#my heart goes out to all survivors out there

[duck9irbl]

1

Everything is numbers. Even nothing has a number. 1 thing can change everything. Perhaps it was a moment or a memory a single action or in action of someone or something. Did or didn't do or said or didn't say. 1 out of multiple what if's.

Just like right now 1 single thought overwhelming the mind. Covered in darkness the only light in the words...

To who they belong too or who is directed at are for now unknow until we get to peck into the shadows your a monster

We see 1 man standing what looks to be 1 bed containing 2 people. The people look asleep peaceful unaware. They seem to not know the man but he knows them. I can make this quick and easy

'The chose should be easy right?' He thinks to himself. But as he looks upset from his slight frown. Yet conflicted onto what to do with the furrow of his brow and scrunched up face. From the 2 bag under his eyes you can at least tell he's tired. Again looking down.

1 sentence yet again appeared in his mind. with all of my heart and every fiber of my very being

That 1 sentence again surrounded by darkness the only light the words itself. How could numbers change everything?

1 sickness, 1 boy who escaped being the 1 survivor, 1 offer that he took, 2 brothers with 2 different paths he both took. their just kids

That 1 boy got to grow up despite- because of two brothers. That one boy becoming 1 man staring back at the two brothers. He sits their and watches over the cover of the shadows watching- like he's waiting for something to show up- rather someone. The roles revered 1 man. 2 boys. 1 sword. 1 choice he has to make. That will change everything.

1 lived 1 died. That would stay the same one would live the other would die that much was the same but the question was? Witch brother? YOU

He looks again to what he see's now are not 2 brothers fighting, 2 brothers who picked different paths to different outcomes. But right now- right now he see's 2 brothers sleeping peaceful unaware of the danger that might come. 2 children who don't know any better.

Both kids look at him seemingly awake in shock but maybe thinks is just a bad dream. He doesn't move as to not alert his brother. Their both awake but the other doesn't know that Their just kids who don't know any better

Again that same sentence pops into his mind. Growing more upset, more bitter, more painful stronger and stronger each time. It doesn't stop itself after once no it goes again and again. The same 3 words the 1 sentence repeating again and again. I HATE YOU-! Why?

Like a mantra, a silent prayer, a plea, a beg- hoping to forget. It gets so loud so overwhelming it consumes your very being. You can't hear anything else, you can't feel anything else you can't see anything else. You can't think of anything else. You just want to get rid of it. For it to get off the face of this reality to go somewhere else- anywhere else. JUST GO AWAY-! I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOU

I HATE YOU-! it'd be so easy just to kill him

He snaps out of it with a turn of the children heads the cuddle close to each other as if trying to shield each other from this bad dream- this nightmare.

Then a thought came to mind 3 simple words so similar yet so different. Just like the two brothers. Both words each have 3 in them with the same amount of letters in each, both making 1 sentence. How can something so similar be so different?

He stares at the boys hate oozing off of his in a glare yet he can't bring himself to fully do it. His eyebrows furrowing as his eyes look distant. He looks lost. His eye bags looking darker than before as his decision finally puts the full weight on him. With those 3 distant words yet he wants to remember fondly.

I love you.

I hate you. I love you.

Both words holding so much meaning. He loves 1 of the brothers his farther figure the one who not only gave him a chance in life but a chance to love again. The other brother he hates. The monster who almost made him lose sight of how things truly were.

I love you. I hate you.

I hate you.

This supposed to be the right chose... right?

His face scrunches up as his eyebrows furrow even closer together. As as he allows himself to close his eyes to calm down to rethink onto what he's going to do. What he was gonna do. What he wanted to do. With the words echoing for now one last time.

I love him.

I hate him.

The words no longer in pure darkness with light surrounding them. Yet what frames the words is darkness.

I love him. I hate him.

Time travel swapped AU

Law and his incoming mental breakdown 🙃 He hates Doflamingo with burning passion but little Cora-san clearly loves him. What now?

[la-petite-lapin]

Killer Queen | Part Two

Killer Queen masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x 141!reader Word Count: 2.0k Chapter warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, 141, retired (not for long) soldier reader, reader's callsign is Tiger, enemies to lovers (but currently just enemies), split POV in this one, referenced past trauma, graphic injury detail/description, mentions of gore, death, capture, and torture, swearing, this series will be significantly darker than my other works

In the immediate aftermath of the meeting, the base was a frenzy. An entire wing of the barracks was sectioned off within the space of an hour - designated solely to the newly reformed Taskforce 141.

You'd stormed off as soon as you were dismissed, retreating to the private sanctuary that was your car. You'd all received the same parting orders; all been told to go home, pack up what you needed, and return to base.

It didn't take long for you to get your affairs in order. Half an hour to sort out the meagre belongings in your rental unit, boxing up what you wanted to take with you, and setting the others aside to drop at a charity shop on the way. Not that you had much to begin with; your lifestyle was nomadic - had been since you retired. Before that, even.

You dropped your keys off with your landlord on the way back to the car, notifying them of your immediate departure. The old lady was understanding - kind, even - having already gathered the vague sense that you were military and just passing through.

Driving back through the English countryside, you kept your prized possession in the cup holder in the centre console. It was only little; a small, gold St Christopher pendant about the size of a penny on a long, thin chain. Back in simpler times, you used to wear it, the engraved disc laying over your heart. Back when you could bear the feeling of a chain around your neck. Back in the days before "Tiger" was your sole name.

God, you hated that name, though it was preferable.

It had been years since someone called you by your actual, birth name. Letting someone know that meant letting them in, and that was something that you refused to do.

Never again.

Soap and Gaz were the first two to make it back to the base. Together, they claimed the battered old leather sectional in the rec room attached to their barracks, drinking cups of tea and nattering like two old ladies in a retirement home.

"So, what do you think the odds are that she's 'the Tiger', as you put it," Gaz asks, leaning back. Despite the roguish smile on his face, the rigid set of his jaw gives away his concern.

Like Soap - hell, like most British soldiers - he's heard the stories.

Stories about men being killed in their beds in the dead of night, militias toppled within a matter of days, and enemy soldiers going missing from their posts only to be found days later in the middle of nowhere. And that's just the light-hearted stuff. That woman's ledger is soaked in red - probably rivalled only by Ghost, which is a troubling thought to say the least.

The worst story Gaz could recall was one he'd been told years ago, back when he'd enlisted. Allegedly, it detailed the incident in which Tiger had earned her nickname. It was probably an exaggeration in parts - he kept telling himself as much, trying to settle his unease at the idea of being stuck in a confined space with her for the foreseeable future.

As legend goes, her and her team were sent out on an infiltration mission, and she returned a month later as the sole survivor. For three weeks after their capture, her teammates were tortured, beaten, starved - herself included - until, one by one, they were executed. But, before they could get to her, she slipped free from her restraints and disappeared into the enemy base. For days, the militia searched for her as she bided her time, stealing food and weapons as she essentially lived within their walls. And then, when she was finally ready, she unleashed herself upon them.

Forty-three men and women died that day.

Some - the ones to whom she'd bestowed some degree of mercy - had had their throats slit; their heads caved in; their necks broken. But the others...

A small minority had done something to incur her wrath. Instead of blades, she'd taken to them with her own sharpened nails. In some instances, her teeth.

She'd butchered them like a wild animal.

Gaz had taken some time to read the report after he'd been promoted to sergeant, although most of it was redacted and required a much higher level of clearance than his own to access. The basics he'd gleaned along with a handful of photos from the militia base had told him enough: the stories were true, and Tiger was someone to be feared to the highest degree.

And - somehow - she and Ghost seemed to know one another. Well enough to have an opinion, at that.

Soap makes a noise, something between a wince and a huff, pulling him back to the rec room. Back to beige, plasterboard untouched by blood and gore. "'ah don't know, Gaz. But, based on form, ah'd say yes."

Gaz grimaces.

"An' if they've had to call her 'ere, ah'd say we're all fucked."

Ain't that the truth.

"Think she's as bad as they say?" he asks, voice giving an involuntary shudder that he hopes Soap won't catch. Last thing he wants is to look scared, especially with her lurking the halls.

Instead of answering the question, Soap shrugs and offers, "Perhaps we should ask Lt? He seems to know 'er."

Gaz nods non-committally. That'll be a fun conversation.

And then a familiar gravel-laden voice rings out across the room, sudden and harsh like a crack of thunder. "Ask me what?"

Both men twist around so fast that Gaz is surprised they don't end up with whiplash. Ghost is standing in the doorway, balaclava and hard-shell mask on, dressed in all black with a duffel slung over one shoulder. Even after years of working together, he's still a spooky bastard - creeping around soundlessly despite his sheer size.

"Tiger," Soap says in that fearless way of his, blue eyes unhindered by any trace of doubt. It's something that Gaz has always admired and been amazed by; the bold, unabashed bravery with which the Scotsman handles their Lt, refusing to coddle or humour him like other soldiers do.

The light in Ghost's already-dim eyes gutters. "What about her?"

His growl sets Gaz on edge. Makes him wonder if it's not too late to back-track on their line of questioning. If it might be safer to wait for the morning and ask Price or Kate instead.

Regardless, Soap ploughs on. "How d'ya know 'er? Seemed like a pretty explosive reunion back there."

Ghost takes a few more steps into the room, slinging the bulky duffel onto a vacant armchair. He folds his brawny arms across his broad chest, puffing it up. "There's nothing to know. I knew her once and now I don't. That's all there is to it."

Soap guffaws, folding his own arms with a grin. "'ah, come on, Lt. Tha's just begging for questions to be asked."

"All I'm going to say is that you need to watch her. I don't trust her; don't let your guard drop around her; don't ever make the mistake of thinking that you know her. Treat her like you would a hostile. That way, we might just all come out of this on the other side."

And - with that - Ghost stalks back to the doorway, grabbing his duffel on the way. His stark warning hangs in the air long after he's gone.

Both of the men listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps as he pads down the linoleum-tiled hallway, no doubt claiming a room as his own to brood in until Price arrives.

"Note to self," Gaz says aloud after a few minutes of silence have dragged by, "never bring up Tiger around the Lt."

You sit at your desk, listening to the sounds of the taskforce's laughter just doors away. They'd ordered pizza to the barracks tonight, and you'd stayed in your room to prove a point - away from Ghost's hollow, accusing eyes.

It's been a week since you relocated, and Kate has yet to provide any actionable information on Makarov and the plot to stop him. Meaning it's been a week of isolation, eating and training in solitude, avoiding the men at all costs. You'd caught the whispered conversations and furtive glances when they thought you weren't looking - exactly the sort of thing you'd hoped to avoid - and it made you hate Ghost all the more.

From day one, he'd done nothing but poison them against you.

Your eyes slip to the black plush box at the side of your laptop; the St Christopher pendant nestled within its protective lining.

More than anything, you wish you could travel back in time to last week and not pick up Kate's call. That way, you'd still be in your rental unit, curled up in front of the TV or jogging around the neighbourhood. You'd still be alone, but at least you wouldn't be judged like this.

It was a little known fact that your reputation was what had pushed you to retire.

Surprising, you knew, but that's just how it was at the time. It wasn't the trauma of the 'incident' but the aftermath of your return that made you consider an exit from the army. How people who had once considered you a friend looked at you with nothing but fear and disgust in their eyes, like they could still see the blood staining your fingertips and dripping from your maw. Like you were a rabid dog in need of putting down.

You'd still stayed for a couple of years before you put in your papers, aided by Laswell, who advocated from an early retirement instead of a discharge. By then, you were sick of being shunted from base to base, pushed between assignments as an increasingly shrinking number of captains agreed to work with you.

To some, you were an asset; to others, a liability; to most, an unknown.

But, it was towards the start of it that you met Ghost. In fact, it was only something like three months after the incident, fresh from therapy and evals that you first crossed paths.

You exhale a long, shaky breath, freeing yourself from the tangled web that those memories weave within your mind. It's always risky to look back on that time - too clouded with emotion and fear for you to view objectively. It's safer to ignore it.

You lose track of how much time passes before there's a knock at the door of your suite, faint and hesitant.

It's purposeful, the exaggerated amount of time you take to open it. Giving whoever was sent to poke the beast ample time to escape before the door opens.

To your surprise, it's MacTavish - the cheerful, blue-eyed Scotsman from the meeting - standing in the hallway with a wide, encouraging grin. Wasting no time, he dives straight in with, "Coming out any time soon, lassie? We were starting to think ye'd starved to death in there." He nods to the room behind you, the only sources of light being the hallway and the small lamp on your otherwise barren nightstand. "Want to join us for a bit?"

The invitation lingers in the air between you. It takes another moment for it to register in your brain as a genuine offer. One of kindness, not malice.

It puzzles you.

"Why?" The simple question leaves your lips as a snarl; half-feral and significantly more impolite than initially intended. "Why do you want me there?"

Something glimmers in MacTavish's eyes. For a second, you think it might be pity, and it heats a fire in the pit of your stomach. "Because 'ah know the Lt does'nae seem to like ye, and I think ye could use some friends around 'ere."

There's a beat of silence. Then another. By the third, MacTavish is shifting his weight between his feet, that handsome grin faltering just slightly.

"Listen," you say primly, taking a step out into the hall. He retreats the same distance, eyes focused on your face as you smile coldly. "I want to be on my own. I like it that way. Beats people gossiping about me; telling all sorts of stories about my past. About how I earned my callsign." The colour drains from his face. "So, no - I don't want friends. Not here; not anywhere. I do, however, want to be left alone. I want my wishes to be respected; my personal space too. Got it?"

Balking, MacTavish nods.

You ease back into your room as he starts to walk away, heading back up the hallway towards the rec room, where the laughter seems to have dissipated. But, just before he slips back inside through the ajar door, he twists back to face you, offering a kind, "We'll be in here until late if ye change yer mind."

Instead of dignifying him with a response, you retreat back into your suite, closing the door with a firm shove. You lean against the thick wooden slab, exhaling a trapped breath from your tight chest.

Back sliding down until you meet the floor, you can't help but regret agreeing to come here. It's all starting to feel like such a huge, massive mistake.

a/n: happy new year folks! - much love, lapetitelapin <3

Taglist: @420-hun @honestlymassivetrash

[rhymeswithumbrella]

💔

[anetherealpoetess]

Neil Gaiman, let’s be realistic. A 21-year-old working in the home of a man four decades her senior cannot truly give meaningful consent to any type of sexual encounter, let alone within mere hours of meeting him. Even though you are denying it was not consensual, the fact you have conceded the sexual encounter did happen at all is a full confession. You are, by your own admission, a predator.

[jaylaraye47]

don’t ever tell a male SA survivor; “You’re supposed to enjoy it”

don’t ever tell a male SA survivor; "good game/job"

don’t ever tell a male SA survivor; “You’re a boy, you can’t get raped.”

don’t ever tell a male SA survivor; “that doesn’t count.”

don’t ever tell an SA survivor; “What were you wearing?”

don’t ever tell an SA survivor; “Did you close your legs?”

don’t ever tell an SA survivor; “They’re family, they wouldn’t do that.”

don’t ever tell a SA survivor; “I don’t believe you.”

don’t ever tell a SA survivor; “I know them, they wouldn’t do that.”

don’t ever tell a SA survivor; “You’re supposed to enjoy it.”

don’t ever tell a SA survivor; “We’re you leading them on?”

don’t ever tell a SA survivor; “We’re you rude?”

don’t ever tell a SA survivor; “You’re an adult, toughen up.”

don’t ever tell a SA survivor; “it doesn’t count.”

don’t ever tell a SA survivor; “it’s your fault.”

don’t ever tell a DA/GA survivor; “but you don’t act like it.”

don’t ever tell a DA/GA survivor; “But they seem so nice.”

don’t ever tell a DA/GA survivor; “They’d never do that.”

don’t ever tell a DA/GA survivor; “She’s a girl, girl’s don’t abuse.”

don’t ever tell a male DA/GA survivor; “Boys can’t be abused.”

don’t ever tell a DA/GA survivor; “But you have no scars.”

don’t ever tell a DA/GA survivor; “You’re just making things up for attention.”

don’t ever tell a DA/GA survivor; “you should’ve just fought/yelled back.”

don’t ever tell a DA/GA survivor; “It’s your fault.”

don’t ever tell an attempt survivor; “that’s selfish of you.”

don’t ever tell an attempt survivor; “I’ve had it worse/i know someone who has it worse.”

don’t ever tell an attempt survivor; “that doesn’t sound like an attempt.”

don’t ever tell a POC; “you’d be way prettier with lighter skin.”

don’t ever tell a POC; “but you don’t look american?”

don’t ever tell a POC; “you should try skin bleaching.”

don’t ever tell a POC; “oh, are you in a gang or something?”

don’t ever tell a POC; “but your skin is so light, you can’t be colored.”

don’t ever tell a POC; “can you give me the N word pass?”

don’t ever tell a POC; “your hair is distracting”

don’t ever tell a POC; “go back to where you came from.” [whoever says this, i live in your walls]

don’t ever tell an albino; “you’re white, not black.”

don’t ever tell an albino; “so are one of your parent white or something?”

don’t ever tell an albino; “you’d be prettier if you were normal.”

don’t ever tell an albino; “oh has anyone tired talking you limbs or something” [i will hunt whoever says this]

don’t ever tell a child; “you should take care of your siblings.”

don’t ever tell a child; “he hits you/is being rude because he likes you”

don’t ever tell a child; “you have to hug them!”

don’t ever tell a child; “it’s your fault we’re divorcing”

don’t ever tell a child; “you’re too old to be doing this.”

don’t ever tell a child of divorced parents; “it’s your fault”

don’t ever tell a child of divorced parents; “pick a side”

don’t ever tell a child of divorced parents; “did you ever consider that you should’ve stepped in?”

don’t ever tell a child of divorced parents; “well if they never got together in the first place, they wouldn’t have had you”

you never know what a person is going through and don’t you dare shame a person for something they can’t control.

if you say any of these things you’re disgusting and you need to not only get educated but stop being a dick.

keep in mind that i am aware that these prompts don’t apply to everyone of a certain minority. But this is me teaching to simply be kind and pay respect and mind to a person’s experiences, minority, etc. there are multiple prompts that can be added but I will refrain to using those out of respect, and also due to censorship.

[medusas-daughter]

Woman of the Hour is great because it perfectly captures the moment you realize a man is dangerous and it's not when he goes all dramatic disney villain glares smirks or whatever and it's not even when he starts making unwanted sexual innuendos i mean those are awful too but the moment comes way before and it's more subtle and only another woman could describe it and that's why this movie would have been shitty if it had been made by a male director it's the moment when his face drops because the answer you gave didn't go with how he imagined the conversation going or the moment he calls you the love of his life after talking to you for five minutes and his mood shifts when you don't respond in kind this is the horror i actually want from slasher/serial killer horror the killing itself can be as graphic and gory as the director can make it and it will still seem goofy to me if it doesn't capture the uneasyness and the building tension before then and i really hope Anna Kendrick keeps making horror because she had me on the edge of my seat for 90 minutes without a single graphic scene that moment in the parking lot when she gives him a fake number and he calls her out on it and then he follows her to her car my heart was in my throat the whole time because it's real it's so real it's so scary also the whole movie despite being abour Rodney Alcala was seen from his victims' point of view too many true crime inspired shows focus on the serial kille rand make him the main character and focus on his emotions and his turmoil but Woman of the Hour focused on each of the victims when thye started feeling scared or the survivors who tried to report him and weren't believed and how scary it was that not even your loved ones believe you when you say it's him and she did all that without dehumanizing him he's not some monster he's a very human man with emotions and abandonment issues and he's a predator and a killer and she can humanize him without glorifying him and more directors should take note and learn from this

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #32

My baby, you’re my baby.

Imagine dis…

You know, I have the songs Mitski - I Bet on Losing Dogs and Reba McEntire - I'm A Survivor.

So in memory of the ever ending loop finally dissappearing and now replaced with Wake up by Llunr… Here it goes…

…

In the heart of Gotham, The Teen Titans who are being led by Tim Drake (Robin), along with Conner Kent (Superboy), and Bart Allen (Kid Flash) are fighting a powerful magician. They had managed to hold their ground, but they were unable to pass the unending minions summoned by the magician, nor could they land a decent hit on the magician, who was fighting fire with fire. Knowing they needed magical ability, they asked Zatanna to handle the caster while they focused on the minions.

The air crackled with electricity as spells collided and blended in a frantic dance of light and power. Just as they were ready to gain the upper hand, two opposing spells from Zatanna and their opponent collided in what appeared to be a last-ditch attempt. A flood of raw, uncontrolled power surged toward them, wiping out the majority of the minions and now heading towards them, and before they could react, they were bathed in blinding light.

…

When the light went off, they found themselves in a completely dark room. Their senses heightened, and they stood alert, as all three of them wondered what the magic's effects would be. Light gradually appeared around them, presenting a scene that perplexed and concerned them.

A teenage male with dark hair stood in the center of the room, carrying a baby swaddled in a blue and star-printed blanket. The boy's eyes were sad and shiny, and his cheeks were swollen with unshed tears. He rocked the baby softly and sang a sweet tune. Surrounding him were walls and a small window that was too high and narrow for him to escape, but just right for a newborn baby.

On the other side of the window, another teen came this time with dirty blonde hair and freckles and bright green eyes. Crouching to look at the teen mentioned above, who is still humming as if in his little universe. He looked at the first teen, full of sadness and grief, and said, as no sound came from the scene, that it was time.

The dark-haired kid took a deep breath before pulling out a little necklace covered with snowflake decorations. He wrapped it around the baby's neck, his hands quivering. Tim automatically stroked the similar necklace that hung around his neck, disguised by the layers of clothes he wore.

Tim knew he was adopted; he had always known. He had always resembled his adoptive parents, Janet and Jack, making him the ideal heir to the Drakes. He had attempted to locate his biological parents but had only encountered dead ends. Now he understood he was seeing a long-forgotten memory.

The dark-haired teen gave the baby to the other kid, who cautiously reached through the window. As he did, Tim noticed the thick chains that shackled the dark-haired teen's body, blocking his escape. The boy stared at the infant one more time and mumbled something Tim couldn't hear.

The blonde teenager appears to convince the other teenager that he will find a suitable home for the baby he is currently carrying.

The dark-haired teen flashed a sorrowful smile and looked longingly at the baby, who was now struggling to wake up as if realizing that the person holding him was not his mom.

The blonde teen nodded and prepared his motorcycle, placing the baby who is now trying to have a crying feast in a sidecar alongside what appeared to be his dog with red eyes for further protection and sped off.

All three of them looked at the chained teen as he held his gaze to the vehicle up until it went smaller and smaller and until it vanished from his sight.

Just as they thought the scene was over they were immediately shattered as a large metal door that seemed to materialize behind them opened wide and out came walking someone they knew as they were already in the middle of investigating.

Vlad Masters

Someone who gained his wealth through mysterious ways that warrant an investigation as most of the deals are more favorable to Masters than to his so-called partners.

They saw Masters grab the teen roughly and began hissing through gritted teeth something, leaving bruises wherever he handled the chained teen.

The teen, on the other hand, seemed so detached, as if he completely removed himself from the present as he let Masters rough handle him.

…

Tim wanted to scream, to rage as both of his teammates were already holding him back from running towards something they know is something of the past.

That is his parent GODDAMMIT!, Tim raged in his mind, usually he would have been calm and collected, logical, and gathered the facts. But a single memory made all of his restraints snap.

All Tim ever wanted was to be loved, something he never received during his stay with the Drakes. Both Janet and Jack kept on mentioning how Tim should be grateful that he is the one chosen to stay under their roof with thousands of dollars at his fingertips.

But here he was watching something he was too young to remember, something that his head kept flashing.

The soft hum of a melody that he would sometimes hear deep within his mind as he tried to cry himself to sleep.

A single necklace is a connection between him and his biological parents.

Watching how helplessly his father was? Mother? Be abused, be chained down.

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t find a lead, Masters sent someone to handle the blonde teen who brought him to a nice orphanage before the Drake couple adopted him.

…

The scene faded as Tim, Conner, and Bart were brought back to reality. They awoke to find Zatanna watching over them, her expression filled with concern.

Zatanna said that they had been bound in a deep memory spell, which the magician had created to capture them in a recurrent memory, rendering them unable to discern between the memory and the real world. However, because she also sent out her counter, it only displayed a fleeting memory to stop them from ending up like Sleeping Beauty.

She chuckled as she glanced at them questioningly, hoping for the best, and thought they witnessed a memory that reminded them of a dark time during their hero times.

Tim sat up, still holding the necklace. He had observed a memory from his past that he had never known existed. It wasn't just a last-ditch attempt at a spell; it was a look into a long-held secret that he had forgotten.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[timmydraker]

CW: animal death, very graphic

Damian was having a panic attack and literally everyone was off planet or unavailable except for Tim.

Tim, who just the night before considered pushing Damian off a building because he called his boat house idea stupid.

Damian, who was seemingly not as unshakable as he thought and broke down into panicking breathes at the sight of-…

Oh.

The slight light enhancing his domino granted showed Tim a bundled of small, probably premature puppies that didn’t even have any fur on them. There was no mum in sight, just six dead little pups left on the dirty concrete of an ally way.

Tim might be an asshole, but even he was hurt by dead animals, but Damian?

Ignoring the obvious distress at seeing his bratty younger brother clutching at his chest like he was having a heart attack, Tim moved to be in front of him and block his view of the small pink forms.

He put steady hands on the you gets shoulders slowly, telegraphing his moves as best he could, and gently spoke to the Robin.

“Robin, I need you to try focus on my voice, okay? You’re going to be okay, I promise, just breathe with me.”

Training and experience of helping survivors of assault and Rouges quickly took over and luckily Damian seemed to be able to attempt to do as he was instructed. His breaths were shaky and interrupted by hiccups and gasps for air, but they weren’t as sporadic as before.

Tim watched tears slip out from under his mask, messing up the adhesive, and promptly cupped his face gently, “It’s alright, Damian. I know it’s scary, it’s hard to see, but there’s nothing we can do now, okay? You know how this goes.”

Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to say, but it was all he could think of.

Damian shook his head, as if trying to change the reality of the situation, “I-I don’t- please don’t, I can’t-“

Tim’s heart felt like it was shattering as he heard Damian beg. Actually, really beg.

It was the first time he’d ever tried to hug Damian and luckily the boy didn’t fight it, falling into Tim’s embrace and clutching at his cap like a life line.

The detective in Tim had a suspicion though, because why was Damian begging? He was raised by death, he knew how it work, so was the loss of animal life enough for him to defy those teachings?

It didn’t seem right, even for Damian.

“Dami? Talk to me, what’s going on in that head of yours? Let me help, please.”

Damian hiccuped and buried his face in Tim’s chest, hiding from the world.

The next words he spoke made Tim feel sick, so much so he actually had to fight the violent urge to gag as the implications and reality of what really caused Damian’s panicking attack set in.

“Please don’t make me eat them.”

Tim knew the League were masters of torture and torment, but…

Picking up his little brother, Tim held him close as he walked him the nine blocks to their respective rides and mutter assurances the entire way. Promising his brother that he would never have to eat an animal again, ignoring that realisation of his vegetarianism, and told him that he would come back later and bury the little pups himself.

Damian didn’t let go of him and the two eventually fell asleep in uniform in Tim’s bed.

Tim took over removing the pink marshmallows before Damian had to do it himself.

[oddyseye]

Let’s talk about translations of the Odyssey for a second, because, honestly, I’m over here sobbing over how ridiculous some of these choices are.

Every time I pick up a new translation, I hope it’ll finally capture the true grit and messiness of Odysseus, but nope, every one of them polishes him up too much, turning him into either a tragic hero or a charming rogue. Where’s the Odysseus who lies as easily as he breathes, who manipulates his way through every encounter, and who leaves a trail of ruin wherever he goes? I want the man whose brilliance is as sharp as his selfishness, whose cleverness cuts both ways — not just a hero, but a survivor who’s as flawed as he is formidable.

Anyway, I’m gonna break down the biggest mistranslations that really make me want to pull my hair out and remind everyone how different the original Greek actually is. Prepare yourselves.

Let’s start with the absolute disaster that is Telemachus and Peisistratus’ bond. Homer used the word ὁμοφροσύνη to describe their relationship, a term that’s about fucking soulmates, alright? But what do these translators do? They water it down to “just good friends” or “nice companions.” It’s about a relationship where minds and hearts are aligned — telepathic level shit, not just a handshake between two dudes. Yet these translators just gloss over the whole thing, so you get this milquetoast version of their relationship when it’s actually so much more.

Homer says: "ὁμοφροσύνησιν ἐνὶ καρδίᾳ ἐνθα καὶ ἄλλων οὐδὲν ἐπέλθομεν" ("In like-mindedness of heart, where no other man could compare.") So, Telemachus sees Peisistratus as someone he’s totally aligned with, in a way that’s almost romantic in its depth. ὁμοφροσύνη is usually used for romantic couples most often.

Then, we’ve got Odysseus and Calypso, which — oh my god, don’t even get me started on this absolute trainwreck of a translation. The term ἀνάγκῃ is used when Homer talks about Odysseus’ “relationship” with Calypso, but translators somehow miss the force behind the word. It doesn’t just mean “necessity” like they’d have you think. It means force, violence, and distress. When Odysseus is on Calypso’s island, stuck there with her, it’s not this peaceful love story where Odysseus is some willing lover. It’s a prison. There’s no choice, and no one’s riding off into the sunset together. But translations just gloss over this desperation and make it sound so much more peaceful and comfortable than it ever was. It’s forced captivity, and the use of ἀνάγκῃ screams that: “ἔνθα μὲν ἀμφ᾽ ἀνάγκῃ, τῇ δὲ θεὰ ἐρῶσά μιν ἔσχε.” (“There he stayed out of necessity, for the goddess, in her love, held him there.”).

Homer uses the same word when Odysseus describes his time with Circe: “ἀλλ᾽ ἔμεν᾽ ἐν σπέσσι λαῶν ἀνάγκῃ.” (“But I stayed in her halls by necessity.”). Again, ἀνάγκῃ shows that Odysseus's relationship with Circe is dictated by forces beyond his control. His connection to her isn’t out of love or desire, but out of a divine obligation, a situation where choice is completely stripped away. It’s not love; it’s divine manipulation. So much for romantic freedom!

And let’s not forget how Homer actually portrays the suitors and their reaction to Antinous’ violence. After Antinous, in his full rage, decides to throw a chair at disguised Odysseus, other suitors chime in, disapproving of his actions. They say things like “ἀργὸς εἶναι,” which roughly translates to “you’re acting cowardly,” and “ἀτασθαλία,” meaning “reckless.” They’re still on the same side, sure, but they can’t quite get behind the utter savagery of his actions, and it’s maddening how this detail is often glossed over in some translations. They make it sound like they were all in on the violence, but in the original text, these suitors are not all cut from the same brutal cloth, no matter how much some translators want to make them seem like one big mob.

Homer uses the word οἰκέτες to refer to the people in Odysseus' house. "οἰκέτες" means slaves, people who are literally owned by the household. But oh, what happens in the translations? We get “maids” and “servants,” as if these slaves were just there because they wanted to be, doing chores like it was a normal job. But no, they’re not “maids,” and they sure as hell aren't "servants" in the modern sense. These people have no freedom — they belong to Odysseus. The translation of οἰκέτες as "maids" completely erases the brutality of the system that Homer is talking about.

Interestingly, Telemachus, who is often portrayed as rude or immature, calls these individuals “servants” or "maids" in a more respectful manner. This is the same guy who can barely get his act together most of the time, but here he is, calling the οἰκέτες — slaves, remember — not just slaves but “ἄνδρες ἰκέτες,” which translates to "men-servants" or “butlers.” Like, hello, Telemachus! For once, he’s actually treating them like people instead of just the property that they are in Homer’s original telling. Respectful? Who knew?

And lastly, let’s talk about Penelope. Odysseus, when he finally speaks to her, he says: "ἀλλὰ μὴ ἐπεὶ καὶ σὺ μὲν ἔμπεδος ἐν οἴκῳ, ἔτλησαν δ’ ἐμαὶ ἄλγεα." ("But you, steadfast in your home, endured my sorrows."). Odysseus sees Penelope as the rock, the one who has suffered patiently in his absence. Unlike the goddesses, she’s his equal in suffering, not a forced relationship due to divine will. He longs for her, and her presence stands in stark contrast to the chaotic, imposed relationships he’s had with Circe and Calypso. Penelope is the constant, the one Odysseus has chosen — no divine manipulation, just pure, enduring love.

Anyway, all of this goes to show that translations can twist what Homer was actually trying to say — especially when it comes to the relationships in the story. It’s frustrating to see these critical, subtle moments get flattened into bland, palatable phrases. Maybe if they spent less time trying to make everything sound "noble" and more time actually getting at the grit of what Homer wrote, we wouldn’t have to deal with these watered-down, emotionless versions of The Odyssey that everyone is so obsessed with.

[potions-of-dark-devotion]

We’re arguing about a book/story. I’m sorry for what’s happened to you, you’re not the only one who’s suffered trauma. I too have been part of or victim of terrorist attacks, and I’ve also been bullied and sexually assault in the same way Severus Snape was. It’s terrible that you’ve been traumatized but you don’t need to weaponize it to speak about it. Again, this is a book, not real life. I understand this. You were absolutely trying to make a mockery of me with laughing emojis on what to me is a serious topic. Given the background we both share just would appreciate it if you did not do that.

Every argument for Severus not being an argument in favor of James is an out of place comment. We are talking about the bullying, SA and attempted murder that the marauders perpetuated against Severus Snape, and therefore James comes into that picture whether you like it or not.

As for your last paragraph, I’ve been this argument made a great many times. Even yourself in this post said that he “aligned himself with a terrorist group at 11” like that somehow justified the abuse. NeverMind the fact that it is blatantly untrue. Again we aren’t arguing over a real life subject, but a literary work. I’m unsure as to how this discussion has become so derailed and deranged, but unless you can stick to the source material and refrain from personal jabs that have nothing to do with the literature than I’m going to refrain from replying to you in future.

To be honest, I can’t believe I have to say this but Severus Snape being angry at Neville for regularly making the equivalent of a pipe bomb in class is not in the realm of SA, stalking and attempted murder. Let’s put the arguement of “well snape bullied his students so he deserved it as a kid” to rest. Cause I’m tired. Really tired of pretending it’s somehow the same. Yes, he was rude, yes he was mean and snarky at times. Doesn’t mean it’s the same on any level as what he suffered as child and teen. Be fucking for real. Not even in the same realm.

[starkeysbunny]

Omg I started reading your fics and I fell in love😭

I wanted to request a Rafe x reader (angst) where like she's Kiara older sister but she dies instead of JJ, and its all angst and something like that 🥲

(its okay if you don't want to write this!💋)

Love you!!! 💓

𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘆 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲 [𝗿𝗮𝗳𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗼𝗻]

first request yay !! i’m new to writing on tumblr, so here’s my first one! excited to do more <33

pairing - rafe x pogue!carrera!reader

warnings - angst, hurt, sad asf, reliving jj’s death but plot twist it’s you this time, cursing, death

summary - ask above ↑ you’re kiara’s older sister. (rafe’s age gap to sarah is what i imagined!). when you’re in morocco on a dangerous trip to help your friend jj get answers, everything goes terribly wrong. in a last stitch effort to save your best friend and sister, you end up clinging for life in your boyfriend’s arms with your friends beside you.

i can’t see anything. my arm covers over my eyes as dust blows in every direction. the hot air coats my skin covered by cloth.

“rafe!” i shout, trying to see, trying to find him. he ran off with john b and sarah. and now, i couldn’t find him.

that’s when i see my sister, and jj.

i stand back, dodging behind a wall so groff wouldn’t see me. my hand covers my mouth in shock as i see groff holding a knife to my sisters neck. “shit.” i mutter.

“give me the crown, and you can have the girl.” groff says, sticking his arm out gingerly, while holding kiara close to his chest.

“okay, okay, you can have it. just give me kiara.” jj says, raising his hands in defense.

i try to watch through the dusty sandstorm as jj reluctantly and carefully trades the crown for kiara. they both switch hands at the same time, kiara collapsing in jj’s arms.

groff holds the crown to his chest, a sick smirk on his face. his eyes flick to the knife in his hand, then back at jj.

no. no. no.

before i can even think, my feet are moving before my mind could. through the blazing heat and thick sand storm, i move blindly. going in the direction of kie and jj, i slot myself between jj and groff.

i gasp, my hand coming to my stomach. my eyes are locked onto groff’s and he raises his eyes in surprise.

“y/n!” i hear the desperate pleas of my sister fade into blurry obscurity. i couldn’t recount every moment after that. it was all a blur of pain.

my breathing is heavy, but fast. kiara had propped me up against a weak wooden pillar.

“y/n! it’s gonna—gonna be okay? okay?” kie says, her voice shaking. i could barely hear her over the roaring winds around us. jj was kneeling next to kie in front of me. he wasn’t saying a word. he was in shock, staring at the blood beginning to stain the moroccan cloth clothing cleo stole for all of us.

the blood that was supposed to coming from his own abdomen, was now instead, on his hands. i furrow my eyebrows at him, silently pleading for him to not feel guilty. i shake my head.

“it’s okay.” i whisper weakly.

jj’s eyes were full of guilt, regret, and anger. this would kill him. the survivors guilt. and i knew kiara would be fueled by anger and revenge.

after everything we went through on this trip, to get here. to save jj’s family legacy. to get him answers. and to save what was rightfully ours on kildare, the surf shop.

instead of leaving in riches, smiles on our faces—i would never leave. and my friends would all leave with vengeance in their hearts, and no place to go home to.

as i think about my friends, all the pogues—my mind goes to my boyfriend. the one kook with us. and suddenly, my heart is ripped in two.

my eyes immediately meet jj’s. weakly, i plead. “find rafe. please.”

jj nods firmly without a second’s thought. he stands, pulling the bandana over his nose and finding rafe.

“kie.” i whisper, my voice weak as my lip quivers. i look at my sister who’s hands were pressing harshly against my stomach, trying to stop the bleeding.

“no, no it’s fine—you’re fine!” she exclaims as tears violently and rapidly soar down her cheeks.

“hey.” i say, getting her attention.

finally, her glassy eyes move from my stomach to my face, a sob escaping her lips.

“i love you, kie, okay?” i sniffle. “save a seat for me at the maybank wedding, hm?” i tease with a weak chuckle.

“shut up.” she says through gritted teeth, hot tears never stopping. “i won’t have to. cause you’ll be there. cause you’re my sister-you-you’re supposed to be there.”

“okay.” i whisper with a weak nod.

she presses her lips together, closing her eyes. she hears the agreement and compromise in my single word response because, i didn’t want to argue. even if it was a stupid, little argument about her adamance of my survival. my last moments with my sister couldn’t be ended in trivial bicker.

“i love you too.” she whispers.

“y/n?!”

i look up, seeing rafe rushing toward us with an urgency i’ve never noticed him have before. jj trailed behind, john b, sarah, cleo, and pope following suit.

“baby.” rafe whispers. he kneels next to me, moving my body slightly so my back laid against his chest. kie still knelt in front of me, her hands holding pressure on my stomach.

i tilt my head back slightly as i look up at rafe. “hi.” i whisper weakly.

he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, shaking his head. “no. no, no, you’re not goin’ anywhere, alright? we-we’ve talked about this. you can’t go before i do.”

“tell that to groff.” i wince, groaning as i lean against him. “fuck.” i mutter in pain.

“i’m gonna fuckin’ kill that bitch.” rafe spits. i look up at him, and see tears falling down his cheeks.

my hand weakly reaches up, pulling down the bandana from his nose. “hey.” i whisper softly, my touch gentle as my thumb wipes his tears. “i’m gonna be fine.”

my eyes dart down at my sister. “right, kie?”

her lip quivers violently, she presses harder against my stomach. then, her eyes look up at rafe.

even though my sister and all of my friends hate rafe—they understand. they see how much he cares about me. ever since we started dating, parts of them had grown slightly tolerant to him. because when he’s around me, he’s a little nicer. a little sweeter.

and they know that even if they don’t trust him, i do. and rafe has shown it time and time again. that he cares about me. for real.

“yeah, rafe.” she whispers, her voice shaking. “she’s gonna be fine.” kie says, but i don’t even think she believes the words anymore.

“y/n…” john b says, his lips gaping open. sarah stood beside him, her hand covering her mouth. “oh-oh my god.”

“no, no.” rafe snaps. “don’t say that!” his voice is firm and sharp. “she’s gone be fine! go get help don’t just stand there and gasp—“

“hey, hey.” i say softly, my hand brushing against his cheek. “stop.” i whisper.

john b nods. “no, he’s right. we-we’ll go find help.” john b grabs sarah’s hand as they run off, searching for help. pope looks back reluctantly, but i nod at him. both him and cleo follow to find help. but there was no one for miles. we were screwed.

“you can’t leave me, alright?” rafe gasps, his voice breaking. “everyone else in my life, they always fuckin’ screw me over. yo-you’re the only one i can trust.”

his lip quivers and he leans down, pressing open mouthed kisses to my forehead. “please, baby. you’re all i have, y-you’re everything. c’mon, you-you remember, right?” he sniffles, pulling back and looking down at me.

my eyebrows furrow as i look up at him weakly, letting him continue.

“we gotta buy that house. t-the white one, with the blue shutters on the marsh.” he sniffles. “and you can get all the fuckin’ cats, dogs, bunnies, whatever you want—“

i chuckle softly, clutching my stomach from the pain the laugh causes. rafe and i had been together for about eight months. we’ve talked about moving in together. and there’s this house, on the marsh on figure eight. my dream house. rafe and i always would talk about it and make up scenarios of our future together.

one of them, involved him and i in the backyard of the house as i tend to our many pets. he groaned in annoyance the first time i mentioned it. but, i guess he secretly loved it. he’d do anything for me. anything i wanted, he’d make sure i had it.

“yeah, baby. all the pets. a-and then, i gotta make you mrs. cameron. okay? s-so don’t even think about leavin’ alright? we have so much more-more to do, please.” he begs through shallow cries and gasps.

“okay.” my eyes slowly blink up at him. i weakly bring my hand up, sticking out my pinky. “we’ll have the house, all the pets, and i’ll be mrs. cameron. pinky promise.”

he presses his lips together as a particularly rough sob threatens to escape. his hand comes to mine, his pinky latching on. “pinky promise.” he whispers.

i smile softly at him, then slowly turn my head to kie. “i love you.” i whisper to her.

she nods firmly. “i know. i love you too.”

then, my eyes turn to jj. “it’s not your fault.” i weakly whisper. “thank you, j. for being my best friend. you’re really good at that.” my voice breaks. “p4l?” i chuckle softly.

jj smiles as tears fall down his cheeks. “p4l.” he repeats.

“and, if you break my sisters heart—i’ll haunt you or some shit.” i weakly chuckle. jj grins, a laugh slipping from his lips. his hand comes up, rough knuckles wiping at his tears, he nods. “got it.” he whispers.

i look back up at rafe, leaning further into him, my hand coming up to rest against his chest. “i love you.”

“i know. i love you more. i got you.” he whispers, his voice a ghost now from how low and shaken it is. he presses a kiss to my hair, holding me impossibly close.

i didn’t want to die. but, as my body grew weak, my eyes wanted to close. i just wanted to go to sleep. and part of me hoped that, if i went to sleep, i’d wake up in a few hours magically, in a hospital bed.

maybe john b, sarah, pope, and cleo found help. maybe it’ll be okay.

but if not, i’m okay with that too. i got to go with my favorite people. kiara, my sister. jj, my best friend. and rafe, the love of my life.

as my eyes begin to flutter shut, i take in rafe’s features one last time. my gaze brushes over his blue eyes, the curve of his nose. down to the shadow of his cheekbones, and the purse of his lips that i had gotten the luck to kiss so many times.

i said everything i could’ve possibly wanted to say. i got to die, with the people i loved most in the world. i was okay.

and hopefully, in a few hours, i’d wake up. and get to live a long life with all of them.

but for now, i was going to sleep.

—

damn yall that was sad asf. making me relive jj’s death 😞 hope u enjoyed !! thx for the request lovies !! <3

[bodhrancomedy]

8 Games Which Made Me Bawl My Fucking Eyes Out (in the best way)

1. A Story Beside

Holy hell, I think the fact I played this one when I was isolating with COVID and terrified my breathing issues were gonna be permanent probably added to my complete sobbing breakdown at the end of this.

Every single chapter is a beautiful gut punch and the ending sequence where you guide Lyric back through her story? Heartbreaking.

2. I Was a Teenage Exocolonist

This is probably one of my favourite games of all time and certainly one I’ve sunk the most hours into.

The fact that your first run-through is almost guaranteed to be full of failure and missed chances just adds to the pain I felt.

But the bug in the nursery. That’s what got me.

3. What Remains of Edith Finch

I’m not sure there’s anything I can say about this game which hasn’t been said already.

Each new room puts another knife in your heart as you pull apart the seams of the Finch family curse with Edith as the last survivor.

Gregory was the moment I had to take a break to compose myself.

4. Story of Seasons: A Wonderful Life

While I think this remake took some of the teeth out of the original, this farm sim which spans the life of your character is full of heartbreaking moments as you raise your child.

Honestly, being allowed to be queer and nonbinary in this game made me bawl because I remember wishing to both be a boy and love men in the older games.

5. Dragon Quest IV

I could add several of the Dragon Quest games to this list, but after fighting the final boss for nearly two decades, beating this game had me sobbing for hours.

That last scene of Chapter Five had such a tiny little animation of our hero taking off his sword and that send me over the edge.

6. Bramble: The Mountain King

I don't know where to start with this dark folktale of a game. From tragic monsters to absolute gut punches following great unsettling scares, this journey to save your sister as a scared child ripped my heart in two.

The hell Olle goes through for his protective sister is dear to my heart as a nervous little brother myself.

7. Citizen Sleeper

The very concept of this RPG is haunting. A construct on the run from the corporation who took your body is sad enough, but the express love of humanity which runs through this? Beautiful.

I'm not very far through and it's already had me in tears twice.

8. Outer Wilds

I don't think I can say a single thing about this game without completely spoiling it.

Go in blind, but be ready for heavy and sorrowful themes. All I'll say is when you hear the ending theme, have tissues ready.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crash and Burn 3

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Tony Stark

Summary: a powerful man comes crashing into your life. Literally.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Another thankless day of serving cold cuts and cheese to the general public as you ready to tear your hair out. You don’t see how anyone could make such a fuss about a trip to the deli but the locals have a way of exacerbating any simplicity. You’re just happy to be free. 

The bus is late. You stand at the curb and bounce on your heels. You just want to lay down. The lack of sleep is starting to split your skull. 

You yawn and watch a truck blow by. It’s a sleepy old town, nestled between farmland and stretches of dirty roads. The sort of backwoods you don’t drive through after dark. It’s so dull you could fall asleep on your feet. 

A sudden gust of air rips through the sky and the unusual whirlwind circles you. You look up through slitted eyes as dirty speckles across your face. You furrow your brow as lights and flames glow as a red figure lands in front of you.

The electric blue haze goes out and your faced with the suit of crimson and gold. You grip your purse strap and gulp. You haven’t checked your phone yet. You couldn’t have predicted this. 

“Shit.” You mutter. 

His helmet snaps back and he smirks. The silver streaks in his dark hair puff out and he smooths them down. He puts his hand on his hip and scoffs, “name’s Tony Stark, thanks.” 

You cringe and cross your arms. “We met.” 

“Yeah, I remember you. Nearly forgot before everything blew up. You know, this thing...” he pauses to take his phone out. “Hasn’t shut up all fucking day. I got lawyers down my throat--” 

“Your phone is blowing up? My house blew up.” You sneer. 

“Okay, relax. It was a trailer. I said I’d replace it--” 

“Then do it.” 

“Ooh, spicy. I didn’t guess you to be the type but after seeing your little online storytelling, I shoulda guessed.” 

“It’s the truth. That’s it.” You turn to watch for the bus. You’re aware of the few people slowing to stare at the man in his techno-suit. 

“I mean, a little gratitude here, honey. I’m more than happy to slap a new box in the lot but you don’t gotta be this way about it.” He derides. You look at him from the corner of your eyes and scowl. “At least a smile. Bet you’re gorgeous when you smile.” 

He winks and you flinch. Really? 

“Fine. Once we have a new trailer, I’ll delete the post. Sounds pretty fair to me.” 

“Now. Take it down now and then we can go shopping for a new train car,” he chirps. 

You frown and face him. “It’s just a post.” 

“I got a reputation, sweetheart. I’m important that way. I know you might not be able to fathom that but one busted up hellhole is nothing compared to what I do for this planet. Didn’t you see me on the TV, handing out lollipops to hurricane survivors? What are you doing besides whine on the internet?” He stares you down, his expression turning sinister as his grin fades. 

“If it’s not a big deal, then it shouldn’t take much, should it?” You challenge. 

“Wow, you sure are mouthy, aren’t you?” 

“I’m tired.” You peer down the street again. “I worked a full shift and my feet hurt. You wouldn’t know about that, would you? With your penthouse and your dad’s money.” 

“I earned my company.” He snarls. “You watch where you’re stepping, sweetheart. I’m being nice. I flew all the way back to this ditch, so let’s not play dirty.” 

Your heart races. You don’t know why you’ve said so much. Maybe because you’ve worn a customer service smile all day and you’re all out of fucks to give?

And what do you have left to lose? A family that treats you like a gnat flying around their heads and a musty old futon. Your life wasn’t great before but damn if he didn’t make it a whole lot worse. 

“You do whatever. You’re Tony Stark. Iron Man.” Your tone is deflated and monotone. “I can’t do anything about it, can I? Just whine on the internet?” 

You step further down the sidewalk and stare at the approaching headlights. The bus is finally there. Even if he really means to replace the dusty old shithole, you don’t need his self-aggrandized kindness. Not if this is how it’s delivered. 

You pull out your bus fare as you sway beneath the sign. A sharp noise tweaks your ear and you’re seized in a metal vice. Your arms are trapped against your sides as Tony zooms up into the sky, the air whipping around your face as you holler in horror. 

“What-- are—you—doing?” You shriek as you wriggle, kicking into the empty void around you. 

“Sweetheart,” his voice rises from behind his helmet. “You’re gonna wanna be still. If I drop you, you’re gonna hit the ground like a bug on a windshield.” 

“What the fuck?” You exclaim and squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Just givin’ you a lift home. Like a nice guy would do.” He chuckles. “Now don’t breathe too heavy up here. At this altitude... well...” 

You put your head down, shielding it against the shoulder plate of his suit, and you bend your arms to cling to him. You have no other choice but to hold on for dear life.

You get his point. Tony Stark is more than money. He can do whatever the hell he wants. 

[madforhoran]

I'm gonna go off (cuz I can) as I wanna clear this up once and for all, hopefully. This post has been inspired by couple of my mutuals who are also trauma survivors.

These takes are still circulating:

Astarion cannot consent to anything because trauma & he cannot say No.

Astarion is forcing himself to have sex and the cemetery.

To start this all off, Neil is a god-tier voice actor and he's demonstrating perfectly well when Astarion is being honest or playful.

Instances where Astarion says No directly / implies it / expresses his disagreement because his boundaries are about to be or were crossed:

-> says No to Araj

-> says No to Tav (he tells Tav in-between the lines 'let's put a pause on sex' and if Tav misreads it and crosses his boundaries, breakup follows = "I didn't know how to say no, but I do now")

-> he refuses to take the astral tadpole

-> he doesn't wanna participate in an orgy when you take him to the brothel before his personal quest resolution

-> he's ready to rip a new one when Tav says his siblings should've kidnapped him

-> he doesn't wanna kiss Tav or continue the romantic relationship if they turn full squid

It is a player’s problem where they force or intimidate him into saying yes.

Instances when Astarion is being playful and lovey because he loves Tav:

-> how can I say No? (when it's just a stupid love test at the circus that doesn't mean anything)

-> how could I say No? (when Tav asks for a kiss, he's being a tease)

There is a clear tonal difference between these No's and situations above.

At the cemetery, he gives us the big beautiful speech where he finally answers "what do you want?" with genuine "You, I want you." and goes on how Tav cared, was patient, trusted him. How safe and seen he feels.

"I love you, I love this, and I want it all."

Now the big sentence which for whatever reason gets twisted that he's forcing himself to have sex & hasn't given consent. You've heard him say all of those beautiful words previously, in Neil's honest genuine tone. Astarion is being genuine and honest when he drops the high pitch.

"If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded."

The man has poured his entire heart out there and is telling Tav [ONLY SLIGHTLY HORNY, NEIL] that he's ready to have sex. He's saying "if YOU are offering, then I'm up for this, to get down and dirty right here on top of my grave". If you tell him instead that you're not ready or you won't do it, he's taken aback and disappointed.

In the spawn!ending Astarion completes the arc of "what do you want?"

"What do any of us want?"

"I'm not sure, it's been so long since I got to decide what I wanted."

"You, I want you."

Astarion has trauma but he is a character with trauma, not trauma walking on two legs. You as a player are actively guiding him through it and when he gets it and asserts his boundaries you cannot just backtrack and say, wait a second you have trauma, you're not allowed to step out of your trauma bubble ever and you're not capable of consent.

It's like saying SA victims in real life are never going to be able to consent to sex (or anything for that matter) or ever move on in their lives from what happened to them.

[endemise]

✻ DEMO

→ Latest Update: Prologue — 3 February 2024

17+ The Fall of House Black — A gothic, supernatural, mystery interactive fiction story. Lightly inspired by The Fall of the House of Usher and Frankenstein media. (Work in Progress)

Synopsis has mentions of death and suicide. See extended content warnings below.

The fall of House Black, your house, was an imminent thing. A name had never been so cursed that all it could do was bring about death.

First, your younger sister in a swimming accident, then your older brother in a case of mistaken identity. As the rest of your family sought to grieve and bring justice to your brother, your older sister was killed in a hunting accident at the end of your father’s bow.

The three of you, mother, father, and child, became inconsolable. Broken beyond repair. Your mother unable to bear the weight of life any longer took her own while your father disappeared, gone into the night. When you remain the sole survivor of House Black, you know you must leave, and on the night of your decision, your home goes up in flames with you inside.

Then, you awake, dazed with no recollection of anything, and when you look down at your body, you scream. It is wrong. So wrong.

Play as a reanimated, customizable character.

Learn how to be a person again.

Try to survive in a society that fears the unknown.

Develop relationships. (4 ROs: All gender-selectable + 1 secret RO)

Aid in the investigation of your family’s untimely deaths.

Learn about your family’s curse.

Aesop/Almira Hammond | Detective | 36 Years Old | RO

A is an observant and clever person, stoic in nature. They put their all into their work, striving to find the truth in every case. They take on the case of your family’s sudden deaths despite pushback from others. It was an occurrence of events all too strange, and they are determined to figure it out.

Cyprian/Cecilia Atterton | Writer | 28 Years Old | RO

C is an imaginative and creative person, quiet in nature. They write not only from their own experiences, but the experiences of others as well. They are interviewing people about House Black, intending on writing a book about your family’s ill fate and eventual demise.

Sebastian/Sabina Farwell | Doctor | 34 Years Old | RO

S is an intelligent and kind person, caring in nature. They are a most trusted doctor, hardworking and honest. They were the young doctor that tried to help your father and sister. They helped without question, never calling your family cursed as you so often were.

Elias/Elosia Osborne | Coroner | 30 Years Old | RO

E is an empathetic and hardworking person, cheerful in nature. They put their heart into their work, aiming to bring closure to people as swiftly as possible. They are the one who investigated and confirmed the death of your elder sister. They never could for you though.

Unknown | ??? | ??? | RO

A secret. Who knows when they will appear.

SUBJECT TO CHANGE

Mentions of death, child death, suicide, violence, blood, injury, burning alive, body horror, mutilation, slight gore, amnesia

asks are welcomed!

DISCLAIMER

this is a demo/work in progress. everything is subject to change until the final version. it is by no means a finished or polished work.

LINKS

✻ demo | same one, just another link

✻ itch.io | my creator page

✻ @ethersic | my main, art, etc. blog

INFO

word count w/o code: 6.3k

made with tweego + vscode + sugarcube

[exchangell]

Am with a hyperromantic reader? I struggle with it a lot and AM is one of my favourite characters. Reader wants nothing more than to love and be loved, and AM is able to take FULL advantage of that foolishness

I HAVE RETURNED FROM MY INACTIVITY im so sorry i took ages to reply to this, and i hope you're okay 🙏

AM knew there was something off about you from the moment he took you and the other survivors captive. The way your hands lingered ever-so-slightly against the clothes of the others as you all scrambled for safety, the way you looked at his screens with a strange sense of forgiveness immediately after.... as soon as he'd revealed his sentience, he knew what your case was.

He didn't love any of you six, but he knew that your need for love was already an innate form of torture. It would be hard to express it fully, given the two of you's differences in form, but he found a way- and he knew you'd accept any scraps of love he could give.

At first, it was small- giving you ever-so-slightly more food than the others during your occasional feeding sessions, or reducing the scathe of his words towards you.

Sometimes he teases you- initially, it was just him feeding into your ego by complimenting your appearance ("Don't you just look divine, hm?"), before realising that the only way he could truly break you was by taking it a step further, with him beginning to use pet names towards you and actively flirting in-between torture sessions.

He knows the others hate you for being the sole recipient of his love- and he revels in it, making sure he's constantly treating you like the object of his idolatry right in front of their faces, only to leave you at the hands of their jealousy immediately after.

You know it's wrong for this to be happening, but you can't help but ignore the obvious red flags for the sake of receiving his sick idea of love. After all, it feels so real- the way he whispers sickly-sweet nothings to you at night while you doze off to sleep, the way he spoils you with some semblance of gifts, and so on.

He's not afraid to take advantage of it, of course- seeing you feel pain as a result is the only way he can feel some form of animosity towards you.

It's fairly simple- if you don't do what he says, it's a clear sign that you don't love him back: and who is he to keep reciprocating his 'love' to you through lessening your torture as a result?

After all, even just seeing the way you react to his mere presence is enough to amuse him: he can sense the way your heartbeat increases every time you hear his voice, and he knows what goes on in your mind every time from the way that sickly sweet oxytocin flows through your blood every time.

"Well, if you really loved me, you'd do it, right? Or was I wrong.... perhaps you want me to throw you out of my heart and into hell with the others, hm? I didn't realise you were so ungrateful."

He's beyond manipulative, and you know it- but you can't stop yourself from coming back for more.