely started to live again after awakening the Cloud Light Sword. The child, despite all of their efforts, refused to eat, drink, sleep, or even move around unless he was trying to awaken his sword before.

To see him finally focusing on anything else besides the raw grief over his loss and his daughter was rare. The anything in question being a small child currently sleeping in his lap.

Fan Ying was sure that this opportunity was sent from heavens. That with this, their little lord will finally start healing from his heart shattering grief.

"We have poured over all the records. This child is carrying the jade Zhuo family members carry, claiming to have receieved it from his mother. The only unaccounted member in Zhuo family in recent generations is your grandaunt, mayhaps his mother received it from her. We cannot recognise any other name despite his claim that he hails from one of the biggest sect in entire jianghu. He got here due to some artificat from your clan's treasures, which one, we are still not able to determine. And if all of that is not enough, he clearly resembles you a lot. If he was born alongside you, you would have been twins. At the very least, this does proves that he is indeed a member of Bing Yi blood despite showing visible traits of being a demon."

Xiao Zhuo darren showed no reaction, continuing to stroke the young boy's hair. The small bundle of furs stirred lightly, tightly curling into himself as if he was feeling cold. The little lord moved around a little, adjusting the fur cloak he had put on the young charge so it covered him entirely, hiding the small child's face in his chest.

"So you are saying that we have no way to return him to his family?"

Fan Ying only sighed. "Zhuo darren, you had seen how he was behaving when he arrived here. Despite not outwordly showing it, he was clearly frightened, claimiing that his older brother will not accept him as he is now. He also mentioned him being the cause of his gege's young brothers death, though I doubt that, servents always gossip needlessly and he heard it from them. He looks well taken care of which means that the Gong Sect he mentioned must be an influential, rich sect, but he was not behaving as a young master normaly does. He claims his parents died some time ago. It is likely that he was taken care of only as a responsibility due to his blood. Now that he has shown visible signs of being a demon, there is no guarantee he will be taken care of after this. You know how prejudiced people are with demon blood."

Zhuo Yichen involuntarily tightened his hold on the young child. Despite their young lord's vehemence at hating demons and inexperience at handling young children, the young boy had clearly demonstrated the opposite, refusing to hand over the child to anyone else ever since he arrived, taking care to coax him, wipe his tears, and feed him some delicious fruits.

"You said it yourself, he is carrying the same jade my grandaunt was supposedly carrying. Father often mentioned to brother how our grandfather was a bit... strict. She must have married a demon, which may have caused her name to be struck off from main family lineage, and her daughter married Yuanzhi's father. So, he is family. And he has no parents either..."

"Zhuo darren, you don't need to convince me," the older man smiled. "You only need to convince yourself. You are the lord of Bing Yi clan now. What you decide is what we will follow. If you chose to take in this child and take care of him, no one should have any objections."

Zhuo darren looked at him with such hope that he felt his heart breaking. The boy himself was young, too young to take care of a child. But he was alone too.

So why shouldn't two children, who were all alone in the world take care of each other?

"Right." The little lord cleared his throat. He stood up, lightly gathering the bundle in his arms but staggered a bit, still recovering from the year long starvation spell he had gone through. He carefully tucked in the child's face in the croak of his shoulder. "Make all the arrangements for tomorrow, for his clothes and his belongings. Also call for a doctor, a trustworthy one. We need to ensure he is healthy. After he is settled down, we will talk about including his name back on the family register."

Fan Ying also stood up. " Zhuo darren, a room is prepared for him, you can leave him there-"

"No need," the little lord had already started to walk away. "So much have changed for him in short amount of time. It's not feasible for him to wake up alone, or to an unfamiliar face. He will sleep with me."

The little lord vanished, his steps silent, a direct juxtaposition to a year ago when his mere presence will cause the sound of bells to ring in the air. Despite the melancholy though, Fan Ying was sure that the coming days will be an improvement.

For both his little lord and the small didi he had acquired just now.

[bees-are-fish]

Hell if I know *shrugs* I used to live in the area and like. It's just Westfield's rich neighbor. It's not all that. We did most of our shopping in Carmel, drove through Carmel-Westfield to get pretty much anywhere, but as far as living there goes, it really is just a rich suburb. It's 10-15 minutes to get anywhere, which is convenient when you're driving and running errands, but after my family moved, we're 30 minutes from the nearest store, and honestly, I don't miss the suburbs at all.

(though after my family moved I did wonder why there were no roundabouts)

Full disrespect but like why the fuck does everyone have their dicks out for Carmel Indiana, it's literally just a really rich ass fucking suburb with some Roundabouts

[apollos-olives]

just facetimed my grandpa. what do you MEAN our family was the THIRD biggest, richest, most popular family in jerusalem before the nakba????????????????????????????