#like it’s been beaten to the ground thousands of times

[maebyshifting]

hi!

i know someone asked you this before but what do you thing about aging up to date people? do you think it's ok?

for example, i'm currently 18 years old in my dr, but i'm scripting myself to be 25 to date a person who's in their mid to late thirties

i don’t think i’ve ever actually talked about the age debate on here but this is always my take: aging others up or yourself is fine, for a lot of us these people we’re shifting to we’ve known and loved since we were kids (or were teens/younger) and so there’s no reason to be upset about it. aging yourself down is also fine as long as you’re not doing it for weird reasons; some people want the childhoods they never had, and that’s valid.

at the end of the day: i’m not the shifting police, i’m just a normal person like y’all. as long as you’re not being creepy or anything it’s your dr and you don’t need others to dictate what you can do in it.

[schoenpepper]

Isekai'd Chronicles 0

Intro: The prologue to your reincarnation adventures~

Warnings: otome games, bad writing, awful grammar, reader has a sister, proofread by quillbot, lots of mentions of death

A/N: The reader is kept as gender neutral as my brain could possibly allow. Also, I have different endings planned per route, and maybe (very small maybe because I'm not too comfortable with it) a couple of harem-ish routes. Anyways, enjoy.

Masterlist

You didn't like otome games, and certainly not harem ones. When your younger sister had begged, pleaded, and cried for you to join her in this weird, "innovative" two-player otome game, you had half a mind to just lock yourself in your room and ignore her. But you don't. Because some god probably has it out for you, divine intervention leads to your agreement, and the better half of Friday night and early Saturday morning is spent flirting with beautiful men on the 32-inch television screen in the living room. Summer vacation means neither of you get grounded for doing so, but there was certainly a healthy scolding waiting for you both come Saturday afternoon.

Fortunately for you unfortunately, the scolding never comes. As it is in every cheesy harem isekai manga, the next time you open your eyes, you're already in another world. Hooray! The same game that you and your sister spent hours on is now your reality. When you look into the mirror, you're even more surprised to find that staring back at you is a cute little bun with clear skin, gorgeous eyes, and beautifully silky hair. Aren't you happy you're super adorable now? Except, this is the face of the villain. That bratty, desperate, and pathetic duke's heir who was an obstacle in all 14 routes and the three different harem endings. It's okay. It's fine. If you never fall in love with the male leads, then you'll be safe!

Safe from falling to your death, getting poisoned, turned to sand, stabbed, drowned, sunk to the bottom of the ocean in a rickety little box, beaten to death, beheaded, hypnotized and made to kill yourself against your will, cursed to melt into toxic sludge, getting an arrow shot through your heart, burned alive, getting hanged in front of thousands of people, or being mauled to death by animals…

Make sure not to fall in love, okay?

The villain's endings—none of them end with you staying alive. So you steel yourself and look at the pudgy cutie pie in the mirror with renewed resolve. You'll live to the end! You'll study hard! You won't fall in love with any of the love interests! Ever! In any case, you are human, and most of the love interests are of other races from other lands, meaning you won't even be seeing their shadows for several years. Right now, you estimate that you should be about 3 or 4. The game starts when you and the main characters are 16 years old in the super-unexpected and never-been-done-before magic academy setting. You have at least a decade to shape yourself up and grind to an OP level; that way, if you still find yourself hunted by hot men, you can at least defend yourself. Hopefully. As a human duke's heir, however, there are two male leads you know from the start. They're also pudgy little cuties right now (all the love interests are at this point in time), but they're dangerous. Because you could fall in love, which is a big no-no. But since you were a teenager in your previous life, you wouldn't fall in love with 5-year-olds. Automatically, they're struck from your mind as "love interests." Still, you can't let the danger be on its own, so you decide to tell your parents that you no longer have any interest in your weekend tea parties at the palace (that the little villain had begged for). You can avoid them easily, and so you will. As a three-year-old, there's not much you can do for now, but one thing you can do is get a tutor to teach you the ins and outs of the universal language (convenient otome game logic). You busy yourself with studying the alphabetical and numerical systems and make a staunch decision to be a good duke's heir and, in time, a good duke ruling over the dukedom.

Fate decides to tear your plans apart little by little, pop the pieces into a blender and add some water to turn it into a paper-flavored smoothie.

[leviathanspain]

kiss it off me

carmy berzatto x reader

synopsis: the woman who made him a man is back in town and he can barely hold it together

a/n: i tried to make it cohesive without rushing it, but oh well..enjoy!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

no one ever forgot their first time.

it was the sweetest taste, your cherry flavor stained lips, chapped from the dry chicago heat. he remembered the way they felt, soft and rubbery, his teeth had caught on them. then the fruity flavor had turned to iron, but he still kissed you as hard as he did the first time.

after he had bitten you, you had asked gently if he had ever done this before. carmen answered honestly, and you promised you’d teach him everything you knew.

but that had been years ago, and a lifetime of memories had occurred since then, that when richie had mentioned your name, carmy couldn’t place you.

“what was it again?” carmy asked, hands on his hips as he thought hard of what richie had just said.

“y/n. come on, cousin, don’t tell me you forgot!” his neck vein popped out, and carmy shook his head, his hands rubbing across his face as he thought hard.

“was she in school with me? how do you know her?” carmy shot out any questions that could connect you to him in his mind. it sounded familiar, the way richie said your name with thousands of memories behind it.

richie shrugged, “you brought this girl around to every single thing your family threw! she was your little girlfriend-“

“holy fuck- penny?” it was as if all the gears in carmy’s head had finally turned at the right time. he remembered you, of course he remembered you. he had to sift through all the bullshit of the past decade but now, it was like a fresh breath of air.

“penny? i swear her name was y/n.” richie raised his eyebrow, “i saw her at some magazine stand down the street, and i swear she looked familiar-“

“pennington. penny’s for pennington. i-“ carmy chuckled slightly, “mikey called me bear once, when she was around. and she had wanted a nickname like that.” richie could see the warmth in carmy’s face as he talked about you.

richie nodded in response, giving a second for carmy to come back down to earth. “i invited her to opening night. she’s one of those people who mold shit outta clay-“ he demonstrated with his hands, carmy’s eyes just staring out.

“cousin-“

“you invited her to opening night?” carmy echoed, and richie stared, hands falling onto the counter. he nodded, irritated with carmy’s absentmindedness.

“i want to be someone to be remembered.” the crinkle of the empty beer cans underneath your feet, followed your speech, “i want to be an artist!” your hands shot out, the drink in your left hand had partially spilled, but you didn’t seem to notice as you took another swig of it.

carmy’s face was hot. he felt it heat up after his first drink, and now had spent the entire night nervously pulling at his collar, trying to keep up with you.

you had driven him out to the suburbs in your mother’s beaten up volvo. he had gotten drinks, but hadn’t revealed how. but it didn’t matter, as the two of you were out, feet dangling above the ground, sitting in the trunk.

you turned to look at him. he looked beautiful in the moonlight, his blue eyes were deep, like pools of water that you wanted to get lost in.

“don’t you want to be an artist too, carmy?” your voice was soft, set to the pitch of innocence as you brought your hand up to caress his cheek. carmy was shy, eyes always darting away from yours, hands drawn up to his sides. it had taken a lot of convincing for him to even come out with you, but with the beer he had brought, you realized he could still surprise you.

it was in between your question and his answer that you had kissed him. it wasn’t the first time, there had been many more times since. but the passion was the same, the desire for more was always weighing heavy.

“yes..” carmy spoke, closing his eyes as your hands began to unbuckle his belt. he shivered, grabbing your hands, he helped you undo his belt, breath hitching as you kissed him harder.

carmen had been incredibly stressed all day. he had been stressed ever since richie had told him that you’d be coming to opening night. he had tried not to induce an attack, last time he saw you there had been a fight, and it was silence ever since.

but now, just the idea of your presence loomed over him like doomsday. today, even without you, could make or completely annihilate his career. but he was ready to face either or. you had taught him that, better or for worse.

“hey cousin!” richie thundered through the kitchen doors, his suit was dark and sleek, contrasting the chef coats everyone else was wearing. “y/n is at table five. sugar is talking to her, and it looks very,” he paused, and looked at carmy, “interesting.”

carmy sighed, “fuck.” he was busy, too busy that it should be inhumanly possible. he grabbed a towel, one that hung loosely over his shoulder and wiped his hands, “what did she order?” he looked around at all the other workers, looked at their plates and tried to guess.

richie smiled, crossing his arms across his chest as he spoke, “nothing.”

carmy had felt his face rise with heat as he slammed through the kitchen doors. he felt embarrassed, a little shocked even, that you hadn’t ordered anything for dinner.

he turned to the sound of sugar’s laugh, a familiar sound, he had found himself already walking over to the table. you hadn’t seen him yet, natalie had all your focus.

“hey-“ he greeted. sugar was the first to turn, and happily greeted her brother. you followed suit, but you didn’t say anything as the two exchanged a few words. instead you stared at carmy, years older, and completely unknown to you.

“hey bear.” you greeted, voice sweet on his name, you stood up, going in for a tight hug. he smelled of food, not surprising for someone who was just in the kitchen.

“hey pen..” he returned your greeting, and looked at his sister, who excused herself politely.

the two of you just stood for a moment, carmy watching as sugar circled around to talk to richie. carmy turned back to you, and extended his hand to your chair. you both sat, now face to face.

you looked different. the teenage invincibility had been exchanged for a confident, self assured adult. your eyes were still the kindest ones, he felt at ease just staring into them.

his eyes avoided your lips, avoided what they reminded him of.

“richie tells me your a sculptor?” carmy didn’t know why, but that was the first thing he had thought to ask. you laughed, surprised at his question too. but you nodded nevertheless, “yes, a local gallery is displaying some of my work. that’s why i’m back.” you played around with your silverware, and cleared your throat, “this is really lovely, carm. it’s-“ you looked around at it all, at the bustling scenery with various happy customers. “i’m really happy for you.” you finished.

carmy nodded, “yeah. thank you.” he blinked, and remembered what he had wanted to really ask. “are you not hungry or-“ you followed his gaze to the empty plate in front of you and you laughed, “oh- right!” you shrugged, “i don’t know actually. i guess i wanted to see if it was really you.” the way the words came out felt wrong, and you were quick to explain yourself.

“i didn’t mean it like that-“ you assured, and carmy laughed slightly, “i just hadn’t seen you in years that i almost didn’t believe it.” carmy nodded, “well, i’m here..im right here.”

the two of you locked eyes in that moment.

it was a special moment, something of substance that could ground carmy, and remind him of all the good things in life.

you tore your eyes away, and awkwardly laughed, “my show is next friday.” a card had appeared in your hands, and you were scooting it across the table to him, “i already gave one to your sister, and another to richie when i first saw him. you don’t have to come, i just figured-“ you looked around and he nodded, “yeah. no, totally. i’ll go.”

he found himself agreeing to go before he even fully thought it through.

he stood up, grabbing the card he tucked it into his coat. you looked up at him, eyes twinkling.

“bye carm.”

“bye pen.”

“you’ve got to calm down.” sydney had found herself at the end of an almost accident. carmy had forgotten the safe word, and nearly ran into sydney, who was carrying a large pot of boiling water.

she had set the pot down, realizing that there was something wrong with carmen.

carmy ignored her, and continued to furiously cook.

“hey-“ sydney put a hand on his shoulder but that seemed to make it all worse. carmy flinched, and dropped his spatula. he stepped back and shook his head, “back off, chef.”

“carm-“

“now.” his tone cut deep, and sydney nodded, annoyed with his response, she went back to work.

carmy’s hands were stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. wind cut at his face, weaving through all the people on his way to the gallery.

he had checked the date and time multiple times, all day. he wanted to get it right, be there for you like you were for him. it had been a week since opening night, and he had thought about you every single night since.

you waited for him. people kept coming up to you, congratulating you on your new work, but none of it mattered. the work wasn’t for them, it was for him. and he was late.

“i could stay-“ carmy looked around nervously, eyes darting anywhere but the pools of pain in your eyes.

“no.” you bluntly said, “you will not stay here. you cant stay here. trust me carmen, you’re better off.” you had come to terms with the fact that if he stayed, he would be another mikey.

that’s why you had begged mikey not to let carmy work at the beef. he would never leave if he did.

carmy sighed, exhausted from the hours of arguing, “we’ll talk every day. i’ll- i can make time, between class-“ he tripped over his own words, and you had to stop him before it got worse.

“carmy-“ the way you looked at him made him realize that this was it. there was not going to be any calls, or any relationship because you were breaking up with him.

“i got into art school. i’ve been wanting to tell you, but i hadn’t made a decision.” you paused, “this is what’s best for both of us, bear.”

you had spotted him walking in. in the sea of pretentiousness, there he was. his wool jacket, perfect against the chilly weather, it had reminded you of all those winters during school.

“carmy!” you called his name, and waved him over. he weaved through to you, and greeted you with a hug and a kiss, “hey.”

he looked around at all artwork, “looks incredible.” he realized that along with sculptures, you had paintings as well. it was a cohesive collection, something that would definitely get talked about.

but as he looked at more work, he realized with a pang what the theme was. you followed him as he walked all around the gallery, until he finally got the main piece of work.

it was behind a rope, a blue velvet rope on all four sides as carmy, in statue form, looked out into the room of people.

“holy shit-“ he sounded breathless, eyes glued to a perfect posed, stone version of himself.

you watched his expression, unable to decipher how he was feeling. whether he was happy about it or not, you couldn’t tell.

more people came behind you to admire the statue, and carmy looked away, “is that it?” you nodded, and reached out, “come on, there’s one more thing, exclusive for the muse.”

muse, he whispered under his breath. he was your muse.

you took carmy to the office of the gallery. you had set up shop there, your belongings were scattered across the desk. you walked up to the desk, and leaned against it.

carmy walked in after you, and looked expectantly at you. you sighed, “you were the reason i came back. this,” there was a window where the statue could be seen, along with other pieces inspired by him. “was for you. you’ve been something that i’ve been trying to make right.”

carmy shook his head, “i’m not some broken toy that you can fix, penny.” your nickname cut like a blade in that moment and you exhaled. “i know that.” you replied, “i just- i cant get you out of my head, carmy. for years i’ve tried,” you stood up off the desk, and walked towards him.

carmy instinctively wrapped his hands around your waist, sitting them perfectly on your curves. you both remained silent as you got closer. but he was pulling you in too, just too close for comfort.

“come on, bear.” you whispered, nose dragging across his cheek, you closed your eyes and hoped he’d kiss you.

carmy shivered, his grip on you tightened as he kissed your cheek. it was soft, innocent almost. you opened your eyes, bringing your hands up to his face as you pulled him in for a kiss.

it was new. you hadn’t kissed him since you were teenagers. he was inexperienced, but he was willing to learn. but now as you kissed him, you realized that he’s kissed hundreds of people since then. but you didn’t care. you loved his taste, cigarettes and everything sweet.

he kissed you harder, his hands tightening on your hips that it was almost painful. you couldn’t help yourself, you pressed against him, carmy’s back digging into the wall behind him.

“fuck-“ you kissed him more, lips dragging from his to his neck. he shivered, but didn’t say anything as you began to kiss him lower and lower.

the bustling noise of the people outside broke him out whatever this was, and carmy put a hand on yours, which was right on his belt buckle. “not here.” he panted right into your lips, “later you can kiss it all off me, but not here.” he felt naked, those people out there were gawking at his stone figure like some lost greek artifact.

he couldn’t do it now.

you nodded, lingering in his eyes, “of course, bear. time and place, i’ll be there.” you leaned in for a kiss, which carmy happily gave away. a part of him wondered what this would be. he couldn’t think, he wouldn’t.

“i’ll- im gonna go, pen.” he had taken a minute, looking at the door for a moment before opening it. he exhaled deeply, stepping out as the door shut behind him.

you watched him walk, his broad back being lost in the crowd of onlookers. you tried to ignore the urge to smile, but even then, you couldn’t hide it.

[sagucpuppet]

IM STILL ALIVE CHAT, I HAVE BEATEN THE FUNERAL ALLEGATIONS, AND I COME WITH A REQUEST ALONGSIDE MY BOUQUET OF ROSES...

please pleaes pealse write painter with reader who finds him in a bit of a mess, his wires and circuitry are all tangled and knotted (maybe a bit broken to add some extra seasoning) and reader sits with him and helps to fix and repair him (then they compliment him and tell him how good he was for them and how pretty he is mueheheehehhe)

i need flustered but vulnerable painter so bad chat, i love him to death :(

(also, sagucpuppet, i love you /p and your works, keep doing what you do and have a nice time, ill always be here to admire your works <33)

⟡　　˳︒　“nobody knows what i see!”　　₊　　⦂

⠀ℓ⠀⠀⠀⠀₊⠀⠀⠀⠀A/N : omg, anon your alive…thank you sm…wjendjwwjcnwhw ilyt!! /p <3333⠀⠀⠀⠀:

⠀𓏲⠀⌣⌣⠀⠀⠀extra : painter goes by he/him, reader is genderless, a bit of sebastian slander…and kinda implied painter trying to self destruct…and kinda cheesy..wndjjwjedjw, soooososoo sorry that this came out late…..couldn’t write cause of motivation but we back!!

𝞋𝞎 ; you were currently on your maybe…10th? run…you didn’t really count, you’ve been actually trying to get to the crystal. but so far you’ve been having no luck and always dying to something. and it doesn’t help that you’ve basically lost all of your items.. and they’ve disappeared..probably sebastian took them just for you to buy them back. what an asshole. you thought to yourself, your mind wandered a bit to your friend painter! you haven’t seen him in quite a bit. maybe you were too focused..on your run? you didn’t really know but you decided to visit him, urbanshade can wait can’t they? sure they can! not like that crystal totally depends on my life! you thought before opening the next door .

𝞋𝞎 ; the doors seemed ENDLESS. even though you’ve went through them a thousand times, you were kinda starting to get annoyed, you just wanted to see painter already…he always makes your runs better! sometimes the thought of him of is enough to get you motivated. or even enough to get you all giddy and happy inside. you two were very close even though you were kinda supposed to never even be friends in the first place, those words you were told by urbanshade..”nobody is your friend. you are expendable.” made you nervous. no. afraid. , you know that almost all of the monsters are NOT your friend, i mean literally all of the them tried to kill you, you don’t even wanna count sebastian as a “friend” he’s far from being your friend ever..but anyway…focusing on your friend painter.. you should be reaching heavy containment soon..hopefully he’s okay.

𝞋𝞎 ; after finally reaching heavy containment and going through the absolute terrorizing screams of the anglers, you basically sighed of relief once you saw the two metal doors and a purple keycard reader, you quickly searched found the purple keycard and scanned it, the two metal doors opening in an instant. surprising you a little, but quickly blinking and making your way into the next room, you searched and it was nothing interesting, same with the others but quickly seeing that one server room you know and love. you quickly made your way to the metal door, skipping past a few steps and the door opened.

𝞋𝞎 ; you peaked into the room, you saw painter but he looked sad..? you also realized that all of his wires from the back were all a jumbled mess, making a noticeable mess on the ground, and it was like his screen was glitching, you quickly stepped inside, painter seemed motionless for a moment, maybe he didn’t notice you…? but his eyes darted up meeting yours. his expression changed to a happy one “reader! you’re b-BACK.” he said his voice cutting out quite a bit.. his face had a big grin on it, you quickly said “Jesus painter..what the hell even happened to you!?” you said as you quickly made your way over to him, running your hands over his metal covers of the computer he was withheld in, he said “I-d..rRather..not..get into the details….” his face expression dropped with sadness, he looked at you. you had a hurt look in your eyes. you couldn’t bare seeing your friend painter in pain, you said “it’s alright painter, how about this? i’ll fix you up and while i do that we can talk for a bit, alright?” you said with a smile. painters face modded in a up down motion, signaling a yes.

𝞋𝞎 ; you quickly pulled over a random chair with your foot, and sitting down in front of painter, you gently pulled some of his wires from the back and starting untangling them, one by one. painter spoke up suddenly his eyes darting around the room “i’m sorry…for making you..do all of this…” you shook your head, and said “hey..it’s fine painter, i’m always open to helping a friend.” painters eyes stopped darting around, he looked at you with a kinda apologetic expression along with a relaxed smile. you managed to get the left side of his wires untangled, you did a quick check making sure none were out of place and not damaged in any way. while you were kinda close up to his screen, he seemed a bit flustered, he looked like an idiot in love, he’s never been exactly soft around humans like you, but..but..you’re different in his eyes, you’ve never mistreated him once. you were always kind and patient with him no matter the situation, even when he was required to stop you from getting the crystal, it was like…wait..why am i feeling a little bit warmer..? im not overheating am i..? he thought in his mind, but it quickly wandered back to you, wait. am i in love with them!?…

𝞋𝞎 ; he quickly looked back at you, in your own world fixing his other wires and cleaning off his circuits, why did it hurt to look at you..in a way..? why did it feel like he was overheating..? , blush appeared on his screen in an instant, it was just like..just the way they smiled..was..cute..wait what..?? get it together painter! he internally screamed at himself, he quickly went back to reality, and you spoke “you’ve been awfully quiet..you doing alright..painter?” you asked a bit worried at his sudden loss for being chatty like always, he blinked and looked at you, “yeah..i’m fine…just..TtHinking..” his voice glitched a little bit again, you nodded and smiled “not thinking of me are you?” painters eyes darted to you, a flustered look on his screen he quickly said “n-no! buzz off reader!” he looked away in an instant, you laughed a bit “just teasing.” you said playfully, as you finished with the last tangled wire in the back, you rised up for the chair, you said “okay..i wanna fix the glitching in your system, i think i saw some spare tools around the room..” painter stared at you as you walked away but spoke “i’m…not gonna..die am i?” painter said bluntly in a worried kinda tone. you quickly turned around and said “oh- no! of course not! it’s probably just a little bug in your system. nothing to get worried about!” you said as you rummaged through a few boxes for tools.

𝞋𝞎 ; painter was still a bit worried, but eased up a bit. his mind wandered a bit, but before you gently placed a bunch of tools beside him, you picked up two of the tools and said, “ okay- i’m gonna just gonna fix some of the circuits and other things in your system. you can stay awake for the process.” you said as you patted the top of his computer head, you then started to do your own thing, painter on the other hand was very flustered, no one was ever this close, especially you…in particular. he never was THIS…vulnerable..but somehow he can always let his guard down around you, it was like he knew he was safe with you. he smiled widely just at the thought of you. he realized you were finished tinkering with his circuits, you sighed as you pulled away from him and step back admiring your work in a way, you spoke “i don’t have any knowledge about robotics or basically anything but hopefully that fixed the whole glitching problem.” you said with a smile.

𝞋𝞎 ; “how do you feel?” you asked painter, the ai quickly snapped outta his thoughts, and spoke “oh-um-..a lot better..” he said, he felt brand new honestly. you nodded and said “okay, that seems to fix the problem..” you said happily, “you did great painter.” , you patted the outer layer of the computer gently. you spoke again “you’re so pretty, you know that right?” painter looked up at you flustered and saying “w—whatever!” he tried to seem annoyed but that quickly faltered. he knew that he couldn’t stay mad at you, never. you laughed at his sudden attempt at being tough, you spoke up “i mean..” you trailed off a bit from your sentence, “you’re perfect in every way, what isn’t there to like about you painter?, after all you were so good..” as soon as painter heard your sentence he was unresponsive for a second then he yelled “OH BUZZ OFF READER!!” with a flushed face showing on his screen. you laughed in response.

A/n : andndnejejendenhe YEAHHH ITS FINISHEDDDD

[comicaurora]

tldr I committed to a bit too hard

The slow-dawning sunlight dappled down through dense, rich foliage, scattering golden lace across mossy trunks and grassy hillocks. The light caught on the forest floor in a thousand glassy dewdrops and bent, fisheyed, in globed inversions of the canopy above.

No breeze stirred the forest so early in the morning, but a thin mist gathered in the valley under the warming air. Sunbeams lanced through the fog, pale in the dawn but soon to brighten and intensify. For now, the air was damp and cool and still, and the scent of the night lingered.

Pip bent a pawful of grass to the side and sniffed the air suspiciously.

It was too quiet, too still. And with no wind, she couldn't mark the position of the strange beasts and their odd, dusty, acrid scent that had no place in these woods. It hung low and directionless over the peaceful morning, distant but permeating, like a faraway fire.

She adjusted her backslung blade, wrapped her cloak closer around her and dropped onto all fours, nose pointed straight ahead and whiskers standing at attention. Her dusty green-gray wrap would shield her from all but the most attentive prying eyes, and - she quirked an ear, just to be sure of the silence - most of the forest was still asleep, unlikely to mark her passage.

She managed to stifle a flinch as a sound that wasn't a sound bypassed her ears and rang straight into her head.

Pip? Where'd you go?

She exhaled softly through her nose, the barest expression of frustration she allowed herself.

Scouting, Alder. Go back to sleep.

She set off before he could reply, scurrying silently along the mossy forest floor, tracing a sinuous route through the canopy's shadow to stay out of the slow-brightening sunbeams.

Scouting?!

The thought squeaked with disbelief. She didn't answer it.

Alder never had fewer than three thoughts at a time, and the more agitated he became, the harder they became to sort through. A jumble rang in her skull, a snatch of Eldest told us- and moves like thunder and have to hide, that last one echoing in six different ways with the significance it held in his mind. She concentrated on tracing her silent route, one shadow to the next, and came to a stop under a broad-leafed stalk as Alder's distress built to a crescendo.

If she kept moving, eventually she'd slip out of his range. Wasn't that a tempting thought.

I said go back to sleep, she sent, and with an afterthought of inexpert kindness, added I'm being careful. It'll be fine.

The chattering ground to a halt, and she felt the effort it took him to focus his thoughts down to a single thread. Come back, Pip. We have to stay hidden until they're all gone.

We can't hide if we don't know where they are.

Pip caught the beginning of his protest and shook herself violently, breaking off the connection. It was rude, she knew; closing her mind completely was one of her rarer talents, but unlike her other oddities, this one she wasn't particularly respected for. Her skills as a scout were admired precisely because she had such sharp senses, physical and mental both - some days she could even hear the slow, tangled thoughts of the Long Shadows - but when she didn't want to be disturbed, she could wall herself off from the others as thoroughly as if she'd been on the other side of the forest.

And right now, picking her way between treetrunks and sniffing her way towards the bizarre menagerie that had invaded her forest, the last thing she wanted was to be disturbed.

Her right forepaw sank in unexpectedly soft soil, and she recoiled with a stifled gasp. Her eyes darted across the swath of ground, analyzing its shape - and then she widened her scope, scanning the yards beyond that first strange softness. In a low-lying, hollowed track between two thick-rooted trees, the carpet of grass and flowers were flattened and crushed into a felted mat, mud bubbling through it in irregular patches like sickness in a wound. A wide track had been beaten into the soil by dozens - at least dozens, she amended - of flat-pawed creatures. Their dusty, acrid stink lay heavily over it.

She drew back from the unnaturally soft soil. Even with her diminutive size and weight, there was the risk of getting mired in unexpectedly watery ground, and while rescue was never far away in these woods, she certainly didn't want to weather Alder's overconcern or Eldest Luma's quietly smug passivity. Instead she skirted towards a point where the track narrowed, lashed her tail for a momentary burst in balance, then sprang over the mud and latched onto a tree root on the other side, freshly ripped free from the soil and scored with dozens of thin scars from the claws of the marching creatures. She scurried up and settled at the tree's base, where the gnarled roots tangled into a more-than-sturdy foothold overhanging the morass.

With the newfound advantage of height, she surveyed the terrain. The tracks overlapped one another in a mad scramble, pouring up from the lowland forest and curving up and away.

They moved with surprising organization for such motley creatures. She counted at least four very different sizes of print in the track, some barely longer than her own body (nose to the base of her tail) while some were large enough to crush her underfoot without even noticing.

The tracks were only a few hours old. The swarm must have passed in the early pre-dawn. She strained her memory to try and recall if she'd felt any tremors from down in the sleep-halls of the hollow, but if she were honest with herself, they were too far down and too well-insulated by the soft soil walls to have marked their passage.

She turned her attention to where the trail vanished from sight, curving over and up the slope. The land in that direction was treacherous and, to the mind of her people, best avoided. Gravel slips and rain rivulets ran down between the massive plates of rock that jutted out of the soil, and even though trees and flowers overgrew them, their roots could not be trusted to hold the ground together enough for safe passage of one of her size. Fresh rainfall unearthed and dislodged glassy chips of stone, and the soil turned to mud and slipped between the boulders, exposing treacherous chasms that could swallow an unwary traveler. The shattered earth built up and up until it abruptly skewed and slanted down in a gentle curve, like the ground had been struck with a terrible force and the shattering had rippled out from the center. And in the heart of that broken land, glimpsed fearfully from treetops or the shadow of the stones, lay the stronghold of the Long Shadows.

Once, long redmoons ago, Pip had traveled three days and nights to scale the shattered peaks herself, to see the stronghold with her own eyes (mostly due to a burst of rebellious curiosity after a scolding from Eldest Luma). The works of the Long Shadows could always be distinguished from natural formations or nests - they had a love of smooth things, and the stone they shaped stretched cleanly skyward and bore no footholds beyond the straight, geometric fissures that ran up and through them. So Pip already knew that the stronghold was encircled by a massive shadowcrafted cliff, pale and smooth as ice and taller than trees, and it surrounded the entire stronghold just behind the shattered peaks. Beyond the wall, great columns and cliffs jutted skyward, more smooth handicraft of the Long Shadows. At times they were even spotted outside the walls, tending great swaths of land in the same precise straight lines they shaped their stone. Those tracts bore vast quantities of food in unnatural abundance, some that grew nowhere else in the valley, but the Long Shadows guarded them closely and harshly punished intrusion, and the Eldest three generations before Luma had forbade anyone from entering (or even approaching) their strange geometric works, no matter how lean the winters became.

She debated following the trail. It would inexorably lead her towards the stronghold, but if the creatures were focused solely on the Long Shadows, that was valuable information to bring back to the hollow. No doubt Eldest Luma would be pleased to have yet another reason to avoid the Long Shadows and their works.

A sudden awareness prickled in the small of Pip's back, shivering up into her ears and all the way down to the tip of her tail. Her gray fur bristled and she froze, eyes darting wildly, seeking the source. The feeling had no obvious impetus, but she trusted her tail with her life, and something was happening. Something sourceless, something…

At the base of the root she was balanced on, a sprout punctured the trodden soil and curled upwards, splitting into pairs of pale green leaves. She watched as it climbed to twice her height in less than three beats of her racing heart.

Instinct took over. She scampered up the tree like a shot, finding footholds in the bark with a practiced ease that belied her jolting terror. She plunged into the safety of the leafshadow and clung to a branch, breathing fast and shallow and trying very hard to stay quiet.

Below her, a green carpet spread across the mire as grass and flowers bloomed impossibly fast.

The Weeping Shadow was approaching.

Pip strained her ears and caught the hint of a whisper of movement through the grass, distant and soft but certainly coming closer. It was pointless to cast her eyes towards the darkness - The Weeping Shadow was, in the stories, always swathed in gray, near invisible in the shadow of the canopy, and it passed in many tales without a trace, save for its flowering footsteps as its passage drove the forest to frenzy.

But it never came so close to the stronghold. The Weeping Shadow's domain was the deep and tangled woods, much further into the valley than even the hollow. It haunted the river and the wild places, and its realm was thick with plants of impossible vitality and sweetness - but not even the bravest scout dared its domain, even when hunger was rampant. The fruits of the Weeping Shadow's realm were steeped in an absolute sorrow whose depth defied comprehension, and the slow pulse of its thoughts churned in dark and wrenching misery that could be heard across half the valley. It was too much for the mind to take for long, and scouts that had strayed into its influence took moons to recover from the borrowed grief.

That had been the prickling on Pip's neck. The slow approach of the Weeping Shadow was already casting a pallor on her mind - and it was getting closer.

Pip's thoughts scrambled for her next move. If she stayed hidden, the Weeping Shadow would pass nearer to her than anyone had ever dared. She flattened her ears against her head and focused on the walls around her mind. Could she close herself to it strongly enough to hold out?

A wild fear beat against her ribs. She wanted to stay clinging to this branch forever, but she also wanted to bolt, to sprint the length of the branch and fling herself into open space, trusting the soft soil to cushion her fall - or rather, if she were honest with herself in that moment, heedless of what the fall might do to her. The desperate urge to flee was strong in her people, and here, faced with a terror closer than ever before, it was nigh overwhelming.

But Pip had a third instinct that overruled all others when she allowed it, and it had been slowly growing in her mind ever since she'd slipped from the hollow before the dawn. It was a hunger, of a sort, and one that warred always with fear. The hunger was curiosity, a thrumming urge for exploration and understanding that spurred her on through peril and dark for the promise of clarity on the other side.

The beasts in her forest were descending on the stronghold, and their passage had stirred the Weeping Shadow from its domain. Something was happening - something vast, something perhaps unknowable. But it would certainly stay unknowable if she didn't even try to know it.

And perhaps the Weeping Shadow knew.

Pip had more control than most over the openness of her mind. It alarmed her peers, sometimes, that she could pass among them in silence, unreceptive to their soundless speech. It unnerved them more, for those who knew - from a time when she was more open with her secrets and her strangeness - that she could at times hear the deep thoughts of the Long Shadows, and stranger still, sometimes even catch a shred of their meaning. The idea that the minds of the Long Shadows could in any way compare to the bright, clear thoughts of her people was on the surface laughable, and just under that surface, frightening. Still, she knew it was true. Their minds were dark, slow places, but they contained meaning and knowledge, most beyond the reckoning of her kind.

The mind of the Weeping Shadow was an abyss of grief and sorrow, but if she could attune her senses to it - if she could withstand its pressure - she could, perhaps, glean its purpose in the shattered peaks, and what it knew of the creatures that she pursued.

The underbrush cracked. Pip flattened herself against the branch and peered intently at the sound as the rolling wave of green spread under the tree, blanketing in every direction.

A shape moved in the shadow of the trees, ponderous and slow.

Pip felt her eyes grow hot and stinging, the space behind them heavy with unshed tears. A borrowed bottomless grief encroached on the walls of her mind, lapping at it like a swelling river threatening its banks.

The Weeping Shadow broke from the treeline and stepped forward.

It towered, even from Pip's high vantage point. It was gray and still and almost shapeless in the dim of the canopy, but twin lights glimmered near its summit, pale green like the sprouts boiling at its feet.

Pip's head pounded. The pressure of its presence was terrible. It was vast, yes, but the power of the sorrow within it seemed vaster still - like all the forest around it was desperate to weep, and the Shadow was the only part of it that could, yet it refused to.

The Shadow tilted its head down, and the lights of its eyes vanished in the gloom. But it was not weeping, Pip knew. It was… looking.

Looking at the tracks under its carpet of grass.

Pip gritted her teeth, gripped the branch, and opened her mind.

It was gentler than she had anticipated. The pressure and power was indescribable, but once she stopped trying to push it back, she found it moved her rather like water would - with force, but without pain. It was almost easy to let the thoughts of this vast creature buffet her where they would.

The words in the Weeping Shadow's mind were unknown to her, but she felt a snatch of them repeating over and over again. The words mattered less than the feeling that drove them, and as she focused, she realized that the Weeping Shadow was, in some way, at war with itself; the thoughts were not all in agreement. The repetition smelled of deep, old terror, but its loop was broken over and over again by a different, newer thought - one that Pip herself was intimately familiar with, strong enough that she needed no translation to parse it:

But I can help.

Dimly, in her faraway body, she felt tears pouring from her, hot and desperate from a grief she couldn't fathom. Her claws gripped the bark of the branch. The Weeping Shadow's thoughts, at the moment, were focused on its inner war, but it did nothing to shield Pip from the substrate of its misery. Still, she was onto something. If she could just push through, she might learn what the Weeping Shadow understood of the intruders to their forest.

Pip dug deeper. The Weeping Shadow knew what these creatures were - knew what they intended - believed it could help in some way - but what did it know of them?

Running below the looping dread and the punctuating bursts of hope, Pip glimpsed a glimmering ribbon of understanding wending its way just below the Weeping Shadow's conscious thought. It snaked under the fear, coiled around the thought of help. This had to be the knowledge that had motivated the Weeping Shadow's unheard-of migration. This was the mystery of the creatures answered.

This, perhaps, was Pip's only mistake. As she caught the thread of that understanding, it abruptly yanked against the current and plunged her down, down, down into the icy depth of the Weeping Shadow's truest misery. Its knowledge of these creatures came from the same bone-deep wellspring as the torrent of tears, and Pip screamed aloud as it battered her mind full-force. Alien thoughts crashed against her, unbearably loud; the grinding of bone, the shifting of stone, the pounding of waves greater than any river, the splintering of mighty trees. A twisting, a breaking - a power like a maddened, wild animal, thrashing and uncontrollable, kept in check only by its own terrible exhaustion and grief. She was so, so small, and somehow in the depths of this vastness she was even further diminished, crushed to a single point of light-

And something was watching her.

With a last mighty burst of willpower she released the thought-thread, flung herself away, and tumbled off the branch. It was something of a mercy that she was too stunned to feel the impact, and the carpet of seedlings cushioned her fall.

The first thing she became aware of was her breathing, high and fast and shallow in time with her racing heartbeat, real panic and borrowed sorrow draining away with shocking rapidity. Second, she felt the pain; her head pounding with spent exhaustion, her paws cramped in every joint, her back and shoulders bruised from where the impact of the fall had driven her scabbarded blade against her spine.

The third thing she became aware of was the shadow stretching towards her, claws stretched as long as her whole body, the deep purple of the skies after dusk.

The Weeping Shadow loomed over her, vaster than mountains. Two points of green pierced out from the dark.

She ran.

[txttletale]

Hi! Do you think you could link me to some resources about the problems/ evils of the EU? Would love to find some but it's hard to know what's reliable when I have no base knowledge in this area + you seem very well informed :)

sure. let's start with what the EU does to its own member states--in 2009, the EU bailed the greek government out of severe debt on the condition that they establish brutal austerity measures, cutting public spending and welfare. these measures served to immiserate and destroy the lives of thousands of greek people:

Greek mortality has worsened significantly since the beginning of the century. In 2000, the death rate per 100,000 people was 944.5. By 2016, it had risen to 1174.9, with most of the increase taking place from 2010 onwards.

[forbes]

Since the implementation of the austerity programme, Greece has reduced its ratio of health-care expenditure to GDP to one of the lowest within the EU, with 50% less public hospital funding in 2015 than in 2009. This reduction has left hospitals with a deficit in basic supplies, while consumers are challenged by transient drug shortages.

[the lancet]

The homeless population is thought to have grown by 25 per cent since 2009, now numbering 20,000 people.

[oxfam]

the most brutal treatment, however, the EU of course reserves for migrants from the global south. the EU sets strict migration quotas and uses its member states as weapons against desperate people fleeing across the mediterranean. boats are prevented from landing, migrants that do make it to land are repelled with brutal violence, and refugees are deported back to countries where their lives are in lethal danger. these policies have led to many, many deaths--and the refugees and migrants who do survive are treating fucking inhumanely.

After a perilous journey across the desert, Abdulaziz was locked up in Triq al-Sikka, a grim prison in Tripoli, Libya. Why? Because the EU pays Libyan militias millions of euros to detain anyone deemed a possible migrant to Europe [...] A leaked EU internal memorandum in 2020 acknowledged that capturing migrants was now “a profitable business model” [...] in Triq al-Sikka and other detention centres, “acts of murder, enslavement, torture, rape and other inhumane acts are committed against migrants”, observed a damning UN report.

[the guardian]

Volunteers have logged more than 27,000 deaths by drowning since 1993, often hundreds at a time when large ships capsize. These account for nearly 80% of all the entries.

[the guardian]

Refugees and asylum seekers were punched, slapped, beaten with truncheons, weapons, sticks or branches, by police or border guards who often removed their ID tags or badges, the committee said in its annual report. People on the move were subject to pushbacks, expulsion from European states, either by land or sea, without having asylum claims heard. Victims were also subject to “inhuman and degrading treatment”, such as having bullets fired close to their bodies while they lay on the ground, being pushed into rivers, sometimes with hands tied, or being forced to walk barefoot or even naked across a border.

[the guardian]

In September, Greece opened a refugee camp on the island of Samos that has been described as prison-like. The €38m (£32m) facility for 3,000 asylum seekers has military-grade fencing and CCTV to track people’s movements. Access is controlled by fingerprint, turnstiles and X-rays. A private security company and 50 uniformed officers monitor the camp. It is the first of five that Greece has planned; two more opened in November.

[the guardian]

i could go on. i could cite dozens more similarly brutal news stories about horrific mistreatment, or any of the dozens of people who have killed themselves in the custody of border police under horrific conditions. the EU is a murderous institution that does not care about the lives of refugees and migrants or about the lives of the citizens of any member state that is not pursuing a vicious enough neoliberal political program

[serickswrites]

Hey :)

No rush🖤 just wanted to know if you're going to continue the Monster series? ; the one where the team thinks whumpee betrayed them but they disn't and it was whumper

Again no rush,sry if i'm disturbing you with this💓

Love your writing💛💗💛

Anon! I am definitely going to be continuing this series (sorry it took so long to answer this). It's written and plotted for a total of 6 parts including the first part. Please enjoy part 2!

Part 1

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, burns, branding, physical violence, unconsciousness, beating

Everything was pain when Smallest Teammate came to. They were chained to a wall in a darkened basement and their body hurt. The team had been thorough in their beating and Smallest Teammate was paying the price. At least Whumper wasn't there when they woke up.

There had to be a way they could escape. Had to be a way they could get out. They had to get out and warn the team. Convince Team Leader that Whumper was the liar and traitor and that Smallest Teammate had been innocent. They had to or else Whumper would hurt the rest of the team.

The basement door banged open and Smallest Teammate flinched. So much for finding a way out before Whumper came in. "Well, well, well," Whumper said excitedly as they walked down the steps, "it looks like your luck has finally run out, little mouse, and I've caught you."

"The team will figure you out!" Smallest Teammate knew that Whumper would hurt them, torture them, most likely kill them, but maybe that would buy the team enough to realize who Whumper truly was.

Whumper rolled their eyes. "I highly doubt that, little mouse. They love me. It's you they think are the problem. It's you who should be afraid. I'm going to enjoy taking my time with you, little mouse."

Smallest Teammate opened their mouth to reply, but Whumper kicked out at them. Whumper's foot connected with their ribs and Smallest Teammate found themself gasping for air. Whumper kicked them again. And again. And again. Smallest Teammate's already bruised and battered body was in worse shape than before. Every kick hurt a thousand times worse than they had when the team had beaten them. Every punch. Every vicious blow was made a thousand times worse by Whumper's anger and desire to hurt Smallest Teammate.

Finally, Whumper stopped. Smallest Teammate could barely keep their eyes open. They fought to stay conscious. They had to stay conscious or Whumper would grow bored and potentially hurt the team. Smallest Teammate moaned with pain as Whumper lifted them beneath their armpits and carried them to a table in the corner of the room. Smallest Teammate couldn't fight back as they were chained down.

They were barely tracking Whumper's movements. Barely tracking anything. Whumper's face suddenly loomed over them. "This is going to be so much fun. You're mine. All mine, Smallest Teammate. And I intend to milk you for every last drop of pain I can. So don't think I'm going to be killing you any time soon. I'm going to enjoy myself long before I kill you. And everyone will know that you were mine once you're gone."

"I...I...I--" Smallest Teammate tried to get the words out, but their head was fuzzy and dark. They opened their mouth to try again when Whumper pressed something to their forearm. Smallest Teammate howled with pain as their flesh seared around the brand Whumper had pressed to them.

"It's my name, you know. Everyone will know that you are mine. And that I had you first." Whumper smirked as they ground the brand down further into Smallest Teammate's arm.

Smallest Teammate wailed with pain. They screamed and tried to move, but couldn't because of the restraints. They cried and begged Whumper to stop, but Whumper did not relent. It was only after Whumper had pressed the brand a third time to their body that Smallest Teammate let the darkness that had been waiting claim them.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@acer-whumpstuff @eight-littlenightmares @daffodilsinspring

[firstdeerwife]

C.13

Childhood

Alastor's memories often intertwined with violence, with the sound of screams and breaking glass.

From a very young age, his life had been a constant storm, a cycle of unbearable shouts and silences that haunted every corner of his home.

His father, a cruel-tempered white man, and his mother, a strong but trapped Black woman, were the embodiment of everything that was wrong in his world.

Alastor, barely a child, watched his mother endure constant abuse. Every time his father returned drunk, the shadows of the night seemed to stretch further.

But in the midst of that chaos was his mother.

A strong woman, with skin smooth as mahogany and eyes full of unshakable kindness.

Despite all she suffered, she always found a way to smile at Alastor. Her love was the only thing that kept the boy sane in that hell.

Despite everything she endured, she always managed to smile at him. Her affection was the only thing keeping him grounded in that inferno.

"Never forget that you are special, Alastor," she would say, caressing his face after each of the brutal fights with his father.

"You have a light inside you that no one can extinguish."

He clung to that love, seeking refuge in the warmth of her hugs, in the sweetness of her voice. Alastor was a mama’s boy, and for him, his mother was everything.

Whenever his father hit him, his mother was there, healing his wounds, promising that one day, things would get better.

But Alastor knew those promises were empty, that the world would never change for them.

One night, when Alastor was just a teenager, his life took a definitive turn.

His father came home more drunk than usual, staggering through the door with bloodshot eyes and trembling hands.

Alastor watched him from the corner of the room, trying to disappear into the shadows.

He knew what was coming.

“Damn you, woman!” his father growled, searching for his mother with uncontrollable rage.

“You can’t hide him from me!”

His mother tried to protect him, as she always did, placing herself between him and his father’s fury.

But that night was different.

The man left his mother unconscious on the floor, beaten so badly there was a large red pool under her head.

When the man raised his hand to strike Alastor, he stopped him, grabbing a kitchen knife with trembling hands.

The gleam of the metal under the dim kitchen light was enough for Alastor to understand that something was about to break.

“No!” Alastor murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he looked at his father with a mixture of terror and resolve.

The man laughed, a bitter, broken laugh, before lunging at him.

What happened next was a blur. The sound of flesh being pierced, his father’s scream, the body falling to the floor.

Alastor's mind slowly processed what he had just done.

Blow after blow, with blind violence, he unleashed all the hatred he had accumulated over the years.

When he finally stopped, he was covered in blood, his hands trembling.

Never again.

It was that night Alastor realized that the power of violence was something he could control, something he could use.

He had protected his mother once again, but this time at a terrible price.

His father’s blood stained the floor, and with the knife still in hand, he looked at her with tears in his eyes.

“I did it for you, Mama. I did it for you…”

But something was wrong.

His mother’s figure remained motionless on the floor, her mahogany skin bathed in a spectral light, completely still.

Alastor, trembling, ran to her, falling to his knees beside her body. He shook her, calling out to her in desperation, but she didn’t respond.

She was gone.

In an instant, his entire life changed. His mother, his pillar, his only source of love and warmth in that cold and cruel world, was dead.

He clung to her lifeless body, the weight of the pain crushing him. He cried like he had never cried before, his tears mixing with the blood on the floor, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces.

“I did it for you…” he repeated over and over, but it no longer made sense. His mother was dead, and with her death, something inside Alastor extinguished.

That was the last time he cried.

In that moment, with his mother’s corpse in his arms, Alastor made a decision.

He would never feel that much pain again. He would close his heart to the world, harden himself, and never allow anyone to hurt him again.

And so began his path toward darkness. Violence was no longer just revenge.

It was control.

For Alastor, love, compassion, and hope died along with his mother that night.

And in their place, only the coldness of a heart that would never feel again remained.

But Alastor, far from feeling relief, felt something deeper, something dark growing inside him.

He realized, at that moment, that the world would not improve on its own. That violence was the only answer in a world as cruel as his.

That was how Alastor began his journey into darkness, becoming the killer that New Orleans feared.

Because for him, death wasn’t just an act of revenge. It was an act of control.

The fear and submission he had felt his entire life were replaced by a dark determination.

He would never let anyone control him again.

He would never be the victim.

Masterlist

[magnoliasandarson]

birds of a feather pt. 2

Dick wasn’t sure what to make of the Redhood Jason. His baby brother, his Little Wing- back from the dead. He was gloriously and miraculously alive, but there was something different. For one, he was jacked. His Jaybird had been five-foot-nothing when they buried him, but he was now a tank given human form- well over six feet tall, at least two hundred pounds.

Then there was the less obvious. Jason had always been a dynamic fighter, explosive and quick on his feet, but where he once moved like lightning, he now moved like wildfire, fluid and lethal. Dick recognized the brutality, the swiftness. Somehow, Jason had been with the League of Assassins. It was easy to put two and two together; someone had dumped the corpse of his baby brother into the Lazarus Pit. His brother hadn’t turned away from the light; someone turned him. They would pay dearly. 

He went to Bruce immediately and demanded they kill call Talia. But Bruce didn’t react the way Dick expected. He didn’t fly to Nanda Parbat; he didn’t swear vengeance in the name of his son. Instead, he said, “This changes nothing,” and went to find the Redhood, stone-faced and deathly quiet.

Dick hesitated for all of a minute before suiting up and running after Bruce, taking care to stay just out of sight. He’d known Bruce for half his life and had spent about as much time cleaning up his messes; he knew when the elder was going to make a mistake he’d dearly regret. He wanted to be wrong. 

Still, Dick crouched in the rafters of the warehouse and watched. He wanted to sob, wanted to scream, wanted to rage as his Little Wing tossed the hog-tied Joker onto the ground in front of him. Keeping the fucking clown as a barrier between him and his father. His fingers flexed involuntarily around a WingDing as the Joker started cackling, “How sweet! It’s a family reunion!”

Jason yanked his helmet off and tossed it between him and Bruce- no man’s land. In a fucked-up way, Dick almost laughed. Jason was still Jason, even under all the rage and madness. Thank fuck Dick had found and defused that bomb- Jason’d probably go on too long, and they’d be blown to pieces. 

Any semblance of a smile faded away from his face when Jason spoke, “Ignoring what he's done in the past. Blindly, stupidly disregarding the entire graveyards he's filled, the thousands who have suffered, the friends he's crippled.” Barbara’s agonized face as she stared at the Batgirl suit from her wheelchair flashed through Dick’s mind. His knuckles popped as he clenched his fists. Jason wasn’t wrong. Dick had believed- had known- what Jason was saying was true; he’d beaten the Joker to death with his bare hands, all for Bruce to bring him back. 

 Dick shifted his weight, ready to drop down in a split-second, “You know, I thought... I thought I'd be the last person you'd ever let him hurt. If it had been you that he beat to a bloody pulp, if he had taken you from this world, I would've done nothing but search the planet for this pathetic pile of evil, death-worshiping garbage and then send him off to hell!” Oh, Jaybird. This was all wrong, all so fucking wrong. Bruce had lost his mind when Jason died; why wasn’t Bruce telling him?

Finally, finally, Bruce opened his mouth, “You don't understand. I don't think you've ever understood.” Dick was going to kill Bruce. Then, he was going to cart his brother off to therapy and ice cream.

“What? That your moral code just won't allow for that? It's too hard to cross that line?” So much therapy and so much ice cream. Maybe even a trip to a bookstore. Or an island. Just anywhere but Gotham.

“No! God Almighty, no. It'd be too damned easy. All I've ever wanted to do is kill him. A day doesn't go by that I don't think about subjecting him to every horrendous torture he's dealt out to others, and then... end him.” Barbara’s beaten form in a hospital bed, Jason’s tiny grave- Dick felt all too prepared to assume the burden for Bruce.

The Joker laughed again, “Aw, Batsy’s thinkin’ bout lil ol’ me!” Jason slammed a boot into the clown’s side, and Dick found himself almost cheering.

Bruce carried on, too stuck in his self-flagellation and morality, “But if I do that, if I allow myself to go down into that place... I'll never come back.” Boo-fuckin-hoo, Dick would stop Bruce if he went too far. He'd done it before.

“Why? I'm not talking about killing Penguin or Scarecrow or Dent. I'm talking about him, just him. And doing it because... because he took me away from you.” Dick was afraid that if he exhaled, he’d scream. It took him months to realize that Jason wasn’t his usurper- that he was just a kid who needed a family. If Jason thought for a minute that Dick hadn’t wanted to burn the world to ashes-

“I can't. I'm sorry.” Fuck this.

Jason chuckled, low and uneven, and Dick felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise, “You don’t have to. I will,” he pulled a gun from his hip, cocked the hammer, and lowered it to point at the Joker’s laughing face, “Him or me, Bruce. Either kill me, or I kill him.” No, no, no, no-

Bruce reached into his utility belt and drew a Batarang- NO

Time slowed. Was this how Wally felt?

Dick launched from the beam-

Jason turned away from the Joker, his mouth opened to speak-

The Batarang glinted in the flickering lights as it flew-

Dick screamed his brother’s name, arm outstretched-

“JASON!”

A river of red opened and poured out of Jason’s neck-

Jason fell to the ground, clutching his throat-

Dick was frozen. He was standing on solid ground. His brother was bleeding out ten feet away, with the Joker howling in laughter on the ground next to him. Dick could sense Bruce Batman behind him. Unmoving.  

It wasn’t something many people acknowledged- even in his own family- but Dick Grayson was a weapon given skin. He had trained with Raptor, Lady Shiva, and Deathstroke. They didn’t specialize in nonlethal force. Dick had mutilated, tortured, and killed in the name of justice. Batman just killed his brother. Carelessly, he flicked a Wingding into the Joker’s neck, slicing his carotid like Jason’s.

"Let him go," Dick triggered his escrima stick, sparks of blue crackling into existence, "now."

He turned to face the man he had loved as a father who killed his brother, his voice uncharacteristically solemn and steady, “You killed my brother.” Blue lightning crackled into existence, drowning out the sound of the Joker’s dying giggles.

Bruce’s Batman’s face was carved from stone, even as he raised his fists, “You broke the code.”

“Fuck your code,” Dick launched himself at Batman, escrima sticks raised, “he was your son!”

Once upon a time, many years ago, Bruce had taught Dick to fight, but Dick wasn’t trying to fight his former mentor; he was trying to kill him. Batman swung at Nightwing, aiming to shatter bone and rend flesh. They had crossed the point of no return, and they both knew it, “He came back wrong.”

Dick roared in rage, primal and furious, not speaking a word, slamming a well-placed kick into Batman’s weak knee. He was done talking. He’d tried to talk to Bruce Batman for years. If the old man wanted to fight someone, he’d be reminded why Nightwing was his contingency plan.

Batman fell to one knee, slashing out with a Batarang, but Nightwing caught it with an escrima stick, knocking it from the elder’s hand, and slamming the other into the side of his head. Dick dodged a sloppy punch, flipping out of the way with agility Batman could never match. 

“Stand down, Nightwing,” Batman bellowed, “That’s enough!” He staggered back to his feet, catching the younger in the ribs with a gauntleted fist. The force of the punch threw Dick, tossed him through the air onto his back on the ground, a pained gasp leaving his lips.

Dick snarled, a horrifying imitation of the smile he was famous for, “Never again.” He’d never stand down again, not for Batman. He launched into the air off his shoulders, his feet connecting with the Bat symbol, knocking Batman onto the concrete. 

Nightwing knelt on the Batsuit, pressing a Wingding into his throat, “You slit his throat.” Tears blurred his vision as he cut through the armor, the blade touching his former mentor’s skin, drawing a single drop of beaded blood. 

“Dad?”

In a heartbeat, Dick was on the floor between the Joker’s corpse and his brother. He thought he was dead; he didn’t check- “Jason,” the word left his bloody lips like a prayer, “fuck, Jason.” He pressed his fingers to his brother’s throat- there was a thick scar under the gore but no open wound. Jason’s pulse was fast and erratic- but it was there.

“Dickie?” Jason’s voice was small, croaky. Batman had probably cut into his vocal cords when he threw that stupid Batarang. (You should call them Batarangs- like Bat and Boomerang!)

“I’m here, Little Wing,” tears dripped off his chin onto his brother’s face, “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

Distantly, Dick heard Batman jump out of a window. He didn’t care. He was holding his brother, his blessedly alive brother, fuck Batman. Birds of a feather stuck together.

[ms3ox]

w i f & e

In which, Alastor has his ego beaten into the ground, and still can't find a good reason to hate you.

Part I/???

Tags: Slow Burn, Really Petty Enemies to Lovers, Unintentional Marriage (soon)

Notes: I have a good ~40 pages of this already written. Lmk if you guys want more.

______________________________________________________________

At one point in time, Alastor could definitively say that he didn’t care what happened to his wife. 

You were… auxiliary at best and a nuisance at worst. A mess of naivety, youth, and a bumbling sense of goodness. Its truly a marvel how someone so seemingly innocent made her way down to the Pride Ring. But perhaps that was it. Pride. At least, that was his working hypothesis. He couldn’t say for certain what landed you eternal damnation, and perhaps it was none of his business anyway what with the way you kept it strictly under wraps. In another life, perhaps, Alastor would be curious, but time is wasted on flights of folly such as deducing the nature of his benefactor’s death. You had spiraling horns etched into your skull, so you were, in one way or another, just like the rest of them. 

It isn’t until he feels that tug that he realizes what he feels is nothing short of care. The phantom tugs at his chest, at his heart, a pitiful plea for help, but one that smells so familiarly sweet that he knows who it is and where its coming from.

And despite the way this growing humanity makes his fingers strain and curl, he dissolves into shadow and slithers toward your pull. 

---

Boredom is the worst part of Hell. 

Killing and eating can only be so much fun. After disposing of his… hmm, how many now? After disposing of his thousandth body, he finds that the appetite following the kill is nigh on nonexistent. He’s just… restless and bored. There are no turf wars around, no drama within the collective of Overlords, Hell, even Vox has been a doldrum of content lately- a stream of useless garbage that seems even more mind-numbing than the demon’s usual flare for juicy gossip and electric presentation. 

Deal-making is the same as it always has been, too. Alastor finds himself putting in all the work, all the fanciful and dandyish flare to impress his prey before ripping their autonomy right out of them with a handshake. And they’re all the same. Scared, hopeless, down on their luck. Reluctantly trustful of a smile before regretting it for eternity. When one owns thousands of souls… none of it feels… fulfilling anymore. The blood-red skies of Hell seem to fade to a miserable, dried brown- the same sky he’s been staring up at for the past century. 

God, he is so bored. 

This is the real torture. The real damnation. 

Rosie must see the apathy in his eyes and dullness in his smile because her face quickly contorts into something concerned the moment he enters her emporium.

“Alastor?” She would whisper with that soft concern the ladies in his life harbor for him. Even that has become dull to him. “You look all outta sorts, mister. What’s goin’ on, hah?”

And just like many of the concerned ladies in his life, Rosie is quick to offer a solution. He sits with his fingers steepled and his gaze far, far away as Rosie explains another deal opportunity to him. For once, Alastor doesn’t feel like being theatrical. Boredom has sucked the life out of this radio broadcast. Newcomer… Naive… Struggling in Hell, yada yada. 

“...I’ll consider it.” Is Alastor’s simple and placating reply. 

—

The first thing Alastor notices is that you know your way around a knife. Not necessarily how to fight, but you seem to have a keen eye for all the mortal points on a demon’s body- and when executed correctly…

“Impressive, my dear!”

The dandyish facade and wide smile return again like muscle memory- perhaps that’s what it is after decades of tricking demons into eternal bondage. Your eyes narrow suspiciously as the tall, creepy man in the red coat takes measured, clacking steps toward you. Soon enough, Alastor finds himself on the sharper end of your bloodied little pocket knife. Come to think of it, Rosie had said something about the demon being somewhat adept with a weapon… He’s sure there’s more information that his boredom has glossed over and tucked into his memory, never to be found.

“Alastor,” He says without so much as a flinch, taking the other end of the knife and shaking it as if it were your hand. “Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure.”

He pays no mind to the way his blood seeps around it. He’ll visit the tailor for new gloves later. And… perhaps a dry cleaning, what with the violent spray of demon blood that the little demoness incurred with your paltry knife skills and scarily surgical precision. But you seem to pick up on the fact that no amount of ferality and intent to kill can bridge the sloping gap in power between you. Your eyes narrow.

“Do you want something?”

Alastor hums, tapping a finger to his chin. His polished shoes clack with every circling step he takes around you, you and your tattered rags you call clothes.

“Want is a strong word, my dear.” He taps your head with his microphone, then points to the disgustingly garish Embassy as another day drops from its count. “Our annual cull is coming soon. You won’t want to be a street urchin when God’s little pests arrive.”

The mention of God seems to set you off in some way. Your shoulders square, your eyes widen, and there’s some kind of hunger in your black irises that catches him off-guard for a moment.

Interesting…

“I believe it would be in your best interests to seek protection… Shelter…” He circles you once more before arriving at your front. Alastor extends his hand, bending down to meet the sprightly thing eye to eye. Your scleras are pure, white… untainted. Something he hopes to rectify.

“Let’s make a deal.”

A blade narrowly misses the underside of his rib, and he only realizes that when he sees one of his blackened, eldtrich tendrils squeezing at your wrist, keeping it firmly steady while it hovers just before his coat. Alastor clicks his tongue, straightening his posture. He could kill you…  but that feels like a waste of resources.

“Calm yourself, dear, I haven’t even outlined the terms!”

The girl’s eyes narrow even more, if possible, your thin brows furrowing in a way that casts angry shadows over your features. This was going to be a hard sell. But… Alastor’s been known to play with words. His hand finds your straining wrist, replacing the hardness of his power with a gentle touch.

“Pledge yourself to me and I-.”

“No.”

Alastor can’t help the sharp feedback his microphone makes at your sudden dismissal. You will just not let him get a word in edgewise, hm? His jaw hangs open in shock before he quickly rectifies himself, smoothing down his suit. Okay. He can work with no. He’s walked this path many times before. They always come crawling back, one way or another. 

“Hm. I hope you keep this conversation in mind then.”

He hums a jaunty tune as he leaves the stubborn girl to the shadows.

---

[whatitshouldvebeen]

After your most recent fic I couldn’t n help imagining, how would Johnny react if he did accidentally kill the reader? Like maybe one of his beatings just goes too far, do you think he would be regretful or would he really just not care? I love all of your work 💕

Johnny Slaughter x Reader

Too Much Trouble part 2

Contains: death, extreme angst, don't read if you're sensitive 'cause I almost cried writing it

Johnny knew something was wrong the moment your body shuddered and went limp. 

Well, he knew something was wrong before that point. You were what was wrong. You and your annoying bullshit, the way you wouldn't leave him alone, the way you reached out and cupped his face and choked out you loved him as he strangled you. 

Why wouldn't you shut up? If you had just stopped following him around apologizing, begging for his forgiveness, asking what you could have done differently, this wouldn't have happened. 

His frustration peaked when you insisted he needed help, claiming his anger was an overreaction. You didn't get to decide the impact of your actions on him. If only you had focused more on his feelings than on justifying your mistakes, perhaps you'd have realized the need to stay silent.

But, no. You continued to express concern for him, wanting him to understand your perspective. As if he could comprehend the world through the lens of someone so foolish and lacking self-preservation. Being so fucking stupid as to claim he was the one with the problem as you were the source of every single issue in his life. 

In his mind, there was a snapshot of who you were supposed to be: docile, sweet, a homemaker, a mother, a comforter, an absolver. You always forgave him, you never gave up on him, and you never once even considered leaving him.

But when you strayed from that image; when you were stressed, when you were upset or angry, and especially when you dared to talk back, you weren't the person he idealized you as. You were pathetic, stupid, weak, and you disgusted him. 

So it felt natural when he beat you, strangled you, smashed you against the wall and threatened you. After all, you weren't behaving. You weren't conforming to his idealized version of you. You weren't the person he cared for, you were someone else entirely. And god, he hated it when you weren't the vision in his mind's eye.

But the moment that shudder coursed through your body, the hands that had been in the process of beating you stilled. The mouth that had been wishing your death silenced. The hate that had been coursing through his veins chilled. 

"Quit messin' around," he said, shoving your back as you lay face down on the ground in a pool of your own blood. You only jostled, then lay silent. 

Johnny shoved you again, then again, and you rolled over on your side. Your eyes were dull and lifeless, bloodshot and swollen from crying and being beaten. Your mouth hung open limply, blood trickling from your split lip.

Disbelief flooded him. You'd survived worse before, why did you give up this time? You told him you'd never leave him! You swore it on your life! Yet, you were gone. You'd lied. You did leave him. 

He didn't recognize the foreign feeling twisting in his stomach. Regret? Remorse? Wasn't this what he'd been wishing for every goddamn time you'd made him beat you back to your senses? 

He wiped his cheek. Your blood mixed with his tears, smearing across his face. 

"Baby?" He said, much softer. He rested a gentle hand on your shoulder. Your face was smashed almost beyond recognition. Your throat was purple and black. Even your tongue was swollen, holding your shattered mouth open. 

He sat on the floor, cradling your battered form. One hand stroked your hair, patches having been torn from your scalp when he flung you around the room. "Honey, this ain't funny. Quit pretendin'."

Johnny knew. He knew what he'd done. He finally freed himself of you. So why did it hurt? Why was his heart fracturing into a thousand glass shards, stabbing through his chest, more painful than any wound he'd ever sustained?

Tears were streaming down now, but he didn't notice until they splattered on your face. He angrily wiped them off you, which turned into a frenzy of trying to clean you. 

He ripped off his shirt and used it to rub away the blood until he could almost see the woman he could remember. The woman who would light up when he returned. Who would run into his arms, squeeze him tight, and tell him she missed him. Who told him she loved him as the last thing she said every night, even if he hardly ever responded. 

Who carried his baby.

Cold dread filled him. His baby, only two, and already their momma was gone. 

Johnny knew he wasn't a good father. He was hardly ever home, and when he was he spent more time annoyed with the kid than spending time with them. He'd get pissed when they repeated themselves, or when they'd beg for his attention, even though he knew they weren't doing it to anger him. 

And now their mother was cold, lifeless in his arms. The woman who had protected their kid on those days when he'd had enough of their whining and wanted to leave them in the woods. Who had assured him that he'd love them when they got older, and swore they were only so annoying because they didn't know any better. 

He sobbed, then. He couldn't remember the last time he cried, but he was broken now. He held you tight and moaned, his body racked with tormenting pain. He hated you, but he realized he loved you even more. Only, it was too late. 

All he wanted to do was to bring you back even just for a moment to tell you how much you meant to him. He told your corpse all the things you'd hoped and prayed to hear every moment of your life. 

He said he wished he would've treated you better. He told you he loved you and he'd never again take you for granted. 

And there you lay, like all the times you'd told him you loved him and he responded with silence or distain. For the first time, he felt how you felt every moment of your life. 

He loved you even if you never returned the sentiment again. He loved you, even though you could never love him back. 

He loved you, but it'd always be too late.

[bisexualchaosdemon]

What if Neil was trans and had a baby after Mary died?

I've seen a few atfg fics where Neil has a sibling or kid but all the ones I've read were heavily influenced by Mary's presence. It got me thinking about what it would be like if she wasn't around when the kid came into the picture. I wrote a little prologue, lemme know if it's something you guys might wanna read.

**trigger warning: mentions of SA, forced pregnancy, and traumatic childbirth**

Hope was a dangerous, disquieting thing

🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵Prologue🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵

When Neil was fourteen, his father caught up to them in Seattle and he got separated from Mary. Nathan went after Mary and a couple of his men went after Neil. While they were apart, Neil was raped for the first time and Mary was beaten for the last time. Somehow, they both escaped, managing to reunite at one of their emergency rendezvous and take off running.

That's where their luck ran out though because they only made it to California before Mary's injuries finally bested her. In the end, his mother couldn't go on but she made Neil promise to keep running because one of them had to make it. With no other choice, Neil burned her body, buried her ashes on the beach, and did what he had promised.

Then, impossibly, things went from bad to worse — After a month of just sort of drifting in his grief, Neil found out he was pregnant.

He had no way out this one, there was no backdoor to slip through or bus to catch. He couldn't risk someone contacting the police or social services when a fourteen-year-old turned up at a clinic to request an abortion without parental consent. And, even if they weren't incredibly dangerous, any illegal methods for a termination risked Nathan tracking him down. So, with no choice but to keep the pregnancy, he spent the next eight months jumping from place to place, trying to remain out of sight whenever possible. And he hated every minute of it.

He spent the entirety of his pregnancy terrified and alone, and he gave birth alone too. He hadn't been able to see any doctors or go to a hospital for obvious reasons. He tried his best to have a healthy pregnancy but the research he had managed to do on childbirth was extremely limited. He didn't even know what was happening really before he ended up giving birth in a back ally somewhere — fourteen years old and completely alone.

The baby hadn't cried at first and Neil had never been more terrified than he had been in those few seconds. That first cry brought a relief heavy enough to break him completely. His plan the whole time had been to give the baby up, just leave them at a fire station somewhere and pray they'd have a better life than he did. He thought about it a thousand times but every time he looked at his daughter's face, and he just couldn't do it. He couldn't give her up. He didn't want to be alone again.

So he picked himself up, skipped town with his daughter craddled close, and decided to do the one thing he had always wanted; He cut off all of his hair, taped down his chest and started telling people he was a boy. He had always felt like being a girl wasn't right for him but he never dared voice this while on the run with his mother. Without her controling everything though, he was free to do this one thing for himself, and he hoped it might even help him stay hidden. More importantly, it helped him reclaim part of himself he thought he lost after the rape and pregnancy.

The first few years, they moved around a lot because Neil was always worried someone would start to notice the teenager and baby without parents anywhere in sight. However, when his daughter was almost three, they ran a ground in Millport, a dying town where they could squat in an empty house unnoticed. Neil just needed a moment to breathe. So, he got an ID that said he was eighteen which let him go to high school and play Exy without anyone needing to speak to his parents. Then he forged the signatures of their fictional parents to get his daughter enrolled in preschool and after school childcare for the days he had practice. Finally, he got them phones for emergencies and pretended to be his mother any time someone called.

He became Neil and he gifted his daughter his middle name, Anastasia, and on paper they became the Josten siblings.

He knew they would need to pack up and leave soon enough, but he was exhausted and he just wanted Ana to have a semi-normal life for a year. He'd clear out after graduation and figure out where to go from there. But just as their time in Millport is running out, in walks David Wymack with an offer that's too dangerous to trust but too impossible to leave behind...

[egrets-not-regrets]

A Chance (Meeting)

This is about how Lenora (OC) and Erriox (Iron Warrior OC) first met.

She wasn't sure how it happened or what happened. Whether it was by fate, by chance, or by some strange magic warpery, it definitely felt like it was luck that she found him when she did. This strange hulking man lying there with his own blood soaking into the dirt, armor seemingly broken beyond repair, with wounds that would be a guaranteed death sentence for any lesser being.

This was an astartes warrior, a space marine. Lenora knew what he was from having met her neighbor's space marine companion, Mithras, one of the Thousand Sons. But what was this one doing with such serious injuries? She did not hear any sort of conflicts between any warbands recently and there were no drag marks, no footprints; it's as if he just teleported to this place.

Regardless, this space marine would die if he didn't receive medical help soon. How much time does he still have? There was nothing that any normal human first aid can do for him. Her hands shook as she frantically looked up the number for local Astartes emergency medical and rescue services.

"Please work, please work, please work,..." Lenora muttered as she dialed the number.

A voice on the other line responded, "Hello? Astartes Emergency medical services."

The tension in her shoulders relaxed slightly as Lenora explained her situation, "I found a space marine on my property. He's injured really bad." She glanced at the prone body lying at her feet nervously, "His armor is all broken and it looks like he's been shot and beaten. I'm not sure what to do. I don't know how much time he has left."

"Ma'am, thank you for calling. We will get a team ready to retrieve him. Can you tell me which company or legion the marine is part of?"

"I don't know." She didn't delve too deeply into know what legions are in existence, "Parts of his armor have what looks like yellow and black hazard stripes? And the rest is grey? Sorry, that's the best I could do."

"Yellow and black hazard stripes... Hm... You may have an Iron Warrior there. Do you see any strange growths, like horns, claws, extra mouths, etc...?" Lenora's brows raised at that. Horns? Extra mouths? What in the world? She did another once-over at the comatose space marine. "No, he looks pretty normal to me."

The voice hummed in acknowledgement then asked for her address, which she gave, with added detail of where she was located on her property, "Okay, thanks. A team is on their way."

"Thank you. Please hurry."

Lenora settled on the ground beside the space marine and sighed, looking at him worriedly, "They're coming big guy. Hope they come in time."

As she waited, a small beetle started to climb onto the marine's face. She reached over to brush it off, but hesitated. Lenora knew it was dangerous to touch him, she's read and heard stories of their toughness and tenacity, and also how they could still fight like none other and react lightning-fast despite near-death injuries. Curiosity won out though, and she gently brushed the bug off his face before flicking it into the grass. Gaining no reaction, Lenora caressed his cheek gently again, as the distant rumble of the emergency vehicles neared. She murmured,

"You’ve come so far already, just hang on only a little while longer. Survive, and if you do, I hope you can make the most of your second chance. Good luck."

************************

Erriox slowly came to. He raised a hand, recognizing he was in a bed, connected to a multitude of tubes. Where was he? How did he get here? He could hear voices, some speaking in strange tongues, others in his familiar language. The scent of anti-septic, blood, and other chemicals invaded his nostrils. There were no clashing sounds of bolter fire and destruction, no people screaming and crying, no city structures crashing down, none of the heat from the blazing fires. There was no more of that acrid stench coming from the corpses piled in the streets or the overwhelming smell of carnage and blood, except perhaps for his own. It was almost too quiet, too strange. 

The last thing he remembered was getting shot and beaten by his own brothers, and a building crashing down onto him. He had disagreed with his genesire's decision to either have Olympia enact decimation upon its own people, or face extermination and enslavement. In the end, he failed; he failed to convince his brothers, failed to preserve his homeworld and its people.

Then something happened, knocking him out in the process. Erriox had a faint recollection of a gentle touch, a warm hand, and murmured words that felt like a gentle balm to his anguished soul. He was not sure who it was or what was said, but he hung onto the voice desperately, anchoring himself from being swept away into dark thoughts and despair. Erriox vowed to find this voice once he gets out of here. Wherever this place was. 

[mskenway97]

life or taste

Okay i write this different for some ideas in my mind thanks to @callsign-relic's tasty AU

If you are sensitive to this, I warn you not to read from here.

Warnings: soft vore,unwilling vore, size difference, biting.

I just had to stay at the base, but Miko had gone through the portal. She never thought about it before entering. The battle was in the middle of a forest. I didn't want to lose Miko along the way, there had come a time when I had lost sight of Miko and the explosions that could be heard.

A sepulchral silence around me, I had the feeling that I was being watched. I grabbed my phone and tried to call Ratchet, but I saw that there was no coverage.

"Shit, Shit… Calm down, I just have to think clearly. Don't imagine that I'm in a horror movie scenario, and at night… "I thought as I started to hear some howling.

That feeling of being watched… It was increasing more and more. Until I saw some red optics in front of me. I didn't hesitate anymore, I started to run, I felt my breath hot. If this was a nightmare I wanted to wake up now.

I heard the decepticon's footsteps, it wasn't too close nor too far away it seemed it was playing with her.

The footsteps started to disappear, I could only hear my breathing and my heartbeat at a thousand per hour. I started to hear the footsteps continue as I found a cave to hide in without anyone catching me. I looked at my cell phone again, still without reception. I hugged my legs and stayed inside the cave.

"Will someone have noticed that I'm not at the base? Who is the decepticon looking for me? In the darkness I couldn't see who it was. This is a disaster" I thought

I started to hear some footsteps near the cave, I tried to hide as best I could in the cave until I saw a servo trying to catch me, I tried to run to the bottom of the cave but unfortunately it was not very deep and I tried to resist. Believing it was the decepticon I resisted as best I could only to see that it was useless, but I felt it wasn't holding me tightly, when it pulled me out of the cave I could see some optics that were very familiar to me.

-Y/N, thanks to Primus I found you - said the soft and strong baritone of Optimus looking at me worried - What were you thinking about?

-I was trying to stop Miko, I lost my way…. I felt that someone was following me.

-Well, well it looks like someone has beaten me to it….

I opened my eyes wide as Optimus protected me with his servos. The decepticon that had been chasing me was the leader of the Decepticons himself. What did the Decepticon leader want from me?

-Ratchet, I need a groundbridge," I heard Optimus say.

There was no response on the other end of the line, Megatron was laughing on the other end.

-The reinforcements aren't coming…. It got my attention watching that little girl run for her life," I heard Megatron say.

I felt Optimus' servos gripping me tighter, Megatron on the other hand was swinging his sword ready to attack.

I saw that Optimus dodged, he took me with him to leave me in some safe area.

"Stay hidden, don't move," Optimus told me as he went to fight Megatron.

Although he was at a distance, he could clearly hear the clashes of metal and the shots of the two titans. Curiosity could lead me closer to the combat area. The forces were equal between the two, they seemed too focused.

I was not focused when I saw that Megatron was pointing his gun at me, Optimus saw me and parried the shot in front of him, shooting him in the Chest plate, causing some of the energon to fall to the ground.

-Optimus! -I said as I saw him get on his knees from the pain, Megatron pointed the sword at his Helm.

-Always defending the weakest… It seems that you are very fond of this thing…-I heard Megatron while I felt his servo grab me.

I felt immobilized as I saw a cruel smile at the Decpeticon leader.

-There is a way you can survive… If you accept my conditions you will both come out alive but the little girl may not like the terms… You are small and resistant… But how do you know taste? Human, enter the jaws of your protector… Optimus and perhaps you will be saved…

-No! -I heard Optimus scream as he tried to get up, I was watching Megatron bring me closer to his mouth, I saw his teeth near him.

-If you don't decide quickly, I will end up making you enter mine and taste you to my liking. While your beloved guardian dies. You being my little pleasure for life - I heard Megatron say cruelly.

I was terrified just the thought of entering, it gave me chills, I saw those dentas too close to me. If I didn't decide quickly the Earth would be doomed and Optimus, the autobots would be lost forever.

-Come on, little one… Decide

-You don't have to do this Y/N - I heard Optimus when I looked at him I felt so guilty… I couldn't just watch him die, not after everything we've been through.

If I have to choose between the jaws of the beast and the noble warrior. I have a clear choice.

When Megatron was almost about to put me in his mouth-I'll do it! - I screamed as I felt that he had stopped looking at me with a cruel smile.

-Good decision… I'll give you 10 minutes to enter, don't make me wait

Megatron left me in the servos of Optimus, who had a distraught face plate, believing that this was all a nightmare.

The relationship we had was close, he became my guardian. I was secretly in love with him, I wanted to know him but not literally inside. I felt his servos shake.

"Don't worry… I'm not going to judge you, people need you, just do it," I told him while he tried to hold back my tears.

Megatron was aiming his weapon at him, while Optimus removed the battle mask from him, I was slowly approaching his mouth. I saw the inside of him, the gloss of him and the dentas of him. He entered me little by little and carefully. I was starting to feel parts of my body covered in what seemed to be slime, his gloss was around my back.

-Shut your mouth, taste it with your glossa - Megatron told him.

Optimus did so reluctantly, he was beginning to feel various parts of my body that were being covered by his gloss. Certain parts of my body were giving me some excitement or it was also due to lack of air. I moaned a little without realizing it.

-Wow, it seems that the little girl is enjoying being in your jaws, Optimus… Doesn't she seem delicious to you? Don't look at me with that face… I was watching you both closely. "Some of my spies said she was your little pet," Megatron told him.

I felt like I was almost going inside so Optimus was almost going to respond, but he had to restrain himself.

-Oh wow, can't you talk? Your sweet little one is being too busy for you. Now the poor thing must be scared of what's going to happen to her… Turned into a little sweet… That's looking at me with rage… But why just give her a glossa? "When we can give you two," Megatron told him.

When I heard that I felt Optimus's mouth and gloss tighten around my body. I was short of breath when I felt it.

Megatron grabbed him by the chin making him look at him -I can finish them both off quickly if you don't obey… The sacrifice of your little pet would have been in vain…

Then I heard a silence, to see that Optimus's mouth had opened a little, to feel another different sensation, another glossa… Then I realized that you were kissing, I felt the touch of both glossas playing with my body, competing to see which one had the greatest control over me. I ended up in so many positions… my mind was already starting to get clouded by the pleasure since his lips were touching certain parts of my body that were making me shake non-stop.

Megatron stopped to watch him lick his lips, while both Optimus and I were exhausted.

To see that the kiss continues while I feel both glossas around me again but this time when I finished I was in Megatron's jaws that I began to taste and feel the small bite on my arm and legs.

Then the process was repeated again, it seemed that Megatron and Optimus were still carried away by the feeling. While I felt somewhere between his glosses, between pleasure and fear. I couldn't see what was happening to Optimus but his side wasn't as pleasant as mine either.

We reached a certain point when Megatron was comfortable with both of us.

Megatron smiled diabolically as he grabbed Optimus's jaw again - I'm still left with the feeling that I need something in my tanks.

The look of horror on mine and Optimus's face could be seen from a distance.

"We hadn't agreed on that," I said nervously while the Decepticon leader laughed.

-Oh, you thought you were going to get away with it, that's not going to happen… You'll be a good little sweet…

I was horrified to hear it, how could it end like this while I felt Optimus' glossa pushing me inside. I understood what he was doing…

-Do what you have to do… - I said as I felt like I was sliding deeper.

Megatron was realizing what Optimus had done.

Megatron was going to attack him until Bumblebee and the rest came to help them.

Megatron ended up retreating far away but satisfied with what he had done.

Ratchet asking what had happened and where he was.

Optimus was unable to respond he felt so guilty, so destroyed…his little y/n didn't deserve to be inside his tanks. He felt remorse… But he had to protect her from ending up in a worse fate even if it was inside her.

Luckily the advantage is that he could get you out of there… No organic matter was consumed.

But that day would not be forgotten by Optimus or me.

Those horrors would remain in my mind for life.

[lumpywhump]

Hidden Scars #2: Pline

still don't know how to do the fancy word link think so boom here ya go

tw: flashbacks

"Hey, are you okay?" Kane stared at the boy. This kid, clearly no older than 12, was out in the middle of nowhere talking to a beaten up stranger who was just laying on the ground. "Mister?" "Uh—" Kane went to talk but was cut off by his own coughing and had to sit up. The boy moved to help, but Kane put up a scarred hand. "I'm fine," they coughed out, finding his pride again. He didn't need help from a child. "Where are your parents?" "Me and my mom live right over there," the child pointed to his right. "Do you guys live near a town?" Kane tried to scratch under the thick metal collar around his throat. "Yeah! Our town is really fun. Trust me, I've been to Farinsburg. We've got an ice cream store right in the center. Can I show you!?" The kid was practically jumping at the idea. "Uh… sure?" Kane shifted and all his muscles ached. "Ow ow ow," they chanted and they slowly stood up. "I have to go tell Mom where we're going and then we can go," the boy began walking. "Oh," he stopped, "my name is Pline, what's your's?" "Kane," he answered as he attempted to keep up. The twigs and bushes scraped his barely covered skin. "Wow, that's a really common name. Mine's a lot less common. My mom named me after this guy who died," Kane nodded, unsure how to reply to that. They approached a house. It was a decent size with yellow sidings and two floors. Pline pulled Kane up the stairs of the deck and opened the glass sliding door. "Mom!" Pline yelled, making the boy jump. "I found someone out in the woods! I'm going to go show them Mermaid's!" Carpeted footsteps echoed through the house until a woman appeared. "Pline, what did you find this time…" the woman trailed off as she took in Kane's appearance. He didn't know how he looked but he was sure it wasn't a pretty sight. "What happened?" She gasped. "I dunno," Pline shrugged, "found him like this. Oh! I forgot about my Lego house!" The kid ran over to the swarm of legos on the floor. "Come in," the woman beckoned.

The woman, Tammy, gently held Kane's chin as she cleaned their relatively fresh wound dragging from their nose and touching his neck. "Where are your parents?" She asked. Kane could tell she was trying to distract him from the pain. "They're in the capital," "What's your last name?" "I—" "Mom!" Pline yelled as he appeared in the doorway. "I finished my house! Can I show you?" "In a minute, I'm trying to help our friend here." Tammy poured more hydrogen peroxide on the rag. Kane hissed as rag touched his skin. "When can I show them Mermaid's?" "When he's feeling better." Tammy reached for a square bandaid to put on the first half of the wound. As she put it on, she folded the bottom so the sticky part wouldn't touch his wound. "Can you hold that?" She grabbed the second bandaid and put the top bandaid over it. "How old are you?" She picked up the rag again and moved onto his arm. "I don't know," Kane whispered. "Last I knew I was 18. What year is it?" Tammy gave him an odd look. "It's 2024," His stomach dropped and his breath quickened. It was as if a thousand bricks landed on him. "It's been two years?" He felt his eyes begin to water, but quickly wiped them away. "Heh, wow," he put on a smile and looked at Tammy. "I've been gone a while," The boy watched Tammy's face go from concern to full blown panic. "What happened?" She quickly schooled her face. "Where were you?" His voice caught in his throat for a second. "I— I don't know," he whispered as he began to stare at the wall. "There was— I didn't— oh my god." He bit his lip and began to scratch around the collar. "Hey," Tammy gently lowered the boy's hand, "why don't we get that off you, yeah?" Kane nodded, his ratty hair bouncing with the movement. He tensed as he watched Tammy's hands slowly reached for his neck. His skin throbbed under the collar as the woman felt around the back for a release button. With a satisfying click, Kane could finally breathe. Without the weight of the collar, it finally sunk in what he had done. He was free. "Holyshi— sugar!" Tammy blinked. "Uh…" she looked down at the collar. The thing was brown on the outside and black on the inside. There was a metal ring in it. The ring matched the patterns of burns on his neck. Kane stared at the floral shower curtain. He didn't want to meet the woman's gaze, afraid of what he might find.

"No one wants you now. Think about it." The boy's captor chuckled. "Why are you still here? With your family's resources they should have found you easily," Kane looked around although the blindfold was snug around his eyes, he still tried to catch a hint of light. "You're not hidden that well. They just don't want you back. They know you're ruined." A smooth finger traced the large scar on his arm. "Can't have you seen all mangled, hm?"

"Kid?" Kane blinked and returned Tammy's gaze. "You okay?" Kane was about to nod before he was interrupted. "What kind of question is that? Of course you aren't. Listen, when you're all patched up we're going to find your parents, okay?" "Uh, sure." Kane didn't want to argue with her that he was an adult. Especially because he did in fact live with his parents

[simpforchuchu]

Written in the scars | Tsukasa x reader

Summary: Your boyfriend knows you have insecurities about your scar and trying to comfort you.

a/n: Hi! I was writing another one but suddenly this idea came up and wanted to write it shehhd 🥰 Hope you like it too ❤️🌸

Sorry for the grammer or spelling mistakes.English is not my main language so...

Thank you and love you 🥰

Warnings: blood, injury, stabbing, fights, scars, a lot of pain, fluff i guess ?

Part2

Tsukasa silently watched his girlfriend in front of the mirror, who was carefully examining her clothes. While you were trying to decide on the scarf to tie around your neck, a thousand thoughts were bothering him.

He was aware that you had been living through hell together for months. But how long should you wait to leave the dark days behind?

Neither you nor your friends could have predicted that a normal high school fight would end so horribly that day. When someone stabbed your throat with a broken glass bottle during the fight and you slowly collapsed to the ground with blood flowing from your throat, Tsukasa knew very well that his heart had never before beaten so fast or had never been so scared in his whole life.

Neither you nor he thought you could make it. Or that a small shard of glass can take a lot from both of you…

Tsukasa had never thought that hearing your voice was a treasure for him. But he could have sacrificed his own voice for you that day, when the damage to your vocal cords caused by the cut in your throat took your beautiful voice.

When he thinks about what you've been through for months, the sweet eyeshadow color you put on your eyelid in front of the mirror made him smile unintentionally.

He wanted to cry as he remembered the days after surgery when you didn't want to see anyone. The times when he watches you with fear every night because he is afraid of you hurting yourself, the nights when you had nightmares and wake up and cry, he cries with you, the moments when you throw your phone or notebooks crying because you can't explain what you want over and over, or the evenings when you can't scream out in pain when your hand burns while cooking on the stove...

But it was the moments when you woke up silently at nights and cried secretly for a while that upset him the most. Even though he knew you didn't want to wake him up and wanted to be left alone, he couldn't stop himself from pulling you into a tight hug.

While all these moments were running through his mind, he looked at the white scarf you were wearing around your neck. He knew your voice would come back, he just didn't know when and he waited with excitement like a baby's first words. But you hated the scar on your neck so much that Tsukasa could see it clearly every time he looked into your eyes.

He slowly stood up and stood right behind you in front of the mirror. You gave a small smile in the mirror and looked at him, even if you were slightly startled as he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist.

He was looking at you with love and interest, as always. You knew he wanted to say something when he placed a small kiss on your cheek and sighed deeply.

You looked at him curiously and he nodded, stroking your cheek with his hand. You looked at him in surprise as his hand slowly moved to your neck. He blinked reassuringly and gently removed the scarf from your neck.

You looked at him in shock. He gently caressed your neck with his hand. He shook his head when you wanted to reach for your phone and didn't let you go.

"I know what you're going to say, I really do, but listen to me first"

You stopped fidgeting and slowly closed your eyes and let out a timid sigh.

“Y/n… baby… if you want to wear this scarf as an accessory, I won't say anything, but if it's to hide your scar-"

You didn't open your eyes. You couldn't. You tried to cover your neck with your hair as his hand slowly ran over the scar, afraid he might hate it. Because you did.

“Baby please look at me, open your eyes.”

He smiled when you opened your eyes and looked at him in the mirror. He tucked your hair from your neck to behind your ear with his hand and placed a small kiss on your scar.

He hugged you tighter around your waist as he saw you close your eyes and lower your head.

“I know what's on your mind. But you are wrong. This little scar doesn't affect your beauty. I love you with everything. You are beautiful with everything you have. I know it reminds you of bad memories. But I want it to remind you that you fought and how strong you are."

Tsukasa's soft voice gave you some relief. He gently grabbed your chin with his hand and lifted it up as he felt you relax in his arms.He smiled at you in the mirror as you slowly opened your eyes.

"I'm proud of you. I know this is hard for you. But we did it, we will make it. I love you, don't forget that."

You turned to him and moved your lips as the corners of your lips curled up as he whispered in your ear.

"I love you."

He smiled and placed a small kiss and looked into your eyes.

"Me too."

HnL taglist : @straysugzhpe @tiddly-winx  @ninamarie1994 @thatpoindexterpixy