#if its not to be then she at least wants him to be able to slip away as peacefully as possible knowing that hes loved

[sugardaddy-glucoseguardian]

Amazing yes

- Danny is visiting Gotham and the big ass lizard man is throwing a tantrum in the middle of the street. Danny who is used to his rogues doing the same shot when they wanna play fight just body's croc. Everyone is confused, croc is snapped out of it and instantly goes, fuck it. And throws down. Bats show up to croc and some feral meta out of towner rolling around throwing punches and snapping teeth at each other while growling.

- Danny is sick and tired of the smog in Gotham, between not being able to see the stars and Sam complaining about the pollution he wanted it fixed. Together with Sam, Tucker said nah fuck that, they went to Dr.Pamela Isley in Robinson Park. Ivy is very amused by the young adults that come into her park complaining about pollution.

She's actually intrigued when the girl has the same pull to the green she has. The flowers in the garden tilting towards her when she got angry.

- Danny HATED clowns. Freakshow made it an ingrained response. You can't control him if you aren't conscious. So when he goes to Gotham to visit Jazz at GU he sees the Joker and it ON SIGHT. No warning, just Joker monologuing in the street to some Bats and a crazy out of towner comes sprinting from an alleyway and just takes him out at the waist. Full body collision before Joker can even react to being tackled and point his gun the feral little shit is already punching his face in.

The Bats aren't sure if they need to rescue this civilian from the Joker or the Joker from the civilian. By the time they move to at least separate the two, the Joker is beaten black and blue and unconscious and the random guy is growling with bloodied fists hunched over his body like a wild animal defending its kill.

- Selina Kyle was expecting her haul tonight to be diamonds, maybe a ruby and this cute cat sculpture she saw yesterday. Her plans are completely derailed when a small whimper comes from the alley below her.

Quickly circling back she sees a little girl, probably 12 and softly glowing... melting. She quickly hurries down to her, she looks terrified and in pain.

"Hello, my name is Catwoman, can I ask what happened sweetie? And how can I help?" The little girl has green tears running down her face and Selina watches as she seems to shrink before her eyes, 10, 8, her eyes scream fear and Selina has no idea what to do. She presses the panic button Bruce gave her for emergencies.

"I-it hurts. Please, I don't wanna die, please it hurts, i don't wanna go again!" The little girl sobbed and Selina had a horrific realization.

This little girl was gonna die and there was nothing she could do to help her.

So she stayed and whispered comforting words and held her in her arms, smaller and smaller she shrunk, 6, 4, 2 she seemed to stop there. A sobbing glowing 2 year old with melted feet and dripping hands.

Bruce landed behind her. She could tell he didn't know what to do either. Finally Selina pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and the baby stopped crying, looking up at her with eyes far older than her tiny body and she collapsed into herself, all that was left was a small gemstone with swirls of blue and green cradled in her arms.

Selina sobbed. And Bruce held her as they mourned a child they never knew.

(Oops sorry was gonna go cute and it got away from me, I'm thinking dani will reform with Selina and Bruce taking care of her core and she eventually grows as a normal child instead of the forced growth she was originally created with. Also since she was actually 2yrs old that's how old she'd be when she reforms)

- Jazz moved to Gotham for an internship at a local therapy office, her goal being to gain experience and move to Arkham. Her liminal abilities have made her an empath. With low levels of compulsion. She was walking into work and some girl was just standing outside the building staring.

The emotions that rolled off her were, nervous, scared, angry, confused, excited, scared, determined. Jazz approached and carefully moved into her line of sight. She had shoulder length black hair, deep dark eyes, pale skin and looked to be of some possible asain desent. She was beautiful but looked at Jazz with the blankest eyes and emotionless face she's ever seen.

"Hi, my names Jazz and I work here. I don't know if you have an appointment you're working yourself up for or something, but I know therapy can be a scary experience for a lot of people. I can walk you through it if it'll help?" The girl opens her mouth then hesitates.

"How?" She whispers and Jazz feels relief and confusion though nothing shows on her face or body language.

Jazz assumes the question is how she knew? "Ah well, you looked like you needed some encouragement, you've already down the hardest part, you're here and looking for help." Again no expressions but emotions zap through the air, more confusion, weariness, and the breiftest hint of hope.

The girl slowly raises her hands and Jazz takes half a second to recognize the sign language.

Can you understand me?

She smiled and quickly thanked herself for learning signlanguage in highschool.

Yes! Can I help you get in?

She nodded and they walked in together. Jazz ended up staying for Cass as her translator and the relief pouring off of Cass was so strong she thought she was gonna cry just from being in range. Hopefully Cass gets the needed relief she's looking for in therapy. And maybe Jazz gets a friend out of it too.

- Jason is sick and tired of his siblings prodding making jokes that cause he was dead for a good chunk of his teen years he never got to sleep around or even go on a date.

So he tells himself he's gonna go to a bar, pick someone up and have a one night stand and get this shit over with so his siblings leave him alone. The bar was crowded and loud and Jason hated it.

The wall he was leaning against was sticky and the alcohol in his hand was only half drank. He couldn't relax and he felt so uncomfortable, this wasn't a stake out where he had something to focus on, he was supposed to be chatting and dancing and making out with someone. He knocked back his drink, annoyed with himself.

He left.

He came back three more times in the next week, each time he was just as uncomfortable and no one approached the dude who glowered in the corner of the room. No one except Danny.

Danny was a bartender and trying to make ends meet. Alcohol was easy to serve and he was strong enough no fights made it past a single punch before they were thrown out. He'd been watching the guy come and go for several days now and each time the guy looked like it physically pained him to come in. Danny wondered what the hell he was trying to do clearly forcing himself to come to a place he definitely didn't enjoy.

On the fifth time the guy ordered and moved to his wall Danny decided he wanted to know more. Curiosity killed the cat but you can't kill what's already dead.

"Hey man, what's with the face? You look like you've been dragged here against your will." Danny joked as he slid up next to the guy on his lunch break. The dude glanced down at him, clearly doing a once over of his body, top to bottom, and Danny raised a brow. Really? Dude was here for a lay and decided the best way to do that was to stand in the dark and glare?

"Wanna hook up?" He asked, well more like hurriedly demanded. Danny raised the other brow. Not that he wasn't interested but the guy looked like he was gonna throw up. Danny glanced at his drink, he knows he'd only had the one but the man was so clearly out of his comfort zone Danny felt like maybe the hookup should wait till the guy actually wanted to instead of looking like he was forcing himself.

"Hm, how about we start with names? Like hi, my name is Danny Nightingale what's your name?" The guy blushed from his chest to the tips of his ears. His shoulders curled in and he sheepishly answered, "Jason, names Jason Peters.. Sorry, didn't mean to jump you like that, im... trying to.." He trailed off, looking mortified. Danny giggled. Jason was cute ok?

"Well how about this Jason, ypu clearly aren't the type to pick up one night stands and I'm not sure why you think you need to. But if you wanna get laid that bad, pick me up tomorrow at GU and take me on a date. I'll see if we can get you laid." He smirked leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek and walked away.

He hopes he will take him up on it.

Write below a Batfamily meets Danny Fenton story but choose the wildest relationship that you can think of that isn’t adoption or a romantic relationship

For instance:

- breaking into a building for a drug bust but they got the wrong building number and broke into Danny’s apartment.

- gets met over and over because Condiment King of all people continuously kidnaps him for plots

- was brought to the GCPD for wrestling Killer Croc at 3am high as a kite over a new fear gas drug that’s been making its rounds through Gotham.

- accidentally smacked the coffee out of Danny’s hands while catching a perp.

[sugar-grigri]

CSM 194 : How Asa sacrificed herself to counter Yoru and save Denji

From Asa's point of view, sharing her mind and body with Yoru is dangerous.

Yoru can turn what belongs to her into a weapon, and it's clear that in these final chapters, unlike at the start of part 2, Asa is the one who appears, but no longer the one who manages daily life (taking part in conversations, eating, sleeping) and, above all, who makes decisions.

This is interference, and Yoru can very well turn Asa's body into a weapon. Semantics are also important: personality. This further blurs the barrier between Yoru and Asa.

I think Asa realized that the more she gave in to Yoru, the more she lost control. When she had wanted to oppose her, Yoru had been offended that she was "afraid" of her or didn't trust her. But : there's nothing more normal than being afraid of a devil.

Asa and Yoru may share their feelings and their bodies, but that doesn't change the fact that they don't share their nature. Yoru is a devil.

Asa has become attached to Yoru, and I think that Yoru loves Asa not in a human sense, but in a purely organic, egocentric way: she's her.

Especially when Asa decides to trust Yoru, Yoru betrays her trust

She even monopolizes Asa's story

When in reality: NO, Asa is not Yoru. Yoru is a parasite who considers her body her own, but that doesn't mean she's the same entity as the invaded body and mind.

If there's one thing that shocks fans, it's the way Yoru steals Asa's first experiences: her first kiss, her """first intimate act""", in a violent way.

When Nayuta says thief, it's not necessarily to be understood as the replica of a possessive little sister, it has a double meaning: Yoru steals Denji from Asa, or rather she steals her own life from her since she steals her experiences.

For the sake of a better union, Asa has accepted this "merger", and it's been "productive".

But she now sees the downside, whether it's Yoru haggling with her body, which is a first split because Asa surely doesn't want to haggle her first time around.

Second split: turning Denji into a weapon. Asa wants to save him at all costs.

The way to save Denji lies precisely in disunity. And I imagine that what Asa would like to do / or at least could do is accentuate the differences. She can't do it through feelings, because Yoru and Asa feel the same. But she can do it through actions and, above all, through the perception of others.

This is a theory, but Asa is someone who has good ideas and who has been able to "turn" a power against a devil several times or who has used Yoru's power in an ingenious way.

So :

Basic rule: Yoru can turn anything she thinks belongs to her into a weapon. The devil of war has indeed drawn close to Denji, which allows her to reinforce this feeling of possession. This is also how Asa feels, since she shares the same feeling as Yoru.

But if she creates distance between herself and Denji, creates animosity in order to fuel a feeling of danger on his part that would push him to back off to protect himself (because he already senses danger, hence his questions to Pochita), Denji no longer belongs to the devil of war

But remember, one can't hide anything from the other, so Asa can't think of a plan

However, she can use what she has observed, how did Yoru manage to surprise her? Through her impulsiveness. Through the Bang. All she did was wait to trigger that sudden instinct to oppose Yoru. And how can she prevent Yoru from regaining control? By scaring herself. Fear is what drives them apart.

Asa did not fight against the interference, she used it: the more Yoru took control, the less she mistrusted, the more she became attached to Denji, the more painful the rejection will be and the more effective the disunity will be. Her absence is her weapon. As well as its loneliness.

Bucky is the symbol of this rejection, but also the key to it. When Asa sees all these chickens again, it is also because she is once more truly alone in her dreams, in her unconsciousness. Running for her is a positive symbol for her character. Yuko and Denji are two beacons of hope, and the fact that she runs is a sign of her emancipation. When she runs in her dreams, she breaks free from Yoru.

Her fears, whether it be the perception of others and rejection, which distanced her from others, from people, from humanity. From now on, this is her best means of rediscovering her humanity. By cutting herself off from the one who had given her back her hope in others.

[angelltheninth]

Those Who Meet in the Shadows

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, hate sex, rough sex, degradation, secret relationship, name calling-pussy slapping, dub-con, implied voyeurism

Word count: 0.7k

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Just Jason Todd being an asshole. I like that version of him.

Jason smirked at you, his armor leaving indents on your thighs as they were spread out for him. "Wipe that smirk of you face already, its disturbing." You push your hand against him, of which he bites the fingers off one by one as the table under you shakes from the force of his deep, hard thrusts. "Fuck! Are you trying to break the table?"

"No, just you." He pushes closer, his hands on your hips, encouraging you to roll your hips with him. You try not to, you try not to give him the satisfaction of it, but can't resist him, "What would Bruce say if he knew his new friend was spreading her legs for me? Bet he'd be really angry with you. Yeah, I'm thinking... a little spanking for the naughty girl."

"Bruce wouldn't- ah, fuck, oh!" You grabbed onto the edge of the table, your cowl fully slipping, your face revealed, eyes widening. "D-Don't look at me you motherfucker, this is just-" He slapped your pussy again before pressing his fingers against your clit.

Your hips rose from the table to meet his thrusts, the echoing sounds filling the storage house. The weapons you used lay aside, the condom wrapper glistening in the dim light. At least he remembered that not wanting a repeat of you denying him like last time.

Last time. "We should stop doing this Jason. It' wrong." You were a hero, and him... something much darker, not a villain not yet but he was so close to that title.

"Yeah its real fucked up how easy you are. Letting me fuck you, coming all the time, screaming my name. But you have been distracting me more then usual. Maybe you should let every villain in this city fuck you, see if you can set them on the correct path. Then again, I am a very possessive man, I would kill any guy who wants this sweet hole. Its mine." Jason took your hands in one of his and pinned them down, "Keep them there, don't you dare move."

For some reason you listened. It was so shameful to obey him but had Jason's big, hard cock pumping in and out, making your body react.

"She obeys!" Jason boasted laugning.

"Fuck you." You still had the strength to flip him the bird.

"Aw that's adorable, is that the finger you use when you think of me?" You did. More then one finger because one wasn't nearly enough. "Bet you love having the real thing huh? Finally a man who knows what to do with a whore cunt like yours." He curled his finger over your clit, sending your back arching. "You think he's listening right now?"

No, the comms were off, you made sure of that. "N-No. He can't be."

"Then why is your pussy trembling so much? You want him to hear? Didn't know you let cockhungry sluts in your ranks these days Bruce. Must be real desperate. Poor little thing probably didn't even know how much of a slut she was." He spoke with an almost maniacal edge to his voice, his cock twitching inside you.

"S-Stop it. Its not true." You whimpered, getting all teary eyed.

"Yes. It. Is." He accompanied every word with a slap on your pussy, each sting making your head spin until a high pitched moan left your mouth, "Hear that Bruce?! That's your partner being my little whore!"

"I- I hate you." You managed to still bite back but your body didn't agree with your actions, and honestly you weren't sure your heart did either but that was easier to ignore when you were being pounded by Jason's cock. "I hate you, I hate you, I fucking hate you!" Jason was only spurred on by your words, fucking every inch of his fat cock into you until he felt your walls tighten. Despite your best efforts not to your body reacted to his, stars dancing behind your eyes, head spinning, only able to feel his cock still working between your legs and his fingers on your clit. "St-ah-op."

"But babygirl," Jason pulled out and took the condom off, letting the cum gather on the floor, "We still have the whole box of these to go through."

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Four: push him away

tw: violence, blood, vomit

Your life has become nothing but a game of numbers. 

It’s a grueling game. One that deals in quantitative facts that reminds you of its indifference towards your feelings and needs as you scribble your thoughts and desperate math into your journal. You’ve gotten very good at mental math over the years. Between calculating hours, wages, taxes, overtime… Every day that you live is planned to perfection to make sure you can survive throughout the month. There isn’t a single pence not accounted for, nor pound that goes to waste. 

After completing all your math—multiplication, division, subtraction, subtraction—you calculate the expenses you need to keep yourself alive. Paying your rent keeps you alive. Getting Marco his money on time keeps you alive. After everything, you are left with £79 in your checking account. 

You draw an angry circle around your final number before tossing the journal back onto the mattress. How you’re going to pay for groceries is beyond you, let alone anything else this month. Your teeth nearly draw blood as you bite into your cheek at the thought of using your credit cards and the debt that’s already wracked up on them. 

You work like a dog, just to live off of scraps. 

A sigh dances between your lips as you give your hand a break from writing by tossing your pen next to your journal. You’ve been sitting in bed for what feels like hours. Crunching numbers, setting timelines—the effects begin to ravage your lower back and wrist with a pestilential ache that refuses to relent even as you rub it. 

As your head rests against the wall behind you, you take a deep breath of the fresh air seeping through your open window. It’s always chilly in November, but you go insane being kooked up in the small confines of your studio apartment. Opening your window is the only bit of freedom you can pretend to have without having to put yourself in the eyes of the public. Your teeth sink into your lip as you glance back at your notepad. 

Two weeks. That’s all you have left until the 25th. 

A quiet curse cuts through the silence in your apartment as Simon’s knuckles scrape against the sink spout for what sounds like the tenth time this morning. Several parts lay dismantled and gutted on the counter next to him, along with a various assortment of tools. He scrubs the parts clean with a solvent that leaves the room smelling like vinegar, testing them bit by bit to ensure that they fit together better than they did before. 

You hadn’t expected to need him so soon. At the very least, you wanted to wait to call him until you had a bit more money in the bank, but your sink seemed to destroy itself overnight. No longer a soft drip, it turned into a steady flow that gushed more water than you knew you could afford. When you sheepishly messaged him earlier in the morning, he left almost immediately in order to buy the right materials. 

And now, here you are again, stuck with Simon Riley. 

Bee’s words from the other night ring loudly in your mind. You sure know how to pull them. It’s laughable how she thinks you’re able to attract people as if Simon sees you as something more than a pathetic animal that doesn’t know how to care for herself. Though, you can’t exactly disagree with her. For all his rough edges, he’s an attractive man. Quiet, and polite—kinder than his appearance alone would have you believe. Still, that’s as far as you would ever go. Looking. Admiring from afar. Keeping your distance. Distance is good—it keeps you safe. 

Keeps everyone safe. 

Besides, you’re not sure if intimacy is something that’s meant for you. Every time you think of a hand on your waist or hot breath on your face, your body tenses so much you can feel it trying to rip itself to shreds. The thought of someone’s lips on yours makes you want to scream. The bile in your stomach starts to churn—it’s that hand. His hand. Sliding between your thighs, inside of your skirt, going up, and up—

“There we are.”

Simon’s voice yanks you out of your anamneses, violently snapping you back into the present. Swallowing, you pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as you slide out of your bed and tip toe into the kitchen behind him. Water no longer drips out of the spout, and it now sits as the shiniest item in your apartment. A smile pulls at your lips; you’re grateful to no longer have something quite literally siphoning your finances. 

��Should be set now,” Simon explains as he cleans up the old, calcified hardware from your counter. He tosses the discarded metal into your trash where it falls with a heavy thunk. “Anythin’ else need fixing?” 

“No, nothing else is broken, For now,” you say in an attempt at humor. 

But there is one issue left: payment. 

“Thank you again, Simon. I, uh, don’t really have the money to pay you for it, but I can… maybe comp another meal for you tonight, if you’d like?” you offer. 

“It’s no problem,” Simon hums as he rinses his hands clean. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’m workin’ tonight anyway.” 

This… is not how the conversation is supposed to go. He seemed more than happy to accept free food last time, yet now he’s making it seem like you don’t need to pay him back at all. Of course you have to pay him back. That’s how the world works. It’s how everything works. You cannot take without giving—it’s an equal exchange. 

If he doesn’t want anything from you now, he’s going to want something later. 

“I can drop it off tonight at the club,” you insist, desperate to finally be rid of him. “I’m sure you get hungry at work, and I know for a fact the food there is terrible.” 

Simon hums as he shakes his hands off. He borrows the kitchen towel hanging from the oven to dry his hands as he leans against the counter, tilting his head at you with a shrug. “The chips aren’t that bad.” 

You look him up and down before raising an eyebrow. It’s a silent question—no, a protest—you know for a fact that a small serving of chips isn’t enough for a man his size. 

“Text me what you want, and I’ll bring it after I’m off tonight,” you repeat, tone all but begging for him to accept. 

Twilit eyes study you like you’re a specimen. Simon’s gaze feels like he’s pinning you to some examination board with your legs and arms splayed out. You’re on full display, chest and stomach waiting to be cut into—beating heart visible through your ribs. All he’s missing is the lab coat and scalpel to rip you open. 

“Alright,” he finally concedes. “See you tonight, sweetheart.” 

Work goes by fast. Too fast. It’s busy, which is to be expected of a Saturday, but this is outrageous. Between the takeout orders and the endless wave of patrons, it’s impossible for you to take any sort of breather. The aroma of fresh bread and cheeses soaks so deeply into the fabric of your being that you’re certain you’ll have to scrub yourself in the shower for hours in order to rid yourself of the scent. Worn shoes offer no support to your aching feet, and by the time you’re finally able to lock the door at midnight, you swear your heels are bleeding. 

Really, you should be thanking the universe for this—a blessing in disguise. A busy day means busy hands, and busy hands mean you don’t have to think about the notification waiting for you on your phone, or the meal you’ll have to deliver soon. 

Yet, your phone is the very first thing you reach for the moment you’re able to sit. One of the waiters sits huddled up in the booth across from you, rolling silverware for tomorrow’s service. The clinking hits too dull on your ears, but you ignore it as you unlock your phone. 

Order whatever you want for tonight. Not picky. Come through the VIP entrance. I’ll wait for you. 

Simon’s message came in a while ago. Just before eleven. He’s been waiting for nearly an hour and a half for you to respond, and it’ll be much later by the time you finally get it to him. Groaning, you cup your face in the palm of your hands. You should have waited until he had a day off so he could have come in rather than have you deliver—your need to push things out of the way is coming back to bite you in the ass. 

sorry, it’s been a long night. should be there before one!

“Chip!” 

Your eyes dart away from your phone just in time to see Bee waving at you from the kitchen entrance. Her ponytail is mussed from a night of busy service, yet her beauty is still effortless and captivating as large, sunflower-shaped earrings swing above her shoulders. 

“Bruce is gonna close up soon. Want anything?” she calls. 

“Uh, yeah. Just an order of capellini pomodoro. With chicken please!” you shout back. 

Instead of answering you, she gives you a thumbs up where she shouts your order at the kitchen in Italian. Bruce’s sonorous voice yells back, followed by laughter. 

It’s an easy meal. Something quick. Your usual go-to dish whenever Bruce demands that you let him feed you, which is quite often. You swear he has some sort of sixth sense that can detect when you’re trying to skip meals to save cash. 

A sharp buzz from your phone pulls your attention back down to your lap. Its screen illuminates with the preview of Simon’s response. 

Take your time, sweetheart.

“Christ…” you mumble to yourself.

You wish he wasn’t so kind. It would be easier to push him away if he was as cruel as everything else in your life is. 

It’s an awkward ride on the bus. Warmth seeps into your lap through the thin, styrofoam takeout box that holds Simon’s dinner as the world passes by you in a blur through shiny windows. There are two other women on the bus with you—you feel guilty for being grateful at the lack of men. Everyone avoids eye contact with one another as a woman in scrubs types away furiously at her phone, and a woman who looks two seconds away from puking rests her head against the cold window. 

All three of you exist simultaneously, yet so separate from one another. For once, a part of you is glad that you’re not alone. 

You lugubriously exit the bus as it comes to your stop and stare at the intimidating building a few meters down. While the inside is lit plenty well, you can’t say the same thing for the outside. Shrouded in a thick numbra, lights can hardly cut through the darkness far enough to properly illuminate the pavement in front of the main entrance. You feel your muscles begin to twitch. It’s one thing coming to Terminus when you have Aelin dragging you around, but it’s something else entirely when you know you’ll have to navigate the area all by yourself. 

Styrofoam squeaks as you grip the box in your hand and traverse down the frigid pavement. The air cuts right through your work clothes, and not even zipping your jumper offers any reprieve. You find comfort in knowing it’s a short walk—the bouncers hanging around the front entrance are already within sight. 

“Excuse me!” you call.

The duo of men crowded at the entrance seem to be in the middle of a smoke break when you interrupt them, and they look at you with narrowed, unentertained eyes. They stand at the top of the steps leading up to the entrance, making you feel impossibly small as they scrutinize you. You’re just some bug on the pavement. 

“I’m, uh, looking for the VIP entrance? I’m supposed to meet Simon?” you say. 

“You askin’ or tellin’ us?” one of the men barks over the cigarette stuck between his teeth. 

Every word you speak is so fragile you feel them shatter on the ground at your feet. You’re beginning to second guess asking for help. Twitchy fingers yearn to reach for your phone—calling him would have been easier. No, you just need to grit your teeth and bare it. Once this is done, you don’t owe him anymore, and you’ll never have to see him again. 

“Sorry,” you try again. “It’s just that, I’m supposed to bring Simon dinner tonight, I just need help finding the entrance.” 

“Sorry love, dunno a Simon.” 

You raise an eyebrow at the man as your confusion strangles out the anxiety gripping your chest. “Doesn’t he… like, work security with you?” 

The other man slaps the smoker on the arm—something playful and childish—before he rolls his eyes. “She’s talking about Riley you pillock.”

Terrible realization washes over the smoker’s face, and he quickly flicks his cigarette onto the ground. It sputters and dies in a little wisp underneath the sole of his boot. 

“Shit, of course,” he says, a silent apology soaking his words. He points a finger toward your right, guiding you along the darkness of the building. “VIP entrance, yeah? Just head that way and make a left before the alleyway.” 

It’s not the easiest set of instructions to follow, but you don’t dare ask for clarification. Instead, you mutter a quiet thanks and goodnight before trudging down the pavement. The only thing keeping you warm is the food in your hands, but the night air is sapping its heat faster than you had anticipated. You try not to think about it too heavily as the main lights of the building grow more faint with each step. 

Just as instructed, you make a left turn into the area you assume is the VIP entrance, yet you very quickly find yourself in the alley you were told to turn before. It’s a simple fix. Turn around, backtrack, and find the right turn—but it’s not. Acrid air begins to choke you with thin fingers that grip your throat without remorse. Your diaphragm tenses, solid as a rock; it refuses to loosen and allow you to draw breath. You’re frozen—stuck in time at the entrance of some grimy alley as two men converse with one another where they pass notes and cash between one another beneath the adust halogen lights. 

Dirty business. Something that stains your skin and festers until you’re just as sordid. Your tongue goes dry as if someone’s shoved your mouth full of cotton, and it only worsens when you realize that you recognize one of the men. It’s difficult not to with his brown undercut and stony eyes nestled beneath rigid brows. Trembling fingers dig into the takeout box in your hands as your mind is plagued with the fluttering idea to flee, but it’s too late. His blue eyes have already found you in the darkness with a fire that illuminates your body like a spotlight. 

He always looks angry—determined—with harsh features and tense lips. Yet, as he stares at you, he appears almost relieved. 

Like he had been looking for you. 

You swallow the lump in your throat as this man mutters something to his friend. The stranger looks back and forth between you and the man before quickly departing, shoulder brushing against yours as he passes by. Heavy feet stomp against the stone floor of the alleyway as you’re approached by this monster of a man. You tell yourself to look away, but you can’t. 

You know better than to look away from Andrei when his hands are in his pockets. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, stopping just close enough to crowd your space, but not so much that you step back. 

Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth as you attempt to choke out the words to respond to him. “I’m… delivering food.” 

Andrei looks over his shoulder. The tenebrous alleyway stares back at both of you with nothing to show but noisome garbage bins. “To who? The rats?” 

“I made a wrong turn,” you answer honestly. 

He chuckles, but it’s flat. There’s no amusement behind it, just macabre curiosity. You’re nothing but a creature—one he can’t wait to cut into. 

“You’re always getting lost, aren’t you?” he questions. It’s not something he expects an answer for, and you know it, so you stay silent as he leans closer as if ready to tell you a secret. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

You’re very aware of this fact. You knew as much the moment you laid eyes on him. 

“I’ll just… drop this off and go. I’ll go straight home, I swear,” you attempt to plead. 

“Dangerous men here. Lots of them,” Andrei continues as if you never said anything in the first place. “You’d do well to keep your distance. I know you like getting caught up in bad business, but this isn’t something you want to get stuck in. I can promise you that much. I mean it. Stay the fuck away from this place. I don’t want to catch you here again.” 

“Chip?” 

Simon’s voice bounces off the brick walls around you, rattling you to the point you swear your knees will give out. You’re unsure if you should feel relieved or terrified that he found you. A twitch in your neck urges you to look over your shoulder, but you stop when you see Andrei is already staring at him. The corners of his lips twist downward. 

“Need something?” Andrei asks, bored. 

“Yeah,” Simon responds. Gravel and sand crunches behind you, and you flinch as you feel a warm hand bleed through your jumper as he squeezes your shoulder. “I need you to fuck off.” 

Amused, Andrei tilts his head to one side. Simon is significantly taller than him, yet he doesn’t seem intimidated at all. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into here, friend,” he warns. 

“I said fuck off,” Simon deadpans. “I don’t need some mangy cunt sniffin’ around here. Creepy little shit, you are. What? Need me to repeat myself?”

There’s no time to warn Simon about the war he’s started with those words. Rage boils in Andrei’s eyes with a heat so violent you can feel it in his hands as he shoves you to the side. 

The takeout box slips out of your palms just in time for you to catch your fall. Soft flesh collides with jagged rocks and broken glass, but the adrenaline pumping through your system numbs the pain in your palms and knees. Angel hair pasta litters the ground around you, and the mouthwatering scent of Simon’s would-be meal becomes stomach churning. A strained sob escapes your mouth as you try and steady yourself to keep your body from toppling over onto the ground. 

All you wanted to do was drop off the meal and go home. 

It takes an eternity for you to push yourself to your feet, and even then you nearly fall back to the ground. Mind spinning, your weary eyes can hardly make sense of your shredded palms and the blood that trickles from small lacerations. Shock grips you like a vice, forcing your body to shiver as it pumps your muscles with enough adrenaline to stop your heart. 

When you turn around, the tinnitus in your ears suddenly roars louder than anything else around you as you witness the fight before you. Blood gushes from the side of Andrei’s head and his nose. It dribbles down his chin until it leaves dainty stains on the white cotton of his shirt. He leans against the wall for support while staring daggers at Simon, who stands between the two of you like a human meatshield. A physical barrier to keep Andrei from you. Still, it isn’t enough to hide the unmistakable glint of the knife in his hand. 

It hits you all at once. The blood. How it spills freely from a stomach, ruining fresh upholstery. You wonder how many other lives that knife has taken. That cruel, curved blade that taunts you as Andrei folds it up and shoves it back into his pocket. Pale eyes land on you in a warning as he wipes his face on the back of his hand, smearing blood across the flushed color of his cheeks. He doesn’t have to say his caveat out loud for you to know what he wishes to say. 

It’s only a matter of time before you’re next. 

You catch the tail end of Andrei’s retreat before your stomach begins to bubble. Turning around, you hardly have enough time to brace your sore hands against the wall before rancid bile stings the back of your throat. You puke. Vile liquid sloshes on the ground. There’s hardly anything inside of you to get rid of; just the consumed remnants of your brunch from hours ago. You try to keep it down, but you’re overwhelmed by the way your muscles contract, contorting your body uncomfortably as you expel the only bit of sustenance you were able to eat that day. 

Simon’s hand rests on your hunched back, but you can’t get yourself to face him as your stomach quivers and protests. He whispers something on your left—something too muffled for you to hear. It can’t reach you. Everything is disconnected. Nothing but frayed wires and nerves. Shuttering breaths. Cold blood. Trembling hands. Rocks sticking out of flesh. 

Then, there’s nicotine. It’s faint; something that haunts the fabric of Simon’s shirt as he pulls you close. You’re not sure if he holds you to offer you comfort, or to keep your shaking legs from collapsing. You decide that you don’t care why he does it—either way, you’re grateful for it. You focus on the smell of him—old smoke mixed with something clean, like cotton—as well as his warmth as he keeps you tucked close to his side. It does nothing to stave off the panic ravaging your chest, but it’s enough for now. 

“C’mon, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Simon urges. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | get early access to chapters here

[grison-in-space]

I have funding until mid May unless my PI finds more somewhere (*high pitched laughter*) and her best advice for me as a postdoc is to go into IT and get out of science at least temporarily. I started my PhD in god-damned 2012, just in time for the 2013 shutdown, got it in 2020 despite four major housing disruptions and my advisor deciding that he was entitled to murder my career in its cradle because I made him feel ooky for constantly sending me down wrong ends.

I fished my career out of the soup by going from a NSF EEB-oriented neuroendocrinology specialty to working on the impact of neurodivergence on motivation and decision-making, especially in terms of sex and gender. It will be essentially impossible to replace my extremely unusual background and perspective in the field. Tough titties, I guess, because I'm not in my twenties anymore and I can't absorb this kind of career abuse forever.

I'm so fucking angry and tired and sad all the fucking time and now I have to job hunt about it! And all I ever fucking wanted to do was figure shit out and put up with the precarity in service of generating knowledge that helps people understand themselves in relation to the natural world. I have spent the last thirteen fucking years trying to serve my country with my mind and my training and now I have to give up my fucking career because what, some self proclaimed leftists didn't want to sully their hands by voting for a killjoy woman. Again.

I don't want to get out of bed, but my chance to actually finish the really cool project I've spent the last four years working on so that people believe I have skills is evaporating under me if I don't. I am so so so so angry and tired about it and I feel betrayed all the time. I worked so hard for this. I structured my whole adult life around this fucking career and I feel completely thrown away, especially since we are getting starved out rather than fired.

I'm so angry and heartsick and it's not fair. I should know better than to think life is fair, but fuck, I'm so exhausted and angry and full of grief about this bullshit. I don't even believe there will be consequences for anyone involved. Certainly the international job market won't be able to absorb us all, which means we get to flood the local skilled knowledge markets and drive wages down because our labor is apparently fucking worthless.

I just want to cry all the time. I'm trying to step forward where I can but it's hard when you're out of time and the plan is to starve you out rather than fire you outright. My mentor is looking for options but where is she going to find them?

It's so painful. It really feels like a confirmation of how much scientists are valued (not much, since giving us a pathway to a steady, comfortable life isn't a fucking priority). Why do I have to be graceful about the pain of it?

I've hesitated to write anything about the federal cuts and their impact on science infrastructure in the US, in part because I just don't know where to start.

How to express my rage, or my sadness, or the panic I feel as a scientist currently funded on a federal grant. Or watching the careers of colleagues, friends, and loved ones hang in the balance or be destroyed entirely.

I don't know what to say. My heart aches for those who were doing the important work not only of science but also of making it more accessible, equitable, and diverse. Some of these scientists lost their salary, benefits, and funding overnight. My heart aches knowing that the science we are still able to do will be so much less vibrant without their contributions, should they be unable to return to science.

I've watched over the last few weeks as several of my potential career paths went up in smoke. Federal agency jobs gone, slashes to funding slowing academic science to a halt and resulting in hiring freezes. What jobs there are still now have an applicant pool that tripled overnight.

I have no idea what the future holds, but there is a very real and present possibility that I will not be able to do science as a career. I'm not going down without a fight, but nevertheless it looms as a potential reality for which I have to plan.

I began my PhD in 2018. I withstood so much emotional turmoil, a pandemic, loss and grief and doubt, and I came out the other side with those three letters after my name. I knew there would be hard times again but I also believed surely that nothing would ever be as arduous or difficult as that again. I had survived a PhD; I could do anything.

If you've gotten this far, thanks for reading. If you've been affected by this, I'm wishing you well and my DMs are always open. Call your reps. Nurture your community.

[yeorisanaxox]

. ₊˚ෆ xoxo, sincerely yours ♡₊˚ \\ Jung Wooyoung : Valentine's Special SMAU

7.0 different places, same shit

Wooyoung huffed irritably, tossing his phone aside and burying his face further into your lap. You tried stifling your amusement by patting his head with comfort, but the shaking in your legs gave you away, causing him to turn and cut you the hardest of glares, in which you lost it completely.

"Don't laugh!- you're supposed to be my friend." He whines, trying to hold to his discontent but his syllables shake with laughter of his own at you doubling over. He smacks your thigh a couple time before you finally calm down, wiping a tear from your eye.

"God, I love seonghwa." You let out the last bit of giggles before reaching beside you to take a few sips of your water bottle.

“Bet you won’t say that if you lived with him.” he scoffs knowingly before laying back down on your lap, except this time facing upward to you, causing an unwarranted yet so familiar feeling to swirl in the pit of your stomach.

Usually you were unaffected by this– or at least you tried to be by reminding yourself that this was just wooyoung being wooyoung. Close proximity was all you knew with him growing up, yet that never stopped the kaleidoscope of butterflies you felt every time he was near your person. It was confusing and confusing as hell because some days you think that maybe it finally means something when he’s not just holding your hand but also running the pad of his thumb along your knuckles as he looked back into your eyes as if he was staring into the depths of your soul.

The way he never just kissed your cheek goodbye but cups them both gently in his palms before leaning in to give the tenderest of kisses to one before letting you go like it pained him to, with that stupid smile you’ve grown to love so much. But it was always when you were feeling on cloud 9 and thought nothing could ever bring you down from this high, ‘because you’re my friend,’ ‘that’s what friends do,’ ‘we’ll always be friends,’ friends, friends, friends– god you hated that fucking word so much because of him. It was the needle that burst your bubble every time, making you fall right from the sky.

Sometimes you wish you could just tell him to stop, and it all be over. Every hope, thought, the confusion, the pain– all of it. But you couldn’t. As simple as it seemed, you were afraid that by letting go, it would turn into the very thing that you miss and wished you had kept. Sure, it was just as painful as believing your relationship was ever going anywhere but not having the thing you grew accustomed to, his touch, after all these years, you didn’t know if you could live without it. Or if you wanted to for that matter. Even if it was just platonic.

Looking down again to the boy in your lap, despite all your turbulent thoughts, a smile is still able to find its way on your lips as he returns one of his own. The spring breeze, at the right moment, blew around you and into the tree you were under, making it feel like some kind of drama with the petals and leaves soaring in its current.

“Why are you looking at me like that pretty girl?” Tilting his head to the side, waiting for your answer.

There goes those stupid butterflies again like they know when it was their cue. “Like what–”

“Hey Wooyoung!”

A voice interrupts you, causing you both to look over at its source.

It’s giselle. Standing there with the biggest smile on her face but anyone looking closely could see it wasn’t reaching her eyes.

“Hey sellie. What’s up?” He sits up from your lap, taking all his warmth with him, then patting the space next to him, offering her to sit down in which she does almost too eagerly.

“I saw you across the way and thought I’d come say hi.” She continues while leaning forward, wrapping her arms over his shoulders before pulling away. You didn’t miss how one of her hands lingered on the back of his neck, carding her fingers through the hair that was there.

“Geez wooyoung, was your hair always this long? Thinking about getting a haircut?”

“One of these days,” he starts, “but not right now. I kinda like how it is at the moment. With it still being the colder months.” He runs his own hand through his hair so that it makes her let go. You don’t why that brought you some sort of relief, but it did.

For the next couple of minutes you had to listen to her go on and on about whatever she could pull out of her ass. Not once does she acknowledge your presence as if you weren’t sitting right behind him. And wooyoung laughing along with her, sharing the same touches with her like he did with you minutes ago, like she was his whole world–

Turning your head away like you were imposing on an intimate moment, swallowing the lump in your throat. You weren’t supposed to feel anything right now. That’s what you kept chanting to yourself as he wasn’t yours. A friend is all I am to him– tears swelled up in your eyes, burning as you tried to blink them away. You had to go before–

“Aww what’s wrong y/n?” She speaks to you for the first time since crashing your picnic.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” You grimaced while throwing your things into your bag, keeping your back towards them so neither of them could see the tears now pouring down your face.

“You sure? Because I thought I saw you crying just now.” Of course you did, internally rolling your eyes. But then that’s when it hit you- the smugness in her voice that came off rather taunting. Almost as if ….this was her whole plan of coming over and the results being beyond amusing to her. And what's sad about it, it doesn't even surprise you as this was the exact same shit she pulled back on that night at prom.

“Wait– you’re crying?” Wooyoung tries to get you to turn towards him but you fought against him, standing up and ready to let your feet carry you anywhere that wasn’t with them. But he was faster. Taking your wrist and spinning you around, and surely giselle was right. You were crying.

“It's just my allergies. I forgot to take my medicine today.” You stopped another tear from rolling down your face by swiping it away with the sleeve of your jacket.

“Last time i checked,” Both you and wooyoung looked back to her, seeing her tap her chin feigning like she was in deep thought. “You didn’t have allergies.”

Her concern sounded just as fake as her facade, pissing you off further because she knows that you were seeing right through her yet that didn’t seem to bother her at all. To her probably, as long as wooyoung didn’t, there was no harm in any of it. But unfortunately for her, you weren’t willing to play along in whatever twisted charade she had schemed.

“I’ve got to go.” You tried leaving once again but wooyoung for a second time stopped you.

“But we were supposed to wait for the spotlight machine.” He whimpers. His hand also takes yours and rubs the pad of his thumb across your knuckles, just like he always does, hoping to get you to stay. Usually, it would work but after seeing him being affectionate with her and now coming back to you in the same likeness, made your brain feel like it was short circuiting with so much confusion that you couldn’t think any sober thoughts.

“No, you were supposed to wait for the machine.” Yanking your hand out and backing away to put some distance between you. “You don’t need me to babysit you all the time.” And with that, you left, causing a new stream of tears to flow down your face.

He isn't mine, he isn't mine, he isn't mine, he isn't mine, HE ISN’T– walking with your head down and vision blurred with water, you hadn’t seen when you bumped into someone, nor just how far you actually walked.

“Sorry.” you managed to let pass the huge lump in your throat that was burning from the sob you were holding back.

“Y/n.” The voice spoke your name with such familiarity that it instantly had you looking up to its source and finding it to be san.

Quickly you try and dry your face as if he hadn’t already seen you crying. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going–”

“Y/n.” He calls you again except this time with a tender warmth and his arms stretched out.

“I saw everything that happened, so you don’t have to pretend in front of me. You can cry.”

He doesn't wait for you to fall into his arms. He just puts you in them like he knew too it was exactly what you needed. The second you were in his warm embrace, the sob that was still in the back of your throat, you finally let it out while fisting the material of his shirt in your hands.

“I know, doll. She’s such a bitch for it.”

masterlist || <previous - next>

pairing jung wooyoung x fem reader Genre smau! f2lvrs w crack, drama, slow burning??? mid cursing

Synopsis "Finally confessing your feelings to the guy you've had a crush on since middle school. Only one problem... your ex best friend has a crush on him. In the end who gets the guy?"

taglist 🏷️

@miniature-tragedy @istansquirrels @marvolos @domfikeluva @santineez

all dates/ timestamps in pic are irrelevant to the story

written by yeorisanaxox. No translations or reposting. Leave a like and reblog w [feedback is much appreciated]✨

[writersblockworks]

ITS FAN NUMBER 76!!!!! may I have some Mouthwashing fluff with Anya and Daisuke, just them hanging out and being goofy friends together?? :]!!!

Hi fan number 76!! And yes! I need a break from smut do sorry to my other asks who want smut you will get it. I just need a smut break to get out of my writing block. I’ll make this from a third person perspective to try something new!

No mention of the criminal no one likes that asshole

Game night

“Shit!” Anya yelled out. Her fists slamming into the wooden table causing the board pieces to jump, some falling down as they back to the table. Daisuke and Curly almost jumped with the game pieces but Swansea just grinned and took the last property card she needed.

“Sorry Anya, I landed on it.” He chuckled, taking a sip of his drink.

“I needed that.” She groaned. The monopoly game was long they had been there too long and Anya was now losing her mind.

“Should have landed in it first then.”

“It’s monopoly you can’t-“

“Anya just buy it from him.” Curly sighed. Anya groaned

“He’s just going to sell it at the most unreasonable price!”

“Relax it can’t be that much the property was 250-“ Daisuke started but Swansea interrupted.

“I’ll sell it to you for 500.” Swansea said

“Im gonna flip this table.” Anya huffed

“Do not.” Daisuke chuckled as he grabbed the two dice in front of him.

The rest of the game went smoothly well as smoothly as it could be. Swansea ended up winning the game dispute Anya swearing he cheated. Curly and Swansea went to bed leaving Anya and Daisuke In the common room. Anya laid out on the couch while Daisuke went to put the game up and into the cabinet. After he put the pieces on the box and closed it he looked to his friend.

“Do you know much longer we will be up here for?” He asked.

Anya’s face switched from a pissed off look to a solemn one. “3 months give or take.” She replied still looking up at the ceiling. After a moment of silence she looked at him “what’s waiting back home for you?” She asked with a slight smile.

“Baseball.” (It’s my head cannon he played baseball okay.) he started, carefully sliding the lid of the box to seal the dreadful monopoly game. “I was really good at it. Though I don’t know how being in space so long will affect it.” He added putting the box away and walking to the couch. Anya saw him walk over and she sat up to make room for him.

“Well. You’ll be a bit taller, when we fist get off this ship our sense of gravity will be messed up and we might not be able to walk for a day or two but after that we should be fine.” Anya said while she stretched out on the couch.

“What are you gonna do when we get back?” Daisuke asked.

“Medical school-“ Anya started

“Again??”

“Shut up….. I mean I’ll pass eventually right?” Anya chuckled. Though little humor was behind it.

“Well. I think this time you’ll get it. I mean you’ve been reading a lot right?” He asked. Which she nodded.

“I hope you’re right. At least I’m doing something interesting and not eating the game pieces. Now we no longer have the game Sorry.” She chuckled “how are you even alive?” She added. He chuckled and shrugged.

“I have an iron stomach.” He shrugged

Hey guys!! I’m back and I’m trying to get back into writing. I e had a lot of shit go on these past two months and I’m back!! My requests are open!! Sorry this wasn’t longer

[waterdeepwife]

Real quick about Gale being groomed.

This is the last post I’m going to make about Gale getting groomed by Mystra, then I’m leaving the topic alone.

Warnings: grooming/abuse, opinions.

Yes, I fully believed Gale was groomed by Mystra. It’s heavily implied throughout the game that this is the case, and I really wish Larian would just come out and say it at this point.

Some of the denial of Mystra being a groomer and an abuser I feel like stems from the fact she is female. Society often has a hard time accepting women can be shitty people and abusers. We see this again with Wyll and Mizora (but that’s another post).

“It doesn’t fit the timeline”

While this is a fair point, it really doesn’t matter. Baldur’s Gate 3 is its own separate story that does not have to follow the timeline or lore that DnD has laid out. Plenty of DnD campaigns break the timeline or the “rules” in favor of doing their own thing, and bg3 is no different. Is that annoying for DnD players? Yeah, but the game can do whatever it wants and make its own canon.

Gale was able to cast magic at eight summers old, which according to DnD lore he shouldn’t have been able to do, but in Bg3 lore he can and he does. Gale mentions any form of magic will alert Mystra to its source, which meant Mystra at least knew of Gale when he was eight. And Elminster then showed up and began to mentor a young Gale, the chosen of Mystra just happened to appear. Yeah right, I fully believe Mystra sent his old ass. Gale mentions being a child prodigy and skillful wizard at a young age many times, Mystra knew about Gale scene he was a child!

That’s it, that’s all I have to say about the matter. Now I have to go deal with my cat who is covered in catnip agent he ripped open the bag. Which is why I rushed a little bit lmao.

EDIT:

Grooming isn’t also just about children. Adults can be groomed as well. So even if Mystra didn’t met Gale until he was an adult SHE STILL GROOMED HIM. Mystra isolated Gale from people who care about him, building trust and an emotional connection to lower Gale’s inhibitions to use him.

[player-tag]

orphan child (epic the musical fic)

telemachus-centric fic, angst, 557 words

cross-posted on ao3

Odysseus’s bow was not hard to string, Telemachus has realised. 

When he strings the bow, he does it with ease. The men around him mumble in amazement. Not a single one of them could even get the string to reach both sides of the bow.

Telemachus takes a breath. Nocks the arrow, draws it back. He aims, and gently—

Lets go of the arrow.

It goes through the first axe. 

Telemachus does not remember his father, except for rough hands and hooded eyes, though the look in them was  always gentle.

It goes through the second axe.

Telemachus was three years old when his mother first tells him of his father. His laugh, the way he’d give her flowers, the way his voice would soften when speaking with his sister. 

Third axe—

The suitors have been in Penelope’s palace for years, and Telemachus remembers them being there as far back as he can remember anything else. They would grin and smile at him, initially, but now—

Fourth axe.

Growls and snarls started when he was eleven. They would push and shove, trip, laugh at his bloodied knees. Telemachus didn’t know how to fight. He knew how to shoot a bow, and to the suitors, that was cowardice above anything else.

Fifth.

His mother had locked herself in her room at some point. He doesn’t remember when. The war had been over for over a year, and still— 

Sixth—

The sobbing at the beaches. He would beg and beg and the storms never seemed to stop. Poseidon seemed to laugh at him, the water lapping at his hands.

Seventh.

Telemachus taught himself to throw punches. He’d hit trees and bushes, dart between rocks on the mountains. He’d aggravate the goats and then dodge each horn they aimed at him. He still couldn’t beat the suitors, but at least he can stop them from scratching like desperate cats at his mother’s door.

Eighth. 

He caught his mother crying on his bed, once. When he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, she pulled him in and cried into his shoulder instead. The sick feeling in his stomach still hasn’t left his head.

Ninth—

His mother had been preparing the challenge since he was young. She always knew his father may not return, but she wanted to make sure he’d live in the palace as its rightful ruler. He has been able to string the bow ever since he was thirteen.

Tenth.

Athena had taught him more than he could ever teach himself. When she appeared to him during the fight, he’d assumed it was Hermes playing a sick joke on him before he took him to the underworld. But she’d raised him from tartarus, and she’d raised him a beast of his former self. 

Eleventh. 

“Your father isn’t coming back. It’s time.”

“Mother—”

“You are a man. Act like it.”

He’s ignored the tears in her eyes, the tremble in her voice. He nodded, and prepared.

As expected, no one else could do it. He was the last in the line.

Twelfth—

Straight into his mother’s heart.

The gasps around him are shocked and disappointed. The deal has been sealed.

“Telemachus, son of Odysseus,” The priest announces. “King of Ithaca.”

Orphan, lonely, and determined.

Athena’s ghost hand touches his shoulder as he stares at his mother’s smiling, dead face.

[fourteentrout]

SJM Pride Week Day 4: Gender

Title: carry that weight

Pairing: Nesta Archeron/Tamlin

Rating: E (NOT for everyone ;) )

Word Count: 11,310

Summary: “I often feel too big for my body,” he whispered against her neck, so quiet that she wouldn’t have understood him if she were still human. “For this world. There's…there's too much of me.”

The stillness of the world around them kept Nesta's breath trapped in her chest. I know what you mean, she didn’t say.

“Then turn into something smaller.” Nesta replied instead, her voice not quite as dry as she usually kept it.

@sjmprideweek I hope this counts even though it's technically a straight ship at the start. i thought some genderfluidity could be fun to introduce to nesta's character, especially since a shapeshifter is such a perfect vehicle to communicate that identity through!

Snippet below the cut! Or read here on AO3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

The sex had come as a surprise.

Nesta had arrived in the Spring Court with only what she could carry and the clothes on her back. No tears shed. Azriel had set her down in a pretty little meadow, its verdant innocence teasing the bleak reality of her situation. Her boots, the leather still shiny, sank into the soft dirt, and for the first time since leaving the Night Court, she felt like she could breathe.

It was awful. 

The fresh Spring air sawed in and out of her lungs, too much all at once, so much that it was practically choking her. Her face heated in a way that she used to be able to stop, back before…back when she was human. She couldn’t grasp the reins of her body, even after over a year of having it. She’d been drowned, burned, broken and reformed, and spat back out with something inside her that she did not want, and could not control.

Azriel put a warm hand on her back as she gathered herself, blinking away the haze of panic and taking in her surroundings.

“I’m sorry it turned out this way.” He said softly, his melodic voice making the shock of truth a fraction less bitter.

“Me too.” Nesta replied. Out of everyone, he was the only one who’d had the courtesy to give another option. It wasn’t ideal—none of them were—but this was at least a flavor of exile that was seasoned with compassion.

As much as Feyre claimed forgiveness, Nesta knew the anger that still strangled her soul.

Azriel had been the one to take the eldest Archeron aside when she’d condemned herself to what would surely be death, or imprisonment, or endless wandering without a destination in sight. If Nesta thought about it too hard, it reminded her of someone she’d tried to drink away the memory of time and time again. No direction, no will. 

“I’ll be the one to take you,” the Shadowsinger had told her quietly in the empty washroom of her empty flat. “I’ll get you somewhere…safer.”

Not safe. But safer. Even the lush, quiet meadow thrummed with that feeling. This Court was not safe, but the land would accept her in a way that the human realm no longer could. And that, apparently, was all Nesta could ask for.

It was better than she deserved. Azriel had saved her from what she’d been ready for. 

Now, she was more scared than ever.

[anyplaceisparadise]

Acclamation Day

Aka: Caracalla's stream of consciousness during the biggest moment of his life.

They're waiting for him. It's his big day after all, his acclamation.

Everything is going perfectly, but why shouldn't it? Beautiful purple and gold robes have replaced his old blue and gold ones and the fabric is soft and light on his skin. He looks down at himself. Yes, this is nice, his old ones had been stained anyway.

Geta never let him wear purple even though they're emperors and emperors wear purple, he knows that and he knows Geta knows that too but he had never been allowed- why though? It's silly, he should be able to wear purple because he is an emperor and thats what emperors wear, but he's in purple now so everything is okay. Except Geta still isn't here and he isn't sure why. Where is he? Perhaps already in his seat.

He spots Macrinus. Behind him, a bit further away is Lucilla. Lucilla didn't want to be his Mummy so now she had to pay. But... he isn't sure if he still wants her to pay, anymore. She could still be his Mummy, he could give her another chance. The General hasn't been around for a while, so maybe with him gone, Lucilla would change her mind.

"Must we kill Lucilla?" He whispers to Macrinus.

Macrinus is tall. He leans in, on his tip toes. Macrinus is nice, he told them about the plans the General and Lucilla had made. Geta said that they could trust Macrinus, so he does.

"Until she is dead, you will never know peace" Macrinus whispers back.

He nods. His head hurts a bit, and he moves on slowly, heading up the stairs. It's hot in the colosseum, and his nice new purple robes are beginning to stick to him.

Two big chairs. One for him and one for Geta. Geta isn't sitting here like he thought he would be. So where is Geta? Geta never leaves him, at least not for long. It's been a little while but they were just talking, they had been arguing actually-

Well, if Geta isn't here, he might as well take Geta's seat and let Dondus have his old one. That is nice of him, he thinks. He's a good emperor.

He smiles. The games begin and he can't stop himself, he loves this. He loves the colosseum, he loves the games, he loves watching the gladiators and wild animals. Sometimes it's hard for him to follow, it's hard for him to track which is the animal and which is the human but its all the same isn't it? It's all the same and its fun. He and Geta have been coming to the colosseum since they were boys- where is Geta, again? He should be here-

He looks throughout the box. There's Macrinus, behind him, like usual. Macrinus is watching the games closely so he turns back around and focuses too. A good emperor must always lead by example.

And there's Lucilla! She looks beautiful, even from a distance. He remembers what Macrinus had whispered to him. Peace. He likes the fighting and the bloodshed and watching the gladiators fly through the air but he knows peace is good, people like peace. His fingers fiddle with the gold thread on his robes.

A yell from below catches his attention. The Praetorians are doing a good job, he thinks, squinting at the action. A laugh slips out and his tongue finds his gold tooth. Where in the world is Geta? He's missing it, he's missing everything, he's missing the big day-

There's that gladiator poet Geta hates! Geta is going to be so angry when he finds out he missed this-

The men are scrambling below, yelling and shouting, crying out and it's so close to him- he scoots forward, trying to see everything. When they were children, he and Geta used to practice with wooden swords, yelling and rolling in the courtyards, just like this. They are emperors now and Geta says it's unbecoming to play fight again like they used to, but it would be fun, he thinks. It's hot and he's sweating a bit but that's okay- a little sweat never hurt a warrior-

"This is war! Real war!" He cries out, unable to contain it.

Does anyone hear him? It's loud, almost too loud, and his head throbs once more. The crowd is yelling, he watches them all, the plebeians, his plebeians, his people. He shifts back in his seat.

Where is Lucilla's General? He'd like this, he'd like the action, perhaps he could even ask the General to show him some things- Geta's cape! He has Geta's cape and he has laurels to match, he could-

Copper red rivers squirm through the sand below. But it's not the salty, fishy smell of water he's used to when he goes to the coast. It's metallic and cold, wafting up with the dust and nestling in his senses like it lives there.

He leans back in his seat. It's hot, he's too hot, his nice purple robes are sticking to him and he doesn't like them anyway, he decides that suddenly, he wants to be back in his old ones, even if they're stained, even if it's Geta's blood on them because that's what it was, that smell, that red splash across the sand that was the same blood spray that had covered him. He's sitting in Geta's chair and Geta isn't here and it's not good, nothing is good anymore, this is not how his day is supposed to go- Geta is supposed to be here but he's not and he's sitting in Geta's chair and its his own fault-

Warmth spreads from his shoulder down. Someone is touching him, Geta, he is praying. A cold brush against his ear lobe, is his earring falling? And then-

[aegagrusscholarship]

ok this was a tag rant but then it got really long so it goes in the main reblog and also the mainblog

if you take mirage as any sort of mirror of v1. it doesn't matter HOW exactly. just that you acknowledge that she is a facet of it in some way, it's pretty clear to see.

like yes her problems are filtered through the lens of her being a high schooler. and v1 is in a completely different situation. but the basal character traits that lead each of them to their respective current situations are, at the very least a facet of each other, if not straightup the same

i could also go on about the goofy little things available to do in the levels and also the goofy situations of bonus levels and point to that. because the hank skeleton saga and the fact that v1 does not simply disregard the silly little puzzles and activities it finds in those bonus levels. you cannot argue that they're non-canon, because the fact of the matter is that they are part of the game, and the game is very diegetic, and the game is telling you that these are situations that could happen. they might not have truly happened if you want to read it that way, but they are situations that are entirely possible to have happened.

and my point is that v1 is so very willing to do silly shit. because like. cheesy as it is to say. to want to live means you want to live for SOMETHING

it does not need to be a person or a thing or a concept even just the fact of being able to experience is a thing that could well be a motivation. and i think that IS the case here, given what little snippets of v1's personality we can see through these little details

and if you take into account PLAYER BEHAVIOUR and what is ENCOURAGED of the player and take into account the fact ultrakill is a very diegetic game!!!! that's even more to talk about!!! that is even more to point towards

the player is encouraged to go fuck around in the cybergrind, and you can't say the existence of the cybergrind and the way it works is non-canon! it is entirely canon! and the player is encouraged to fuck around in it which points to the fact that v1 is very much probable to fuck around as well, because player behaviour IS accounted for in its written personality as well

that is how this game is written. and this also means player behaviour in terms of the silly shit players do in levels is also implied to be adjacent to canon, if not outright canon.

and brother, we're having so much fun here.

v1 just wants to keep experiencing everything it can.

this is more speculation on my part, but i don't think it's scared of dying for the sake of being scared of dying, if that makes sense. i think it is scared because that means its existence will end, and that may seem like a non-issue of a distinction to make but it is very important a distinction.

going back to mirage, her fear is of nothing she does mattering in the end. i think v1's fear is very much off the same baseline. if it dies, if it stops existing, it will not have- can not have mattered. it's scared of and is running from the fact that it currently cannot and does not have closure.

AND. A FINAL THING. you didn't think i'm not thinking about the way this is entirely a foil to gabriel's acceptance of his own death didja? because i did not forget that!! it completely comes right back to the thing about closure i said literally thirty seconds ago.

gabriel has closure! he knows what he has done will have an effect on what he wanted to affect. it does not matter what happens to him anymore because he has done everything he wanted to do at this point. his death does not matter anymore! he's fulfilled his goal.

v1 doesn't have closure and i don't think it can. it's very much aimless. it's reason for existing as of now is simply to exist and experience the world. to die would take that away entirely, and it is scared of that.

Honestly it’s a little bit funny how the new ultrakill death screen has 95% of the fandom just straight up ugly crying in the club

[themalhambird]

Um.

Golden Cage AU, more Elrond Illness Edition. Elrond's fever reaches its peak, forsight mixes itself up with dreams of the past, and Galadriel believes he is going to die. He isn't, he very explicitly gets through the fever and starts to get better, but It's Alot. Tbh, I'm not really sure where this came from and also, I made myself cry writing it.

@malkaleh tagging because this is your sandbox I'm thriving in but please don't feel obligated to read.

Content warning for Near Character Death, serious illness, fever induced disorientation and lack of lucidity, and a character who gets glimpses of the future warning of danger/implied potential violence.

"Galadriel?"

For a moment, her name on Elrond's lips gives her hope- but the next words from him, as he struggles to sit up in the tangle of sweat-soaked sheets are "Does the King look for me?"

She shakes her head. "No. No, Elrond- it's alright, you cam rest. Lie back-"

"The King looks for me!" Elrond insists, throwing the sheets to the side, trying to get up. Galadriel grabs his shoulders to keep him from standing; he clutches, with surprising strength, at her forearms. "The King looks for me!" He insists, hissing through clenched teeth and staring with feverish eyes that seem, suddenly, deeper and more vast than the night sky. "The King in the woods, and the King beneath the mountain- they look for me, for all of us and the nine kings that would have been are to be drowned in flame and burned in water and- he will know. Celebrimbor- Celebrimbor must not be with him when he learns of it- he is going to be so angry, Galadriel and I- I...." he blinks, shuddering, and the energy all seems to drain out of him. He sinks. Galadriel smooths the curls back from his forehead, and her heart leaps to her mouth at how warm he is. "I have to go," he mutters. "I -I have to go to Elros. But the High King's speeches are yet to be written, I don't- " he blinks rapidly, his eyes desperately scanning her face until finally a spark of recognition seems to return. "Galadriel." he says, reaching and clutching at her skirt. "I haven't finished the speeches. But I need- Elros is calling-"

The tears come, then. She has tried- she has fought so hard not to give into despair, but this...

She takes his hand in her own, and kisses the back of it. "If you wish to go to Elros, dear one, you must go to him," she whispers. "Do not worry about the speeches. The King will not be angry-he is- he-" her voice hitches, breaks. "He is very proud of you," she says. "He told me so, and wished to tell you himself, but if you must go to Elros, now, it can wait. Go. We will miss you, but you will go with all our love."

She watches, in complete and utter terror, as his expression eases, his eyes close, his body goes slack, and his breathing....

His breathing...

Eases. It eases, it eases- she calls, for Adar and Celeborn both, to tell her she is not imagining it-

"He is cooler," Celeborn says; Adar concurrs-

Every hour, Elrond improves- and every moment of it, Galadriel clings to his hand. She is no healer. But she pictures the light of the Eldar within herself, and she imagines it passing from her palm to his, a loan of her strength to carry him through...

As dusk approaches, there is a flurry of birds chirping. Elrond Peredhel wrinkles his nose and, without opening his eyes, grumbles with rasping irritation: "Why is my hair so wet?"

Galadriel does not stop laughing for a full five minutes.

[lokh]

oughh i wanted to do a cute laishuro take on the blu ray extras (what if laios had been eaten instead) but lets be honest. they absolutely would not have made it as far without laios

[aihoshiino]

ok i'm cooking now. hear me out.

choice-based romance visual novel with a long ass title i will work out another time that abbreviates down to 愛喰らい (Aigurai), meaning the act of or the creature that partakes in devouring love (or you know. Ai.) It's an AU where the KamiAi relationship & breakup still happened but rather than getting pregnant, Ai just had a pregnancy scare. Thus, by the time we join her at age 20, she's much more desperately alone and thus vulnerable to these sort of toxic dynamics.

Each route focuses on a different side of the entertainment industry - Fox Route is about the idol scene as experienced by the talents, the ease of media manipulation when you can sell a good story and the way talents are incentivized to compete with each other when they should be in solidarity. Snake Route is about taking the idea of 'talent management' to its logical extreme and exploring the mindset of fans who prefer idols as nonthreatening and infantalized. Hawk Route would be about the absurd levels of control and dehumanization within the entertainment industry and just how quickly a person can become a product to be sold. And then the final route - Wolf - would combine all these elements into a single, cohesive takedown of idol/oshi culture and parasocialism as a whole.

The intensity of content escalates from Fox to Snake to Hawk to Wolf, with Fox being the least bad of the four but still uh. Not exactly great.

The LI for Fox Route is a fellow idol who admires Ai and wants to ensure her success - she's not just a fellow idol, but his oshi. So he's sort of a Nino type, I guess. The main tension of his route is the gradual realization of just how conveniently Ai’s fellow idols and potential rivals start vanishing from public view, how often scandals and other shit happens at just the right time to keep her on top. He never hurts Ai, just the people who might stand in her way.

In the good end, Ai comes to accept that she’s safer when he’s by her side, even if she doesn’t fully understand what he’s done for her and sort of resigns herself to turning a blind eye to his misdeeds, since they're being done on her behalf and nobody's ever cared about her enough to get their hands dirty for her. In the bad end, she discovers the full scope of his actions and rejects him, only for her career and reputation to be destroyed in the process. He offers her the only safe place left at his side and at her wits' end, Ai takes it.

The LI for Snake Route is an employee at Strawberry Productions... some kind of talent health manager, ig? Who's brought in and tasked with looking after her when she has a strange health scare out of nowhere. Predictably, her health starts to deteriorate and put her in his care more and more often to the point that it starts negatively impacting her career, since she's no longer able to work consistently... there's probably like a scene where she's returning to work and has some sort of scary/embarrassing and very public health emergency (vomiting on set or something) and it causes a scandal.

In the good end, her career is basically finished and Ai thinks it's basically her own fault for being in such poor health. She feels abandoned by the world at large but finds comfort in the LI's arms. In the bad end, she discovers that he's the one who's been making her sick, but before she can act on it, an "accident" ends her career. She survives, but now she's fully dependent on him just like he wanted.

The LI for Hawk Route is some high-ranking executive in the entertainment industry - like a producer or an agency president... or idk, maybe even a guy with yakuza ties. He's really captivated by Ai and wants to help her career flourish with his connections, but he 'loves' Ai in the sense of loving a pretty decoration - she's something to be owned, cultivated and kept in line by any means necessary.

The good end has Ai surrender entirely to him, beguiled by the idea of someone who accepts her to the point of wanting to possess all of her in her entirety. In the bad end, she fights back and he basically crushes her career like a bug overnight and she disappears from the public eye, never to be seen again - because now she belongs exclusively to him.

Hikaru would be the final route, though I don't have as clear an image of how his would play out. I have the themes in mind pretty strongly, though - it would be a sort of culmination of all the prior routes combined into one character. Fox Route is about protection, but Hikaru makes sure she doesn't NEED protecting, because there's no one left to threaten her but him. Snake Route is about dependency and Hikaru doesn’t just make Ai depend on him, he makes her believe she was always his to begin with. Hawk Route is about control and Hikaru takes this a step further by manipulating Ai to such an extreme that she believes she's acting of her own will even when she's playing into his exact wishes. Other than that, I only have a few ideas. He'd show up in all routes via flashbacks and occasionally a cameo and in his own route - Wolf - he appears partway into the common route when Ai's already had a few interactions with the other LIs. He very much represents an oasis/safe space away from the other LIs, at least up until you realize he's the worst one of the bunch <3

Hoshino Ai was born to be the heroine of an otome game populated entirely by yandere guys who would put her in a dog cage

[lemurballing]

the problem with tangle is she was written as an s tier character out of the gate, so you can’t really give her a character arc. she’s at the peak. you have to make her worse in order to make her better