#most people just don't engage beyond it

[crymeariveronceagain]

my response to anyone being pissy on the internet and not having a good time about things that aren't serious is simply "you must be fun at parties". it's sarcastic as hell and it's a subtle reminder of their life that does not revolve around the internet. It's basically "go touch grass" but a little less insulting and more sarcastic and biting. It's a reminder that they are interacting with the world and it's not very nice and if this was a social gathering everyone would be looking at them funny.

for example:

me: hey what if remus and sirius were like super close besties or smth

someone on the internet: THATS NOT CANON. you can't say that about harry potter. go re-read the books.

me:

me: you must be fun at parties.

[moiraimyths]

Before we call anon rude because let’s see it from their perspective, imagine getting an entire feast to eat. That can be pretty hard to start with so much that’s going on, but if they start with one thing they know they’ll like (aka one character they like) that can be the start for them leaping to other characters to finish the story and the bigger story. I struggle the same way to start book series if I don’t have at least one character that drives me to read it, it’s all about what can be the hook to push them through. Sounds like the anon is neurodivergent (just a guess) so they might genuinely not see it as rude and see it as a solution to even play the game to start with.

Btw absolutely adore the game, the complex and rich characters making them all so unique is amazing. The art is so pleasing to the eyes I love it!! I’m waiting for it all to get out at once so I don’t get too impatient. Shae however interests me the most, which routes will have the most lore for them? Will there be routes that give more lore in general based on decisions you make or do they all share the same amount? (I mean general lore not just Shae lore)

Apologies; we are not trying to accuse any asker of being rude! We are simply explaining our perspective as the developers / are trying to broadly encourage folks to dip their toes into other areas of the story outside of the main route(s) they're interested in, especially considering some routes will be made available sooner than others, and these other routes will likely contain additional scenes/lore of everyone's fave(s) regardless! We want to give each main cast member an equal amount of love (and lore) regardless of their overall popularity, so our goal is not to tut-tut anyone for having strong preferences for one character over the others, but rather to explain that you may be surprised by how much *more* you learn about your preferred characters in the other routes. That's all!

For Shae... Well, they were a foot soldier for one of the worst periods of the War. Lore wise, any other story that touches on the War will likely have content relevant to them and their experiences. ^^

[eriexplosion]

In a world where people understand the difference between criticizing how a writing choice was handled and criticizing characters we would avoid so many thousands of words about how everyone else is feeling Wrong about fictional media.

[oncewild]

cops are beating, shooting "non-lethals" at, and pepper spraying students in democrat-run cities and at the invitation of liberal universities, but we've got to vote so this doesn't happen, right.

would love to know who's on the ballot in November that gives a shit about the right to protest genocide.

[soryualeksi]

ENTIRELY leaving aside a case-by-case discussion about how sensible or not [Insert Measure Implemented XYZ] was or is to combat [Insert Bad Thing Occurring ABC]. I feel like, at least among the select demographic of "Germans I personally see making any statements about it whatsoever", fireworks of all things has become the new thing to be The Most Pious about after we all had to get used to the pandemic.

Last year around this time it was "Well, *I* don't miss social gatherings of any kind or going to the cinema or the zoo or shopping for anything Non-Essential, and *I* don't mourn my glasses not fogging up wherever I go and *I* also never liked smelling anything in the public sphere ever, anyway" as the ultimate "look how Virtuous and Pure I am by not only following [Insert Measure Implemented XYZ] but also LOVING it with every fiber of my being and if you don't, well, you're just not as Pious as me".

Now it's fucking "No, *I* never liked fireworks or sparklers or firecrackers or ANYTHING ever before, and I spent ALL my New Year's Eves since I've been born at home, alone, going to bed at 8 p.m. and WITHOUT ever consuming any alcoholic beverages EVER, because as you know alcohol is Impure duh. New Year's Eve celebrations are Noisy and Dangerous and Bad For The Environment and Bad For The Healthcare System, and also gatherings in general spread germs and should be avoided, and also ANY recreational activity where GROWN ASS ADULTS can POSSIBLY injure themselves IF THEY DON'T MIND BASIC FUCKING SAFETY MEASURES should be prohibited by laws that are then VIGOROUSLY enforces because I just LOVE calling the police on my fucking neighbours.

Oh and also DIE NACHTRUHE IST EINZUHALTEN."

Like, Jesus Fucking Christ. Yes, *you* love it, yes, *you* are the most Pure and Pious and somehow being against [Hedonist Thing DEF That Is Actually Just Humans Humaning Around] is a status marker of perfect moral virtuousness and YES you CAN'T BELIEVE how people could EVER have enjoyed whatever the fuck you think should be banned by law so you can finally call the police on your neighbours again, YES WE GET IT. STFU GODDAMMIT.

God. Some of us LIKED having fun in "unproductive, waste-of-money" ways. You're so much more Enlightened than us NOW SHUT UP AND GO SIT IN YOUR ROOM NOT DRINKING NOT LIGHTING FIREWORKS NOT MEETING PEOPLE NOT CELEBRATING BECAUSE CELEBRATIONS DON'T PRODUCE ANYTHING OF VALUE GOD

I swear, if someone legit approaches my little kids!!!! AGAIN!!!!!!! this year to scold them about "not minding the state of the world and that there's No Normalcy Like Before anymore" because these two little kids ruthlessly, mindlessly and not at all piously threw some of these tiny little Knallerbsen things that are just thumbnail-sized pouches that make a little *pop* when they hit the ground (and that we had equipment to clean up with us), THIS TIME I WILL GO NUCLEAR.

FUCK. OFF.

[mossyvoidknight]

I will never understand why some people think libraries are irrelevant when they're so important

Destroy the myth that libraries are no longer relevant. If you use your library, please reblog.

[vampiricgf]

— v. lycaon | BRAND NEW CHERRY FLAVOR

warnings : fem reader, ignore that we don't know his age exactly im guessing, ruts, knotting for the first time, rina is mentioned but only because she's meddling, fingering, masturbation, begging, reader is smaller than him, reader has a tramp stamp, virgin lycaon, cervix fucking, biting/marking, blood/blood licking, creampie, crying, sorry if I missed anything

wc : 2.5k+

this is so long im sorry im too obsessed with the idea of him being a virgin lmao >.< also sorry if there's mistakes it's not edited so

He thought upon hiring you on with Victoria Housekeeping things would largely remain the same, the only difference being having one more person with whom to split the existing workload of clientele contracts and commissions. An easy choice thinking of himself and Rina, the primary adults within the company.

It had been difficult as of late, he could acknowledge that, balancing taking on the bulk of the work while the companies other two employees attended their schooling and other engagements that typically keep younger people occupied. And truly he didn't mind it, it was the duty of those older to pick up the slack, allow youth it's time to blossom and explore.

That was not the issue, though. The issue was you.

Not your work performance, no that was impeccable. You had impressed him enough during your interviews but in practical work you went even beyond that, showing an exemplary aptitude for even the most banal tasks. The picture of a perfectly competent maid and (occasional) hollow raider. Even able to both meet and exceed his own impossibly high standards per all the glowing reviews he receives from clients, truly you were a fantastic addition to the company.

The problem arose months ago, when you two had been tasked with a more unconventional commission involving a hollow. Of course danger was always ever present in those ether soaked spaces, both from the impending malformed creatures that called them home and from the levels of ether itself. The risk of warping and twisting the body into a cruel mockery of what once was, imbibing it with sickness.

It was the first time you'd actually worked side by side, he'd asked you to come with him as a sort of test not because he thought he really needed the backup. See how you'd been progressing, what you were like on the job, that sort of thing. A completely normal request for a boss to make, all things considered.

What had not been normal was allowing himself to be caught on the back foot, surprised. You were... painfully distracting to him. A major shortcoming on his part, it was nothing you were doing overtly to draw his attention in such a laser focused way it just seemed like he had a bizarre inclination to keep his attention on you. The way you walked, that delicious sway of your hips. That thing you did when you were thinking, running your thumb across your bottom lip. The smell of shampoo clinging to your hair and wafting over him every time you so much as turned your head. Sugary, faintly floral. Horribly distracting.

Giving some stray hati a prime opportunity to pounce. Neither of you had noticed them creeping up on your perimeter, stalking you both as you picked through the skeletons of abandoned, crumbling homes and businesses. You too busy nervously chattering away and him too busy thinking about how much he enjoyed the sound of your voice.

One moment there had been nothing and in another there was everything happening all at once. Their predatory howls, the initiation of combat. The ring of your weapon as it hit against their stone manes, the crunch of his ice against newly exposed flesh. His eyes frantically trying to keep you in his line of sight at all times, take advantage of the path you left in your wake to give the finishing blow, giving yet another perfect opening for one of the creatures to tackle him full force, the brute strength of it slamming against his side and laying him out shamefully against cracked concrete, knocking the air from his lungs in a painful squeeze.

But there you had been, like some kind of avenging angel from artworks of the old civilization. Your features were highlighted by the look of sheer anger as you mercilessly dug the weapon in your hands into the creatures back, ripping away its advantage and successfully dispatching it within seconds. He could feel how wide his own eyes were, but felt too much acute discomfort to bother trying to mask his own awe.

Not since he was a pup had he needed rescuing.

Not since he was once so pathetically, terribly young had he felt so immediately endeared to someone else.

You were on your knees beside him, fussing over him, eyes sweeping around for any signs of injury or blood. He knew there was none, would have smelled it immediately, but nevertheless he allowed himself to enjoy your ministrations. The way your hands so carefully hovered over him, trying to be mindful of thiren preferences for touch while also trying to be caring, attentive. It was sickeningly sweet of you, made him swear for a second he could taste it in the air, feel granuals of sugar grinding within his teeth. He wondered if your lips tasted even half as sweetly.

"Are you hurt anywhere, should we leave the hollow? An emergency exit is understandable, right? If you're hurt?" Your eyes met him, practically welling over with concern.

He had wanted to hold your face in his hands, soothe you. Almost immediately he'd been gripped by the horror of his own impropriety.

Clearing his throat he took the hand you offered as leverage to get back on his feet, taking note of your warmth, the surprisingly strong grip of your fingers, before you withdrew. Soft, yet capable. Beautiful.

"There's no need. We can continue on with the commission." It took a monstrous effort to keep his voice neutral, act as if nothing of note was running rampant inside his head.

From the on the feelings he had towards you only grew, like a beast growing fat off plentiful prey. Every glance from you, every accidental touch of hands, every moment of conspiratorial laughter shared between you at something silly one of the others had done. Months and months of feeling his heart rate grow increasingly erratic every time your lovely voice would sound out in the mornings, always a perfectly cheerful greeting towards him and the others before you began your work.

And so here he is, mid rut and miserable. Thrusting into his own hand, as he's done so many times before, feeling the sweltering heat in his bedroom and bubbling frustration in his head at the feeling of tangled sheets and the distinct lack of any partner to be thrusting up into.

He'd called into work, voice twinged with embarrassment because how on earth had he forgotten about his incoming rut? Well, he knew how. Because you consumed almost every moment of his waking inner thoughts, distracted him to such an insane degree he failed to fill his suppressant prescription in time. Thankfully Rina hadn't needed details, always too clever by half, but it didn't stop him from feeling intense shame rolling through him even just knowing someone else knew what exactly was going on with him.

Sickness, uh huh. Try so horny and hard he could crack a brick wall in half. The thought made him feel so erratic he couldn't help but grab a nearby pillow, pressing it to his face, feeling his now neglected cock throbbing as he bit the soft down surface so hard he could feel his teeth punching right through the material.

You, you, you, you, you.

All he wants is to lap at what he's sure is the sweetest taste in the world nestled between your legs, feel your body stretching and accommodating his size, tell you how he's going to give you his knot and watch your pretty eyes glaze over and your breasts bounce in time with his thrusts, dig his teeth into your neck, your chest, make you squeal and squirm so he can pin you down-

A few distant, tentative raps against wood.

Did he imagine that?

Tap, tap, tap.

No, no he didn't. Who would be knocking in the middle of the day? Oh god, what if it was a neglected client that had tracked down his address? Someone angry one of the girls had forgotten or completely ignored their commission? His breathing was strained, nearly wheezing as he rushed to make himself somewhat presentable, cringing as he struggled to slide trousers over his impossibly obvious erection. No time to brush down his severely disarrayed fur. How humiliating.

As he scrambles for the front door, flinging it open so hard it nearly crashes against the wall, he freezes.

Why the hell are you here? How do you even know where he lives?

Your eyes go impossibly wide as you take him in, the awkward silence ballooning in the space between you and he's acutely aware of how crazed he must look as his claws dig into the metal of the door handle.

"I'm... I'm sorry for dropping in it's just that- well, Miss Rina told me you were sick and I kind of... begged for your address so I could come check on you, I'm sorry-"

You cut yourself off from rambling, picking at your nails as your eyes flit around nervously.

Of course Rina would give you his address, mischievous as she is. She knew exactly what was going on with his little juvenile crush, his rut. Calling in probably gave her the idea.

But all that was far from his most pressing concern at the moment. You couldn't be here, absolutely not. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore that familiar shampoo scent, trying to ignore the way you look especially lovely, how easy it would be to yank you inside and just-

"I appreciate your concern, but I'll be perfectly fine. I just need to rest." Blunt enough to make him feel bad for rejecting your kindness but the boundary needs to be in place before he does something highly inappropriate. You're coworkers, not casual friends. Every thought he has about you is crossing a line.

A snide inner voice comes out of the blue and he can't focus on what you're saying, too consumed by shame.

As if you'd even know what to do with her anyway.

It must show on his face, although you misunderstand it, because you give him a look of naked concern and he's snapped back into focus. "Do you need me to call a doctor for you? I have my car, I can take you to White Waves if you need to go Lycaon it's no problem-"

"No, no it's nothing that serious." He's losing control of the situation, needs to get you out of here.

"Well, at least let me make you tea or something to eat, please. You look like you haven't eaten all day." Your worried tone makes his pathetic resolve crumble easily, like it was made of sand.

Against his better judgement he relents, awkwardly stepping to the side to let you in the door and a part of him preens at the way your scent immediately compliments his own, mingling in the space as if you inherently belong there. If he had the energy to feel it he'd be embarrassed about the state of his apartment, in disarray as it is. But you don't pay any attention, immediately finding your way to his kitchen and digging through his cabinets like you've done it a thousand times.

Watching you makes him even harder, throbbing and aching so acutely in his pants that his vision momentarily goes fuzzy at the edges. You look so domestic, so relaxed. A bolt of jealousy fires off in his brain, white hot, at the fact that numerous clients have gotten to see you in a similar way before him. Your casual clothes aren't helping him keep control of himself either.

Jeans that accentuate the swell of your ass, the shape of your hips. A tank top that's ridden up slightly, exposing a bit of your stomach as you stretch up to reach the higher spots in a cabinet. He wants to run his tongue over your belly, lick his way up to your chest, leave little love bites across your throat. As you turn to the counter beside the stove he catches a glimpse of a tattoo on your lower back and his jaw flexes so tightly he's shocked his teeth don't shatter in his mouth. He never knew you had one, but it certainly suits you. He wants to know if you have any more, in any hidden places.

"You should lay down, I can bring this to you when its finished," you say it so gently but he can't bring himself to move away, to risk missing a single glimpse of you.

He says nothing and you don't try to press him, to your credit. But when you can't quite reach the top of another cabinet, where hes kept tea tucked away neatly, his instincts to help take over before he can register that his body has moved beside you, hand going over top of yours to easily grab the box. But the way your forearms brush on the way back down makes him drop the box, a shockingly loud clatter that causes a dozen deep fissures to spread in his mind.

He's got ahold of your wrist before you can react, keeping you so physically close to himself that if he took a half step forward you'd be chest to chest. He can smell sugar on your breath, see the red twinge on your tongue from candy you must've had on the way over.

It doesn't even register that his eyes are closed, that your mouth is on his, that his tongue is lapping up the secondhand taste of cherries as it slides across yours and your fingers grasp the rumpled fabric of his shirt. It's like a moment suspended in cut crystal, refracted in a thousand different ways to the outside observer, a million different angles of this one frozen scene, and he wants to hold it forever in his hands.

Hold you forever.

But you pull away and his first instinct is to follow after you, body bending even further to chase your lips as you struggle to catch your breath. Your bodies remain impossibly close as you speak, his eyes never leaving your lips, memorizing the curve of them.

"I don't- I didn't mean-" you're struggling and he can't bear it, can't bear the thought that this one beautiful moment is tainted by the nature of your overall relationship as employees, even worse is that he truly doesn't care. It should scandalize him, shame him in some way, but it doesn't. That fact feels extremely far removed from his current reality and the feeling of even more blood rushing to his lower body.

He cuts you off bluntly. "How much do you know about beast thirens?"

You gape, having been cut off with what is to your view an extremely out of place question but he's hoping you'll follow the thread. "What?"

"How much do you know? Because Rina wasn't exactly... truthful with you." His eyes skirt away from your face but hes committed to telling you what's going on. "I'm not ill, not in the way you're thinking. I'm, well, going through what's called a rut." There's a heavy pause. "The need to... mate."

He cringes internally on the final word, finally meeting your eyes and watching you put it all together. Your own eyes are adorably wide, but you don't pull away from him and that takes him by surprise. He'd figured the second you knew you'd be in a rush to leave, probably drop a resignation call to Victoria Housekeeping on your way home.

But you don't do any of those things, merely taking it in and continuing to let your eyes travel over his unkempt appearance and he's even more aware, if that's possible, of how needy he feels. Any longer without relief and he just might need to take himself to White Waves Hospital. But that's not your problem.

"I mean... That's just a natural thing for you, right? It's not like you're some perv," you laugh nervously, "and maybe- maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you had a little... help?"

His brain feels like a damaged, glitching bangboo. Are you seriously offering this?

"What I'm trying to say is that I- I like you, and I don't care that we kissed. Well, I care but I'm not upset by it. And I'm not upset that you're, like this right now," you gesture with your chin, "and if you need someone then... I can help you with it. If you want." You finish in a rush, clearly embarrassed and something rears its head deep in his stomach.

There's no more room for coherent though as he finds your lips again, nipping at the bottom one before taking advantage of your little gasp to slide his tongue back in your mouth. He turns you slightly, so your back meets the edge of the countertop with his hands massaging at your hips, groping obscenely at your ass. The barrier of your clothes is frustrating, making him growl low in his throat before he's deftly unbuttoning and unzipping them, fingers trembling at you help push them and your underwear down to puddle at your ankles.

You squeal as he lifts you easily to set you atop the counter spreading your legs in his firm grip while your own fingers curl around the marble edge of the counter, gasping as he kisses and sucks against the flesh of your inner thighs as he makes his way towards your pussy. He can smell how aroused you are and it spurs his instincts on, despite the sliver of anxiety working against his lust.

He's marveling at you, sliding two fingers through your wetness, spreading you to see the way you glisten with the slick liquid and he can feel your eyes on him.

"I've, I'm sorry, I've just never been with anyone." The last half of the sentence is heavy on his tongue, one crimson eye shyly avoiding your own before you reach down to cup his face in one hand.

The small smile on your face is sweet, purely gentle and it eases the nerves gnawing at his stomach.

"Never?" He shakes his head and you tilt your head to the side, "Then just watch for a second."

And it's mesmerizing, the way your fingers delicately dip down into your own wetness, dragging up to your clit before your fingers start slowly circling. He watches intently, watching the way your pace slowly builds, your hips twitching ever so slightly at the stimulation before you move back down and slide those two fingers inside yourself.

And the sight is like something religious to him, totally enraptured at the way your pussy swallows the two digits, the way your head tips back and your lips part in a silent sigh. It's not long before the soft squelching sound of your fingers scissoring against your walls reaches his ears, making them flick as he zeros in on it.

With a breathy laugh you pull your hand away but before it gets out of reach he grabs it, bringing your soaked fingers to his mouth before locking eyes with you, tongue tasting every bit of yourself that lingers against the skin.

He thinks your demonstration was a good enough starting point, no longer too nervous as his tongue starts licking long stripes up your pussy and you let out a high pitched sound at the contact. It makes him eager to please, focusing all his attention on licking and sucking at your clit while his fingers find your entrance.

The stretch of you is better than anything his imagination could've conjured up, feeling your walls part around his digits as he gives a few experimental curls and strokes. He can hear you nearly choking on your own noises above him and it sends satisfaction oozing through his body, washing over him like thick drops of syrup.

But he's impatient, whining against your cunt and you seem to know what he needs without him even voicing it. Just another reason to be so enamored with you.

You drag him up to stand, hands urging him to strip and he does so gladly, nearly jumping out of his own skin he's so flush with excitement at having you soaking wet and ready to take him, right there in the middle of his kitchen.

It makes his head spin as his cock springs free, groaning as he feels the air against his overly sensitive girth. Your mouth opens slightly as you take in the sight of him and that earlier shyness returns with a vengeance, but before he can speak your hand wraps around him, barely able to grasp all of him. The surge of pride is something he's entirely unfamiliar with but he relishes in it all the same, desperately wants to please you.

"Just try to start slow, okay?" You say, breath hitching in your throat as you guide the head of his cock through your folds before positioning him at your entrance.

And he takes the lead flawlessly, one hand against the counter to anchor himself and the other gripping your thighs, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers as he pushes in. It's torturous, the howling need to just slam right into you as he feels his head sitting heavy and thick inside you, your breathing already ragged and your eyes fluttering closed.

But he knows this requires patience, for the moment. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you, hurt the trust you've placed in him, so his hips move barely an inch at a time and the feeling of your body reshaping itself around his cock is one hundred times more incredible than just his fingers.

What a pathetic comparison his hand ever was, the real thing will never be beaten out. Your whimpers increase in frequency as the head of him kisses your cervix, his swollen knot nestled tightly between his own body and your slick pussy. As he looks down at your connected bodies he can't help but wonder if you'll even have the ability to take it, but he doesn't get to give it much more thought because you start slowly wiggling your hips, encouraging him to move.

And once again he follows your lead like it was the only role he was meant for, pulling out with agonizing gentleness before pushing himself back inside you and he can't help the way his mouth drops open, the way his eyes screw shut. Does it feel like this for everyone, like they've died on the spot and been given an express ticket to heaven?

He doesn't have the wherewithall to feel any embarrassment at the way he's panting, nearly drooling on you, the way he's keening and growling like some fledgling but you don't seem to mind it. Not with your fingers digging into his fur, your legs loosely locked around his hips, the way you say his name in a half gasp.

His fingers slide down between your bodies as you pull him closer, into a heated kiss made of teeth clacking together and tongues pushing against one another. He swallows your every noise as he starts playing with your clit, just the way he watched you do it earlier. Rubbing sticky little hearts against it and nipping at your lips as your legs jerking, the muscles straining and flexing beneath the skin.

His canines scrape a path from your mouth to your jaw to your throat as his hips pick up speed, jostling your body with so much force your cries take on a higher pitch and your fingers pull at his fur sharply, only adding to the overall sensory delight. He tests your tolerance with his teeth, shallow bites in between sucking on the skin of your throat, groaning as he feels your hand slide up to cup the back of his head, feels the flesh pull taut as you let your head tilt even further to the side.

Giving him permission. His mind is swimming through a black sea of pure instinct, running his tongue over the flesh in silent apology for the pain you'll experience but he won't pass up the opportunity. You're allowing him to indulge, playing to his base instincts. How could he not gobble up the bait? And with that loose thought his canines dig into you, the fine points of them puncturing the skin and a trickle of iron washes over his tongue.

You cry out, pussy immediately squeezing him in a stranglehold at the same time your fingers yank at his scruff but it's not to stop him, it's like the string of a bow being pulled all the way back. Your toes curl in midair, practically sobbing as your hips buck wildly and he thinks this must be it, this must be what a human is like when they cum.

Later he'll examine the fact that you came at exactly the moment he inflicted that little bit of pain on you but for now he's lost in it, hips moving in no particular rhythm anymore as he fucks you through your orgasm, fuck you through the impossible tightness of your cunt, and he can feel it like a second heartbeat fluttering in between your legs as his tongue slides against the blood threatening to drip down to your breast.

And all too soon he feels his balls tightening up, his knot throbbing in time with the pulsing of your cunt and his movements are cruel now, all fueled by pure instinct as he grinds and fucks into you with shameless desperation. His knot needs to be inside you before he cums, he can't spill anywhere but inside you.

And his clumsy, less than elegant method works when he feels that tight ring of muscle at your entrance stretch to its limits and the almost too snug pop of all of himself finally sliding inside. You hiccup on a particularly loud sob as it does, legs snapping against his hips with such finality he doesn't move against your hold, remains standing as his body shakes, his cock twitching as sticky spurts of cum flood your pussy, whining at the way your walls practically suck it all deeper inside, milking him so much it's overwhelming.

It goes on for so much longer than he ever thought possible, the sheer amount of cum making him feel dizzy, like he's lost blood and is teetering on the edge of passing out. But he can't focus on the feeling, instead guiltily kissing every part of your face he can, trying to wipe away the saltwater tracks and then cradling your head against his chest as you bury your face in his fur, feeling the way you're trying to even out your breathing.

You speak before he can, his tongue like a wad of wet cotton in his mouth.

"How- how long are we stuck together?" You manage to force the words out unsteadily, pulling back to meet his gaze before nuzzling your face against his jaw.

His heads still spinning as he answers. "I don't really know," he breathes in harshly, "I'm sorry if its uncomfortable."

He can feel you shake your head. "It's not," your voice becomes shy, still thick with the aftermath of your orgasm, "I like the feeling of you inside me."

He can't help the dopey smile that crosses his face, fingers stroking down your back as he ignores the way his legs shake, the way his knot pulses. When you're no longer tied together he'll need to lay down before he collapses on the spot.

Already that thought invites visions of clutching you to his chest while you straddle his hips, cock thrusting in and out of you at a volatile pace all over again. He'll make it up to you once the fog of lust is lifted, but you most likely won't be leaving this apartment in the coming days.

He'll have to remember to call in for you tomorrow, sure to hear Rinas smug voice on the other end of the line.

[awearywritersworld]

she mumbled that i was peculiar

sukuna x reader summary: impressively, sukuna is still trying to find ways to deny his feelings for you. nevertheless, he keeps you safe from harm when a late night trip to the store doesn't go as planned. will seeing his violent nature for yourself change the way you feel about him? he seems to think so. w/c: 4.2k (oops) tags/warnings: angst to fluff. attempted kidnapping. canon typical violence. depictions of blood. reader throws up. reader is in shock for a bit. cursing. aged up!yuuji. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. *please mind the warnings for this chapter* a/n: i'm sorry this took so long! im ngl, i struggled quite a bit to write this chapter. i'm still unsure about the pacing, but here it is anyway. thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy! series masterlist // masterlist

it's not often that you go out for the evening, but tonight is one such occasion. you leave around seven, excited to meet nobara and maki for dinner.

when yuuji falls asleep a few hours later, sukuna doesn't take over right away. he spends a while in his domain, engaging in what some people might call sulking.

before long, however, he begins to feel restless and he tells himself it's because he's grown accustomed to his finite hours of freedom. of course, it has nothing to do with your absence.

so he assumes control of his vessel's body and pulls a short novel from your bookshelf. settling on the couch, his fingertips brush over the cover: the stranger by albert camus

it's the first time he's ever been alone in your apartment, a fact he's well aware of, and his eyes wander to the front door. it'd be all too easy to pull it open, to make his way downstairs and out onto the street.

how long would it last before yuuji regained control? are you nearby? would you get caught up in the havoc he'd doubtlessly wreak?

the thought makes him grimace. returning his focus to the book in his hands, time seems to pass by faster as he makes his way through the pages.

even so, he deems the narrative a bit boring. in his (what's the opposite of humble?) opinion, dead mothers and nagging girlfriends don't make for the most captivating story, so his mind begins to wander once he happens upon the quote:

"so why marry me, then?" she said. i explained to her that it didn't really matter and that if she wanted to, we could get married. besides, she was the one who was doing the asking and all i was saying was yes. then she pointed out that marriage was a serious thing. i said, "no." she stopped talking for a minute and looked at me without saying anything. then she spoke. she just wanted to know if i would have accepted the same proposal from another woman, with whom I was involved in the same way. i said, "sure." then she said she wondered if she loved me, and there was no way i could know about that. after another moment's silence, she mumbled that i was peculiar, that that was probably why she loved me but that one day i might disgust her for the same reason.

sukuna thinks about you— the woman who forced her way into his solitude.

although, what if it hadn't been you? what if the brat had been involved with another woman? would he have eventually taken an interest in her too?

are you really that special, or is he just going crazy inside the cage that is itadori yuuji? the latter is much more likely, right?

he supposes he prefers the idea of madness over... feelings for some human.

all of a sudden, your apartment door seems much more inviting. would it be so bad if he were to step through it? what did he really have to lose?

yeah, that's right. he'll get up any second now and act on every horrible impulse he's been repressing. any second now... any second...

he can't quite figure out why he's unable to bring his limbs to move, weighed down by some force that's beyond him.

it's at that moment the door clicks open and for a split second, he thinks it must be his sign to go, but then you come waltzing in.

"'kuna!" you greet in an excited manner, disrupting the peaceful quiet.

kicking off your shoes haphazardly, you make your way over to him and promptly drop yourself into his lap. it elicits a bout of unwelcome clarity for the king of curses.

no, he wouldn't have taken an interest in just anyone, that much becomes obvious. it wasn't through a medium as flawed as chance that he came to... tolerate you. you're much too annoying for that to be the case.

"hello???" you wave your hand in front of his face. "i'm home."

"i can see that."

"welcome home, darling," you say in a deep voice, a poor imitation of him. "i missed you so much— that's what you're supposed to say."

yeah, definitely too annoying.

"but i didn't miss you." one of his hands comes to rest on your thigh, a betrayal of his preceding assertion.

"you're sitting alone reading—" you pause to inspect the book lying open beside him. "existential fiction about a nihilistic frenchman. of course you missed me."

he changes the topic rather swiftly. "you're drunk."

"i'm tipsy, at best." you roll your eyes. "can't i just be happy to see you?"

"you'd be the first."

"i don't mind making history."

you place a kiss on his lips, casual and affectionate in way that makes sukuna's body stiffen, and stand up.

"i need to get ready for bed, then we're gonna watch tv together because i missed you— gosh, see how easy that was?"

you run off to the bathroom and his body doesn't fully relax until he hears the shower turn on.

the thought of missing someone is a strange notion to him, because it implies eagerness and desire. for as long as he cares to remember, those emotions have been reserved for proclivities much more sinister.

so he hadn't missed you. he just would have preferred it if you stayed home. that's all.

when you return to the living room around fifteen minutes later, you're wearing one of yuuji's shirts, and as far as sukuna can tell, very little otherwise.

making yourself comfortable on the floor between his legs, you pass a hair tie behind you. "can you braid my hair?"

he's watched you get ready for bed enough times that he's fairly certain he can manage it. taking the tie from you, he still asks "why can't you do it?"

"because i'm sleepy," you frown, reaching for the tv remote.

gathering your hair in his hands and carefully dividing it into sections, he sighs. "you require so much looking after."

"you're not going to die if you can't have cookies tonight." sukuna states dryly, glancing at the clock that reads eleven o'clock.

"please don't trivialize my struggle," you begin, pulling on your jacket. "i want miso butter cookies— my grandma's secret recipe."

most of what you need can be found in the kitchen, but a trip to the store is in order for a few final ingredients.

"my mistake," he huffs, rising to his feet. "how insensitive of me."

"oh, it's alright. just don't let it happen again."

"sure. i'll keep that in mind, princess." sliding the apartment door's chain lock off the track, he does little to hide the vexation in his tone.

just as he reaches for the handle, you stop him and wrap a scarf around his neck, forcing a hoodie into his hands. "put this on. you'll be cold."

he looks at you as if you're crazy. "i don't have to worry about things as insignificant as the weather."

"well, put it on anyway," you insist.

he decides that acquiescing will be easier than arguing for the next five minutes and slips the hoodie over head. when you both step out into the chilly air of night, there are still a decent number of people traveling the streets.

stopping at a crosswalk the next block over, you begin to prattle on about what you need to pick up and the different steps in your recipe. naturally, you completely miss it when the pedestrian sign turns green.

"come on," sukuna commands, his hand wrapping around your wrist and tugging you along with him. "i don't have all night."

you scoff. "to be fair, i didn't say you had to come with me."

"yeah well it's late. you shouldn't be out alone." there's a hint of exasperation in his voice, like he truly had no choice in the matter.

despite that, once you reach the other side of the street, his fingers slide down your palm and thread through yours.

you glance over at him and find he's looking off to the side, so you bite your lip to suppress your pleased smile. is he avoiding your gaze intentionally? you decide that bashfulness suits him better than you would have expected.

offering him a light squeeze of the hand, you hope it conveys your appreciation of his small display of affection.

"so, are you going to help me make the cookies?"

his lips press into a thin line. "as thrilling as that seems, i don't particularly have a penchant for baking."

"you think you'd humor me a little! you know, since i'm your only friend and all."

"if anyone else asked me such a ridiculous question, they wouldn't live to see tomorrow." you ponder whether he's joking and quickly decide that he isn't. "this is me humoring you."

"you're so mean to me."

"hardly."

"fine," you pout. "then you can't have any!"

"now, hold on." the threat does make him hesitate. you've come to learn that if there's one thing he loves as much as reading, it's food. "let's not be hasty."

you're approaching the store, the sliding doors just a few strides away.

"it's only fair! besides, you're not going to die if you can't have cookies," you throw his earlier words in his face.

he exhales deeply. "have i ever told you how irritating you are?"

"woah! now you're definitely not getting any, mister!"

"alright, alright," he groans as you step inside. "i'll help you bake your stupid cookies."

"perfect!" you exclaim as if you knew he'd give in eventually (you did). "then you can start by finding the miso paste while i get everything else!"

you scamper off before he can tell you not to order him around like some common servant. he's never even been grocery shopping, how the hell is he supposed to find anything in here?

wandering the aisles, he stews over how domestic this is. for god's sake— the king of curses, shopping for ingredients and making baked goods. what have you reduced him to?

just as he considers giving up, he spots the item he's looking for and grabs it so aggressively that it knocks a few packets of instant miso soup to the floor. wrinkling his nose in distaste for the entire experience, he sets off looking for you, though his efforts are to no avail.

he wonders where the hell you could have gone off to when a flickering light catches his eye, filling him with a strange sort of unease.

it's emanating from a narrow hallway tucked away in the back corner of the store. at the very edge of the hall, a phone with a familiar case is lying on the floor, the screen shattered.

his blood runs cold, a sensation that is fully unknown to him, and the miso paste slips from his fingers. he appears in the hallway the very next second and the sight that greets him ignites a furious hostility in the center of his being— heavy and consuming.

you're struggling against one man as he drags you out of the backdoor and into an alley. another man is holding the door open, urging his partner to hurry up.

the hand over your mouth keeps you from yelling, but you're unsure you would have been able to make a sound regardless.

one second you're cast into darkness, and the next, the light seems blinding. the flashing is unceasing and it makes your head hurt.

two limbs are wrapped around your torso, keeping you firmly in place, and your arms are trapped at your sides. you might be kicking your legs, but they may just be dragging along too. you really can't be sure.

there's a thrum of a heartbeat at your back. it's pace is unforgiving, the intensity mirroring that of your own. you've a vague concern that your heart may very well beat right out of your chest.

then there's an abrupt shift in the air and a sickening crack echoes through out the night. crumpling onto the concrete, you think it must have started raining before you realize that the droplets on your face are warm.

you wipe at your cheek and your fingers stain crimson, the color matching that of an increasingly large puddle seeping across the pavement beside you.

there's a heap lying a few feet away and you recognize that it's wearing clothes. it's a sight you struggle to make sense of.

needing to focus on something else, your eyes find sukuna and the expression he's wearing is fierce and unreserved. "tell me what you wanted with her."

you've never heard him speak in such a way. his tone is low, his cadence nothing short of threatening.

"s-s'kuna?" your own voice sounds foreign to you and it goes unheard by him.

he has your attacker pressed against the brick wall of the alley, both hands wrapped around his throat. he's too livid to realize the pressure on his windpipe is preventing him from answering.

sukuna throws him to the other side of the alleyway out of frustration, the man rolling onto his back and wheezing to appease his lungs.

"tell me!" sukuna commands again, louder this time. less collected.

the man scrambles away from his looming figure. "th-they sent us, told us they needed her for an important matter."

"who?"

"they'll kill me if i tell you—"

sukuna crouches down, laughing dryly. "and what do you suppose i'm going to do?"

his eyes are almost unrecognizable to you. they're frenzied— a few shades deeper than the scarlet you've grown so fond of.

"you'll k-kill me either way, so at least i'll die with honor—"

"tch. useless." sukuna waves his hand, and you can hardly comprehend what happens right in front of you.

neat red lines appear across the man's body, then it ruptures into nothing at all. the only evidence that he was ever there in the first place is his blood.

the stench of which is perhaps the worst part— intense, coppery, and hot. it makes your eyes water, and before you know it, you're hunched over and emptying the contents of your stomach onto the ground.

sukuna is at your side in an instant, pulling your hair away from your face, but while one of your hands is braced against the concrete, the other endeavors to push him away.

his body doesn't budge at the contact, but he takes a step back anyway in an attempt to respect your wishes.

your mind is a mess filled with racing thoughts— what the fuck? this cannot be happening. what the hell even happened in this first place? that man was there and then he wasn't.

inhaling sharply, you wipe at your mouth and shift to pull your knees to your chest.

"what..." you trail off, surveying the unutterable, incomprehensible scene before you. "what did you do?"

he doesn't respond, though his features noticeably soften. somewhere in the back of your mind, you know very well what he did, but you can't help repeating. "what did you do?"

"we need to leave." it's not that sukuna couldn't handle whoever might show up, but seeing as this is your reaction, he has no desire to. "if you let me touch you, i can take us home."

you take a moment to think about it, then nod wordlessly. as soon as his hand falls on your shoulder, you're met with that same sensation you felt the night gojo teleported you and yuuji home after one too many drinks.

though this time, the sick feeling in your stomach isn't caused by liquor. you don't stand up, you don't so much as move a muscle when you feel the surface beneath you shift from concrete to carpet.

sukuna breathes out your name, his uncertainty evidenced by the way he's shoved his hands into his pockets. meeting his eye, you reiterate the same inquiry once more. "what did you do?"

it's almost as if you want him to tell you that he didn't do anything. that the whole experience was some disturbing nightmare.

"those men would have hurt you."

"that doesn't mean they deserved to die." you choke on the final word.

"yes— it does."

with that, silence hangs in the air like a suffocating miasma.

looking to your hands, you're reminded of the blood you've been spattered with. "i need to wash up."

you still don't move from your spot, too fixated on your flesh and the dreadful hue that it's been painted with. sukuna notices now that you're trembling.

he approaches you hesitantly before extending his hand. "let me help you."

you decline his offer, shying away from him. "i think you've done enough already."

god, the look in your eye is utterly despondent. he struggles to swallow the lump that forms in his throat.

his arm falls limply to his side and he looks across the room, your copy of the stranger earning his attention.

he's overcome with chagrin when he realizes that his concern brought about by camus' quote the other night was wholly misguided. he'd been focused on his own feelings, whether they were genuine or simply wrought by his isolation.

how foolish was he to ever question what you truly mean to him? with the anguish that's settled in his chest at the sight of your current state, the fact he ever doubted it makes him feel like a hopeless idiot.

had he any sense at all, the part that resonated with him would have been—

she mumbled that i was peculiar, that that was probably why she loved me but that one day i might disgust her for the same reason.

disgust. is that what you're feeling now? he's certain it is.

it was just last week that he relayed the story of his past. you're the only person alive to know the truth of how his wickedness came to be, and you met him with unconditional sympathy and understanding.

you pulled him close and embraced him, but now that you've seen him for what he truly is...? you can barely stand to touch him and it's like a knife to his heart.

you're so fucking warm— like the sun against his skin after weeks of endless rain.

and if you're the sun, surely he is the moon— cold and barren on his own, but brilliant when in the presence of your light.

to be without that? to be without you? it's a prospect too terrible for him to bear. it makes his stomach twist miserably.

you're startled (as is he) when his form falls to the floor, his knees meeting the carpet with a dull thud. he calls out your name again, but this time, his voice cracks as he speaks. "please."

he doesn't have a clue what he's even asking for. a chance to explain? forgiveness? a way to turn back time?

you don't say anything, but you do shift your gaze to him. he knows that he needs to fix this, so he wracks his mind for the right words.

"i didn't enjoy killing those men." he's somewhat surprised to find he's telling the truth.

"you didn't?" your voice is so small and timid that he can hardly decipher your words.

"no. my only concern was to keep you safe— to make sure they never put their hands on you ever again. all i felt was rage and... and... guilt. i should have never left you alone and it's my fault—"

"stop," you interrupt him.

there are tears welling in your eyes, making it difficult for sukuna to breathe. he's positive you're going to tell him that his intentions were of little consequence and that you never want to see him ever again.

instead, you push yourself forward and collapse against his body, your own wracked with violent sobs. the reality of the situation is only just now hitting you. it'd been much easier to focus on what sukuna had done, rather than what almost happened to you.

"i was so scared, 'kuna."

and still, despite the way you're clinging to his shirt and burying your face in chest, he's under the impression that it's him you were afraid of.

"i'm sorry," he tells you earnestly. "i never meant to frighten you."

"n-not of you. those men." you're struggling to speak in between desperate gasps. "why did they do that? what did they want with me?"

"i don't know." though, he is going to find out.

sukuna is not a man well versed in comfort, so he's not entirely sure why he begins rocking you back and forth, but he does it anyway.

when you finally start to breathe a little easier, he mumbles into your hair, "come on. let's get you cleaned up."

he doesn't give you a chance to respond before he scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. setting you down on the counter gently, he searches the linen closet for a cloth.

it's quiet, save for your intermittent sniffling, as he runs it under warm water and wrings it out. his free hand moves to rest against the side of your neck and he dabs at the blood on your face, rinsing the washcloth every now and then.

he tries his best not to show it, but sukuna is agonizing over what might be going through your mind.

do you still feel safe with him? have your feelings changed? do you still love him, even when you've been so harshly reminded what he's capable of?

when you speak for the first time your words are hoarse, barely above a whisper. "thank you for saving me, sukuna."

he thinks about telling you not to thank him, not when it shouldn't have happened in the first place. he left your side, an error in judgement he'll never forgive himself for.

he considers your mortality— your weakness— in relation to his feelings for you. he's always seen this exceptionally human quality as despicable.

but now? all it does is terrify him.

"in the past, i was only concerned with my own whims and desires." his hand moves to cradle your face, his thumb running over your cheekbone. "though after tonight... you have to know..."

it's clear that he's struggling. his eyebrows draw together and his mouth twitches as he ponders his next words.

"i care about you, angel." his voice is hushed when he adds, "very much."

your eyes widen briefly and you murmur his name, but your mind is still reeling from the events of the past twenty minutes and you can't think of anything more to say. you're emotionally exhausted in a way you would have never thought possible.

it's plain to him too, so he knows his next question is selfish, but he can't go on without knowing. "does what you saw tonight change things between us?"

the silence preceding your answer seems to stretch on forever.

"i thought it would," you confess eventually. it was as if you'd put up a wall in your mind separating sukuna the king of curses from sukuna the man you spend your evenings with.

and it's difficult to reconcile the fact that the hands you saw used to murder two men are the same hands that are caressing your face so delicately.

at some point, however, you realized that the only time you felt fear tonight was when you were without him. his arrival and ensuing actions inspired shock and apprehension, though in some twisted way, you knew it meant you were safe. "but it doesn't."

the next question tumbles from your lips thoughtlessly. "does that make me a bad person?"

he chuckles and some of the tension in the room dissipates. "i think i'm the last one on earth that can pass moral judgement on you."

he tucks your hair behind your ear and scans your face, relief coursing through his body when he sees you smile. in this moment, there isn't anything else in the world he would have asked for.

"i guess you're right."

and now, the hand over your mouth is your own, an attempt to stifle your tired giggles. the light of the bathroom is warm and steady. sukuna's hands rest atop your hips, his touch firm but comforting. while you can't feel your own heartbeat, you're positive it must be beating in time with his.

when you crawl into bed that night sukuna pulls you close, your back pressed to his bare chest. you're thankful for the softness of his demeanor, because you need it tonight more than ever.

he doesn't recede to his domain until yuuji wakes up the following morning. he's determined to keep an eye on you as you sleep, to watch the slow rise and fall of your chest with newfound gratitude.

he knows he needs to speak with the brat about what happened. someone is after you and while he hates to admit it, he knows he can't ensure your safety alone.

and he will keep you safe, no matter the cost.

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @risuola @lirasmoon @disaster-rose @archivist-ghoul606 @creative1writings @sloppyzengarden @omismicrowave @cecesharktales @tanyeonn @hiqhkey @ruixrei @yellowsubiesdance @thefallofruins @anything-and-everything-here69 @emzalot @elusivemoon @annoyingstrawberryballoon @miabiar @hyeon-yi @iluv-ace @thepup356 @browneyedgirl22 @lantsovheiress // users in bold could not be tagged. if i forgot to tag anyone, my apologies!! just give me a heads up.

[gotham-daydreams]

How would it have gone differently if Reader didn't try to be an "overachiever" and instead just stayed quiet and didn't interact with anyone besides Alfred until they left? Their room they left being mostly blank, with only the music journals? Giving up on trying to get their attention.

I think what's so funny about this ask, to me, is that I already have a concept like this written down (along with 3 others since the current reader I'm writing for the "Not [ ]" series is one of them but with a few missing details), so this'll be fun!

I guess it generally goes how you'd expect? Which is different for the most part, but the reader's perspective on what's happening is also different.

Granted, I would like to point out that, at least for this particular concept and the idea I have for it of how this would go, does have more stuff going on pre-Batfam that do affect how they perceive what's happening, and that's what makes things interesting in my opinion. Because someone can be naturally shy or just overall more reserved either out of nature or because they feel a certain way, but still feel bad about being neglected and, despite their lack of effort, feel that pain just as much as someone who's tried. Which is valid! Besides, someone's definition of 'trying' can vary as well.

Everyone should have a chance to have a family, and form some kind of connection with people. Just because you aren't going above and beyond for one person, doesn't mean you're undeserving of certain things. Especially not a chance to have a family, or feel like you have one. That's what I think anyway.

Nevertheless, back to the reader!

From the original concept, I will be tweaking a few things to fit the ask, but the same general outcome remains! Though again, the reader's perspective on things is a tad different. But how about this- I'll show two versions of the reader.

One that's quiet and more reserved because they gave up much earlier, or just generally hopeless really early on because maybe they felt as if anything they'd do just wouldn't be enough, who'll be accurately named Quiet!Reader. With the other being more closely related to the concept I wrote for such an idea, that we'll refer to as Waiting!Reader.

Quiet!Reader would change up things quite a bit! I won't lie!

They might already have bad self-esteem that's quick to develop at the start of things, which is something to note as that doesn't get better with time. They grow more cold and distant from the family at a quicker pace both from personal and external reasons.

Put simply, they don't feel good enough, and even if they did- anything they could do to get the Batfam's attention would never be enough in their eyes. To which, they see very early on when they try to engage and do some things with the family, only to be turned down. What doesn't help is when Quiet!Reader sees Damian get adopted and almost immediately showered with love, (compared to them) and that really cements some ideas that were already developing in their head about the family.

When Damian comes into the picture, they feel replaced. Seeing him as someone to fill in the 'youngest Wayne' role instead of them, so that Bruce and the others actually have someone to acknowledge for such a title. Just someone else to further take away the little they had.

So, they further step out of the way, glaring at the Batfam with tired eyes before that eventually stops too. Envy clawing at their heart, hatred being sent through waves of pain all throughout their body. Hurt unmatched. Yet they still remain invisible. Quiet as ever. Unnoticed. Everything they ever felt dies down, and forms a cold numbness that they begin to associate with the family.

Maybe through that, they feel closer to the family in some twisted way. Now just as cold as them. Just as talkative, and just as engaging. Almost mirroring them, but they're honest about how they feel. Honest about what they think, and therefore better. At least when compared to the Batfam- and to them, even if it wasn't a high bar to reach anyway, at least it counts for something.

It was never Damian's fault, or really about Damian at all. It could've been anyone else and Quiet!Reader would've still reacted the same way, they know that. Though just seeing the Batfam show love and care to him and not them just makes them feel... worse.

Clearly they're capable of love, and can notice new additions to the family (to which they may have mostly believed that the Batfam's neglect was just something the family did for whatever reason, and thought that them being the youngest had something to do with it for a while) and that breaks the reader. It doesn't hurt, not as much as it would've, maybe, but whatever hurt is there dies down quickly as Quiet!Reader, well, quietly accepts their fate.

The Batfam clearly wants nothing to do with them, so why should they try to do all of these things for them? It's simple, they shouldn't. So they don't. Quiet!Reader gives up, and continues to live their life without them.

The Manor just becomes a place they sleep in, and nothing else. It isn't anything close to a home, and not even Alfred can help with that.

It's because of that little fact, however, that Quiet!Reader leaves much sooner than the reader in the "Not [ ]" series. Maybe once they get a friend they can trust, they essentially end up living with said friend, hence why their room remains so empty. The notebooks they even keep in the room they have in the Manor is from when they were way younger, instead of just being from a few months ago or so. We're talking years since Quiet!Reader has touched those things now.

Maybe they do 'officially' leave a month or so before they usually would as an overachiever in the "Not [ ]" series, having only bothered to return so often before because of Alfred. Though even then, they'd forget to return most nights- only being reminded to even try and go back once Alfred would personally call them, and ask them where they were.

However now, after a while of just the time between them basically living with their friend and sleeping at the manor, they stop returning altogether. Though this time around they instead personally go to Alfred to say they're goodbyes. Not explaining much, but just saying that while they might still try to come and visit him sometimes, they don't live in the Manor anymore. Alfred already knows this, and the embrace they share fully hammers in that fact.

Yet when Quiet!Reader turns away, and leaves the Manor for good- even through the front door at that. Alfred can't help but just... miss them already.

You see, while Quiet!Reader is indeed quieter and more reserved, especially towards the Batfam, with Alfred really being the only exception, they still made music.

Maybe they didn't have as many concerts or physical, grand, live performances compared to the reader in the "Not [ ]" series, they not only started earlier, but may have actually started out on a social platform such a youtube. They really started out small, but were able to find and start their passion much earlier!

Most of what they played was when they were in the Manor, but slowly they started to get involved with things music related outside of the Manor and in Gotham- and from there were able to build themselves up even more. Hell, I'd even say that Quiet!Reader is a little more well-known and popular than the reader in the "Not [ ]" series because of the amount of extra time they dedicated to their passion.

So basically, Alfred this time around has more recordings and such of Quiet!Reader actually doing something they love than with the one in the series. However! Funnily enough, they're gone for a shorter amount of time despite having left earlier than normal.

Alfred is just, extra fed up with this nonsense, and so pulls his tricks more early on, but also make them hit harder.

He doesn't clean Quiet!Reader's room to show how long they've been gone, adding onto the emptiness and almost abandoned feeling the room itself gives off because of how bare and empty it is. They're music haunts the halls, subtle, sure, but still noticeable- especially to those who are hyper aware all the time. Pictures of Quiet!Reader and Alfred begin to be hung up, and if he can manage- some with Quiet!Reader and their friends during important parts of their life.

No one is safe from the guilt and anguish Alfred seeks to cause to not only have the Batfam look for you, but most importantly, to finally notice you.

Let's just say, things work out a little too well.

---

As for Waiting!Reader? Oh man, I've been wanting to rant about them for a while!

Unlike the reader in the "Not [ ]" series and Quiet!Reader, Waiting!Reader had some semblance of a life before getting adopted into the Batfam. Though the idea and character themself isn't musically inclined/involved in music, or even all that interested in music for that matter- for the sake of this ask, lets say they are!

I won't dabble too much into the life Waiting!Reader had before the Batfam, as if I do end up writing them I'd also like to keep some details vague (for the sake of leaving it up to interpretation and everything), but just know that during the time they were still with their original family, they were essentially taught that they should 'wait their turn', and eventually their parents would spend time with them and care for them. Hence the little name I've given them.

So! When they get to the Manor and are officially adopted, only to be neglected and ignored during their first few attempts- because of their young age, they immediately think "oh! they're just like mom and dad!" So they 'wait' for 'their turn', believing that eventually, should they wait long enough, they'll be rewarded with bonding and such from the Batfam just as they were with their previous parents.

This mindset changes what they do as well, as Waiting!Reader even goes out of their way to not bother anyone, or "get in the way" of whatever they could be doing. Waiting!Reader treats the situation so much like their previous home life, that sometimes they might even forget that the Batfam are completely different people from their parents. The only real difference that they can think of is that they're not acknowledged at all and it seems like their 'turn' never comes. Though for a while that doesn't get them down. The Batfam is busy like they're parents were! Waiting!Reader is sure that when things die down then they'll have their time.

... Hopefully.

I can imagine that part of the reason why Waiting!Reader holds on to hope for so long is because, again, their own parents constantly reassured them that they would have their time eventually. That if they behaved, and stayed out of the way, then they would go somewhere fun with their parents and essentially be rewarded for their efforts. They were conditioned to wait, to be patient, and just comply until those around them decided to actually take care of them, and spend time with them.

Of course, as they grow up the reality of the situation does hit them eventually, but during that time they do try.

Waiting!Reader helps Alfred around the house, and so they mostly bond over doing chores, among other things. They are also more mindful, and try to keep the amount of noise they back down— so they actually don't play at the Manor all that often, and instead play literally anywhere else. If and when they do play outside, around the area of the Manor like in the gardens or something, they make sure no one is around before even thinking of playing.

Alfred does help them break a few of their habits that they got while living with their parents, but the one thing he can't seem to 'fix' is how absolutely quiet Waiting!Reader is when they walk around. Which, as on can imagine, doesn't exactly help in a situation where the whole family, except for the butler, is neglecting you.

The amount of times Waiting!Reader has caught Alfred off guard is more then you'd think for someone that works with the Dark Knight, and his various sidekicks and such, over the years. Which does say something, sure, but it's also funny!

Regardless, similar to Quiet!Reader, Waiting!Reader is able to start their musical career earlier than normal, and thuse becomes a little more popular than they would originally. However, they're more known for their live performances and giving back to the community. Seemingly just like Bruce as they attend charity event after charity event, and try to do good by the people.

Waiting!Reader also does genuinely try to become a vigilante as well, but they do so in a way where they only take care of the smaller/medium guys, and leave the bigger ones to the rest of the Batfam. This is because they want to remove possible distractions for their family, and while they would try to take on "bigger guys", they don't think they're skilled enough or experienced enough to even think about it. So they don't even try. (They also don't have the same theme as the Batfam- since they don't want to 'ruin' their reputation with what they're doing or something. Which does hell them further detach themself from the family later on.)

I'd say that with Waiting!Reader, the difference between them and the Batfam is more clear to them? Like, to them, the Batfam are just so good at what they do that they have no hope of reaching them. So instead of trying to reach for them, they just do their own thing and try to help in their own way.

Because Waiting!Reader takes care of smaller guys, they are kind of closer to Waiting!Reader as a vigilante.

The best way I can put it is that while the community trusts Batman and the members of the Batfam to save their city, they trust Waiting!Reader to save their homes.

So basically- Batfam is the bigger picture while Waiting!Reader focuses on the smaller picture.

Nevertheless! Also like Quiet!Reader, Waiting!Reader actually leaves earlier. Except when they leave, they leave.

Waiting!Reader straight up leaves Gotham City to attend the college that they want to go to, in an area that has more opportunity for them, that isn't close to where the Batfam lives or patrols.

So they not only leave earlier, but it also takes the Batfam longer to find them. Especially because Waiting!Reader does still do some things in Gotham, they just don't live there anymore.

I feel like out of all three readers, Waiting!Reader definitely feels like the kind of person that someone would assume is some kind of "Phantom of the Wayne Manor," y'know?

So Alfred definitely tries to make the Batfam feel bad like he does with Quiet!Reader. Except how anyone in the Batfam is reminded that Waiting!Reader even exists, and that they've been gone for a while now is through a letter that is accidentally sent to the Wayne Manor from one of Waiting!Reader's fans. From there, some research does start and the more the Batfam learns, the more they want to go and find the reader- you know the deal.

I hope this answered your question even if I really did ramble on this time- if you'd like me to clarify anything or go into more detail on a specific part, feel free to send in an ask!

[qqueenofhades]

I understand how important it is to be able to criticize the President, and am not at all of the belief he should be beyond critique, but the critiquing of Biden makes me so nervous. (That's not to say I agree with every decision he's made - I absolutely do not). But I feel like people see things he's done wrong and decide they won't vote for him because of it. I'm not sure if enough people have the ability to see that he's done things wrong but also is our only hope of staving off literal fascism.

So many people talk about how sick they are of it constantly being a lesser of two evils situation, constantly having to vote for a candidate they hate because the other side is worse (I heard it in 2020, 2022, etc), and I guess I just- I don't really get it? We're here because they didn't do that in 2016. All of this could've been avoided had the result been different then. I just feel like people don't comprehend how different of a place we'd be in if Hillary won and engage in all this cognitive dissonance to make themselves feel better about being part of the reason she didn't.

Like.... this has been a long-running topic of discussion on my blog, not least because it is so inexplicable and maddening. It also shows how terribly shallow most people's understanding of the American political process is, and how toxic the "I can only vote for a candidate if every single personal belief/position of theirs matches mine" belief is, as well as how much damage it has done to American democracy even (and indeed, especially) by people who technically don't identify as right-wing. Yell at Republicans all you like (God knows I do, because they're the worst people on earth) but they vote. Every time. Every election. Every candidate. Whereas the Democratic electorate still holds out for Mister Perfect, and it very definitely is Mister Perfect. The amount of "evil HRC!!!" Republican-poisoned Kool-Aid that so-called progressives drank in 2016, and then afterward when they insisted they could have voted for someone like Elizabeth Warren and then didn't do that in 2020, is... baffing.

Frankly, I don't care if Hillary Clinton's personal positions on XYZ issue were the most Neoliberal Corporate Centrist Shill to Ever Shill (and Online Leftists' intellectual skills being what they are, I seriously doubt that they were using any of those words correctly and/or accurately). American policy is not made by "personal dictate of the ruler," or at least it shouldn't be, because we are not an absolute monarchy. We rely on the operation of a system with input from many people. As such, if Hillary had been elected, we would have 2-3 new liberal justices on SCOTUS and have secured civil and environmental rights for the next generation. Roe would be intact, and all the other terrible rulings that SCOTUS has recently handed down wouldn't have happened. We wouldn't have had January 6th, the attempt to stage a coup, all the tawdry scandals, our national security being at risk because of Trump stealing classified documents and probably selling them to Russia and/or Saudi Arabia, etc etc. If you think that's in any way an equivalent amount of evil to what would have happened if Hillary was elected, or if she was "still evil!!!," then I honestly don't know what to tell you. She could fucking murder puppies in her spare time if she had preserved SCOTUS for us, WHICH SHE WOULD HAVE, BECAUSE SHE WARNED US EXACTLY WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.

(Hoo. Sorry. Still steamed. 2016 war flashbacks, again.)

In short, Hillary would have been a solid continuity Democrat and she would have signed whatever legislation a Democratic House and Senate passed, not to mention been hugely inspiring as the first female president. But because it's so important to the Online Leftists' moral sense of themselves that BOTH PARTIES ARE THE SAME!!!, they can't possibly acknowledge that ever being a factor, and/or admit that they have any culpability in not voting for her in 2016. It's like when you read the British press about any of the UK's equally numerous problems, and they BEND OVER BACKWARD to avoid mentioning that Brexit might be a factor. They just can't mention it, because then that means they might have made the wrong choice in pulling for it as hard as they did, and blah blah Sovereignty.

Basically, if HRC had been elected president, everything would be so much less terrible and terrifying all the time, we would be talking about her successor in 2024 as someone else who could be the "first," we could explore handing the reins over to Kamala as a Black/Asian woman, we could promote Buttigieg as the first gay president, etc etc. But because 2016 was so catastrophically fucked up, we are in damage control mode for the immediate future and every election is just as pivotal. And yet, because people think that the only thing that matters is a presidential candidate's personal views, we're stuck having the same old arguments and desperately begging people over and over to please vote against fascism, since that somehow isn't self-evident enough on its own. Yikes on Bikes.

[falseficus]

if i may play the devil's advocate for a moment -- it doesn't really bother me that most of the fan posting around disco elysium on this site is more focused on the emotional aspects of the game than the political ones. i mean, firstly, it's well-acknowledged that fanworks tend to fill the gaps of unexplored potential in the original work -- ie, envisioning darkness in lighthearted works, re-imagining dark works as lighthearted. a lot of the emotional or relational aspects of disco elysium are left ambiguous, abstract, or at the very least dependent upon player choice and interpretation. this renders them fertile ground for speculative art. by contrast, the game's political statements are, if you have the context to analyze them well, complete. there simply isn't much more to say.

beyond that, those political aspects are also leagues ahead of many other pieces of media in terms of their complexity, nuance, and real-world analysis. that's part of what makes the game so great, and i do think may fans understand that. but, to be honest, being capable of engaging with those aspects of the game (just glance at reddit, and you'll see that many fans don't even reach that level) does not mean that fans are capable of generating that level of work themselves. like, it's simply more mental work to come up with a piece of creative art/writing that expands upon the superb worldbuilding and commentary of DE than it is to write about harry and kim getting goopy nasty. people know how to do the latter because it is a commonly exercised muscle of fandom. the former is almost academic.

that doesn't mean people *shouldn't* engage with the political aspects of the game generatively/creatively. but also... like... maybe it's better this way. seriously, look at reddit, guys. the DE subreddit is full of people *attempting* to engage with the game politically, and the analysis they're putting out is hot steaming dookie. i lose brain cells every time im forced to read another take that earnestly assumes the game positions moralism as the Right and Good Choice for Revachol. on tumblr, analysis is generative, practiced through art/fanfiction... and if i had to see the type of shit i see on reddit on tumblr in the form of fanart, id kill us all.

so anyway, i dont think the fanwork hyperfocus on relationships/emotion indicates that people aren't properly understanding the political points of the game, but simply that those points are much harder for fans to process in a generative way. their underrepresentation in fanwork doesnt particularly indicate anything about the way people are actually receiving and understanding the themes of the game.

except for the people inexplicably clogging the tag with jean viquemare. they do not understand the game and will not see the light of heaven

[psychotrenny]

Like when are all of Biden's idiot fans gonna realise that he is not the "lesser evil". They love threatening people with how any opposition to Biden is gonna let Trump win and how Trumps gonna do all these awful things to the US as though said awful things aren't already happening under Biden. Increased border militarisation and deportation of migrants, loss of reproductive rights, legal assaults on the existence of gay and transgender people, corporate malpractice, police brutality etc etc. Like they're not just continuing to happen they've actually gotten worse under Biden than they were under the Orange Satan himself. The only substantial difference between them is foreign policy and in that area Biden is actually even bloodthirsty; in particular he's been an especially bad zionist for his entire political career and there's nothing to indicate that Trump would have somehow handled it worse beyond the mindless truism of "Orange Man Bad". Looking at their actual policies, voting for Joe Biden isn't gonna protect anyone within the US and is arguably more dangerous for the rest of the world (i.e. where the majority of the world's population lives). There is no "harm reduction" here.

If you're actually looking to help create a better world and protect vulnerable people, as opposed to feeling good that you helped the blue team win, then you're going to have to do it through avenues beyond voting for Joe. Vote third party, withhold your vote to pressure the democrats into nominating a better candidate, engage in action beyond electoralism; there are plenty of options out there. And they're all more effective than lecturing people on the computer (most of whom don't even live in your country they're just part of your empire and so forced to follow the politics) about how being mean to Biden makes you functionally a fascist or whatever

[menlove]

hey can you please explain it to us? like how are we supposed to just understand? why would a large ethnic minority vote for an open racist who hates them? this is not intuitive

wasn't trying to imply you're just supposed to understand- sorry, it's just always a lil bit of a uh bitter inducing moment when this topic comes up bc it makes it really obvious that a lot of people just don't engage w the latine community

but basically, most latines are conservative christian. usually catholic (my family isn't catholic, though my grandmother was raised that way). a solid majority of them are one issue voters, usually on the issue of abortion because many catholics & conservative christians are one issue abortion voters.

there's also the immigration issue. a lot of these conservative latines do in fact care about better immigration reform, but a lot of them also have this attitude of "I did it legally, so why can't you?" so they don't even see themselves as a PART of the group being targeted. and if they do and they take issue with it, they tend to go "okay, but the republicans agree with me on everything else and I can't in good moral conscience vote for the other party who disagrees with everything I stand for as a moral christian"

and while many latines have voted blue over immigration in the past, harris leaned pretty heavily right on the immigration issue so it's like. to them. are you choosing the guy who agrees with you on everything but immigration, or the woman who disagrees with you on everything Including immigration?

and then you also have to get into the race of it all because race is beyond complicated in this case. non-black latines sit in a weird in between space with whiteness. to the right, we're white when we're Good. to the left, we're white when it's a Problem. whiteness is conditional. and this is the case for many demographics, but it's especially relevant here. when people sit on that edge of whiteness, they WILL throw each other and other minorities under the bus to earn the protection of whiteness. so you know. behave, vote red, show yourselves to be moral, legal citizens, and MAYBE you'll be granted the protection of being considered white in america. and we aren't. but that doesn't stop people from trying. even taking my dad as an example, I grew up with him talking about how much he hated white people. today, he's out here calling himself a proud white man who voted for trump. it's conditional. and people know whiteness is a protection. naturally, this leads to a lot of antiblackness in the community as well as just racism in general.

it just boils down to latines by and large being conservative christian/catholic and voting based on that rather than viewing themselves a minority race. and being way way more split on the immigration issue than people might imagine, because I've absolutely heard it parroted time and time again that "I got here legally, so can they"

[loveemagicpeace]

🍯Astrology Notes🍯

🪴Virgo rising- are very caring people. They take great care to ensure that you have everything you need, especially for your health. They will be able to tell you a lot about various medicines.

🌱Gemini rising- funny as fuck sometimes. They are people who talk and don't stop. You can discuss all possible topics with them if you want. They have a very open mind. But when it comes to being able to do something, sometimes they are not so open to new things. Let's say one difference between them and Sagittarius is that they are not traveling types and they don't like to travel that much.

💫You will feel most comfortable talking to people with whom you have the same compatible moon and mercury in your house. for example: mercury in the 9th house and the other person has mercury in the 1st house. With this you can see what topics you can discuss with others.

🪐People who has saturn in 1st house looks better when they are skinnier. Because their bones and body structure are more beautifully emphasized. Many times they can have weight problems(they can quickly lose weight from worry).

🍀Earth signs look very down to earth even when they are joking around. Even when they make a crazy joke, they still look down to earth.

🐚Scorpios quickly stop trusting you. You just have to do one thing and they are done trusting you. When they see that you are dishonest to them in any kind of way, they will not trust you anymore. Especially when they get to know someone from the beginning and notice that they didn't tell them something or hid something from them, and as I said, it could be just one small thing like say you're going to say you're eating pizza, but in reality you're eating hamburger. It is small lie. But this is sometimes also one of the reasons why pisces and scorpio don't go so well together. Because pisces tend not to say everything while scorpios are. Many times, pisces swim off into their fantasy world and sometimes get lost in it. Scorpios are always looking for the truth in everything. I have seen successful Scorpio/Capricorn couples many times.

🍁Fire signs are actually very active people. So you have to prove them love with actions. They want to see how much you are willing to do for them and how much you are willing to risk. When you go beyond your limits and do something really crazy for them, they will really appreciate it.

💷2nd house represents your money & 8th house where you invest money. The 2nd house reflects your underlying relationship to money and patterns around money are often deeply ingrained. With the Moon in Cancer here, your emotional wellbeing rises and falls with your bank balance, both of which may be subject to flux. You can be a rags-to-riches success, but with Saturn in the 2nd you might always feel poor, the millionaire who still buys the budget range at the supermarket. The 8th house is concerned with debt and our relationship to institutions which provide loans, mortgages, and overdrafts. Capricorn on the cusp of the 8th suggests paying your dues and insisting on a proper contract, Sagittarius here you can invest a lot in travel or even illegal things.

☀️The Sun is the central flame of our vitality. Acting according to your Sun sign and engaging in activities denoted by the house it occupies are important ways to increase your energy and vigour. For instance, with Sun in the 1st, you might need time alone in order to recoup your energies - the presence of others can drain you, Or with Sun in the 6th, maybe you like to spend spare time working in the garden or catching up on DIY. The Sun in Sagittarius might mean you like to explore far afield; if in Aquarius maybe you like to holiday with a group of friends. Sun in Scorpio- working in the shadows or researching something no one knows about is best for you. Sun in 7th house you like to devote a lot of your time to your partner.

🧸Some signs are naturally more work-oriented and some more suggestive of needing a slower pace. Capricorn (or its ruler Saturn) is often highlighted in the charts of anyone with a strong work ethic - by contrast, Leo, Libra, or Pisces might engender a bit more need for time off, to play, relax, or dream. Each Zodiac sign has its ideal gap year or holiday. The fire signs might favour adventure breaks, the air signs a chance to meet new faces, the earth signs maybe an eco-trip; and the water signs a sojourn by the sea or in quiet, restful places.

🩰The IC and the 4th house describe home, both as a physical place and as an inner sense of roots, safety, and foundation. If you have Jupiter in the 4th, it might feel natural to you to travel around or you might even choose to live abroad - or with Uranus here, you may experience many changes of home(many unexpected moves). With the Sun or Moon in the 4th, you might be so strongly connected to home and homeland that uprooting yourself will not be easy - your Sun here suggests your life revolves around home in some way, the Moon that your emotional wellbeing is closely tied to it. With Pluto you can feel that your home is intense and that you are always transforming through it (but it can also leave bad memories). With Mercury can mean that you change your home a lot. With Mars you may feel that your home is often chaotic or aggressive and you are looking for a home where you can become independent. With Neptune many times your home is confusing, strange. Many times you find your ideal place somewhere by the ocean. With Venus your home is loving, genuine and you have loving parents to whom you love to return. But it can involve a lot of money or love based on it. So you can feel that your parents never really appreciated you if you didn't have money.

🧚🏼‍♀️About Aquarius: I want to say one thing about them. I would say that if they really really want they will do it. But most likely they are independent people & lost souls sometimes. I think that they are scared of attachment. So that's why they are rather alone. They are looking for someone. Who will be goofy as they are.

💌I think Valentine's Day is for Libras. Libra is a sign of love, romance,beautiful things. And if any sign is inclined to & like to celebrate this day, it's definitely the Libra. But I find it a little strange that it is in Aquarius season.

💘Cupido is definitely a Sagittarius sign. Although people don't believe that Sagittarians are so loving and romantic, but they really are. Cupido shoots into the hearts of people who are meant to be together. If you hit a sagittarius deep in the heart with your love, then you can see the true side of them. Then you can see how loving they are.

🌅The people you attract into your life are usually connected to your North Node.For ex.: North node in Virgo in your 8th house- you will mostly be attracted to people who have a virgo placements, scoprpio placements, or pisces/ taurus placements.

🌊Pluto symbolizes power in whatever house it is. The power you feel in yourself and the people around you. Strong experience of feelings. For ex.: 5th house - privacy, romance, jealousy, strong emotions, strong happiness, attitude towards the things you do, you feel strong love, devotion. Obsession with changing partners maybe or affairs idk. 6th house - obsessed with perfection, control, work, high expectations. 7th house - you attract a lot of possessive partners, obsession with your partner, but at the same time you can be afraid to get into a relationship, mistrust. 8th house rulership- curious, constant control, secrets, power over your secrets, emotional transformations, many dark things, connection with birth and death, great interest in hidden things. 10th house - people can see you as a strong opponent, driven for a career, they can see you as a person who has a lot of secrets, you can present people with challenges. Big influence.

-Rebekah🧚🏼‍♀️🩰🌙

[howtofightwrite]

For a character that virtually can’t die and regenerates in order to keep living, how do you make action interesting? Emphasize they still feel pain, why they’re doing it?

I'm actually going to step back a bit from this question first, and complement it. This is a very honest question, and something most writers who include violence in their work, should really think about. Even if you don't think you have characters like this, you do.

Now, I'm going to dunk on Ben “Yahtzee” Croshaw for a moment. Ages ago (I think it was in one of his Resistance reviews), Yahtzee described, “threatening to blow up the world,” as the laziest form of raising the stakes. Because, “hey, I live on a world.” He's mostly correct. Threatening your protagonist's life is even lazier. In the vast majority of cases, your audience knows you won't go through with it. That you won't kill off your protagonists.

With that in mind, when you decide your protagonist is completely immortal, that changes less about how you write them than you might expect. The biggest difference is simply that they're directly aware of their plot armor, rather than them engaging in faux indecision based on their perceived mortality. Again, this is something that every writer who uses violence should think about, at least a bit. It is natural for a character to fear for their life, and have reservations about risking their life, but making the part where your character's lives are on the line isn't automatically suspenseful. In a lot of cases (consciously or not), your audience will call your bluff, when you threaten to kill off a major character.

If you think back to major character deaths where something drops them without warning, part of what makes those scenes work is the lack of (apparent) setup. The writer didn't spend pages teasing you with the idea, they just went for the throat and ended that character on the spot. This is more respectful of your audience, because you're not telling them, “well, I might kill this character, or I might not.”

To be clear, I'm not saying that there's no place for teasing your audience with a character's impending demise, just pointing out that in a lot of cases, this won't generate the kind of suspense you'd hope for.

So, to get back on topic, how do you make it interesting? Remember that while this character can't die, the same is not true for the characters around them. Depending on the tone you're going for, you could create an absolutely brutal crucible effect, where everyone around your immortal gets burned off, sooner or later. Whether that's literal, or figurative, is up to you. Even if your character can't die, watching people they care about suffer and die is going to have an effect on them.

You probably don't need to draw special attention to the physical pain they experience, but you do want to be aware of it. Especially in the context of how pain affects the victim's behavior. Beyond that, there is probably an element of pain being far more annoying to the immortal than it would be to a normal person. They know it's not telling them anything meaningful, but it is distracting.

Long-term, both of these can easily result in personality shifts. And, legitimately, this is a scenario where a character may be immortal, but they would still experience significant changes over time, and with the growing emotional pain, could have very adverse effects on your personality. This does have some very real, “live long enough to see yourself become the villain,” potential. How many friends can you lose before you stop caring? How many funerals can you attend before you start taking the phrase, “you're either part of the solution or part of the problem,” a little too far? How many times can you pick yourself up off the pavement a blood-covered alleyway, surrounded by corpses, before you start to forget what made you human in the first place?

And, that's not the only option. The simplest answer for maintaining tension when one of your characters is immortal is keeping your eye on what they're trying to accomplish. Keep track of their objectives, because I guarantee they can fail those. Even just keeping their own nature concealed from the mortal world is probably fairly important, because of the idea that men in hazmat suits will drag them away to some research lab and poke them until they figure out how to replicate their immortality, is a classic (and potentially plausible) threat. (Bonus points, if you're wanting to loop in something like the medieval inquisitions, or some other secret societies that could pose this kind of a threat.)

So, what do you do? To dig out an old cliché threat, “there are fates worse than death,” and it's probably worth exploring them. This also opens up new possibilities for threats. Finally, it's worth remembering that immortality does not guarantee success. If your character is hoping for that, it might be time to give them a very harsh lesson.

-Starke

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[rainydayathogwarts]

Boyfriends and mentors - Tony stark x reader, Peter Parker x reader

summary: peter brings his gf to meet tony, his mentor. But when he gets dragged away for nightly rounds, he doesn't think as much as he should before leaving you two alone. cw: SMUT, cheating (r! on peter), age gap (20s and 40s) reader is described as shorter than tony and having hair that can be 'tucked behind your ear', slight angst at the end, reader regrets it. 3.5k wc

An extended hand.

A welcoming smile.

A classic 'girl next door' outfit.

A nervous glance back to your boyfriend.

That was all it took for Tony to be wrapped around your finger. Your smile faltered when your hand stood unshaken a few seconds beyond comfortable. Tony blinked twice, stepping forward to shake your hand, his second hand clasping around your shoulder as he tugged you closer to him, walking you into his lab and welcoming you to his 'sacred space'. Peter's shoulders slumped in relief, following his two favourite people in the world into the room.

Tony jogged ahead of you to clear some things from one of the two stools in the room, gesturing for you to sit down whilst he took his place on the other chair. Tony knew you were a special girl. Peter spoke about you all the time, going on about your skills and kindness, and beauty. Most importantly, you were special enough for Peter to bring you to the Stark Tower, filled to the brim with avengers and spies who only had to look at your face to know every detail about your life. Tony dismissed the questions you asked him, claiming "You probably already know too much" before turning the tables, nodding along as you answered his queries.

You leaned forward as you spoke to Tony, or 'Mr. Stark' as you called him, a curious gleam in your eyes. Laughing where appropriate and mirroring his body language, you were pulling out all the tricks for him to like you. It seemed to be working. You hadn't thought much about meeting the Tony Stark — probably overrated and not as attractive in real life. But boy were you wrong. The older man looked engaged as you spoke, stroking his salt and pepper beard in interest. All you wanted was for him to approve of you, especially as Peter's girlfriend, and not at all because you wanted a man as handsome as him to like you. Peter, who now stood behind you, chest to your back, one hand on your hip whilst the other held yours, squeezing your palm lightly in reassurance. Glancing back at your boyfriend, you grinned at him, feeling your cheeks heat up when he leaned in close to press a quick kiss to your lips. "I'm so glad you guys are getting along well."

Tony grinned, getting up to retrieve a bottle of whiskey from the shelf with two glasses, asking "You old enough to drink yet?" You laughed, nodding your head yes. "I am, Mr. Stark, but I'm not such a fan of whiskey." Tony hummed, eyebrows raising in mock surprise. "Oh right. Well, wine?" You shrugged your shoulders with a smile, muttering a "Sure, why not?" He scavenged for wine glasses in his cupboard — an odd collection you thought for a lab — before pouring a glass for you each. "Spider-Man here has nightly rounds soon, and I can't be sending the kid off to work drunk." Peter huffed behind you, mumbling something about 'not a kid', but you paid him no attention, clinking your glass with the boy's mentor.

"Wait! Rounds!" Peter gasped, "That's like, now!" He realised, rushing around the work space to sling his bag over his shoulder. "I'm sorry baby, we have to go." Peter sighed disappointedly, his eyebrows furrowing worriedly. "The party just started," Tony started, swirling the wine around in his glass "Hey, why don't you go ahead and y/n and I can get to know each other a little better?" Peter's eyes lit up at the suggestion, a smile forming on his face. "I can get her a drive home if she needs one. Unless..." Tony pointed at Peter, a thoughtful look on his face. "Yeah, yeah, I'll come back and get you when I'm done, yeah babe?" You nodded happily, swinging your legs on the high stool.

Peter ran towards you, pecking your lips lightly before swiftly existing the room, metal doors automatically closing behind him. You caught Tony moving in your line of sight, twisting in your chair to revert your attention back to him. "Now that he's gone you can tell me all the dirty stuff." You felt the heat make its way to your face at Tony's comment, unsure if he was joking. His face broke out into a laugh at the taken aback look you sported, exclaiming "I'm joking sweetheart!" You felt your heart beat particularly hard.

Sweetheart.

Peter never called you that, only ever sticking to 'babe, baby', or just your name. Tony was a man of taste — you could tell by the delicious wine. Assuming it was because he was older would be rude, so you stuck with the idea that it was due to his charm. Touchy enough to make you feel welcome, but not too touchy to make you uncomfortable.

"Penny for your thought?"

You broke out of your trance, shaking your head with a nervous chuckle "Sorry. I- I just get worried about Peter whenever he goes." The lie rolled off your tongue before you could stop it, the fact that the man in front of your could probably read your body language not occurring to you. Tony grinned, scanning your body from head to toe, grateful he was sat close enough to you that the work space wasn't covering your entire body. Your legs were swinging slowly where they couldn't reach the ground, your short dress splayed over your thighs. Thighs, ever so slightly squeezing against each other to show your... excitement to meet your boyfriend's mentor. Your hands clutched the sides of the seat underneath you — probably to stop yourself from fidgeting. Your head was often tilted downwards, if not looking around. You avoided looking at him unless he spoke directly to you, in which case you'd intensely return his eye contact.

"Worrying about your boyfriend isn't healthy for a relationship." Tony commented, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You grimaced a little, feeling caught out in your lie, and hopped off the stool. Leaning your elbows on the table in front of you, you observed the space, starting "So what's this stuff you're working on now." Topic averted, Tony noted, getting off his chair. Not a healthy relationship, he thought, at least from your side. Tony approached you until he was stood directly beside you. "Fixing a jet for my suit." You hummed in interest, watching as Tony swiped his hand in thin air, projecting a three dimensional display of the iron man suit.

Clicking on a few things, Tony pointed at the broken jet on his suit, gently placing a hand on your back as he explained it to you. The sudden touch had you taken a sharp breath, eyes going slightly wide in surprise. With Tony's attention on the display, you felt safe in knowing that he hadn't noticed your reaction, though you hadn't noticed the upwards tug of the corner of his lip, telling you otherwise. The display of his suit in front of you disappeared and you abruptly turned to face Tony, chest brushing against his. You took a shaky step backwards, reaching for the abandoned glass of wine on the table. Taking the last sip from the glass, you looked up to see Tony holding the bottle up with a raised eyebrow. Nodding, you held your glass out to him, whispering thanks before averting your attention from him.

"I'm not surprised you and Peter are together." He spoke, voice booming in the now otherwise silent lab. At the confused expression you held, he elaborated "You seem shy. He's definitely shy when he's out of that suit." You shook your head in disagreement "I'm not - I'm not usually shy, Mr. Stark." Bingo, Tony thought. "Oh? How come you are now then?" Tony's brows furrowed in mock confusion, gaze violently trained on you. He kept track of the way you sipped your wine to gain yourself time to think, swallowing thickly before responding "Well, I just want to make a good impression on you." You blinked twice, adding "You know because Peter cares so much about you." Tony caught your pause, wetting his lips with his tongue before stepping closer to you. "It's nice that you care so much. People usually don't nowadays."

"Of course I care. I love Peter." You noticed the pointed tone in Tony's voice, nodding along with him in disguised oblivion. "You take good care of him?" Tony asked, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Uh-huh." You don't know when Tony became so close to you, but you were now stood chest to chest with him, looking up at him to maintain eye contact whilst you spoke. Tony took one last sip of wine before putting his empty glass on the table. Following his actions, you handed him your glass, which he took with a smile, placing it right next to his. Tony's hands trailed towards your hips, manoeuvring your body so that you were trapped between him and the table. He began closing the distance between you. With his lips barely graze yours, you raised both your hands to cup the older man's face, his beard tickling your palms. Inhaling deeply, you firmly stated "This is wrong."

"We both know that means nothing to you sweetheart." Tony gave you a moment to challenge his words, scoffing in amusement when you didn't, before slamming his lips against yours. Your body had an instant reaction: involuntarily moaning and pushing yourself up against Tony, hands on his jaw pulling him impossibly closer to you. "Fucking knew it." He mumbled when you briefly separated for air before deepening the kiss, pushing his tongue against your lips so you opened your mouth, tongues tangling in a messy kiss. One of your arms slid over his shoulders, tugging him closer to you while you pressed yourself onto your tippy toes, battling for dominance against the older man, who easily carried control over the situation.

Tony pushed you back against the table, hitting your hips back against the cold marble and grinding his pelvis into you. You lightly hit Tony's chest to push him away from you, panting loudly when his lips separated from yours. Tony was immediately cupping your face with one calloused hand while the other was clinging tightly to your waist, making space for his lips on your neck. You shuddered at the scratch of his beard on your soft skin, eyes fluttering closed. Failing to suppress a moan, you tangled a hand in Tony's hair. Shit. You weren't used to the feeling of such skilled lips on your neck, and much less a beard on your skin. Peter had never grown facial hair; you weren't sure if he could.

"Fuck." You whimpered, feeling Tony's teeth scrape against your neck. Pulling Tony's head back by the grip on his hair, you desperately chased his lips for another kiss, hands moving to land on his impressive torso. Tony's arms wrapped around you, lifting you up just enough to place you on the table behind you, breaking the kiss in the process of doing so. The man stares at you silently, hands wandering under your skirt to tug at the string of your panties. "Hips." He whispered, watching with great interest as you lean your weight onto your hands, pushing your hips up to let the man drag your underwear down your thighs. You observed as he pockets the panties, a smile on his face, before both his hands trail down to your left leg. He folded your leg up to rest on the border of the table, pulling a gasp out of you when the cold atmosphere hits your dripping core. Tony repeated the movement with your second leg, stepping back to look at the scene he's created.

Peter Parker, his intern, his protégé, his chosen son. Peter Parker, whose girlfriend was sitting on Tony's lab table, spread out like a meal ready for him to devour. Tony puffed his chest out proudly, wondering if you'd break up with Peter from the guilt of cheating on him, or if you'd keep this as a secret, clinging onto what's left of your relationship. Would you sleep with Tony again? Or would you refuse to see his face ever again? "Mr. Stark?" His head snapped towards your small, unsure voice, waiting to see if you'd made a terrible mistake. "Fuck sweetheart, I'm going to eat you whole." Tony approached you in two big strides, hands gripping the tops of your thighs as he leaned down into your pussy to press a bold kiss on your cunt before immediately starting his attack on you. He sucked and licked at your pussy, tongue switching between dipping into your entrance and putting pressure on your clit.

It seemed the latter got a stronger reaction out of you, with hips bucking uncontrollably, and a hand that returned to his hair as his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking harshly before letting his teeth graze your sensitive areas. Gasping, you pushed Tony's head deeper into your cunt, squeezing your thighs around his head with a whine of "Mr. Stark!" The formal use of his name has a groan ripping out of his chest, the sound sending vibrations up into your core. You moaned so loudly you were sure the whole building could hear you, and possibly even Peter, halfway across the city doing rounds.

Grinding your hips against Tony's face to add to your pleasure, you can feel the man bringing you near your orgasm. You threw your head back, eyes shutting tightly. The pressure on your clit was so strong, bringing you closer and closer to the edge until... it was gone. Your head snapped up at the sudden loss of friction, gasping in disappointment, watching as the man in front of you stood up to reach his full height. You dropped your legs over the edge of the table, shutting them tightly. Tony stretched his back, twisting his torso until you heard a crack, muttering "Can't do that too much one you pass the age of forty." You looked at him unabashedly, jaw dropped in confusion and shock. Watching your expression, he added "You didn't think I was going to let you come anywhere other than on my cock, did you?"

Gulping, you let Tony drag you off the table, your feet landing on the floor with a soft 'thud'. Gripping Tony's belt, you tugged him closer to you, unbuckling the thick leather until his jeans dropped down his hips. "Gimme a kiss." The man muttered, leaning forward as he removed his boxers. You pecked his lips softly before glancing down, curious to see what he had to offer. Your sharp inhale had Tony chuckling, mumbling "Don't worry baby." You cringed slightly at the name, hand instinctively reaching for your phone at the reminder of your boyfriend. The screen lit up from its place on the table and you spotted the message 'Won't be late, I love you xx' from Peter. "Still thinking about him?" Tony asked, hands massaging your hips. "I'm sorry. The 'baby' reminded me. Don't wanna get caught." Tony nodded in understanding, kissing you deeply. "No one can come in here without my permission, you don't have to worry about anything sweetheart."

His hands guided you to face the table, and you held your breath, feeling the tip of his dick wander between your thighs, and catching onto your clit. Slowly, he pushed his cock into your entrance, inch by inch, watching your body react. You placed both hands on the flat surface of the table, biting your lip as your chest slowly heaved with deep breaths. "Fuck" You mumbled, dropping your head down so you got a clear view of Tony's legs, pressing against the side of your own with his jeans gathered in a bunch around his ankles, your pink panties sticking out of a pocket. With a final, sharp thrust, Tony filled you up, making you wince slightly. The man didn't wait for a 'go-ahead', instead beginning to thrust his hips into yours at a toe-curling pace. Moaning quietly, you pushed your hips back against his, allowing him to hit you at a deeper angle. You yelped at the new angle, allowing Tony to pull your hips back onto his with every hump of his pelvis into you.

With one hand moving to grip your hair, Tony pushed your head forward, causing your entire body to bend over, chest hitting the cold table, making shivers run down your spine. He held you there for a few thrusts before moving his hand back to your hips, trusting you to stay against the tabletop. Little moans escaped you with every sharp smack of Tony's hips against your ass, eyes tearing up with pleasure. Fuck, you shouldn't be doing this, you thought. A sudden sense of dread and guilt filled you, the image of Peter popping up in your mind. Peter, and everything he did for you. He didn't deserve this. But the only thing your mind could focus on was the feeling of every single little ridge of your boyfriend's mentor's cock running along the inside of your pussy, driving you closer to your orgasm with every passing second.

Despite Tony pulling you back onto his cock, his thrusts were so powerful they drove your hips into the sharp edge of the table, sending a splitting pain into your body. The pain blended into pleasure and the pleasure to pain. One of Tony's hands left your hips, trailing down the front of your dress until he could cup your mound. He bunched the fabric of your dress up past your abdomen so that he could rub at your clit harshly without obstruction. "Oh!" Your back arched with the extra friction, and you pushed you ass out, crying out when Tony's second hand came to smack it, likely leaving a hand print in its wake.

"Shit! I'm, I'm gonna cum!" You cried, letting Tony pull your torso up to his chest, hand wrapped loosely around your neck while he encouraged you to cum, fingers working at overstimulating your clit. The knot in your stomach snapped, and you were suddenly having a mind numbing orgasm, causing you to fall limply against Tony's chest, legs giving out under you. The older man tightly wrapped an arm around your waist whilst he kept on thrusting, pulling out last minute and averting his hips so his cum shot out across the table, painting the workplace with white ropes of cum. You leaned your entire weight against the table when the man let go of you, panting heavily in an attempt to catch your breath.

Tony stood with furrowed eyebrows as the last drops of cum dribbled out of his cock, hand stroking his dick to pump them out. You sighed, walking around him and leaning over to stick your hand in the front pocket of his jeans, gathered around his ankles. The man gasped, eyes stuck on your ass, eyes following you and you stood up straight, pulling your underwear back on. Averting your gaze from the man, you let the shame wash onto you, tears pricking at your eyes. You frowned, turning away from Tony in a moment of instant repentance, sitting down the stool he was previously sat in. Tony immediately sensed the change in atmosphere, giving you your space whilst he put his pants back on and cleaned his desk space.

Cautiously, he approached you, putting a hand on your shoulder with a soft "Are you okay, sweetheart?" You nodded, wiping away at any fallen tears and reaching for the wine bottle across the table. Tony stood silently as you took a swing straight from the bottle, recollecting your emotions. "I'm fine." The room was filled with an awkward tranquility, a mutual agreement to sit quietly until Peter returned.

When the door knob finally jiggled and a robotic voice announced "Mr. Stark, Peter is attempting to enter the room. Do I let him in?" You jumped up, walking towards the door as Tony gave permission, wiping at your face to make sure any sign of your tears disappeared. The door opened and Peter walked in, sweat covering his face but a bright smile covering his features nonetheless. "How'd it go?" He asked breathlessly, looking straight into your face. You smiled at your boyfriend, nodding with a small "Good" before throwing your arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his lips. Peter's balance was thrown off, stumbling slightly as his arms caught themselves around your waist. His mouth opened in a gasp, allowing you to slip your tongue in, deepening the kiss with him. When you broke the kiss, his cheeks were impossibly rosier, and you mumbled "I missed you." against his slightly chapped lips.

Well, you're definitely never sleeping together again, Tony figured, popping open the bottle of wine once more.

@callsignwidow