#its all an attempt to revert

[rubarb69]

There is a certain kind of fucked up that a person has to be to give themselves a James t Kirk looking ass haircut in 2024.

[ghostdrinkssoup]

idk how controversial this is but I’m actually such a big fan of s3a. it’s the exact kind of phantasmagorical bullshit that makes me kick my feet and grin like a fool. the whole show goes haywire and completely abandons the generic structure of the police procedural, and it totally gets away with it because at this point the narrative has unravelled so much that the show can safely let go of whatever conformity it was barely hanging onto in s2b. and on a metafictional level the shift in external genre strangely parallels the progression of the two main characters: just as will and hannibal have changed each other, the show too has revealed its true nature

[serpentface]

The pylidaigh, a type of vampiric snow ghost, as imagined in folklore in and around the Highlands.

This is a ghost believed to come into being when a person dies in the snow and their body is not found before their soul (still trapped without its funeral rites) 'freezes' inside of it. The body then reanimates into a pylidaigh's twisted form. It looks like someone who slowly died of starvation, just a thin layer of flesh over bones. Its skin is as white as the snow itself, so pale it can blend seamlessly into a blizzard. Most of its body appears subtly stretched and lanky, save for its exceptionally unsubtle long, skinny arms, which drag on the ground behind it when it walks. After a big meal of blood, its belly swells like the abdomen of a tick.

A pylidaigh can only tread across snow and ice, and so doorways and windows are best kept clear of snowfall during the winter in order to prevent it from reaching inside. It mostly comes out to hunt during blizzards when there is little that can prevent it from catching its victims.

In spite of its fragile appearance, a pylidaigh is supernaturally strong, and can run at great speeds when it wants to. No mortal weapons can pierce its body, nor can any bonds known to craftsmen hold it in place. It is usually said that chains forged like iron but made out of ice can bind a pylidaigh and render it immobile, but this smithing technique remains tragically elusive to the average joe.

This ghost is either cast as a wildly dangerous but tragic figure, or one that is more simply malicious. In either case, it is described as experiencing nothing but bitter cold. It shivers endlessly. It retains distant memories of what it was to be alive, and it is motivated by a futile desperation to experience the feeling of warmth again.

In more sympathetic framings, it is described as using its freaky gibbon arms to capture its victims and pull them into an embrace, rather innocently trying to warm itself against their body. This inevitably fails, and the embrace becomes a bone crushing squeeze. When that too fails to warm the ghost, it rips out the person's throat and drinks their blood until the victim is as cold and drained as the pylidaigh itself.

In other cases, this more pitiable narrative of a ghost seeking warmth with no comprehension of its actions is discarded in favor of making it purely monstrous. Here it is a type of vampire with an insatiable thirst, practically a physical manifestation of the worst of winter itself. Some tales acknowledge both variants, suggesting a pylidaigh's violent attempts to warm itself may be initially devoid of malice, but turns into an act of furious jealousy of the warmth of the living after years of suffering.

The only (more or less) surefire method to permanently kill a roaming pylidaigh involves trapping it with fire. They are attracted to any source of heat, and will attempt to warm themselves with the flames (if not tempted away by a juicy living human body). The fire itself cannot kill them (as the sheer cold of their body is more powerful even than flame) but they can be trapped if kept near the fire long enough for the snow it depends upon to melt. This does not kill the pylidaigh either. The monster will remain in stuck in place (and potentially become a threat again if it snows more) for the duration of the winter. Only when the spring comes and all the snow melts does it revert into a normal human carcass (though mysteriously invulnerable to decay), at which point it can be cremated.

Pylidaigh in the wilds also revert to a human corpse during the snowless seasons, but will roam again each following winter unless it is burnt in the interim. It is of critical importance that any human corpse found in high mountain pasture is cremated- not only out of respect for the poor soul trapped as an earthbound ghost, but to prevent the threat of the possible dormant pylidaigh emerging next winter.

[plumiechim]

Fuck the pain out [JJK] [m]

PAIRING: Jungkook x female reader

GENRE: Halloween party, smut, angst if you consider, pwp

WARNING: masked shit (ghostface), he is masked, unprotected sex, oc is js sad, he likes her, blowjob, lil fluff talk and blah blah

SUMMARY: Maybe ghostface will fuck your sadness away tonight.

W.C: 1.3k

A/N : Halloween and yet no man masked as ghostface to fuck me so why not write about it. Enjoy!

I was so broken by that point I didn't even give a fuck who the man kissing my neck was. He told me he'll make me feel good, treat me good tonight, maybe help me forget that I'm a fucking shattered piece of soul.

I can't even tell how he looks because his face is concealed by an intimidating mask. "I'm ghostface." was how he'd introduced himself to me while I was alone by myself smoking a joint at this halloween party my friends brought me to.

Having to see a person you've always loved deep down in your heart for years with another girl feels like shit even though I know I have no right to feel that way.

We're in the dark, now that his mask is off, I can't really see his face but I can feel the jewel on his lip momentarily graze my neck-

Wait.

I know who that jewel belongs to.

My eyes shoot open and my hands slide to his shoulders. I croaked, "Are you sure you wanna-." His lips shut me off before I speak any further.

A soft whimper leaves my mouth as his lips delve deeper into my mouth, "So broken, so needy." His lips graze against mine. "It's okay baby, I'll make you forget him tonight."

The way he assured me, gosh. I softly slipped my hands cupping the girth of his neck, I could feel him looking at me. I took my lips down his jaw as I slipped my palm to the back of his head and trailed kisses up to the corner of his lips.

"Kiss me." His whispers were all that I needed to press my lips against his. His hand roughly grabbed me by my neck as he hungrily devoured my lips.

His passionate kiss kept me busy as he slowly lowered us onto the mattress, him nestled between my legs as he trailed kisses from my lips to my chin, my jaw down to my cleavage.

"You need someone to worship you." His murmur tickles my skin and I suck in a sharp breath. "Understand you." A stinging sensation of his teeth slightly nipping on my skin, yet I love it. "Validate you." He continues his abuse on my skin. "Love you." Maybe its the joint that's heightening my senses and making me extremely sensitive to everything I was feeling. I wanted him. Bad. "You need commitment." He tugs onto my pants.

Oh my.

I push him off of me as he stands at the edge of the bed. Even though I can't really see I can sense him. I can sense him looking at me. A little surprised, confused at the same time. I can feel his chest raising and falling rhythmically with his loud erratic breaths.

I undid the buttons of his shirt one by one ascending, while his fingers tangled and played with my hair.

It was as if he was sculpted, body so perfect, muscles in right places. My tongue brushed over his abs leaving wet kisses as I went lower and tugged on the band of his Calvin Kleins.

As I pulled down his boxers, I could feel him tightening his grip on my locks. I get off the bed down on my knees as I spit on his cock and sensually lick the tip then proceed to slowly put him in my mouth.

His tatted arm fists my hair. His girth barely fitting into my mouth, but I still make an attempt to bob my head. His moans were so pretty, so hot, made me wanna go deeper and harder. The vibrations of his vocalization revert to the back of my throat.

I'm loving the fact that I'm making him feel good. I slowly get used to his girth and start working my mouth on him in all the ways I can. The way he's tugging on my hair kinda stings but that is something I can easily overlook.

"Fuck, you're so good." I can feel my own arousal spasming through my insides as i can feel him twitching in my mouth. "I'm not gonna last much." He moans as he pulls out of my mouth and grabs my hair, not by extreme but strong enough to yank me to the bed. He crawls, spreading my legs open and resting between my thighs.

I let out a small whimper as my back meets the surface of the mattress. He wastes' no time in ripping me off of my clothes and throwing them across the room. "I'm not going soft on you." He whispers as his thumb plays with my lower lip. I gently wrap my lips around his finger and flick it out. "I don't want that either." I breathe out.

"Baby, I wanna fuck you mad. Like an animal."

"You better do."

I physically jerk at the feeling of his fingers grazing my glistening cunt. I bite my lips as he slides his hand up my folds and slowly inserts his finger in me.

He goes slow at first but then shows no mercy, plunging his fingers in and out of me. His lips press against mine as he swallows my moans.

"I want you. Please." I breathe out and that's all he needed to pull his fingers out of me and reach out for the piece of latex.

I stop him. "I want you raw in me."

"If you do that then I can't fucking pull out-"

"I want you to not." I cut him off and I can see his silhouette, his neck cranking sideways putting on the mask he possessed, and I feel his girth in me and his tatted arm presses me down to the pillow by my neck.

"Baby you feel so good." He reaches down to kiss my thigh from under the mask as he starts with his thrusts.

Divine is what I would like to call this feeling. He felt so good I couldn't help but let out obscene noises. He felt divine. His moans, his breath, his thrusts, him inside me. It was all so hot.

My back arched as his thrusts got insanely deep and hard. His grip on my neck tightens and I feel our arousal dripping down my thighs.

"Mine." he grunts. "You're mine."

This was unusual for me. Cumming so fast like this. But I could already feel the tightening sensation and I can no longer assure that I am sane. My eyes roll to the back of my head as I take full pleasure of the feeling of him inside me, shaking vigorously underneath him syncing with his animalistic thrusts. As he leans down, I lift his mask a little to let him peck my neck. I can see veins popping on his neck, from the illumination from the window. His face and neck flushed pink.

"Baby you gonna cum?" I nod. He slows down. I whimper. "I need words, love." He smirks on my skin. "I'm gonna cum." I blurt out, my hips desperately trying to create some sort of stimulation.

But my pathetic attempt fails as he grabs my hips, restoring his thrusts. And I no longer am able to hold it in me. I unfold shaking under him, clenching hard. "Yeah baby, come all over my cock." He coos, his thrusts again going gentle.

But that was short lasted as he started chasing his own orgasm. Overstimulating but I loved the way he was desperately snapping his hips against mine. "Fuck if you clench on me like this- fuck." and with the hottest moan, he cums in me. His mask now off of him, hot sweaty body pressed against mine, his wet strands tickling my breasts. and his lips on my skin.

He takes a few minutes to regain his breath. "So you staying for the night or not." He says as he turns on the dim lamp from the nightstand.

His expression soon turns into a slight disappointment seeing the uncertainty in my face.

[sundaaz-e]

Late Nights

______

It’s late in the U.A. dormitory as you sit in the common room, reading. Everyone has retired back into their respective rooms for the night, as they have class early. But you? No. You’re up waiting for your boyfriend—at least that’s what you think he is to you—to get back from his internship. Katsuki, Deku, and Todoroki have been basically run ragged at Endeavor's agency. Katsuki is always complaining to you about how he’s getting less sleep and has to go to bed around 10 instead of 8. "Such an old man thing to say," you think to yourself with a small smile. Your face quickly reverts back to its original state as you hear Katsuki yelling at Todoroki.

“If your ass wasn’t so slow we would’ve gotten there in time to take him down ourselves,” he says with his usual sass.

“C’mon, Kacchan, don’t blame it all on him,” you hear Deku say, trying to be the peacemaker.

You hear Katsuki grumble some profanities directed at Midoriya before he stumbles upon you.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re still awake?” Deku says but continues to walk towards the stairs alongside Todoroki, who doesn’t even spare you a glance.

“Yeah, can’t sleep,” you say dismissively, eyes focused on the man you really want to talk to. Katsuki had stopped right behind the couches, right behind you, his eyes trained on you. As soon as Deku and Todoroki were out of sight and mind, he finally broke the silence.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” he says without any clear emotion.

“I know,” you say simply. He brings his hand down to smooth down your hair as a sign of affection and appreciation before making his way to the stairs. You watch him, kind of shocked that that’s all you get. But before he starts up the stairs, without turning he says,

“Ya comin’ or not?” his voice gruff.

“Mm, I don’t know, do you want me to come?” you say with a teasing glint in your eyes.

With that, he turns to face you. “I’m so not in the mood for you right now,” he says, looking very unamused by your teasing smile.

“Well then, you better get going,” you say, pretending to return to your book. You’re not really digesting any of the words; you’re merely just skimming the pages to look busy. You hear him stomp his way in front of you before snatching the book right out of your hands.

“Hey, I was reading that,” you say, reaching for the book as he held it above his head. You stand up to jump for it, but he leans down and grabs you by your legs, effectively throwing you over his shoulder. He stomps his way up the stairs and into his dorm room before throwing you on the bed. You’re practically crying from how hard you’ve been laughing.

“You think this is funny, huh?” he says seriously, but you can hear the humor in his voice.

You nod your head yes, still dying, and he chucks the book at you. It didn’t hurt because it was a softcover book. But you grab one of his pillows and throw it at him. He doesn’t attempt to dodge it or catch it, so he just lets it hit him.

“You’re so annoying,” he says, giving you a mean side-eye.

You stick your tongue out at him. He starts removing his uniform to change into pajamas, which consist of old Christmas PJ bottoms that you gifted him last year and a skull shirt.

“Sleepin’ here tonight?” he asks.

“I don’t know, am I?” you ask.

“Don’t start that again,” he says.

“Sorry, sorry, yes I am,” you nod.

“You want something to wear or are you good?” he asks. You’re dressed pretty comfortably right now, so you shake your head no and climb under his covers. He flicks off his lights before joining you in bed. You like sleeping closer to the wall when you sleep with him because his quirk makes him extra hot, so it’s very easy to overheat. Plus, he likes sleeping next to his alarm so he won’t miss it— weirdo.

As you close your eyes to let your body enter dreamland, you’re shaken awake. Katsuki is pulling you closer to him.

“Mm,” you let out a soft grumble, annoyed that he woke you.

“Don’t sleep so far away,” he says.

As sleep begins to take you, you feel him place soft kisses against your lips. “Goodnight” is the last thing you hear before you fall asleep.

———

Ya’ll send requests idk what to writeee😭

[yuomizuu]

♡ | open arms ── kinich x reader !

synopsis: a bit of kindness can go a long way. at least, that was what the elders in kinich’s clans would often say. though in a land where war with the abyss is at a constant, he finds it difficult to truly believe such a notion. perhaps meeting you simply had the sole purpose of erasing those doubts that shrouded his mind.

additional: w.c 899 ⸝⸝⸝ content includes . . .gn reader, implied friends to lovers, character study www

( 💌 ) yuomi’s note: slowly but surely reverting back to my musical kid phase ty mr. jorge for creating epic and what better way to commend that than doing some kinich brainrot ^w^

natlan — a nation of eternal oaths and converging fires. where the sacred flame burns brighter with each chant of the epic hymn that echoes from land to sea, bringing back valiant warriors, now deemed heroes, anew.

yet beyond those blazing flames of ardent also lies a resplendent nation full of color and life. made up of magnificent gorges and valleys that stretch as far as the eye can see, vibrant fields where the saurians roam free, and rejuvenating springs that ease the weary, you'll find a unique beauty reflected within it all.

for most of his life, kinich had often found it difficult to view his homeland through the lens of the latter. since a young age, misfortune has always seemed to follow him wherever he goes, like a relentless beast chasing down its prey that's slowly becoming more and more exhausted. where no matter how far he soars, the shackles of a brutal reality always drag him back down. eventually, such experiences would sometimes render the lone saurian hunter an austere individual, whether intended or not. in his eyes, the world was but a tapestry of unbridled battles.

it was only after meeting you that, slowly but surely, kinich would gradually learn to appreciate the more charming aspects of life and even gain a sense of tenderness towards it. however, that still doesn't cause him to lower his guard completely.

"kinich, you're doing it again," you mused, the lush grass below softening your footsteps as you and your companion tread through the forest. the occasional murmur of wild animals hidden within the trees or nestled away in burrows echoes throughout.

hearing this, the male ahead of you briefly stops in his tracks to glance back at you with a puzzled look. "doing.. what exactly?"

stopping beside him, you motion at the weapon held in his hand. "gripping onto your sword so tightly that the tips of your knuckles are turning white. i swear… it's like you're expecting us to get ambushed out here any minute."

in response to your sigh though, he simply shrugs. "perhaps we will be."

"kinich, we barely took on this commission not that long ago, and we aren't even at our intended destination yet. i doubt we'll find ourselves walking into trouble so soon."

"better to be prepared for catastrophe before it strikes when you least expect it."

an air of laughter escapes from you then. "catastrophe," you repeat to yourself, head shaking in slight amusement. "we aren't exactly tackling the abyss here you know."

"no, but if we were, your lack of attentiveness would surely lead us to such." in between his pause, you catch sight of the subtle curl of his lips. "not even ajaw would be so heedless, and that certainly says something."

"you little…!"

balling your hand up into a fist, you immediately go to throw a punch on his arm that ultimately does not land when the now chuckling male catches it effortlessly. not that such a punch would've hurt him in the first place, but kinich is all for finding the humor in evading your poor attempts at attacking him. plus, you've managed to land a good punch or two on him before, although he blames ajaw for distracting him during those moments.

before you can pull your hand away from his grasp and unwillingly accept defeat this time, kinich intertwines his fingers with yours, holding your hand firmly. without saying another word, he turns to continue walking along with you at his side now.

due to your good-natured sense of self, it's often left kinich to be roped up in more conflicts than he'd usually expect: said conflicts are getting you out of trouble.

but even in the face of danger, you never cease to look for the good in others. while many have considered this trait of yours to be a display of naive foolishness, it felt like a breath of fresh air for kinich. while he was also considered to be different from those of his tribe concerning certain viewpoints and beliefs, you were an oddity that transcended beyond his own novel ideals. if you had not been born and raised in natlan, kinich would've surely mistaken you for being an outlander. even you had once jokingly said that perhaps you were actually a child of the anemo god, barbatos, that the wind had accidentally blown too far from home.

because, unlike the fierce fires that dwelt within the spirit of every warrior in natlan, your flame was akin to that of a candle: a gentle yet comforting light that simply wished to share its warmth with the world around them and kinich would do anything to keep that light of yours burning for evermore.

he'll never admit to you aloud, but he secretly thanks the anemo archon every day for sending him a beautiful soul such as yourself. your presence alone was as calming as a gentle breeze, and his love for you a sweet, sweet melody.

"speaking of ajaw, where is the little rascal anyways?" you ask, breaking the silence as you look around to find the creature that has strangely gone quiet.

"i sent him to scout ahead for a bit. he'll be back soon enough."

a soft smile creeps onto your face. you spare the male one more glance before giving his hand a light squeeze.

"of course you did."

[foreingersgod]

Let’s Stay Home (PT 2) . EE

pairing: emily engstler x reader

synopsis: see part 1

A/N: THIS IS ANOTHER POOR ATTEMPT OF ME WRITING SMUT, I APOLOGIZE FOR HOW BAD THIS IS LOL!!

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

she was restless all night. you could tell from the way her hands shook when she poured your glass of wine and from the way her legs bounced under the table. her hands refused to leave the plushness of your thighs the entirety of dinner, strong and lengthy fingers scrunching at the fabric of your dress. you tired to act nonchalant about it, wanting to have a nice dinner with your girlfriend. but the more she kept dropping suggestive little comments and touching you discreetly, the more you tried to get out of that restaurant as quick as possible.

the wine turned sour and your meal became bland the more you had to endure emily’s torture. it didn’t sit right with you that you were the only one being taunted, so you decided to do a bit of teasing of your own. throughout the night, you’d do small things that you knew would get a rise out of her.

you started out with cluelessly playing with your hair, something that had her constantly distracted. then you’d purposely lean your elbows on the table which pushed out your cleavage ever so slightly. emily, sitting next to you at the table, would hardly be able to finish her sentence as the tops of your breasts came into view. it was almost becoming too easy at this point. then, to be extra cruel, you’d run the toe of your heel up her leg. it sent shivers up emily’s arms as she watched you do it, the end of your dress hiking up your leg as you moved your foot up and down. her mind kept reverting back to earlier that night, when you guided her hand across the intricate lace of your new lingerie. thoughts of ripping that dress right off of you replayed over and over, something she had every intention of doing.

she tried her best to seem unbothered, like you had done when she couldn’t keep her hands off you, but she was failing miserably. her hand would often find its way to her mouth, biting on her knuckles to ground herself. you had fucked her up beyond belief and you hadn’t even laid a finger on her. she was a mess for the remaining moments of dinner, couldn’t even take the last bite from her plate before she was hailing over the waiter and paying the check. although she was more than eager to get you back home, wanting to take off that stupid fucking dress that caused this whole thing in the first place, she kept her composure as she guided you out to the car.

“you’re a fuckin tease,” she said as the doors to the car shut, you were already doing up your seat belt “d’you know that?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, em” but you did. you knew exactly what she was referring too.

“you’re in for it when we get home” she implied, muttering under her breath.

“that attitude isn’t going to get you that surprise” you chimed, watching as her hands gripped the steering wheel suddenly “may i remind you?”

she said nothing, only shaking her head and jutting her tongue across the inside of her cheek. she did up her own seatbelt quickly before speeding out of the parking lot to get home. she didn’t now how much longer she could last.

you considered being a bit nicer for the car ride home, but something in you just couldn’t resist messing with emily a tiny bit more. she just looked too good over there in the drivers seat. her hands grasped the steering wheel, making her veins bulge ever so slightly as she drove. her blazer had been discarded to the back seat which left her in a plain white button up. the sleeves were rolled up to her elbow, displaying her toned muscles. she looked positively irresistible, there was no chance you were stopping any time soon.

you snaked your hand over the car console, fingertips lightly gliding over to emily’s thigh. your hand rested on her legs, positioned in dangerous territory. your touch hovered over where she needed you most. you felt her tense up, shifting in her seat and spreading her legs open more. you began to run your hand up and down her thigh painfully slow, making her jerk her hips into you. a satisfied smirk toyed at your lips as you kept your gaze on the road in front of you. you could feel her eyes shift to you and then the road then back to you again.

“i’m serious, ma” she croaked “stop teasing me”

“m’just tryna get you warmed up baby” you stated, stopping the motion of your hand with a gentle pat “relax”

she felt like all the air had been knocked out of her, words becoming caught in her throat before she could muster a response. a faint groan emitted from her lips when you continued the soothing movements of your hand. it was impossible for her to say anything the rest of the ride home, too busy imagining what she was going to do to you when you got inside.

the car pulled to an abrupt stop as emily pulled into the drive way. her buckle was undone in seconds, turning off the ignition and bolting to your side of the car. she opened your door, offering her hand to you to help you out. you smiled sweetly at her as you accepted it and followed her inside your shared home.

you weren’t able to turn the lights to kitchen on before you felt familiar hands on you waist, soft lips meeting with the skin of your neck. you could feel the tension between the two of you as you sighed deeply, reaching helplessly for the light switch.

“leave it” she demanded, pushing your hand away from the light switch as she guided you towards the stairs. she couldn’t wait another second to get you into bed.

“em,” you muttered, tilting your head to the side to allow her more access to kiss down your shoulder.

“cant wait to get you out of this fucking dress” she said as you approached the door of your bedroom “i believe i’m owed a surprise, am i not?”

once you had made it inside, you were instantly hit with the soft glow of the moonlight that flooded through the window. you turned around to face emily, admiring her features through the dimly lit room. she was breathtaking, hair pulled back, shirt already half way unbuttoned. she wasn’t lying-she really couldn’t wait.

“maybe…” you licked your lips, slipping off your heels and reaching behind you to undo the zipper of your gown “you’ll have to come and find out”

something in emily switched, like she was being granted something that she had been waiting for for centuries. in lighting speed, she had closed any space between the two of you, pulling you flush against her. her lips met with yours hungrily, tongue sliding into your mouth as you groaned deeply. the kisses were sloppy and wet, but certainly passionate. she reached behind you to push your hands away from the zipper, taking the liberty to do it herself. without pulling away from you, she delicately tugged the satin fabric down your body, letting it pool at your feet.

“hope you like it,” you smiled against her, moving your head back to allow her to view your stripped figure “picked it out just for you”

weeks ago, you’d purchased the most gorgeous set of lingerie as a small gift for yours and emily’s anniversary. it was a dainty little set, red and lacey and tight. the bra was strapless and quite sheer, adorned with thin lace flowers. the matching thong was similar in design, the crimson material hugging your ass in the most flattering way. you remembered trying it one when you had got home while emily was away at practice, you had never felt so beautiful in your life.

“oh my god” her gaze dropping as she took a step away from you. her jaw slacked, eyes blown wide with lust as she took you in “jesus fucking christ baby”

“is it ok?” you asked innocently, wanting to hear her say it aloud.

“is it ok?” she scoffed, shepherding you towards the bed. you felt the backs of your knees meet with the foot of the bed, making you stumble slightly “baby, it’s more than ok, you look fucking stunning”

with a tender nudge, she pushed you onto the bed, forcing you to sit on the linen duvet. you leaned back onto your elbows and spread your legs to make room for her. she moseyed in between your legs, unbuttoning the rest of her white button up in the process, eyeing you up and down. she shrugged off her shirt, now fumbling with the buckle of her belt and the clasp of her dress pants. you watched impatiently, wanting her hands on you as soon as possible.

her now naked figure hovered over you, knee slotting in between your legs. she leaned down far enough to where her lips were inches away from yours. you closed your eyes, whimpering as you bucked your hips to try and create friction between your clothed cunt and her bare thigh.

“em, please” you moaned.

“please what?” she smirked, hands planted on either side of your torso to keep her above you.

she moved away from your face, now shifting to kiss along the exposed parts of your body. her lips left messy kisses along your collarbone, then to the tops of your breasts where she left deep purple marks along your skin. she exhaled breathlessly as she reached your bra, staring at the way your nipples hardened through the thin lace. she brought a hand up behind you to unclasp the bra in one fell swoop, allowing the beautiful fabric to cascade down your chest. satisfied, she wrapped her lips around your nipple, her hand kneading at your other tit. you gasped at the sensation, your own hand finding its way to the back of her head. she switched to the other one, tongue swirling across the pebbled bud. but she only stopped when she heard you, your meek voice echoing off the walls.

“please touch me-don’t stop”

those three words were all she needed to hear, her gateway into complete bliss. she pushed off of the bed to kneel in front of you, hands gliding down the sides of your body until they reached the waistband of your panties.

“anything for you”

you looked down, eyebrows knit together in anticipation as you felt emily’s hot breathe against your core. she looked at you through hooded eyes, biting down on her lip as she took in such a beautiful sight: you laid on the bed, practically naked and begging for her to touch you. her fingers hooked under the band of your underwear and tugged gingerly.

“can i?” she asked. you nodded vigorously in return.

without hesitation, she began to pull your panties down your legs, tossing them to the side. the coolness of the air hits you quickly enticing a small jolt from you. emily ran her tongue over the top row of her teeth, leaning back on her heels to admire that state of your aching pussy. you were already soaked for her, arousal quite literally oozing from you, which most definitely left a noticeable spot on your underwear throughout dinner.

“so fucking pretty, this pussy” she cooed, giving your thighs a small massage before running a finger through your folds. you groaned, not content with her reservedness “this all f’me?”

“yea, em-all for you”

she placed various kisses to your inner thighs before turning her attention to where you had been pleading for her to touch. fingers spreading you open, you felt her tongue come into contact with you. she licked a deep stripe up your pussy, attaching her lips to your clit as she sucked slowly. you moaned loudly, fingernails finding her scalp and gripping the roots of her hair. she took this as a sign of endearment, slipping down to sink the length of her tongue in your throbbing hole.

“holy shit-” you cried, hearing the obscene noises emitting from your pussy. the way her tongue swirled in your wetness, provoking the wettest squelching noises that had you at a loss for words.

“that’s it, ma” she inserted a finger into you, feeling the way your body tensed upon the feeling. you tightened around her finger as you breathed loudly into the humid room “that’s my good fucking girl”

she watched as your back arched, perky tits pointed to the ceiling and your head digging farther back into the mattress. god you were unbelievable. she added another finger to you, making a small scissoring motion to lure you to your orgasm. she found herself moaning into you, completely lost in the taste of you. she didn’t think she could ever get enough of it, wishing she could lay between your legs forever. the pace of her fingers sped up and she could sense herself becoming increasingly wet the more you moaned out in intense pleasure. she was eating you out like it was her last meal, sucking and licking every inch of you until your body began to heave, insinuating you were getting close.

“oh baby, yes” you gripped the back of her head harder “don’t stop, em, i’m gonna-oh my-i’m gonna cum”

you humped her face vigorously, feeling your slick coating her mouth and chin. it was like you had no control of your body with the way your hips moved back and forth. you could feel your high approaching quickly as emily continued to devour you.

“i-i’m so close” your words began slurring together.

“i know” emily curled her fingers into you, hitting that delicious, spongy spot inside of you “i know”

your eyes rolled to the back of your head, knowing the familiar feeling that was beginning to build up. her tongue and fingers kept their speed, making you overwhelmed with ecstasy. emily felt your legs starting to shake and noticed how your breathe became staggered.

“you got it,” she coaxed you “cum for me, come on, give it to me”

you let out a lewd and obscene moan as you reached your high, cumming on her face promptly. they approached near sobs as the pleasure washed over you, transcending your whole body. emily wasted no time in lapping up your juices, catching every last drop of your release. her tongue cleaned you up as you sunk into the bed, recovering from your orgasm.

emily got off of her knees and joined you on the bed as you scooted up to lay against the plush pillows. she laid next to you, bringing you into her bare chest, feeling the rapid beat of your heart. she raked her fingers through your hair as you smiled drowsily, still on cloud nine.

“you did so good, baby” she pressed her lips to the top of your head, grinning from ear to ear as she thought about how much she loved you “so so good”

you hummed in response, lifting your head to look at her. you returned her smile while drawing yourself away from her. ignoring the trembling of your legs, you hoisted yourself to straddle emily. she looked at you confused as her hands instinctively rested on the dips of your waist. what a vision you were, tall and proud and positively glistening in your own sweat.

“what’re you doing?”

long, nicely manicured nails left pinkish marks along emily’s skin as you trailed them up her stomach and over her chest. she squeezed her eyes shut when she felt your fingers gently scrape over her tits. she let out a faint ‘fuck’ as you advanced to her neck, wrapping around it and tightening your grip softly.

“don’t think i’m gonna let our anniversary end without returning the favor, em”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A/N: this is cringy and bad and i’m so sorry lol :’)

[sluttysanemi]

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

GENYA SHINAZUGAWA

a/n: ok this is sort of clunky ‘n all over the place but whatevaa. indulge in genya bein’ the teenage boy he is:((

c/w: non-sexual nudity, brief description of injury.

You and Genya travel together through the barren woods, beneath the moonlit sky. The trees are twisted and gnarled, with branches resembling skeletal fingers. The air is dense with the aroma of moist earth and decay, contributing to the forest's ominous aura. 

The air periodically whistles about, among the distant chirping of crickets.

Upon concluding your session of patrol, you revert to your allocated, shared cabin. 

However, as consequence of your negligence within combat, a fresh, piercing wound emerged across your stomach, concealed beneath your palm. Blood seeps through your fingertips and coats your apparel in a rich crimson. 

You reflect serenely on your circumstance. You are reluctant, and perhaps humiliated to share your condition, but you consider it as the best approach. Overlooking the wound may result in infection. 

You spoke. 

“Sorry, I– bruised myself.”, you murmured. “Is there a river we could stop by? Jus’ to clean it.”

Genya seems troubled, frowning towards you. His eyes narrow as he evaluates your statement. 

“What? Yeah… we can. There’s a riverbank, just over there.” He countered, diverting their path to a nearby stream.

– 

As you drew near, the gurgle of running water broke the calm of the woodland.

Genya sits upon a smooth, broad stone near to the river's side.

You observe the crystal-like stream. The water rushes slowly across polished boulders, reflecting the moonlight in a vibrant array of colours.

Your fingers curl to your uniform, gradually lifting it upwards. You reveal the slender, freshly carved wound across your abdomen. Blood trickles along your flesh.

Genya averts his vision, appearing bashful and flustered as he observes the delicate skin of your abdomen. Attempting to preserve his composure. 

Eventually, he perceives the long, newly formed injury. He grimaces

“Shit…”, he cursed, his brows furrowing. “How’d you get that?”

You direct your glance to him, flushing faintly in shame. 

“...I sort of slacked. That’s all.”, You declared, attempting to explain yourself.

A brief pause.

“It’s… probably best if I undress.”, you began slowly. “Jus’ to let it clear beneath the stream. D’you mind if I?--”

Genya hesitates, biting his tongue. He senses his complexion reddening at the thought, but he encourages himself to remain composed.

“..yeah… sure… Go ahead," he grumbled quietly. 

Your back to him, you cautiously unclothe, discarding the blood-stained uniform from your body. As you let the fabric fall to the ground, an easing sense of relief pours over you.

 You steadily descend beneath the water, the scrape gradually clearing within the stream. The water envelopes you in its dark grasp. 

Genya glances elsewhere awkwardly, attempting to preserve a stern demeanour. His body stiffens as numerous beads of sweat fall along the surface of his skin. His breath caught in his throat.

“Is… the water cold?”, he asks hestitantly, swallowing dryly. 

You cast a glimpse at him, over your shoulder. “Slightly, but it is bearable.”, you reply quietly. “Almost soothing.”

You contemplate a proposal whilst listening to the night's critters. You remarked once more.

“Maybe you’d… like to join me?”, You inquired, peering intently towards him. 

He blinks, his cheeks developing an ominous red. His fingers twitch faintly. 

“...Are– Are you sure?”, He struggles with his speech. He lingers before swallowing, beginning to undress. He folds his uniform and lays it upon a nearby rock. A crisp breeze glides against his exposed skin.

“There’s a small bottle of disinfectant in the pocket of my uniform.”, you briskly recall. “I had bought it just in case. Could you bring it with you?”  , 

“...Yeah,” He responded gently, stepping over to your clothing and retrieving a miniature glass bottle from the pocket.

He approaches you, seating near the shore of the river. The container is in his hand. He glances at you, somewhat hesitant and shy. 

You peer between the glass and his expression. Your cheeks flushed once more. 

“You… wouldn’t mind…”, you whisper, attempting to gather your sentence. “It’s just– if I do it, i’ll be too gentle with myself, ‘n won’t clear it properly.”

His cheeks heat with your query, and the notion of his hands contacting your flesh... His mind is conflicted, yearning to sustain his calm. 

“Y–Yeah… I can do it…”, He responds, seizing the bottle and unscrewing its lid. 

You situate yourself on the river's ledge, exhibiting your wound. The expanse of water below mirrors the moon's fragile light, creating an atmosphere of tranquilly. 

Your fingers tread and trail through the greenery as you observe the firebugs dancing inelegantly. The flickering insects illuminate the gloom, culminating in a captivating show of lucency and movement. The crickets croak idly. 

Genya's gaze is fixed on the wound, staring to it. He raises up the container and spills a small bit of the transparent liquid over his fingertips. The fluid feels frigid on his skin. 

He slowly draws closer to you, shuddering slightly as a cold runs up his spine.

“..This might sting,"  he announced gently. He lays his hand upon your stomach, meticulously caressing and examining the injury. His touch is assertive, his demeanour attentive.

Exhale a hefty, pained breath through your lips, attempting to attain a sense of serenity.

 Your hand skimmed along his bicep. A pleasant warmth brushes against your fingertips.

He feels your touch to his arm, and he promptly peers to your visage, his expression beaming scarlet. Your proximity ignited a surge of emotions in him.   

He’s swift to shift his focus back to the wound, ignoring the sensation of her grasp upon his body. The warmth of your contact lingered on his flesh. 

“Sorry,” He murmurs, as he pours an additional portion of the disinfectant, carefully cleaning the incision. The fragrance of antiseptic permeates the space, merging with the metallic tinge of blood.

Your fingertips trace easing patterns on his back in a bid to divert your focus.

“...’S alright. Thanks for doin’ this.”, you spoke tenderly. 

He bites into his tongue once more, an almost strangled sound emerges from his lips. He tries to retain his poise, but your fingers sketching soft lines upon his body's surface renders it strenuous. His breathing quickens, his chest rising and sinking, putting out a considerable lot of effort to ignore your touch. 

“...Yeah.”, he replied lowly, his voice almost strained. 

Your fingertips continue to trace the crevices of his muscles, brushing his scars. You feel the coarse texture of his skin beneath your fingertips, your expression compassionate.

Genya shudders as your hands skim the ridges  on his skin. He attempts to breathe steadily, but he can feel his composure sliding with each stroke of your fingers. His face is flushed with a deep scarlet, and his eyes are adhered to your open flesh, willfully avoiding your glance.

 He finishes cleansing the wound, gently puncturing the region surrounding the injury. His expression almost relieved. 

Your thumbs glide to his hair, caressing the dark curls. The delicate strands flow through your fingers, and you can feel the warmth of his temple beneath your touch.

“...’S it lookin’ okay?”, You enquire, your chest heaving. 

Genya's gaze flickers to you momentarily before reverting to the body of water.

“Yeah… it’s lookin’ alright.”, he replied, his tone breathier. He took a deep breath, wiping sweat from his brow.

“You got a bandage then? Don’ wanna ruin your work.”, you continued. Your hands lay idly on your lap. 

He nods, reaching over to his pile of garments. “..Yeah, I’ve got one.”, he says, rummaging through his uniform, before retrieving  an unopened roll of fabric bandages. 

You observe quietly, grateful for his attentive care. His presence exudes an appeasing warmth, his mannerisms unusually delicate.

Your gaze trailing to the crystalline ripples of the stream, savouring the serenity of the sight. The calm murmuring of the river soothes every sense.

Genya returns to you, unravelling the roll of gauze and gently encasing it around the wound. His fingers work carefully, taking care not to overtighten the fabric while still ensuring that it stays in place. His knuckles periodically brush against your skin, and his breathing is slow and deliberate, his heart thundering in his chest. The tension between them is apparent, an unspoken connection humming beneath the surface.

As he laboured, you renewed your focus on the numerous scars that adorned his body. The jagged lines and faded marks stood in sharp contrast to the compassion with which he now cared for your wound, exhibiting an element of tenderness that he rarely exhibited.

“..You’re too rough on yourself, y’know. You’ve got too many scars.”, you remarked, sympathetically. 

He pauses for awhile following your comment, his gaze flickering up to your face. He exhales dryly as he continues to carefully wrap the bandage around the wound, his fingers working slower than before. The vicinity is filled with strained silence, punctuated by the erratic sound of fabric being pulled taut.

"..I'm fine.." is all he can say, his voice subdued and raspy.

You pause, observing him keenly. You grasp his hand and trace the scuffed skin. 

“You promise?”, you persisted. 

His breath jerks, your delicate touch renders it onerous to express himself clearly.

 He swallows dryly and nods slightly, his cheeks flushing as he struggles to regulate his heartbeat, which is striking against his chest. He attempts to gather his words.

“Yeah… yeah, I promise…” He replies, his voice slightly hoarse.

You nod, acknowledging his words. “Okay.”, you whispered, glaring to his flustered expression.

As he concludes wrapping his bandage over your injuries, a sense of serenity emerges. Under the silvery sky, you appreciate the beauty of the present. The subtle rustling of foliage and distant chirping of crickets create an oasis of peace, allowing you to temporarily forget about the discomfort. 

“...Genya?”

His gaze meets yours. He nods subtly, as he listens intently. 

“...I meant what I said. This meant a lot to me.”, you said truthfully.

Genya pauses, his breath caught in his throat. His face rose a deeper shade of red, his entire body trembled and tensed. He briefly looks to you before hurriedly glancing aside and murmuring a response.

“...Y-Yeah..”, he chokes out, before clearing his throat. “...I-I’m glad I could help…”

[bet-on-me-13]

Ellie is Cass

So! Years ago, Ellie began to destabilize again. They finally figured out that the reason she was destabilizing was because her Core was too young to sustain a Fully Grown Ghosts Body. The only way to save her was to Revert her to her True Age, so her Core could healthily grow alongside her Body. She would lose her Memories, but she would survive.

But, there was an incident. A Mercenary had attacked the Fenton's Lab one day while they were Babysitting Ellie, and killed both of Danny's parents. Then, that motherf#cker had kidnapped his Daughter.

And Danny searched for her, he did. He searched for Years on End, sent all the Ghost Allies he had to try and find her, got the word out in the Zone that his Daughter had been kidnapped. But nobody could find her.

It was like the Assasin has dropped off the face of the Earth, but even then he had his contacts searching Deep Space and the Zone as well. He just couldn't find her.

Still, he would not rest until he found his daughter. And the one who took her would have more than just Hell to pay.

...

For David Cain meanwhile, he had struck Gold on his most recent mission. He had been hired by the League if Assasins to go and kill a pair of scientists who had somehow managed to get their hands on Lazarus Water. Apparently they had gotten it a while ago, but had somehow gone under the Radar for years.

But while he was there, he came across something Special. A Lazarus Touched Child. One who seemed to be more Blessed than Any Other Lazarus Touched he had ever heard of. And she was just a Baby.

A Baby who could be raised and Moulded into a Weapon, as any Lazarus Touched should be.

So, he took the Baby and presented it to the League. Ra's ordered that he raise the Child as a Perfect Weapon, to be used as his Bodyguard and Attack Dog. And so he did.

For years, he raised the Child in the most Secluded base he could. There was no need for him to teach it Language beyond following orders, so he filled its head with absolutely nothing but how best to Kill.

Unfortunately, the Weapon managed to escape after its first mission. He tried to track it down for Years, but to no avail. He should expect nothing less from a Lazarus Touched who had been trained from Birth to be the perfect assasin, but he guesses he should have expected this.

Still, he will find the Weapon. And he will teach it why it should have never attempted to escape.

...

Cass had been feeling off for a while.

Well, No, that's not right, it's more accurate to say that she had never felt truly right. For as far back as she can remember, since her earliest days of childhood, she had always had a nagging sensation in the back of her mind, telling her that something was missing.

She didn't know what though. Was it an Object? A Memory? A Person? She had no idea.

For some reason, the feeling had lessened a little when she got adopted by Bruce. She felt a bit more whole, like some part of her had found a part of what it was looking for, but at the same time the rest of her still felt as if it was missing something.

And recently it had gotten even stronger. She couldn't ignore it anymore, she needed to find the thing her heart was yearning for.

She needed to feel Whole again. Again?

[damian-lil-babybat]

DAMIAN WAYNE IS A GREEK TRAGEDY

When I say Damian al Ghul Wayne has almost all the ingredients of a classical Greek Tragedy, it is not an empty claim.

1. Tragic Hero: The hero facing his destiny with dignity. His virtuous character forms a bond with the audience, while his tragic flaw results in the audience’s fear for him, and his terrible punishment reveals a sense of pity.

Damian is the hero of his own story. In his mind, he was given a destiny, a standard to live up to. It came from his grandfather, as Hafid al Ghul, son of the Demon. It came from his mother, as her Alexander, with Talia deluding herself as Olympias. It came from his father, as the son of Batman.

He thought himself perfect on all those role, mighty ones they might be, heavy and overwhelming even, but he persevered in ways that should be impossible and ultimately achieved the pinnacle of a perfect heir for all of them.

2. Tragic Flaw: The human limitations of the hero or an error in judgement leading to the downfall. He attempts to escape from his destiny; however, he unknowingly runs toward it. His attempt leads him to his “damnation”.

But what he thought was perfection, was his downfall. For even if he was designed and raised to be perfect, those roles are fashioned by imperfect mortals. As the son of the Batman, he was all too much of a monster to even be treated as child, let alone a son. As the son of the Demon, he was too soft, kind, and all too human, to sit upon the al Ghul's immortal throne. As the great Alexander, he was deemed as a mere pawn, a victim of circumstance, and not a victor of his own fate.

He was set up for failure before his story even began.

3. Catastrophe: The horrible ending of the play: death, suicide, ruin etc. Upon the truth being revealed about Oedipus’ origin, Queen Jocasta commits suicide by hanging herself, Oedipus stabs his eyes with the pin on Jocasta’s dress and pleads to be exiled from the city.

And just like all tragedies, it ends up in death...so many deaths and sacrifices. Repeat and rinse, the cycle continues with each redeeming arc punctuated by his death or ruin.

And just like Sisyphus, one must imagine him to be happy. For how else could he endure these unending trials?

4. Central Belief of Destiny: The belief of the fact that the actions were preordained by the gods and the flaw was inevitable. Even though Oedipus attempts to flee from his preordained destiny, the belief in inevitable destiny becomes the reason for his destruction.

How else could he keep harking on to his destiny? Desperately clinging to it like a promise gold once he touched it like Midas' cursed hands? But no, everything he touches turns to dust, every height he scale would be pushed down reverting him back to his old bare bones of an unwanted worthless child from both side of his parents, even how much he tries to make things right. Every person or thing he treasured is another ammunition for plot purposes to make him more tragic than he already was.

Damian had tried to flee before, but fate always brings him back. Because Batman needs a Robin. But Bruce already has a Robin, doesn't he? Because Damian needs to be Robin? Just cause, who would he be then? When all those titles he earned has been discarded and thrashed in the light of Batman's justice?

And the only one title he could be proud of is always threatened to be taken away if he just as much cross an invisible line that keep on changing depending on whims of the doomed narrative.

5. The Chorus: Approximately twelve masked men, forming a specific group, make comments on the ongoing play by singing and dancing.

Due to its form of media, Damian has no twelve singing and dancing masked men. XD

BUT If I have a say on this, I'll give Damian his own set of bardic troupe narrating his life story, and maybe somehow DC writers would finally admit he was loved and wanted, and was never alone and actually have family, companions and friends along the way!

https://www.byarcadia.org/post/ancient-greek-tragedy-101-the-introduction

AND THAT IS WHY it makes more sense for writers to like and, or dare I say, even love Damian's character.

A lot of great fanfictioners in AO3 actually root for this little guy. So it's nice ✌️

[impyssadobsessions]

DPXDC PROMPT Vlad Hired the Wrong Guy

Vlad decides that perhaps a ghost can't do the job right anymore -though as much as Vlad would have loved that to be the fitting end for Jack- so he hires an assassin instead to finally put the end to this.

He hires the best. Deathstroke.

Slade however decided to take a liking to the little hero. So when Slade succeeds in his mission (or not if you want to pull some plot shenanigans) he ends up taking away something far more valuable to Vlad.

Danny. Now Imma put my thoughts below but y'all can take this anyway you want >w< <3

I can see Vlad giving Deathstroke weapons to fight/capture Danny too- not kill him though he probably can't even imagine that would be possible- with order to strictly kill Jack and maybe make it look like Phantom did it. (For some extra spice ;3) Phantom was able to fool some of Slade's attempts- but in an all out brawl- Slade wipes the floor with Danny. Danny being slung around like a rag doll, taunted, and mocked. He doesn't stop fighting which just amuses Slade more. Eventually there first fight gets interrupted (cause I imagine it was in the lab) probably be Jack and Maddie coming into the basement- but Deathstroke was able to hit Danny with the belt- forcing him to change before vanishing himself. So Danny gets "grounded" from the lab- even though he tried to play it off as a ghost attack- which made it either worse or better for him. His parents going protective mode- when he's trying to figure out how to save them. Only for Deathstroke to be in his room one day, looking for a "chat". Danny's not having it and tries to fight him only to be captured by one of Vlad's devices. Danny recognizing it. "You-You're working for Vlad!" "Oh ho ho, So you do have some brain cells that isn't used just for puns?" "Why!?" "Money. And a few unique toys." Slade tossing an ecto-ray in his hands. "I'm an assassin. I had assume you didn't need to be detective to figure that one out." Danny struggling against his bindings. Panicking. "You can't- Vlad-..." "Oh I definitely can. He is not the hardest target I had to hit- though I must admit you're an annoying obstacle." "I won't let you!" "I don't think you're in a position to stop me." Slade pressing a button to shock Danny before he a new power to escape. The shock forcing him to revert to his Human form. Imagine Deathstroke taunts Danny more. About what he is- about his parents hatred of ghosts. "Even if you save them- they would hate you. Shame." "You're not the first fruitloop to tell me that." Can see after Danny impresses him one more time- and Slade finds out Vlad is also a half ghost. I can imagine Slade finds a way to force Danny to join him. Whether its by succeeding in killing his dad and manipulating Danny into learning out to take revenge- Or by blackmailing/threatening to follow through but not just kill Jack/ but both his parents- saying he'll teach him how to REALLY fight. Even saying that with his help, he'll make sure Masters won't bother him again. Just all the manipulating. Danny at wits end might take it. Can see Vlad being FURIOUS- but now Deathstroke has weapons to not only HARM/KILL him-he ALSO becomes Danny's mentor. Vlad being the one to contact heroes he knows have history with Deathstroke... framing it as him taking away his godson. Maybe purposely sought out Nightwing. Unknowingly damning himself more as Nightwing will find out Vlad was the cause to all this- AND if Danny gets rescued/gets out of his deal- he'll have hero friends to rely on.

I just love the idea of Slade and Danny dynamic. Especially since Danny not only similar to Dick, his phantom form also looks similar to Respawn. I just think its neat XD And be a damn terrifying threat to Danny.

[mswolfette]

LMK Sun Wukong's Passive Suicidal Ideation Theory Part 3: Is he really Suicidal?

TW: Suicide and Suicidal Ideation

This is my final part of the analysis, addressing the symptoms according to CharlieHealth, the counterarguments and reaching my conclusion.

First, let's review the definition again for what Passive Suicidal Ideation is:

According to Charlie Health Primary Therapist Meghan Jensen, LPC, “passive suicidal ideation can occur when an individual no longer has the motivation to live, but does not have a clear plan to take their life.” 

And as we have spoken about this fits Wukong 50/50. Wukong does not seem to have a motivation to really live. Wukong almost completely stopped really being active in his life (at least in the public eye) after his battle with the Demon Bull King, and only came back because of MK (and this might not even be a big enough motivation to stay), as we know he has plenty of times where he's attempted to sacrifice himself while putting down that MK is better than him. Besides MK, Wukong doesn't really have a goal or plan for his life. As mentioned in S3e14, he never expected to be a mentor. He lived his life, with the only thing in mind being retirement and self-isolation.

But does Wukong fit with the symptoms of passive suicidal ideation?

According to CharlieHealth, these are the warning signs:

Let's go through the ones that fit Wukong:

Engaging in Reckless/Risky Behavior: Already addressed in Part 1, but this is the most strongest symptom that Wukong has with many of his self-sacrifices.

Extreme Sadness, Hopelessness, Isolation, Rejection, or Apathy: Throughout the series, Wukong can come off as extremely apathetic and dismissive to almost everyone. Wukong has a messy habit of constantly devaluating MK's concerns, especially in the first 3 seasons from how he just pushes off MK's worries with simple remarks, leaves MK with tasks and doesn't really elaborate on them, and especially meditates out of situations. This happens so much to the point where this really begins to bite him in the ass concerning the Samadhi Fire Incident. Even when we first meet him he's generally a bit more apathetic to the Demon Bull King showing up. He even shows apathy for the rest of the group in regards to not really helping them when they need it most, or dismissing their concerns. Even in as late as Season 5, he still reverts to an apathetic state, not really taking others into consideration at times.

Withdrawing or Self-Isolating: Wukong in the earlier seasons has done this a lot. Even the inciting incident is Wukong self-isolating from the world (and by extension MK) for an indefinite amount of time. Wukong in the first 3 seasons, tended to act as a loner, particularly never really being around anyone but MK, and never exactly leaving Flower Fruit Mountain unless he really had to. Granted there could be the reason of: "he's a hero, villains could target him easier." But Wukong is an extremely powerful individual. You could argue this especially with S3 when he was meditating, always making the opportunity to self-isolate by mentally isolating himself from the group. Even in the S3 finale, he had particularly separated himself from the group on purpose alongside MK. HOWEVER, he has seemed to slowly group out of that sentiment. Wukong has begun to try and spend time with the Monkie Kids, actively going out of his way to hang out with them through spending a Beach Day with them and finally, allowing for them to celebrate fireworks with them in the finale. So while this definitely is and symptom, it's important to mention its a symptom he's slowly growing out of.

Giving Away Meaningful Personal Possessions (AKA the Staff): At first, while this could seem arbitrary, there is an argument about passing on his staff to MK. We all know that Wukong is an absolute hoarder, and will preciously hold on to all of the stuff he's collected from over the years. And we know things like his staff are literally some of his most prized possessions. Wukong also could've easily defeated DBK, right? He's immortal after all, and then easily go back to his self-imposed isolation. But instead, he guided MK to his staff and let him take the role as the Monkie Kid. Wukong purposefully gave away his most prized possession to allow another person to continue the fight. This could fuel his self-imposed idea that the world doesn't need him anymore and that he's better off not around.

Seeking Out Objects to Assist in Suicide: This one is a tricky one, because this specifically and only applies to Samadhi Fire Incident. There is an argument to be made on either side of this argument. Possibly the main argument for this is in regards to Wukong despite his power, made the choice to rather take the risk to use the Samadhi Fire over all else (despite seeing he had an extremely good chance of taking down Lady Bone Demon without it). And Wukong was originally planning on doing that alone, especially giving the case that the rest of the gang is purely mortal and could not handle it. Now, if we argue that the Samadhi Fire was intended to be a suicide mission, he could've been actively seeking that out to make a final sacrifice for himself for the world. But you can also argue he wanted to seek it out to ensure that he could defeat the LBD without resorting to actively up and killing the host perhaps.

So, does this mean Wukong was intentionally written to be passively suicidal?

Maybe? Maybe not.

Some of these points prove to be a lot more common than others. As while Sun Wukong can be easily shown to be extremely reckless, self-isolating, and apathetic, its harder to even show some of the other side effects and we have to base our guesses on speculation behind the intent.

And even then we have counterarguments:

a. Wukong Having a Fear of Death: The main argument against this is quite valid actually. Wukong was scared of dying; scared of not being strong enough to live and protect his allies, literally scraping any sense of immortality he can from the peaches, the wine, pills, and even fighting skills to gain a sense of immortality. And even then Wukong can practically be seen not wanting to resort to death, seemingly avoiding that route at all times in S5, and only realizing that someone has to go, that he took the mantel and decided that it would be him. And...yeah that's a completely valid argument. Wukong could be scared of death instead, not wanting to completely face it until it's too late.

However, I would like to rebuttal the idea that: Wukong is a very contradictory character (he's a fairly consistent one though). As much as he is lazy, he can be extremely powerful, as much as he lives for isolation, he's starved for companionship with MK, and as much for he is wise, for as arrogant and stubborn he can be, he could be self-loathing and hopeless. And this could be a similar case. He could have symptoms of being passively suicidal, yet too scared to actively take that final leap until he's forced to.

b. Wukong Being Confident of Living: That could make sense. Wukong is so confident in his immortality status that nothing can touch him that even when push comes to shove, he endures anyway. That could honestly work with the Lotus Scroll attempt, but there have been several other times where he was never confident that he would actively come back in good shape, much less alive, specifically in S3E10. But those are just my thoughts.

But here is my conclusion:

This is just a singular interpretative theory on Wukong's character as a whole; not definitive proof that Wukong has this certain form of suicidal ideation.

In fact these traits might not fall under a typical spectrum of exclusively suicidal.

I think Schnee from YouTube put it best in regards to detailing Mental Illness in Fiction in regards to figuring out if a character has a certain disorder:

Credit: Schnee on YT (How does TRAUMA affect IMMORTAL characters? (Heimerdinger Analysis) | Youtube)

Tl;dr this piece of media is rather informing us about this version of Wukong, about how much all the traumas and issues in his life, shaped and morphed him into this messy, flawed entity. And I personally find that a lot more interesting, don't you.

Thank you for reading.

[sunny-day-jack-official]

Sunny Day Jack -- A Difficult Update/Setback

Hello everyone.

It is with great unfortunate sadness that after many months of trying to work with our current programmer for Something’s Wrong with Sunny Day Jack, we have had to make the difficult decision to terminate their working relationship with them.

This isn’t a choice made or taken lightly. We understand that doing so comes with a great amount of disappointment, and an attempt was made to do our best to withstand the situation because we knew that either way, it would be the disappointment of you all– or our health and safety.

We’ve made posts to social media before today, but now we will be going into a smaller bit of depth to the best of our ability. 

After coming onto the project in 2023, a series of negative interactions began between Us (the affected) and the programer. The programmer was brought on by former management at the time quickly, and with little integration.

Issues had cropped up at the time, chief among the affected being creator Sauce. It was around this time that the HimboEngine was created between older management and this programmer. And work on the engine, to the best of our knowledge, began. 

There had been at the time an internal push not to use this engine and revert to the originally promised one by creator, Sauce. And while we understand that the core drive was to make the game as accessible as possible to as many computers as possible, as well as to create a superiorly programmed product– it was only programmed in or by the programmer and one other person.

By that point, the push to resume working in NaniNovel continued. However, we were told that too much had been completed in Himbo and it was not financially viable to roll production back.

When prior management left in 2023, we continued to work with this programmer under the continued understanding that considerable work had been done.

However, issues still occurred. And there were instances of inappropriate treatment and actions between management and the programmer in question.

Attempts were made for many reasons to accommodate this person, and to allow them to grow and hopefully become aligned with the team’s core values. No persons were forced to work with them, besides management. And management has done their best, to their own ability, to not have to rollback the project and persist.

We are not comfortable releasing the extent of the disagreements and actions that have caused this separation. We have to focus on the future, and those involved in this decision are not comfortable reliving and reiterating the events that took place. 

We know more than anyone it seems that unfortunate things have happened. And we apologize for not holding on any longer. However, we are unable to interact with this person any longer. It is for health reasons– it is for fear of safety reasons– and it is with an unbearably heavy heart.

We must ask any and all fans to please not seek this programmer out. We will not be further releasing their name. To attempt to maliciously contact, find, or “expose” this person would be to go against the affected team member's wishes entirely.

However, this means we are now unable to any longer have access to several resources.

The loss includes:

Any progress on SDJ (builds)

The HIMBO Engine, in its entirety

The current most build of SleepyTime Jack

Access to and ownership of the SnaccPop website

The planning Github, contributed to by other SnaccPop team members

We will probably never get these back.

The programmer has made it clear to us that not only unless we reinstate them, but give to them a position of authority within SnaccPop, that we will never get these back. They have idled the concept of releasing or continuing work on these things without our consent, "for the fans".

We have no clue if this will happen. But in this instance we can say that we do not consent to any unauthorized release of SDJ builds. We do not know what SDJ assets this programmer has or has downloaded, but we are aware they are storing game sensitive information in private storage spaces.

We would advise fans to avoid any SnaccPop website domains or projects not posted by official accounts. And we hope, if Programmer can see this, they will understand that regardless of whether they intended to or not- it is unacceptable, and a choice that will likely reflect deeply on their personal career and something that could potentially blacklist them should other developers come to find out.

Otherwise, while it would be nice to have back these things paid for- the programmer has made it clear they believe this is in the fan's best interest. Hiring them back is a requirement, and they believe that the fans paid for the content, not SnaccPop, so they're under no obligation to return it.

The amount loss totals to several thousands of investment, months of planning and work, and contributions from multiple persons from across the team (consequently, making their work either temporarily or even permanently unusable.)

This is why we were hesitant to make any changes or decisions on the matter. We understand that it might not have been the correct choice to actively degrade our own health for the sake of the project, but the valid disappointment, frustration, and even distrust of fans was something we felt was worth the effort to try to make things better.

It's never an ideal thing to feel you are putting yourself above or before so many people. We had hoped that all these negative experiences were the result of miscommunications or otherwise emotional/personal narratives. But regardless of what they are now, we cannot continue to withstand them. We hit our breaking point.

No personal or individual contractors were made to endure mistreatment, and the affected were content to bear the circumstances while we could. But a point has been reached where we no longer can.

As of now– we are aware this individual is currently attempting to make pledges to the Patreon to further “elaborate”. We are aware they are monitoring our posts on our social media accounts, and we are very much aware they are unhappy with being removed from this position.

All we have to say to this is the following:

Please. Leave us alone. The whole of the SnaccPop team is not comfortable being around you. The SnaccPop team does not feel safe with you around ANY member. And the only reason we will not further elaborate is because we are tired, weary, and want to be left to develop this project in peace.

We don’t want to be around you. And that is OUR choice. You cannot force yourself upon people who do not want to be around you. And if you continue to try, you will never be able to move on.

Please just leave us alone.

–

As for updates, for now? A team of four programmers is assembling the game together. 

We don’t have much to update yet, because we are actively waiting for more concrete information to become clear.

The intentions of a customizable pronoun system are in the works. Those programming are longtime, since-the-beginning fans of the project. The whole of the SnaccPop team has come together under this situation. It’s a sad reason to do so, but we’ve been doing our best.

We still plan to release something by October of this year. And we’re hopeful, because we’re a bunch of fans now working together and collaborating (with pay–) on this project, just like it was always intended to be.

Whatever is released in October will be on Early Access still. And we know it’s been a difficult period of time for the development team AND fans. But we’re going to make the best of the situation.

Again– please do not harass, stalk, “call out”, or “expose” anyone. Do not try to figure out or pass around who Programmer is. 

This entire situation has ultimately been a large drain on the affected persons and we just want to be able to figure out what comes next and how to make the game. We'll answer what we can to the best of our ability.

 Our team will actively be taking a mental health break for the month of June, while management plans and restructures production. Creator Sauce will be picking up any work unable to be performed in order to support the team, for no cost and out of personal passion and a desire to help the team move forwards. But it will NOT help the team at all for this to be reduced to gossip or “drama”.

We are tired. And we are hurting. And we understand the monumental loss AND the disappointment to fans occurring at the same time. The last thing we want or need is to have to relive the situation more than necessary.

Thank you all so much. We are sorry, and we apologize. We did our best.

-SnaccPop Studios / Something’s Wrong with Sunny Day Jack development team.

[manicrouge]

Christmas Comfort

[ꜱɪᴍᴏɴ ʀɪʟᴇʏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

[ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ]: 25/12/23 (REPOSTED: 09/02/24)

[ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: After Johnny's death and a failed mission, Simon returns home to his girlfriend.

[ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ]: 3.3k

[ᴛᴡ]: hurt/comfort, angst, a somewhat happy ending (it will never be fully happy without soap I am sorry) possible mw3 spoilers (if you have been living under a rock please avoid)

[ᴀ/ɴ]: THIS IS A REPOST !! I've had few issues with shadowbans and have moved accounts a few times (tumblr thought I was a bot). I want all of my stories to be on the same blog so I apologise for the repost.

ANYWAY !! ENJOY !!

Christmas this year is going to be tough.

You know it from when you open the door to him on Christmas Eve. 

Time has passed, he hasn’t been home for months and you were starting to convince yourself that it’s going to be years before you ever see him again.

When you were talking on the phone earlier, sometime during the middle of November, he had made a comment that he wasn’t going to come back home until he had made sure he had the pleasure of declaring that the enemy that had murdered his best friend was officially gone for good. While your chest tightened at his comment, you had nodded along and assured him that they would catch Makarov eventually; there were only so many places one man could hide before he’d revert back to familiar ground. 

You feared the same for Simon at that moment. In fact, even with him home safe, you still do.  

Of course, you would never say that to his face.

Despite his capability in combat, however, you often find yourself awake at night wondering just how capable he was when it came to processing and dealing with loss. Had he done what you assume he has done, he was most likely going to run from it instead of addressing it. Problems will build up and up until they came tumbling down. It’s a simple thought to construct during the late nights you have been spending alone since the news of what had happened to Johnny had found its way to you. Just as such a thought is easy to construct, you find that another one comes to you quicker than the former: where would Simon be when the building he’d constructed over the years fell to pieces? 

There were only so many places he man could hide before he’d refer back to familiar ground. Even if said ground was crumbling around him. Maybe in his misery, he would find solace in falling to his doom with the chunks of shattered earth surrounding him.

If that assessment is wrong, it doesn't matter; your brain has decided it before your heart even gets a say.

You have very little to go off of concerning with how he dealt with loss, the occasional comment about his mum was enough for you to know that he wasn’t the type to completely forget about a loved one. 

He's vague about his past. The less said about it the better. 

‘You keep pawing an’ clawing at my brain like a damn puppy,’ he said, trailing his hands through your hair. You were guilty, for sure you were. Curiosity was sure to be the death of you in that regard. He’d let small facts slip on occasion, although, you knew his accidental slip ups were most definitely intention. 

Of course, Simon Riley was no fool.

’Just tell me something,’ you begged, ‘like… I don’t know, what was your favourite food to eat at Christmas when you were younger? Ooo, I bet it was something like liquorice. You’d so make your nan pissed by robbing all the good shit out of the sweet tin.’ You laughed at the thought of a tiny Simon Riley climbing on top of a chair, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he attempted to snatch the sweet, sweet treat of liquorice. 

‘Are you fuckin’ kidding me?’ he scoffed, ‘actin’ like I’m an old man doll,’ he snorted, ‘stop tryin’ to pester me f’r memories you have no business viewing.’

‘Is it illegal to be curious now?’ you asked with a playful smile. It was silent for a moment, and you lifted your head in an attempt to find his eyes in the darkness.

‘Yes, it is,’ he said, ‘you don’t wanna know me from the past, love,’ he huffed, ‘doesn’t matter now.’

‘You won’t even tell me what your favourite food was during Christmas?’ 

‘No,’ he reverted back to the same Simon you had seen when Johnny had been talking his ear off during the rare nights out you had had with 141. ’Now go t’ sleep, gonna be tired in the morning if you keep rambling on. My ears are burning with ya, doll,’ he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against his chest. 

Despite everything telling you to pull away from him, you maintained your closeness, the warmth of him far too appetising to refuse. Exhaling deeply, you rested your head against the pillow, staring straight at the wall in front of you. Your heart hurt at the very thought that he cared so little about his past that he fought to keep everything from his earlier life away from you. Even the smallest things. Of course, you would never had pried him, only the few passing comments in hopes for him to slip up as he had done a few times before. 

Another hard sigh escaped you as you close your eyes. He shifted behind you, resting his head against your shoulder. You thought nothing of his sudden movement; it wasn’t uncommon for him to do so while you were sharing a bed together. Only, he turned his head, his breath ghosting your ear. Inhaling, he swallowed hard. ‘Mum used to make us roast dinners,’ he whispered, ‘used to always slap my hand away whenever she was cooking cause I used to always rob the pigs-in-blankets while she was still getting dinner ready.’

A small laugh passed your lips as you turned in his hold, placing your hand against his cheek with a cheeky grin. He stares back, blue gaze gutting through the darkness, slicing your soul to pieces.  ‘Now, will y’ stop huffin’ and puffing and just go to sleep?’ He asked, placing his hand over yours. 

‘Soundly, Lt.’

Even behind the mask, you could sense the sadness, the loss. A flurry of emotions hits you when you first see him after what has happened. What can you say to him? Anything other than I’m sorry seems to be an insult to him and to the memory of the man that is sure to haunt him.

The mask hides his face, but it never hid his eyes, his tired and war-weary eyes. It's a brutal sight to see the man who had put the fear of God through you when you had first met reduced to this crushed soul. 

‘Simon,’ you say after a while of the pair of you just standing there, staring at each other. For a brief moment, it felt as though you had opened the door to a stranger instead of your boyfriend. Lifting his head, his Adams apple bobs beneath his balaclava as he steps forward. You take a step back, letting go of the edge of the door. Still, he doesn't speak, only standing there, observing you. ‘I thought you said you weren’t coming home until—‘

‘Don’t wanna talk about it,’ he answers, closing the door behind him.

His clothes are branded with the stench of war, and you take note of his bloodshot eyes. Has he been crying? You thought it impossible for such to be the case, he’d do no such thing. But, when he shakily inhales, grabbing the edge of his balaclava, your stomach dropped.

‘Place looks nice,’ he says, though his eyes don't leave you, ripping his mask from off of his face, shoving it into of his cargo pants. His words were shaky despite the stoic expression on his face. ‘You been alright?’

You look at him with wide eyes. ‘I- uh- yeah, yeah, just sorting out last minute things for Christmas,’ you answer, ‘how about you go and get a shower, get changed into some fresh clothes? I’ll make you something to eat—‘

‘Not hungry,’ he answers frankly, ‘appreciate the offer, doll, but I think I’m just gonna go straight to bed,’ he says. All the moisture in your mouth disappears and you’re forced to swallow a dry mouthful of air as you look up at him. 

‘Right,’ you nod, ‘I- I’ll be up right after you, just gonna turn everything off down here,’ you say.

He doesn’t answer you after that, dropping his duffle bag down on the ground by the front door as he traipses up the wooden steps of your home. The garland wrapped around the bannister winks at you as you watch Simon walk up the stairs, almost mocking you for ever think it was a good idea to decorate.

The entirety of your house is wrapped like a Christmas present, reds, greens, colourful lights- everything. Whether it was the right thing to decorate or not, you choose not to focus on it too much as you rush around the house, switching off the decorations and the lights, leaving the washing you had been doing on the counter in the kitchen. 

All of it can wait. But he can’t. 

So, with such a thought in mind, you busy yourself with your plan. What is included in that plan can be decided as you’re walking through the house, back to the staircase you have just seen your poor boyfriend walking up.

Jogging up each step, you decide that ultimately, everything that has happened in the past few months with be something he will not be willing to discuss with you; he made it clear when he walked through the door. Don’t push him on it.

When your foot hits the last step, you nod to yourself as you consider what you would do if he did want to talk to you about it. If he wants to talk to you about it, then you rejoice in his openness. But it isn’t necessary for him to have your undying support. No matter what he decides, ultimately, your heart is never going to fail on him. 

Before heading into your bedroom, you gulp when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. Pulling it out of your pocket, your eyes scan over the message, a shallow exhale escaping your lips. 

Mum &lt;3: Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. made sure to grab extra pigs-in-blankets incase Simon decides to appear sometime. Love you xx

Begrudgingly, you stare down at the message before looking at the bedroom door. From beyond it, you can hear the running water in the shower and all you can think about is him. So, with a deep breath, you look back down at your phone and begin to type. 

From ‘me’: Slight change of plans but I don’t think we’re going to be able to make it there tomorrow. Simon’s just got home and he’s not good. Don’t think socialising is what he needs right now. Sorry, I love you xx

Choosing has never been easy, yet, when you pushed open the bedroom door and saw his clothes sitting on the bed the pair of you share, you decide that that choice was the easiest one you have ever made in your life. It isn’t a sacrifice when it is necessary. At least, not when it comes to Simon at least. 

--

‘I’m not going home tomorrow,’ you tell him when he walks out of the bathroom. Part of you feels bad for bombarding him with something as soon as he walks out, but the affirming text from your mother causes your heart to swell, and when you see him again, it bursts. His hair is damp and he pulls his face out of the towel with a surprised look. His scarred cheeks are branded with a subtle red tinge from the heat exuding from the bathroom. The heat works well to melt his features just enough for him to mould them into a dissatisfied sneer. ‘I don’t wanna fight you on this, Si.’

‘You can’t cancel on your family,’ he says, approaching his dresser. ‘Not right. I don’t want you to do that for me,’ he continues, grabbing a t-shirt, pulling it over his head. ‘Go spend time with them, am fine here.’ 

‘I already told my mum,’ you say, ‘she’s fine with it,’ you quickly reassure, far too aware that he very well may be a ticking time bomb.

Oddly, you request of not fighting on it seemingly works as he looks over his shoulder at you. There is simply no fight left in Simon Riley anymore, you conclude it from the way he shrinks as he exhales, padding up to the bed. It was as though he had left the house as a grenade left the hands of a soldier. Upon his return, the body of what made him him: his danger, his determination, and his strength had all been lost and you find he has been reduced to the pin pulled from the grenade. 

Looking up at him, you find that it is up to you if you’re going to discard it or keep it as a keepsake.

Pulling the edge of the duvet, you pat the side of the mattress, ‘c’mon,’ you say gently. He doesn’t wait to climb into bed beside you, resting his weary head against the pillow. It’s as though someone is pressing down on his chest as he heaves a sound unlike anything you have ever heard. Exhaustion was clear, but grief was easier to identify in his eyes. Leaning over, you turn the lamp on your beside off, trying your attention to him, lying on his side. 

There’s nothing to say. Not to him, not for him, not for yourself. You just lay there and stare at him hoping something will come to you. Anything said will be a bittersweet lullaby, you’re convinced. Nothing is going to put him to sleep. ‘Your minds running; faster than mine, sweetheart,’ he says. His eyes are closed when you look at his face. ‘Don’t want you doin’ stupid things ‘cause of me.’

‘Nothing is stupid when it comes to you, Si’,’ you weakly state.

At this point, you heart is racing, your tongue tangled as you contemplate every single word on the edge of your tongue. ‘Mum said she’ll bring us dinner tomorrow,’ you say with a weak smile, debating on whether or not you should spoil the surprise. ‘We can eat it and watch something… if you want to.’

‘What’s she bringing,’ he asks.

‘A roast,’ you answer, ‘it is Christmas after all.’

He’s quiet for a while, almost as though he doesn’t even want to think about what day it is. December 24th. Christmas Eve. You’re unsure how exactly the holidays work in 141, only noting that he had been away a few times during Christmas. Oddly, this is one of the first ones he’s home with you. His second Christmas since knowing Johnny that he isn’t with him. Your heart weakens at the realisation, your brain cursing you with the knowledge of something so agonising.

They had spent Christmas together.

And now they won’t and never will and it isn’t just because of the distance between Manchester and Scotland.

Rather, it’s because of the distance between this life and the next.

Your eyes well with tears and you close them. Your heart hurts for the man lying in front of you, and when you hear him clear his throat, you find it difficult to contain your own sorrow. ‘Doesn’t feel like Christmas,’ he tells you, his voice trembling as he does. ‘Haven’t slept at all since ‘cause I can’t stop thinking about him just… lyin’ there,’ his throat tightens and his tone grows pitchy as he inhales deeply, swallowing hard. ‘I shoulda done something, I should’ve been there f’r him.’ 

He’s crying at that point, but not sobbing. In fact, you only know he's crying because, when you place your hand against his cheek and the pad of your thumb wiped away a tear that falls past his eye. ‘You were,’ you choke out, ‘even in death, you were loyal to him, Si’, don’t you dare go cursing your own name for something you were not responsible for,’ you demand. ‘You’ll get him.’

‘We’re fallin’ apart without him,’ Simon sniffles, ‘bet he’s sitting up there pissin’ himself seeing me like this,’ he utters. The pair of you share a laugh at the thought and you move close to him. ‘I just… I told myself after everything that happened to mum and Tommy, I wouldn’t feel anything ‘cause that fucked me up, but then I met Johnny a- and I met you.’

You hold your breath. 

‘Simon—‘

‘And what if I can’t keep you safe? I’ve failed at it so much and that fucking pricks got me doubting myself now—‘

‘Shut up,’ you firmly say, ‘I don’t wanna hear it, Si’,’ you utter, ‘and neither would Johnny.’

You press your thumb against his cheek, ‘doubt is a killer, and it’s not me who you’re not gonna be able to protect if you keep thinking the way you are, it’s yourself,’ you continue, licking your dry lips, ‘and… and if you die, then who’s gonna steal the pigs-and-blankets on Christmas Day?’ 

Whether it was time for humour or not, you’re unsure. But, as you thinking for a moment, you recall the tales told to you by Simon during his time away, particularly his time with the Shadows. 

Two goldfish are in a tank… 

‘You still remember that?’ he asks eventually. You feel the muscles contort in his face as he smiles at you. 

‘Always,’ you respond, ‘mums got them with the dinner tomorrow ‘cause I asked her too… said she got extra incase you planned on robbing any of them.’ You feel bad telling him such information knowing that you had chosen to cancel the holiday. If anything, you’re worried about the guilt you’re causing him by rambling on about the stupid fucking pigs-in-blankets. ‘My point is Si’,’ you take a deep breath, ‘I need you here with me so you can fulfil your duty.’

He shifts and pulls you closer, wrapping his arm around your waist, pressing his face into the nape of your neck. Your hand brushes through his hair, melting in his arms as his hot breath fans against your neck. ‘Wanna see your family tomorrow,’ he says, ‘I’ll go with you.’

‘Are you sure—‘

‘’Ave been stuck in my mind for nearly two months,’ he confesses, pulling away from your neck. ‘Fighting with myself over everything, I’ve hardly spoken to Price or Gaz,' he says. You press your lips together, the thought of him being alone nauseating. ‘Be a waste of money as well if I didn’t try pinching the food your mums made, wouldn’t it?’ 

You feel him smile as he presses his face back against your neck, his grip on you so tight its almost painful. But you relent, allowing him to have the comfort he so deserves. Resting your head above his, you close your. Whatever awaited you in the future can wait, you conclude.

‘I'm proud of you,’ you whisper, pressing a kiss onto his head. 'Never gonna let you doubt yourself ever again, not on my watch,' you continue, 'now sleep. We can talk more when you're ready.'

He smiles again.

'I know I can sleep soundly now,' he utters against your skin, 'got you beside me.'

With that, the pair of you fall into silence. You don't sleep, not until you feel his breathing steady against you skin, the subtle rise of his chest as he keeps his arms around you. You keep running you fingers through his hair before eventually, you find your eyes growing heavy and you drift off.

[foundtherightwords]

Fallen Empires - Chapter 9

Pairing: Geta x OFC

Summary: Having done the unthinkable to secure his throne, Emperor Geta rules with ruthlessness and paranoia. Now, after escaping an assassination attempt, a badly injured Geta is saved by Daphne, a young widow, who takes him back to her remote village without knowing his true identity. As Daphne nurses the former emperor back to health, attraction blooms between them, and Geta discovers a soft side he didn't know he possessed. But can their love survive his thirst for revenge and his desire to reclaim power?

Chapter warnings: none

Chapter word count: 3.2k

Prologue + Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Chapter 9

The next morning, Daphne came back from her chores to find Romulus sitting at the table, all dressed up in his old cloak and belt, with his dagger in its sheath dangling from his belt. She looked at him askance, still stung from the previous night. It had started out so well—when she returned from the village, she could tell he'd been waiting for her, and she'd wanted to tease him a little, to see if he had truly missed her. Perhaps she'd gone too far. But then he had made her blood boil, and this time not in a good way. First, he'd had the audacity to order her about in the bedroom—though she didn't particularly object to the act he'd proposed, it was his tone that insulted her. And then, after she'd overlooked that first offense and stirred from her sleep to help him out of his nightmare, he'd kicked her out of the room. Her room! Ingrate fool! She could tolerate some male arrogance, but she had her limit.

"Going somewhere?" she asked coldly.

He avoided her eyes. "Yes. I think it's time I rejoin my legion." His voice was polite but flat.

Daphne's heart stumbled, as if his words had just grazed it like a knife. The day before, down in the village, she'd heard about a big battle going on in the Parthian city of Nisibis, not far from the border. Everybody had been talking about it, saying it would decide the war. She had sat with her mother and Mikkos, praying for Attikos and other men from the village, who were no doubt fighting in it at this very moment. Upon returning to the hut, it had been on the tip of her tongue to tell Romulus about the battle, but she'd stopped herself. She was afraid that if she'd told him, he would've left immediately to join his fellow soldiers. As angry as she was with him, she didn't want him to go. Not yet.

Had he heard something after all? But that was impossible. How could he have, stuck up here with no one for company except the goats? So why did he want to leave? Was it because of what had happened between them? Did he regret sleeping with her? Was he married after all and now regretting his infidelity? Or perhaps he simply didn't want to stay with a woman who had threatened to kill him. She hadn't really meant it, of course she hadn't. It was only because he'd made her so mad... Oh, why had she let her temper get the better of her?

She put the jug of fresh goat's milk down on the table and turned to the larder, bringing out bread and cheese and olive, moving slowly so she would have time to compose herself. "You wish to go to Edessa?" she said.

"Yes."

She didn't want to tell him that the army was no longer in Edessa. "But you're not—"

"I know I'm not well enough!" he snapped, reverting to his old irascible self. Then he took a breath, and continued in the same flat voice as before, like he was trying to distance himself from her. "You mentioned that there's a town a couple of days from here," he said, "where I can get passage to Edessa."

"You mean Adala?"

He nodded. "Adala, yes."

She finished setting out breakfast. "And when do you wish to leave?"

"As soon as I can. I'm well enough for a two days' walk, surely?"

"Yes." She found herself mimicking his tone and grimaced in annoyance.

He got to his feet. "Right. Prepare some food for me then." His old commanding voice was back, and she glared at him. He must have realized how he sounded, for he corrected himself, "I mean, if you could spare some food and point me in the right direction, I'll get out of your hair. I've imposed upon your hospitality for long enough." He'd never spoken to her so courteously, so coldly. She wished he would shout and whine and complain as he had before. It would be a hundred times preferable to this polite stranger.

But there was no point in clinging to him any longer. He was never going to stay. This was bound to happen sooner or later. It would be better if he left now, before she became too used to his presence.

She sighed, thinking of the long summer days ahead, when she would be alone again. Despite the heat, she would sit outside with Midas and the goats, just to feel the presence of some living things other than herself, or go into the garden and put her ears to the beehives, listening to their gentle buzzing, just to hear something other than her own thoughts rattling inside her head. She would miss him, miss this strange, infuriating man...

Then an idea occurred to her.

"Perhaps I should go with you," she said slowly. Her mind was telling her this was not a good idea. Better to cut off the wounded limb and make a clean break, than to draw out the agony. But her heart was saying otherwise. "I have to visit the apothecary in Adala anyway," she explained, "to trade for a few things and restock my shelves."

Romulus looked at her, considering the option. She thought she could see the conflict in her heart reflected in his face, as the desire to spend more time together waged war with the fear of a prolonged goodbye. "Very well," eventually he said, in that same stiffly polite tone. "I would welcome your company."

"Then give me some time to pack," she said, trying not to sound too excited. "And you don't want to travel under this sun. It's better if we leave in the evening. It will be cooler then, and you can stay hidden."

It was clear that he had not thought about the danger of being discovered. He nodded and took off his belt and his cloak.

For the rest of the day, Daphne busied herself going through the various jars and bottles and packets of herbs, taking stock of how much she had, what she could use to barter, what was running low. She had to admit that labeling the jars had been a big help. It helped, too, to have Romulus's assistance as he wrote down her inventory on the wax tablet. For a while, the easy companionship between them felt like the old days again, and Daphne managed not to think too much about the imminent departure. She also remembered to bring Amalthea and her kids to Ione, who was most eager to watch the animals while Daphne was away.

They descended the hill as a waxing moon rose over the rock cliffs. With Midas's bridle in her hand, Daphne led them around the village instead of through it. She knew that on a cool, moonlit night like this, the villagers would be out in droves, sitting on their doorsteps, the women weaving, the men fixing their tools, all sharing drinks and gossip, and this detour was the only way to avoid detection. Once out of the village, they followed the stream as it wound its way through the valley to meet the Balikh. The water was low and sluggish this time of year, but the soft murmur of the current was enough to mask the sound of their footsteps.

"You all right?" she asked Romulus, when they were deep in the valley. "Would you like to ride Midas? Or should we stop for a rest?" She had heard him wheezing behind her for a while, but didn't want to stop before they were far enough from the village.

"I'm fine" was all he said. She looked back at him. His face was gray in the pale light of the moon, his dark eyes were enormous, and he was breathing heavily.

"No, you're not fine," she said, putting Midas to a halt and moving some of the saddlebags of herbs aside. "Get on."

Romulus glanced at the donkey and made a face. "No."

Daphne sighed, exasperated. Such ridiculous creatures, men. "I'm sorry I don't have a war elephant for you," she said. "Get on. I'll not have you collapse on me again."

He looked at Midas once more, before apparently deciding that his comfort was worth more than his dignity, and climbed on the saddle. Daphne suppressed a triumphant grin as she took up the bridle and walked on.

They walked through the night, under the silver moon. After it set, they pushed on for a while longer, until the sky brightened into a pinkish gray and a strip of gold appeared on the eastern horizon. The sun rose rapidly, spreading light and heat across the valley. Eventually, when the heat became too much, Daphne drew them to a stop under a bank of willow trees by the stream and made camp. Romulus looked up and down the bank warily, but after she assured him that they would be perfectly safe, he sat down next to her, with his back against a willow. They ate some of the bread and cheese Daphne had brought along. Then, shielded from the hot sun by the sweeping willow branches above and cooled by the gentle flowing of the stream beside them, they slept.

The sun had dipped behind the hills again, but it was still light, by the time Daphne woke. Romulus was no longer lying near the willow tree across from her, and she bolted up, afraid that he might have slipped away while she slept. But no, he was still there, sitting a little further down the bank. He was trying to shave with his dagger and making a mess of it.

"Need a hand?" Daphne said.

He jumped. "Hades!" he cursed as the dagger clattered to the ground. "Are you trying to kill me?!"

"No, but you may cut your own throat if you try to shave with that meat cleaver." She pulled her own little knife from her belt and sharpened it with a stone from the riverbank, before handing it to him. "Here, try this."

He took the knife from her and tried again. One scrape, and he threw it to the ground as well. "I've never done this before," he said, sounding both frustrated and embarrassed. "There were always barbers..." He glanced at Daphne. "Can you do it?"

Daphne hesitated. "But I've never shaved anyone before," she said. "Well, I did, once. My husband. The morning he left to join the army." It had been the last time she saw him.

Romulus shrugged. "It's not hard. I'm sure you can do a better job than I."

"You trust me?"

She only meant to ask if he trusted her not to make a mess of his face, but a hesitant look came into his eyes, and Daphne remembered that she'd threatened to kill him just the night before. Of course he wouldn't trust her.

She handed him the knife. "It's best that you do it," she said.

The look in his eyes changed inscrutably as he looked from the knife to her and back again. Then, reaching out his hand, he pushed the knife back toward her and raised his chin expectantly.

Crouching down in front of Romulus, Daphne started to scrape the knife across his jaw. A small whimper escaped his throat. She jumped back, holding the knife aloft. "That hurt?"

"It's fine." He cleared his throat. "But usually the barber would put some kind of oil in my beard first, to soften it."

"Why didn't you say so?"

Daphne dug through her supplies and found a jar of almond oil, which she rubbed into his beard. The pulse just below his jaw beat wildly under her hand, and when she happened to lift her eyes to his face, the look he gave her made her own heart thump along with his. How she longed to kiss him there, on his jaw, to feel that pulse and his warm, smooth skin beneath her lips... But he would probably push her away again, and she was not willing to repeat that exercise in humiliation. She put the knife back to his beard. He was right. With the oil, the knife glided over the hair much more smoothly and easily.

"Is that better?" she asked. Romulus nodded once and sat still, as if afraid any movement would cause her hand to slip. "Relax," she said. "I won't nick you. I promise."

"I'd rather you promise not to gut me like a fish," he said.

She glared at him, but his tone was light, and something like a wry smile was lifting the corner of his mouth. She felt her cheeks grow hot. "Don't test me," she warned, trying to put on her sternest face.

His teasing smile grew, and for a moment he looked once more like the man who had taught her to read, the one who had helped her after her father's disastrous visit, the one who had held her hand when she told him about her husband. "I wouldn't dream of it," he said.

His breathing calmed after that, yet her own remained ragged as if she'd just made an uphill climb, and she couldn't help noticing the heat between them. She forced herself to concentrate. Scrape, scrape, scrape. The hair fell away under the blade, slowly. They were breathing the same air, their bodies feeling the same heat, separated only by two thin layers of linen. She wanted to hit him and then kiss him, and then hit him again, for making her feel this way. But she did nothing, only reminding herself that he would soon be gone. Scrape, scrape, scrape.

Once his jaw was clean, Daphne moved on to his mouth, trying not to notice the feel of his lips between her fingers. Then she leaned back to survey her handiwork.

"How do I look?" he asked.

"Very well."

In truth, her shaving was rough, and there were uneven patches here and there along his jaw where she hadn't gotten all the hair. But, freed from his scowl, and with his curls getting longer and falling over his forehead, the face that emerged from under the beard was sweeter, almost boyishly handsome. She cleaned the oil off with the end of her stole and flicked away the little hairs that stuck to his skin, her fingers lingering over his now-smooth cheeks. He tilted his head, pressing his face into her hand, his dark eyes gazing into hers. Daphne's heart jumped. She knew that look. He'd looked at her the same way the other night—had it only been two days ago?

It was on her lips to ask him to stay, to keep this touch, this fire between them just for a little while, just a little longer... Her thumb brushed across his mouth, and he jolted away as if her finger had been a poisoned arrow.

"We best get a move on," he said, getting to his feet.

The plea for him to stay died in her throat. With a sigh, she stood up as well and began packing their things.

They continued in silence, with only the moon as their constant companion. The next day, they left the valley and the stream behind as the path rose toward a plateau. The willows became shrubs, then the shrubs became tuffs of tired brown grass, before getting swallowed up altogether by the tired brown sand of the plateau. Adala lay on that plateau, a handful of mud-brick houses lining narrow, winding streets, all congregating around a small marketplace. Having neither pastures nor arable land, it made its living as a trading post, where merchant caravans stopped for a change of horses before heading to larger towns, and where farmers and shepherds from surrounding villages brought in their goods to barter and exchange. It was the one place Daphne had learned without her grandmother's guidance—the old woman had never left their village and had seen no need for it, but Daphne had understood early on that she could not make a living if she stayed in their village all her life. Besides, she liked the hustle and bustle of the town, though only in small doses.

They pushed on, not stopping to rest, and came into Adala in the early afternoon. Romulus had jumped off Midas's back as soon as the town came into view. Now he stalked next to her, his head low, the hood of his cloak pulled up to cover his face, and his hand gripping the dagger tightly.

"Stop worrying," Daphne said. "No harm will come to you here."

"You can't be sure of that," he mumbled, his eyes darting left and right. It wasn't a market day, so the town wasn't particularly busy, but that only made the two of them stand out more. Eyes were turning their way, with curiosity that would soon turn into suspicion, Daphne knew.

"If you're trying to appear suspicious and draw attention to yourself, then you're doing an excellent job," she said drily.

He straightened up and pushed the hood off, looking slightly abashed. After that, he walked more normally, though he still kept a hand on the hilt of the dagger.

They walked past the marketplace under the shadow of a temple of Zeus and turned into a side street. Unlike the rest of the sleepy town, it was crowded here, as the townspeople flocked to The Lynx's Head for their drinks, snacks, and daily gossip. Part tavern, part inn, part gambling den, it was the true center of Adala, much more than the marketplace and the temple ever were.

Daphne stopped a little further down the lane and nodded at the tavern. "There you are," she said. "Go inside and ask Eukleis at the bar if she knows of anyone going to Edessa. You'll get passage in no time."

Romulus glanced at the crowd gathering outside The Lynx's Head, looking uncertain, but said nothing. He still said nothing when Daphne handed him a little pack containing a change of clothes, a wineskin, some food, and a small vial of poppy juice, in case his wounds still bothered him.

"Well," she concluded. Her voice shook a little, and she cleared her throat, trying to sound cheerful. "I must hurry before the apothecary closes for the day. I guess this is goodbye."

Romulus opened his mouth, but no words came. He kept gazing at her, with a beseeching look in his eyes that she hadn't seen before. She waited. Ten, fifteen, twenty heartbeats passed. He still didn't say anything. His hand moved at his side, but he didn't reach out for her.

"May the gods watch over you on your journey," Daphne said. Then she pulled her stole over her head and led Midas away.

"Daphne?" Romulus called after her.

She spun back so quickly that she hated herself for it. "Yes?" she said, hope flickering painfully in her heart.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "And may the gods watch over you as well," he added, almost as an afterthought.

There was a pang in her chest that might have been heartache, or it might have been mere disappointment. She nodded at him and walked down the street without another look back.

Chapter 10

Taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92, @justnobodynothingmore, @barcelonaloverf1life, @myotakureprieve, @flawssy-227, @itsrainingbisexualfrogs, @deliciousfestsalad (if you want to be tagged or removed, let me know!)

[msexcelfractal]

Can you restore the ‘Hazbin Hotel’ Wikipedia page ‘That’s Entertainment (Hazbin Hotel)’ on Wikipedia? The same person keeps blanking it.

I'm not able to, sorry!

For those not in the loop:

"That's entertainment" is the first and pilot episode of Hazbin Hotel. It used to have its own page, but wikipedia deleted it by consensus. During the deliberation, one user attempted to "sockpuppet" - a tactic for manipulating wikipedia by secretly controlling multiple accounts in the discussion. We will call them User X.

The wikipedians caught User X and deleted all of her accounts. But this would not be the end of ‘That’s Entertainment (Hazbin Hotel)’ on wikipedia!

In November 2024, new user Hazbin Gal restored the page, converting a redirect page into a copy of the article.

The cruel wikipedians once again blanked the page. Hazbin Gal was investigated, found to be User X, and deleted. Subsequently a brave and sparkling new account restored the page... User X was caught (again) and deleted (again).

The wikipedians were done messing around. ‘That’s Entertainment (Hazbin Hotel)’ was blanked, reverted to a redirect, and put under protected status for a year.

When an article is under protected status, only a powerful wikipedia user with special permissions can edit the page.

I believe User X is among us today. I believe this barrage of anon messages is a genuine attempt by User X to fool a tumblr user with special wikipedia permissions into once more restoring her pet article. User X believes that if she cold knocks on enough doors, she will find a tumblr user who satisfies two conditions: they are a power user on wikipedia, and they are very, very gullible.