#perhaps ill stop for real

[misty-missdee]

LIPBITER™️

[techno-rat]

Zzzz. Working on chapter 7 :-ppp. Need to finish it before i post ch4 :-pppp. Dbsgrtf i love you but oh my god my writing muscles . being fucking trained … Two chapters of intense . The mood is fucked I can’t write this much combat .

[cryptidmickle]

so what if. and hear me out. i made my own au for shadowvanilla purposes-

au details below

HELLO SO I PRESENT AMNESIAC AU

so you see, i was minding my business, drawing and looking at cookies and how everyone has their own cool aus with awesome designs and i went "well im not very good at designing but i Love putting characters in Situations"

this au is mostly focused on shadowvanilla so dont be too hopeful I'll get into the other cookies besides their little circle, im ill for gay yaoi only okay

So! motions to comic above, amnesia smilk time! let me elaborate

Pure vanilla fucked up BIG TIME, in that he maybe ventured out to beast yeast alone to try and find out more about the beasts and a way to stop them, as people with a savior complex have a habit of doing. Maybe, perhaps, also at the same time, smilk was getting the workings of his new dough body done and sensing pv was nearby decided to take the opportunity to torment him a little, yknow he cant help himself! he needs to see him

a nasty little fight and confrontation in some old structures of smilk (or at the spire) result in pv using a strange spell he spotted in the surrounding papers and documents, and .... accidentally cracks smilk's soul jam! hehe, oops!

and also sealing his memories. double oops. damn, what are you gonna do now pv?

well he cant leave confused smilk alone here, and itd honestly be best the other beasts and dark enchantress dont drag him back there in this state, so he offers a hand.

"Come with me. We can help you, I'll make sure you're okay."

a memory-less smilk is confused by this but... he's already grabbing the other cookie's hand before he realizes it. It'll probably be fine, something about this cookie... makes something in him feel okay.

taps forehead, im still working everything out of course, and i WILL be cursing all of you with sketchy stuff about it when I'm able, i need more time to figure out smilk's behaviors without the soul jam and corruption

of course I'm always of the mind that pre-corruption smilk was kind of a rat and rude but how exactly is the real question!! how bad was it before the corruption exacerbated the negative qualities of knowledge and his personality

anyways,,, feel free to ask questions!! it could help me figure this all out, if yall are interested of course,,,,,,,my,,,, handful of crk followers SNRRKS

[itheunknown]

odi et amo - (03) i, ghostly

negelected! meta! reader x platonic! batfam

masterlist / prev / next

(TW) : emotional neglect, self-destructive behaviour, self-harm, suicide, depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, underage smoking, underage drinking, alcohol abuse, depression, bpd, depictions of mental illness, violence, trauma, ...

you can't tell what's louder, the thumping in your chest or the ringing in your ears.

your breath comes out shaky, the smoke curling out your nose and mouth, caressing your face.

it's hard to grasp reality. you don't know how you ended up here, nothing feels certain.

nothing feels real.

the sting on your now dried tear streaked cheek is the only feeling you grasp, a reminder.

and it's haunting.

did it hurt? fuck yes. but you're used to it.

you've been hurt your whole life.

you are nothing more than a body that hurts.

you never expected anything from that family, a family that isn't yours. but, perhaps, it was wishful thinking that if you made yourself forgettable enough, they would leave you alone. it didn't matter anymore, the fact that they were never there - you've done this before, you've been alone before. the heart could only grow brutal from feeding on fantasies.

fantasies of loving arms, fantasies of warmth and peace.

fantasies of being seen. fantasies of being wanted.

but you're never seen.

and you're never wanted.

expectations only lead to disappointment.

you're staring down at the deep drop, somehow finding yourself back at the same abandoned building years ago. the sharp sting of the wind barely felt through the thick of the hoodie engulfing your form, the hood protecting your identity. the pack of the nearly empty cigarettes you had burned through along with your lighter layed scattered besides you, mixing with the discarded butts.

"didn't take you for the rebellious type."

a sense of déjà vu, a voice, a similar scenario and the same setting - recognition washes over you - the voice of the vigilante that stopped you from jumping. and now, now you just can't seem to find the same sense of finality and courage to do it again.

you didn't even flinch, no signs of making a move to acknowledge his presence, the burning cigarette still in hand as it nears your lips once more. a sigh and footsteps were heard before he was seated next to you, plucking the half-smoked cigarette out of your trembling hands and flicking it out the building.

"that's littering", you mutter, and he let out a surprised laugh despite your deadpan tone and the depressing atmosphere.

you're grateful that the hood makes you unidentifiable, thanks to the shadow it casts upon your face, further assisted by the blanket of the night: you don’t want to be seen right now, you just need to be heard.

he looks at you, a moment of prolonged silence as his laughter dies out. you didn't even stir, defeated.

your voice was more mature, your stature taller but despite your unseen features, he can still sense how hollow you were - just like the first time he saw you.

despite everything, it was still you.

he's thankful that, at the very least, you weren't making a move to jump off this time, the memory of it still unnerves him everytime he revisits it. although admittedly, smoking is just another way to achieve what you had come here to do before.

"… do you want to talk about it? ", he hesitates.

a beat passes. he desperately wants to help you, but also wishes not to overstep.

you asked your own question, one that had lingered at the back of your mind ever since that day:

"why did you stop me?"

he's surprised.

you're waiting.

your head tilted slightly, the moon light barely illuminated the edges of your face.

"because your life has value. i couldn't watch you, just, throw it away like it meant nothing.”

"it does mean nothing, i have nothing to live for", you reply, your tone grim and finalized.

his heart aches, the burden heavy in your voice - you sounded tired. broken.

his hand finds its way on your shoulder and pats awkwardly. "i'm sure that's not true. you may think that now, but you don't have to carry this weight alone."

"but i am alone."

“that’s not true, i’m sure there are people who care about you!”

he nudges your arm lightly, a light and reassuring smile on his face. you stare at him, at how the moon perfectly encapsulates his presence, at the tender warmth and genuine care radiating from him - the personification of life. the opposite of you, who's haunted by the idea of death.

you, who’d always remain in the shadows, remained in the desolated and dark corners of everyone’s mind, ignored, forgotten. dead to them.

“you don’t even know me,” you breathe out, “nobody knows me.”

the weight of your words weigh heavy on his soul. “that may be true, but that doesn’t mean i can’t care,” he offers. “you know, kid, you actually remind me of one of my siblings. around the same age, actually.”

your curiosity peaked as you silently urged for him to continue.

“but they came around eventually, i think. the hurt doesn’t go away, but you have to reach out for help.”

“…have you talked to your family about it?”

you scoff and stood up, making your way out of the building. he hurriedly follows you, frustration tainting his carefully crafted positivity. “you can’t just push people away like this. why won’t you let anyone in?”

you’re annoyed, it’s not like you did so deliberately, had anyone ever tried to get to know you? let alone care about you? you had abandoned that wishful thinking long ago, especially after today’s events.

“what’s the use,” you snarled. “nothing ever changes.”

“nothing can change if you don’t try!”

“sure, whatever.”

you paced hurriedly to where you left your bicycle, his presence hot on your trail.

“don’t dismiss me. your life matters, damn it.” he grabs your wrist.

you exhale sharply, yanking your arm out of his grasp. he falters back a bit, sensing that he crossed a line, trying to tone down how aggressive he was coming onto you.

“just- just remember that people care about you.”

“sure, like you do?”

“yes!”

you still for a bit, looking at him skeptically. you both awkwardly stood there, the situation almost comical in a sense, especially since his eyes can't remain trained on any visible feature of your face.

“hmm, thanks. i guess.” you trailed, hopping on your bicycle.

“be safe, alright?” he watches you, unsure if he should follow you to assure your safety.

“i will.”

he watched you ride off into the night, unable to shake the feeling of helplessness. he wanted to help, but also didn’t want to make you uncomfortable and scare you off. he stood there contemplating before he dashed off to continue the rest of his patrol.

the distance between you both grows larger, moving in opposite directions, but your thoughts lingered on each other's words.

despite continuing his patrol, he couldn't shake off the feeling of responsibility: for you - the mystery person tonight, and then, his mentioned sibling. he recalls how they were when they first entered the manor, and how they quietly adapted to the new lifestyle, growing up with the habit of concealing their emotions behind the facade of indifference, thinking that he didn’t notice. but he did, he was just never confronted with the drastic measure it would lead to if everyone in that manor just let that feeling of hopelessness fester within them. in a way, he's thankful to you: you gave him a wake-up call.

that sense of urgency nagging him to check on his family as he made a mental note to visit them after his patrol, your words lingering at the back of his head.

you retreat to the bathroom of the manor, the storm in your mind temporarily tamed. the cold water trickling down your arms, the soapy smell in the air to wash away the smoke clinging on your skin. the hoodie you wore hanging in the shower after you'd hand wash it, not wanting to expose yourself in case alfred gets a whiff of it.

despite what had happened, you can't help but want his approval - the only person who actually gave you the time of day in this manor.

your expression focused, your eyebrows knitted, lips sucked in as you scrubbed your arms raw. you feel more grounded. your eyes dart to the reflection in the mirror, reminding yourself to keep it together.

keep it together.

keep it together.

keep it together.

subliminally. consciously. repeatedly

keep. it. together.

you release the death grip and push yourself off the sink, sighing harshly.

keeping it together, you made way to the kitchen, planning to get some tea.

and then, you see him.

richard grayson.

in the same vigilante suit, mask off.

your breath lodged in your throat, you stand frozen watching him wait for the coffee while seemingly deep in thought, troubled. anxious.

you can't believe it. richard grayson, the oldest sibling, the vigilante, was the person who pulled you off the ledge, was the person who actually listened to you.

you can't describe this feeling in your chest, gripping your heart like a vice.

he was here all along.

you recall the mention of the sibling, was it you? did he actually… notice your struggles? maybe he had good intentions all along, trying not to overstep, hoping you'd come to him?

you don't know why you're trying to make excuses for him, but the mere fact that he saw you was enough.

you finally let out a noise, snapping him out of his trance and his eyes snapped to you.

he looked a little caught off guard, surprised he didn't sense your presence.

you. hoodie off.

“oh. hey.”

he rubs the back of his head. maybe he felt embarrassed that this was how you found out? but it's alright, because now he’ll finally notice you-

“have you seen tim?”

“what?”

he sighs and grabs the finished coffee, settled on a tray with a dish holding an assortment of cookies.

“i’m a little worried about him. i mean, since the cat's out of the bag, you should know he does a lot of work to contribute to us keeping the city safe- actually, you wouldn't understand.”

he cuts himself off, deeming it not important enough to explain, and completely overlooks the horrified expression that now settles on your features.

your vision starts to swim, your neck feels hot - unsure if it was embarrassment or rage.

embarrassed at the fact that you were deluded enough into thinking anyone in this house would ever give a shit about you, that anyone would care about what you're going through.

angry at the fact that you are never the person who gets asked for, never the sibling whose struggles are acknowledged.

dick had left the kitchen in search for tim, deciding to check out his room first. you absent-mindedly trailed behind him like a kicked dog, not saying a heap.

you didn't register him knocking on tim's door.

you didn't register how dick affectionately asked a tired tim to spend some time together.

you didn't register them conversing while walking inside.

you didn't register tim giving you an odd look and closing the door to give them more privacy.

now, you sit in your room once more, alone, back against your bed, the torn shirt bundled in your hands. the grip on the fabric tightens, your knuckles whitens, and your shoulder starts shaking.

tears made its way down your face as you silently sobbed once more, occasionally chuckling at how pathetic your situation was.

you give up.

you can't keep it together anymore.

expectations only lead to disappointment.

despite your lethargy, you somehow made it through another school day. time started to bleed into each other, you resorted to going on auto-pilot.

so it didn't matter when onlookers would sneakily glance at you and the hand print on your cheek, resting under your red rimmed eyes and heavy eyebags that no one thought could get worse.

you had to keep moving. at the very least, you still had something that defined your worth - your intelligence.

so what if you had no family, no friends. your grades would never betray you, you'll continue your plan: study hard, get into a good university and then get the fuck away from here, from everyone.

no one will miss you.

no one would even notice.

“hey that's a bit much. what are we, chopped liver?”

the deafening ring of the bell signalling the end of school somehow went unheard, but the sound of your friends somehow pierced through the barrier of your haze, jolting you back to reality. your eyes flickered to them, trying your hardest to offer a weak smile, but somehow failing.

they offer you a sympathetic smile, their face painted with worry. that alone almost sent you into crying again. you find yourself in their embrace, soothing you while you try to hold it together, shielding you from the world.

yes, you're not entirely alone.

you still have your friends.

they would miss you.

they would notice.

so it didn't matter when the students gave you an odd look, putting some distance while you stood to the side engulfed in the arms of your friends. it didn't matter.

you had them.

you had someone.

the path back to manor somehow the sky looked clearer, the grass looked greener, and the lush bushes of wildflowers were glowing - noticing the little things that you usually disregard, walking your bicycle while chatting away with your friends.

they never pried on why you were upset. they knew you, they knew. they knew because you knew. and that was enough, a wordless understanding, unconditional. they had insisted to keep you company, maybe spend some time together in your room.

you really needed the company, but despite being too ashamed to communicate it, they knew. so now, even if you arrived home later than usual, the sky turned dark and cold, you felt warm. that's the safety and comfort that no one else has been able to provide you, and you're so grateful that you at least had them - your precious friends, your reason to stay.

so when you opened the door to the manor, still chattering and giggling with your friend, alfred had heard from the other room.

he felt somewhat relieved, the guilt over his actions had started to consume him, and so he had waited impatiently for your arrival that had been later than usual; but before he could fuss over you, the sound of your laughter had effectively calmed him down knowing you were safe and happy. he'd never heard you this happy before, and it hurts knowing that you had never been able to find joy while surrounded by the walls of this house.

he straightened his shirt, cleared his throat, and put on a kind smile while making his way out of the room to greet you in the doorway, your smile that could light up a stormy day, contrasting the gloomy room.

your friends shrunk back a bit, seemingly nervous of the tall and poised butler, feeling out of place.

you grabbed their hands and gave a reassuring squeeze, telling them it's alright.

“oh, hey alfred! i know this wasn't informed but my friends were wondering if they could stay for dinner?” you turn to him, “we won't be much trouble, i promise!”

you beam at him, waiting expectantly for alfred to welcome your friends.

while alfred could only stare in horror at the empty space next to you.

howdy skibbidis, i am not feeling very sigma :pained_heh:

lowk work has been ass and so has everything else but hey we move. i appreciate every single one of your comments and reblogs yall are so funny lol, but fr the support has been like saving my ass from burning out. grassy ass my skibbidi sigmas.

(TAGLIST) closed due to limit :sadge:

@confused-they @hoeinthehouse @strwberryglass @heartjwonie @glitchmshade @bat1212 @buddee @eyeless-kun @thereeallink @icantcryicantstopcrying @bunbunboysworld @gh0str00m @wizzerreblogs @lazy-kari202 @dotomuses @gwyneveire @gh6st24 @roseapov @kore-of-the-underworld @kingshitonly @plsfckmedxddy @unknownloner1345 @lilithquillete @v3vina @froggy-voidd @angrybuttooshorttofightyou @sami0169 @m3vlOvesu @pix-stuff @bunbunbread @agent-nobody-knows @cxcilla @horror-lover-69 @redkarmakai @mariadvorak @shirp-collector-of-fixations @batboygirlie @diejager @noclue-0 @sick2mystmch @novs9011 @kitkatkitmeow @crazycaoticsimp @majonla @hebaoffside @randomlyappearingartist @blueiones @shycreatorreview @simpingpandas @splaterparty0-0 @bk-4-trash-fire

[stealingpotatoes]

POTES SEMI-LIVEBLOGS KOTOR!

ive been writing my thoughts in the notes app but due to popular demand (one person asked for it) i'm posting my liveblogging DO NOT SAY/TAG/COMMENT SPOILERS PLEASE i read tags

warning im a yapper, im 10 hours in and theres a lot already (separated into sessions):

SESSION 1

whos this clown i thought i would be playing as revan

ive been too spoiled by dragon age origins this character creator sucks ass

only human???? ): fr?? ill just imagine her different in my brain or some shit

my life is being mansplained to me. is this bad writing or do i have amnesiacs

hes meta now??? hes talking abt the screen controls?????

omg a jedi and an evil jediii

omg their asses suckedddd they both died immediately

i <3 bringing a sword to a gun fight

WHY R THERE SO MANY SITH WHERE IS TJE RULE OF TWO

i clicked a workbench and it said lightsaber so either i get a lightsaber or i get a jedi friend whose lightsaber i can steal if im careful

I assume u play as revan in kotor2 so im gonna buy that now so i can play it when im done playing w this clown

i got light side points im getting a good grade in game morality which is something both normal to want and possible to achieve

everyone keeps saying revan is dead but thats my friend revan from tumblr hes clearly alive. or they???

my characters ass is distractingly present onscreen

huge fan of the way everyone collapsed drunk what the FUCK was in that wine

ok these sith ppl might be the bad guys but their armour is DRIPPY AS FUCK

ideologically i dont agree w the sith but they kinda went off w the fits

googling how to become a sith without being evil cause they have Drip

SESSION 2

i paid £1.19 to see revan he better show up in this game at some point

all these sith n i still cant find one revan….. stop faking ur death rn come out n talk to me babygirl this isnt like u….

why can i be light/dark side if im not a jedi. give me a laser sword

maybe this jedi gyal will know where revan is faking his death. or give me a fuckin lightsaber PLEASEEE

was just thinking 'does this game have romance' and then carth called me beautiful. i dont think im gonna romance anyone until i get this amnesia sorted

why is carth questioning me so much abt the crash im pretty sure i have amnesia

why tf did the jedi lady have me transferred to this ship are we in lesbians with each other???

carth's not wrong it is suspicious but i lowkey have amnesia so i coulda done that i coulda not

a lot of clone wars voice actors in this. was lucasfilm so broke in the 2000s that they could only afford the same 3 VAs for every project

mission is 14??????? we need to get my girl back in school

SESH 3

tale as old as time i fucking suck at racing games

ok i didnt realise you had to mash click i won

REVAN!!! REVAN!!!!!!!!!

why am i dreaming abt revan tho. real as hell but ?????

lmao cringe revan getting blown up. i thought the jedi beat rev-meister in a fight but no. accident

"such visions are often a sign of force sensitivity" COOL YAY GIVE ME A LIGHTSABER

BASTILLE LOST HER FUCKING LIGHTSABER??

CARTH IS RIGHT THATS LIKE DAY ONE JEDI SHIT. ok i still love her even tho shes a bit of a bitch and also doesnt have a saber

if we find a lightsaber im taking it first tho

whys carth getting weird abt me being weird that he doesnt trust me. i just wanna be friends mate

SESH IV: A NEW HOPE

'i mean no disrespect, but perhaps one of the male slaves could serve you better' i went in here to start a slave revolution and instead got called a lesbo

LMAO THERES A SPICE LAB???? WALTER WHITE WHERE ARE YOU

thats insaneee they blew up BILLIONS of people to get to one jedi?????? these sith arent fucking around theyre scary

UM THIS IS CRAZY GRAPHICS THE LIGHTING IS CLEARER/DARKER WHEN I COVER THE SUN W THE SHIP EDGE?? 2003 IS THE YEAR OF THE FUTURE

someone just called me padawan i kinda assumed i was in my late 20s do i just have baby vibes

all the jedi in the movies are so chill but every kotor jedi i've met so far has been a bit of a bitch

YO THEY HAVE A YODA!!! its not THE yoda but

cool so these guys are just the regional managers at best. your asses are not the council

why can everyone smell my force juju so strong

THATS STRAIGHT UP YODA'S CLONE WARS VA

why does fake yoda not blink both eyes at the same time. im calling him master tortimer he reminds me of the animal crossing mayor

bastila there was no need for such a fancy bow

malak is like evil aang

revan is so much shorter than malak omg

are me and bastila sharing dreams. are we both obsessed w revan

poor mission ):

WHAT WAS MASTER TORTIMER ABT TO SAY????????? EVER SINCE WHEN??? DID WE KNOW EACH OTHER BEFORE MY AMNESIACS????? DID BASTILA TELL U SMTHN MORE WHEN I WASNT IN THE ROOM???

im intrigued i like this whole hidden jedi shtick its very compelling. so is whatever theyre hiding from me

kinda surprising no jedi found me before tho given my force juju is so strong

IM A LEGIT JEDI NOW??? SICK!!!

does revan rlly not have pronouns i thought that was a tumblr thing but they straight up are a nonbinary icon ive never heard a single pronoun used. revan's pronouns are revan/revan's

damn revan seems so cool in these stories (charismatic war hero that convinced their troops to join them as conqueror?? julius caesar) and yet all we've seen them do onscreen is get blown up and die by accident

A YEAR AGO? the way they were talking i assumed revan died like. a week before the game started

master uh i forgot his name he has martin scorcese vibes said revan was a paragon of the jedi so what im getting is that all jedi gifted kids turn evil

even if i didnt know revan as a tumblr darling id KNOW revan has to be alive somewhere they way everyone talks abt them is too cool for a character who exploded and died. i think. i hope. I PAID £1.19 TO MEET REVAN

'only you and bastila can stop malak' seriously????? just us two?? ive been a jedi for like, 6 minutes and you guys keep calling bastila young???? do you guys not wanna help??

omg im getting carth to traumadump! <3

HE WAS ON REVAN'S ARMY>??

i totally knew the jedi code and did not have to google it whatsoever

they rlly said fuck going to illum heres a crystal from the bin

he told me id be a great sentinel and i was like i know but i want blue cause i dont wanna be matchies with bastila

OGH!!! I HAVE A LIGHTSABER!!!! THIS IS GAME OF THE YEAR!!!!

omg i made my lightsaber perfectlyyy which is rare <3 getting a good grade in jedi

maybe i was a travelling lightsaber salesman before my amnesia

seriously though WHO was i everyone's kinda stopped acting like i have amnesia since the first mission BUT IVE PLAYED DRAGON AGE THAT GIVES YOU OPPORTUNITIES TO RP UR PAST. THIS DOESNT. EITHER THIS GAME IS BAD (but i love it so its not) OR I HAVE RETROGRADE AMNESIA

also everyone keeps being like "Oh ur force juju is so strong" AND NOBODY FOUND ME TIL NOW??? suspicious. did getting a really bad concussion activate the force in me

im too confused and amnesiac'd to think abt anything except the fact i have a glowing stick now

FSESH FIVE:

big fan of using aliens to avoid having to get VAs to read every line

oh so carth's boyfriend saul betrayed him and became leader of the sith fleet so he has trust issues

well he needs to calm down. i can't betray him cause i dont know what the fuck is happening

yooo i love the design differences on the mandalorians

oh my god this lady wanted to fuck her droid cause it was her husband's. and then it killed itself. wtf. game of the year tho

wtf they jebaited this juhani person into going dark side but then i talked her out of it. that seems a bit mean of them

i hope she can join my party she looks too unique to be a random npc

ive been thinking and I might be going crazy but there was a loading screen tip ages ago that said jedis could wipe ppl's mind and all i thought at the time was 'fuck the shitshow acolyte didnt make that up'. but what if one of them wiped MY memory and i used to be a jedi or smthn ????????

cause they keep being like ur weirdly good at this??? did bastila steal my memories??????????

I KNOW I HAVE AMNESIA!! EVEN IF EVERYONE DOESN'T BRING IT UP BC THEYRE PROBABLY TRYING TO SAVE MY FEELINGS

if i dont have amnesia and im just deeping the fact the opening had my life being mansplained then im gonna look real stupid

anyway time 2 go to the fuckshit ruins cave where r-dog and malak went to

"it must be referring to revan. the dark lord and malak--" revan's pronouns are revan/thedarklord

bastila said theres no mention of the Builders in the archives. does she just know every text off by heart

THIS DROID IS 20K YEARS OLD ???

omg i can equip 2 lightsabers at once. game of the year

OK I TAKE BACK EVERYTHING I SAID ABOUT THE AMNESIA BASTILA IS ASKING ME QUESTIONS ABOUT MY BACKGROUND THAT I CAN ANSWER. I REPEAT I DO NOT HAVE AMNESIA

ok i didnt get choices and i didnt really uh… say anything that i didnt already get told im still not ruling out amnesia

also booo i didnt get to find out how old i was

master tortimer rlly looks like the ultimate ketamine yoda

LMAO THERE WAS A DIALOGUE OPTION 2 CALL JUHANI A CATGIRL

omg kashyyk from jedi fallen order!!!

I CAN UPGRADE MY LIGHTSABER THIS IS JUST LIKE JFO

omg this ship is fun i wish everyone had personalised bunk spaces like hfw… a game which came out 19 years after this i should probably just take what we have

im gonna start w manaan cause im p sure thats what B-dog said n its the same language the droid was speakin

omg hyperspace from star wars

THE GUY THE BUILDING FELL ON???

am i having dreams abt revan bc bastila killed revan and im connected to her this is so roundabout

maybe i'd sleep better if my ponytail wasnt clipping into the pillow

[kiwi accent] six

carth needs a xanax every time i think we're friends he stops trusting me

also lmao he actually pointed out how wild it was that a day one padawan is being sent on this uber important mission and HES RIGHT IT IS WEIRD!! i thought it was main character logic but he's calling it out

i really really like the sense of unease that's setting in like at first i thought it was just cause im not used to 2003 games but no this is on purpose bc carth my friend carth keeps calling it out

THERE IS A CHILD ON MY SHIP ??????????????????

lmao the representative for menaan is roland wann. its like poetry it rhymes

there are no cameras in the sith hangar <3 rookie error i can commit crimes now

bastila's favourite hobby is getting shot and walking into my grenades

this isnt a combat system this is a missing system

I GOT ARRESTED???? IM JUST A GIRL

nvm i had a datapad that said the sith were evil so theyve let me go free and we're besties

why do i feel like ive just walked into an underwater horror mission

this suit waddles at the speed of a penguin on fentanyl

i tamed the beastie this is like how to train your dragon

MALAK FIRED ON REVAN?????? WERENT THEY BEST FRIENDS???????

but maybe revan escaped when bastila wasnt looking THEYRE FINE THEYRE OUT THERE SOMEWHERE. I BELIEVE

so hopefully when we run into revan they'll be like agh i changed my ways cause of the being shot thing and they'll be my bestie

great news i successfully communicated w the ship child and gave her back to dantooine. my girl has shockingly good linguisitics skills

bastila is so dour "oh watch out for the dark side" GIRL I AM. I NEED TO GET THE BEST GRADE IN GAME MORALITY

ok OFF TO KASHYYK i hope cal kestis is there… thru the force i guess… bc he wont be born for another 4000 years but its whatever

omg you'll never guess what. another vision. wow its one of the thangs. cool this is a tomorrow me problem

[martyr-inthedark]

Make your Whumpee tired.

Whumpees that have been deprived of sleep by Whumper, so much so that they don't remember how to walk in a straight line and can't figure out whether the recent appearance of little black bugs in their cell are real or a hallucination.

Whumpees that can't get a full night's rest. They doze off, only to be jolted awake by their own anxiety of not knowing when Whumper would come back. Perhaps they are awakened by phlegm-coated coughs induced by their illness. They are awakened by nightmares, or by Caregiver who is worried they may succumb to hypothermia, or by a thunderstorm, or the rough blanket scratching their open wounds, or so on.

Whumpees who pull all nighters to protect their friends or lovers.

Whumpees whose eyes burn when they finally can close their eyes. Whumpees whose muscles twitch, who can't stop yawning no matter how hard they try to stifle it. Whumpees with dark, glassy eyes. Whumpees who are slow to react or have a hard time keeping up with the conversation. Whumpees with throbbing headaches. Whumpees with brain fog and memory loss.

Whumpees who have been on the run and have over exhausted their bodies. Their muscles and joints continue to scream long after its over. Whumpees with extensive blood loss. Whumpees who are malnourished.

Whumpees whose survivor's guilt keeps them awake, wondering what they might have done differently, whether it was all their fault, or why they were the ones to live.

Whumpees whose bodies are in chronic pain or illness and who have to hide it, causing muscle and mental fatigue. They keep going with a smile until they collapse or pass out.

Whumpees who break down in tears, begging to be left alone so they can rest. Whumpees who sob when they are told that the bed in front of them is theirs to use whenever they want.

[multific]

Forbidden

Emperor Caracalla x Goddess!Reader

Summary: You just loved him. You wanted him to be happy and healthy, but for your actions, you must be punished. No God should interfere with the mortals. 

Was it truly that bad?

How can a love this strong and honest be bad?

How can anyone say your feelings were wrong?

He might be an Emperor, a mortal. 

But you loved him. 

With all of your heart. 

"You healed him." the Gods yelled at you. "We can't interfere with the mortals, you know that!"

"But I love him!" were your last words before you were banished.

A fallen God.

But at least, your love was alive.

By saving him, you also saved his brother and you saved Rome. 

Your heart was too big you were often told.

But now you were forced to live amongst mortals. Hiding in the outskirts of Rome in the woods by a pond. 

When Caracalla felt overwhelmed, he often needed to be alone.

Sometimes it was simply too much. The people, their demands and the crowd. 

During these times he ran away to the nearby forest.

The calmness of it often calmed him, his favourite spot was a pond. A small little pond which was filled with life.

But this time, he wasn't alone.

He noticed a lady walking along the bank before walking into the water. The water reached her knees.

She looked so beautiful. 

Caracalla moved and as he did his loud steps scared the woman.

Your eyes snapped at him and suddenly a cold breeze froze you in one place.

The man you loved so much. The man you healed and got banished for.

"Emperor Caracalla." you didn't even realize you said his name. 

"Who are you?" he asked but you quickly got out of the water and ran away. 

You ran but he followed you.

He was quick as he caught your hand, making you stop and turn but you were too fast, making both of you fall as you fell on him.

"I'm sorry." you tried to collect yourself but his hand gripped your wrist.

"I have seen you before, in my dreams." he said as you both stood up and he took a step closer to you. 

"You must be mistaken." you tried to leave, you really did, but he didn't let you. "Please let me leave. I shouldn't be talking to you." you watched as his eyes searched yours then looked around, trying to find someone.

"I dreamt of you. It must mean something. Perhaps the Gods sent you to me."

"Quite the opposite," you whisper.

"You must come with me."

"Please, I just want to go home."

"It is your Emperor's request." his tone changed as now he was serious.

You couldn't say no.

---

You soon found yourself in his personal room, sitting in a chair as he watched you.

"Who are you? What is your name?"

"It is Y/N. I'm a no one, My Emperor I can assure you."

"Why were you in my dreams? I cannot dream of a no one."

"I'm sure it wasn't me. You must be mistaken."

"I'm not. I remember. It was you, standing there while I slept. A beautiful light illuminated you." he must have been semi-conscious when you healed him. 

You were shaking your head.

"I'm sure your dream was lovely, but it was not me, Your Majesty." 

He leaned closer to you, watching your face as you avoided his gaze.

"Who are you?" he whispered. His voice was collected and strong.

"A simple woman." you replied with a shaky tone.

"No. You must be much more. You shall stay here until I find out who you really are"

And again, you had no other choice.

---

You met his brother the following day.

Although at first, he was suspicious of you, he soon realized that you might just be the newest plaything for his brother.

"My Lady?" Caracalla's voice called from behind you as you turned to him. "Dinner will be served soon. Just the two of us. My brother is not in the palace."

You simply nodded.

You have spent the past month with Caracalla. And as you sat down next to him on the bench, you couldn't hold it in any longer.

"I admit I haven't been truthful to you, Your Majesty. You see, your dream of me healing you was real. I did heal you from your illness. It is why I have been banished from the Gods." 

"I always knew you were special." he smiled. "From the moment I saw you by the pond. Why did you heal me?"

"Because I fell in love with you."

"No woman ever loved me."

"I'm not a woman, I'm a Goddess." you whispered and he grabbed your hand, and brought it to his lips. 

"Of course, you are, My Goddess." he looked into your eyes and soon leaned closer and sealed your lips in a kiss.

Gladiator II Collection

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou 

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @mel-vaz @akamitrani

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[lex-in-superposition]

Dysphoria and Euphoria in Nimona

Honestly I think that Nimona such a raw and simple explanation of dysphoria and euphoria in the movie. It really moved me (both times now haha) when I watched it.

Firstly she talks about the discomfort and how to get rid of it:

But she doesn’t just stop there, she actually talks about the freedom of being herself!

Transness is so often limited to this horrible condition which afflicts you. This idea that you are a sufferer of dysphoria and nothing more. Transition, whatever that means to each person, is only done to treat this condition, alleviate the symptoms, mitigate the pain. The best you can hope for is a life without “itchy insides”.

But the way she talks about the freedom of the “sneeze” is more than just relief of the discomfort. It is a positive experience in it’s own right! Transition is not just some treatment, it is a joy. Pure joy. Euphoric.

To transition or to just be able to BE trans, is to be happier and freer than ever before. To be trans is a gift perhaps.

Then we get into the “option” of repression:

This one hit especially close to home for me. Maybe I could have survived without transition, that thought often caused me doubts in the early days. If I was even worthy of the “treatment” if my “illness” wasn’t severe enough.

Maybe, maybe.

But god it’s made me so very alive.

Our joy isn’t a crime. Our lives are not unworthy of happiness. It is not wrong to want real, beautiful, vibrant, chaotic, messy, unpredictable, stupendous, unashamed, overwhelming LIFE!

There is no obligation to hold ourselves back for the comfort of others. To not only inflict pain on ourselves, but deprive ourselves of joy because perhaps we could survive without the “cure”.

We are not defined by our suffering. It is not our pain that shapes us, It merely attempts to break us. We are defined by who we are in spite of it all, by the joy we us to build ourselves up, brick by beautiful brick.

[magicalbats]

Soft Edges (Harumasa x Reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 3756

Warnings: afab!reader, chronic illness, piv, condoms, angst with porn

⭐

Spring rains bring summer flowers, and the clawing death rattle at the end of the world.

The moisture in the air bothers his lungs. 

You spend some time puttering around in his small kitchenette, preparing a herbal infused tea to help soothe the ache in his throat while he coughs and hacks incessantly in the other room. It makes the one bedroom apartment smell vaguely like an apothecary rather than a hospital bed. 

That seems to come as a relief almost as much as the warm drink does when he sips on it, humming a low sound of appreciation before thanking you for the thoughtful gesture. 

Sitting on the edge of the mattress with him, you study Harumasa for any signs of further deterioration in his condition. There were good days and there were bad days, and today was just unfortunate enough to be one of the latter. The hot tea and its medicinal properties seem to do him some good though. He doesn’t look like he’s in the process of actively dying on you, at least. 

Noticing your lingering stare on him, he lifts his attention to peer over at you. “What? Is there something on my face?” His voice is still a bit raspy. Weak. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Oh, come on. Tell me where it is so I can get it.” His unoccupied hand, the one not currently wrapped around the cup he’s got braced against his knee, comes up to swipe at the corner of his mouth, his cheek. But the knowing twinkle in his eye belies his sincerity and gives him away. 

Laughing despite your best attempt not to, you reach out to gently tug his arm back down. “Stop that. You know I’m just worried about you. It’s not nice to tease me.” 

“But I told you I’m fine, sweetheart. There’s nothing to worry about.” He assures you, his fingers snatching at yours before you can pull them out of his reach. 

Successfully snagging them, he makes quick work of sliding his palm over yours and fitting the digits together like they were a perfectly aligned puzzle snapping into place. 

And beyond the sterile sanctity of his apartment, the pelting rain buffets at the windows, an incessant staccato played to the tune of the howling wind.  

His skin feels clammy, you notice, and you wonder if you should go get the space heater out of the closet in the hallway. It was almost summer in New Eridu but the rain had brought with it an unseasonable chill that had even made you opt for a hoodie before venturing outside. He was probably feeling it worse than you were. 

“Haru - -“ 

“You don’t need to fret over me so much every time you come over,” He tells you gently, his thumb idly brushing over the back of your knuckles. “No matter how much you may want to be, you’re not actually a nurse you know. And for the better, really.” 

“Why is that?” You ask, earning yourself a softly husking laugh from him. 

“You’re way too cute, for starters. I’d never be able to control myself and I’d get into all sorts of trouble. Can you imagine your patient popping a hard on in the middle of you trying to help them get dressed? You’d hate it too, don’t lie.” 

Rolling your eyes at that, you start to pull away but he holds fast to your hand. The way he snickers, low and quiet, like his lungs couldn’t take anything more than that, almost pulls at your heartstrings enough to distract you from his real angle. But at the same time it’s also an intimately familiar sound that you don’t associate with his illness at all, in so much as you could separate one from the other. He often laughed like that when he was in the process of turning your own body utterly against you. 

Warming at the thought, you shoot him a halfhearted look of warning. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re not incapable of dressing yourself then.”

“Mm, perhaps. But I’m afraid that’s not gonna’ stop me from getting a hard on though.”

He throws you a playful wink to go with it and you draw a quick breath to chide him for not taking his health more seriously, for always downplaying his own mysterious maladies. But the words catch in your throat when he suddenly tugs your captured hand across his lap. 

Right into the center is where he presses it, making sure you feel the stirring outline of him through his cozy pajama bottoms. That he’d managed to change into them at all before knocking out under the medicated lull of myriad sleep aids and nervous system suppressing narcotics the night before was likely a small miracle. Sometimes the looming possibility of Harumasa needing help with basic everyday functions like dressing himself did not seem like such a far off what-if.  

It was not yet that day though and he was still in control of his body, at least for the time being. 

Lifting your gaze, you find his eyes underneath the attractively tousled fringe of his bangs where it was slipping forward without the usual headband in place to keep his hair back. He’s smiling at you, a barely there upward curl of his mouth that almost reads of fatigue rather than sly intent. The ghostly suggestion of tension lines on his otherwise blemish free face further solidifies that impression. 

But the way he looks at you speaks volumes, loudly conveying the message of the young man he might have been if he were not so plagued by ill health. He was sickly, yes. There was no getting around that uncomfortable truth no matter how much he tried to write off the severity of it. 

Yet he was by all accounts in the prime of his life, or he should have been anyway. Just a headstrong twenty something with the libido to match. He wanted to live, to experience. You could certainly give him that. 

“Are you sure?” At his nod, you carefully adjust your hand to close your fingers around the slowly stiffening length of him. He breathes a quiet sigh when you squeeze it through the thin layer of his bottoms. Keen and perfectly eager, but as always you were wary about going into it too hard and too fast. Especially after that coughing fit he had earlier … 

“Don’t make that face,” He murmurs. Stretching his arm out to the side, he sets the nearly empty cup on the bedside table right next to the menagerie of prescription pill bottles left out in disarray. “You’re not going to break me or kill me. Promise. I said I’m fine, didn’t I?” 

You think the two of you must have drastically different ideas of what it means to be fine but you don’t say that to him or push the topic any further than that. For his sake as much as for your own. 

And when Harumasa reaches for you, pulling you in against him, you willingly relent and sink happily into the familiar warmth of his lean, athletic frame. He feels sturdy enough that you don’t let your mind linger on it any longer than necessary and instead give yourself over to the searing kiss he presses into your mouth. You trust him to know his own limits, to recognize when something was actually wrong versus when he was just going through a bad flare up or having a shitty day. If he was feeling well enough to initiate this then you were happy to oblige. 

Which was the real crux of it, wasn’t it? The problem with a casual hookup turned long term relationship through some inexplicable means that you still weren’t entirely clear on even to this very day. What should have been a one time exchange somehow became months spent together, and now these sorts of physical exchanges were one of the rare comforts you still had that everything was going to be okay. Somehow, someway, it would all work out in the end. 

Because he certainly doesn’t seem frail and prone to illness when he bodily hauls you up further onto the bed so he can toss you down next to him with an expert flip. Your weight bounces against the mattress once from the momentum and then he’s on top of you, pinning you in place underneath him. The Harumasa you’d met that very first night and the one you make herbal tea for to soothe his throat were sometimes difficult to reconcile in your mind. But there was no mistaking that they were indeed one and the same in moments like this. 

Leaning over you, his mouth meets yours in a slow motion crash, hungry and eager to taste, eliciting a low moan of wanting from you. Kissing him back, you lift your arms to twine them around his neck while his hands slip under your hoodie to feel along your front. The shirt underneath is quickly rucked up to give him access to your chest where he hooks his fingers into the band of your bra, inching it down while his tongue tangles with yours.  

You gladly arch into his touch and your tits slip free to brush against the interior of your sweatshirt unimpeded. The sensation makes you full on shudder. Tearing your mouth away from his, you loose a quaking exhale into the still apartment which he responds to with a soft groan. The sound makes your socked toes curl as he shoves a hard kiss into the soft swell of your cheek, your jaw, then your neck. 

Unable to go any further past the bulk of the hood gathered around your throat, Harumasa pushes back just enough to give himself room to work. Grabbing the hem and shoving it up to bunch under your chin, he quickly brings his hands back down to slip them into your stretchy leggings next. Your achingly stiff nipples strain in the open air now, making the growing knot in your lower stomach tighten even more. 

A new buzzing thrum of anticipation runs through you as you lift your hips up off the bed, allowing him the space needed to yank them down your legs. They’re immediately discarded as soon as he’s got them off, carelessly tossed to the floor before he crawls back up to cover your body with his again. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs, lowering himself to his elbows so he can fully cage you in. His mouth finds its way to yours as if pulled by some invisible string and you drag your hands down his lithe frame while you exchange another heated kiss. 

Sliding underneath the rumpled back of his long sleeved shirt, your fingers quickly locate the top band of his pants and tug. The two of you are pressed too tight together in a tangle of limbs, slowly grinding against one another, for you to pull them more than half of the way down. That’s decidedly fine though, and you take to gently kneading over the exposed strip of his ass with encouraging squeezes that just make him press into you even harder. 

The outline of his cock is rigid and unrelenting where it digs against you, moulding your panties to the shape of your labia. You’re eager for the friction of his cock moving inside you, flesh sliding against warm, sticky flesh, and you can tell he is too. Yet he doesn’t rush it and instead takes his time savoringly rolling his hips as if to drag it out and make it last just that little bit longer. 

Or, an unhelpful voice in the back of your mind suggests, maybe this slow tempoed pace is all he can handle right now. 

That chilling thought curbs any impulse you might have to speed things up and take your pleasure from him, allowing Harumasa to set the pace while you simply follow his lead. The first night you’d met after a brief exchange of text messages you’d wrestled with him for dominance in this very bed to see who would come out on top. Now, however, you’re pliant and perfectly in tune with the signals of his body, lessening the demanding pressure of your hands when his breath starts to become a bit too labored. 

Groaning a shuddering noise of appreciation, he nudges himself down to your chest where he covers one pert nipple with his mouth. A roughly calloused palm comes up to grab and pinch at the other while he suckles your teat to aching attention, using his lips and his tongue to lave at the bud. His pulse soon seems to even out again and the shallow contractions of his chest become not quite so dramatic. Still, you worry about him. 

“You should switch me spots, Haru.” You tell him gently as you thread your fingers through his soft, silken hair, cradling him to your breast. “Let me be on top this time.” 

Harumasa comes up off your tit to shoot you an overly confident smirk, one you’re not quite sure he can back up right now. But you don’t protest or tell him to stop when he reaches between you to fist at his pants, shoving them down in the front to let his cock spring loose. “That won’t be necessary. Really, I had no idea I was dating such a mother hen. I’m not made of glass, babe.” 

A mournful chord curls through you, dousing the knotted heat in your stomach by some small margin. 

At the same time the rain picks up outside as if mirroring the tumultuous rising current of emotion in your chest. It smacks at the windows so hard they begin to rattle in their frames, thunder booming loudly somewhere in the not far off distance. The storm was getting worse. You hope the electricity doesn’t go out. 

“I know you’re not.” 

“Well, that’s good to hear.” Keeping his tone light and playful, Harumasa stretches over you to pull open the bedside table drawer. A condom is quickly located and pulled out, the foil wrapper crinkling lightly when he starts to rip it open. “Even if I was on my deathbed I think I could still make you scream. I wouldn’t underestimate me if I were you.” 

“Please don’t joke like that.” You snip back at him, not finding it even remotely funny. But he just laughs another low snickering sound as rolls the flesh colored rubber over his stiff cock almost down to the base. Feeling a mild pang of remorse, you draw a careful breath and say much more gently, “You don’t have to wear those if you don’t want to, Haru. I told you I’m taking birth control.” 

Humming a quiet sound, he gives himself a brief pump of his hand over the latex before settling between your legs once again, his hips nudging close to line up with yours. “Don’t worry about it. This is just fine.” 

You’re not so sure you believe that. But for as long as you've known him he’s always been adamant about using protection and you don’t understand his reasons enough to really argue against it. He’d said once he just didn’t want to take any risks or run the chance of leaving you worse off than when you’d met him. You hadn’t been sure what to make of that then and you still don’t know what to make of it now.

There were a great many things about Harumasa that remained a mystery to you though, like what exactly was wrong with him, what his diagnosis was. No matter how you posed the question he was never outright or forthcoming about that either. And while it bothered you sometimes, undeniably so, you’d found that your feelings for him were much too tender for you to push him on such topics. He’d tell you when and if he was ever ready. 

So you reach up and take him into your arms, pulling him against your chest while he tugs your panties to the side with his thumb. His mouth angles towards yours on a steady, unfaltering trajectory and he kisses you deeply, sinking into you with a stilted sigh of relief. 

The weight of his body coming to rest on top of you prods the head of his cock at your entrance, pushing in on clinging, sticky viscous arousal. You’re keenly aware of the heat of him even through the barrier of the condom and you issue a faint moan against his lips as your legs come up to lock around his waist. The careful squeeze you give him has Harumasa sinking inside you, slowly stretching your inner sleeve to the now familiar shape and size of him. 

Another teeth rattling peel of thunder sounds right overhead, as if the very center of the storm was hovering directly above the building. Perhaps it was watching the scene play out, its destructive energy growing and cresting in time with your pleasure while the two of you move in tandem with each other. Or maybe it had taken offense to the measly little ants getting it on first thing in the morning instead of bowing down and cowering in the face of its mighty wrath. 

Or maybe — just maybe, it was trying to warn you. One of you, both of you. You or him. It was impossible to say when the notion itself was so ludicrous but you can’t quite shake the feeling of existential uncertainty that sits like a lead weight in your gut now. 

It feels good having him thrust inside of you, just like you’d known it would. If you were only a bit more naive, in fact, you might have almost thought Harumasa had been made for you, and you him, given the way he seems to rub against every single pleasure inducing nerve ending along the way. You can’t help but grow wetter for him, tightening for him when your muscles eagerly clench down on the steel of his galvanized length. And you freely moan into his mouth where he’s still kissing you between soft rattling groans but … 

Why was he so dead set on using condoms even at this casually crucial junction of the relationship, after all these months spent together in sickness and in health? Did he not trust you? Did he think you were lying about the birth control and he simply wanted to avoid being stuck with you indefinitely? 

Or — could it actually be that the problem lies with him, resting squarely on his shoulders rather than yours? Did he fear what taking that final step would mean, what the end result of it might manifest when he was always prone to bad bouts of illness? 

Was the looming possibility of the existential end really so close that he needed to worry about such things? 

This was no way for a twenty something to live, and you cling to him all the more fervently for it, desperately clutching him to you like a lifeline. You wanted to save him but you don’t know how, so you open your body to him instead. Shelter, comfort and peace; the safe haven of flesh and blood, and heated breaths swapped back and forth between two locked mouths. 

And Harumasa gladly loses himself in you as if in chasing his release he could also escape the cold, bony fingers that hover just out of reach behind him. His flexing hips quicken, smacking into you with abandon now, and he sobs a frantic moan that you greedily swallow, taking it into yourself before feeding it back to him. 

His skin is so clammy under your hands. Like even the flush of arousal couldn’t completely disperse the chill that’s taken up root in him, and your heart skips a harrowing beat when his labored breaths suddenly turn thick with choking little gasps. His chest positively heaves against yours as your hands fly up to take his cheeks between your palms, carefully pushing him back just enough to look into his face. 

Expression wretched, Harumasa whimpers a low sound as if in apology while his pace slows to a weak crawl, almost a total standstill. He doesn’t completely stop fucking into you though, his cock stiffly nudging through your slick inner sleeve at such a stilted, uneven rhythm you know finishing like this will be impossible for you. But that doesn’t really matter now. It’s the very least of your concerns as you softly shush him, cooing gentle reassurances that make him screw his eyes shut as if he were in pain. 

He barely manages to reach his peak before the coughing takes hold of him again. It doubles him over and makes him collapse on top of you where he proceeds to shove his face into the pillow next to your head. You’re only distantly aware of his cock flexing within you and filling the tip of the condom with impotent seed, the vast majority of your attention fixed on the way he hacks and wheezes through the fit that assails him. It bows his spine into a dramatic, worrying hunch which you gently try to smooth out with your hand. It’s no use though. He can’t seem to get it under control. 

“Harumasa, let me help you.” 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He croaks, very clearly not fine. 

Sucking in a sharp, clawing breath that seems to rip his throat on the way down, he slowly manages to rouse himself enough to pull out and roll off of you. You’re quick to follow him though, pushing up to your elbow so you can look down at him while your hand continues to ineffectively rub over his shuddering back. He sounds like he’s going to cough out a lung. The thought of calling for an ambulance momentarily crosses your mind but you know how he feels about the hospital. Only if it’s an actual emergency, he’d once told you. 

But how the hell were you supposed to know when that line had been crossed? 

Unsure what else to do, you lean further over him so you can reach down and carefully help him take the used condom off. It’s a difficult task in this position, when he’s half curled over on his side like this, still struggling to get his breathing under control, but you manage, somehow. Just like with everything else, you try to make it work. 

And outside the unsympathetic storm rages on. 

⭐

Crossposted: here

[bitter-me]

My September

Harumasa Asaba | M. Reader as Mei Shijima [TBHK]

----------

Spoilers for those who haven't read the Picture Perfect Arc of Toilet Bound Hanako Kun

----------

For as long as Harumasa could remember, the entirety of his childhood was filled with a sterile white room, IV drips, and other machineries. That's just his normal. Wake up, eat, take his medicine, sleep. Rinse and repeat.

A rather boring and dull childhood.

Until one day. He saw someone poking their head into his room, eyes filled with curiosity and wonder. But the moment Harumasa noticed them, they fled. A strange encounter. However as time passes it becomes something Harumasa secretly looks forward to.

He would tell his master about it with a grin on his face while the adult laughs and encourages him. Thinking it's just an imaginary friend. It's normal for children to let their imagination wander after all, yet Harumasa would pout insisting that the encounter was real.

Determined to prove himself right one day, Harumasa decided to escape his room and search for this mysterious figure. Hiding from the adults and other unfamiliar figures Harumasa looks through every corner just to find them. Surely they were here, right? After what felt like an eternity Harumasa found a door, slightly ajar.

This must be it! And so without a second thought Harumasa went through it and was met by a room similar to his but with less medical equipment. Just an IV drip that's connected to the very person he's been trying to find.

That's when Harumasa.. met his first friend.

[Name] Shijima. A really talented artist. Well he's not a artist yet.. but Harumasa is super positive that he'll be one!

Through the times the two grew close. Perhaps their shared pain is what brought them together, but their ambitions and dreams drew them closer.

One day, Harumasa is in [Name]'s room. Chatting with him while the latter draws in his sketchbook. Until [Name] spoke up as he showed Harumasa his rough sketch with stars in his eyes. "In this Atelier Tower, there's a 'what if' version of me and he draws being healthy and well."

As he explains the backstory of his sketch one of his brushes rolls from the overbed table to the tiled floor. Seeing this [Name] attempts to grab it only to tugged his IV on his hand making him flinch in pain. Worried, Harumasa took the brush from the floor and handed it to the other with a weary smile. "Are you okay? Did it hurt?"

"I'm fine, it only hurts a little." [Name] reassures him. Setting down his sketchbook at the overbed table. He looks at it for a second, analyzing every detail of his Atelier Tower. Hie vision. His ambition. His dream.

Harumasa noticed the somber expression on his friend's face as he put the brush on the table. He was about to ask what was wrong, but the sound of the door opening stopped him, his master by the door. Ah, is it already time for him to get back? A hint of disappointment flashes in his eyes, reluctantly bidding his goodbyes to [Name].

When he's left alone [Name] let out a sigh before speaking in a low, somber tone. His gaze is still fixed on his sketch. "The me on this side... I'm just a tiny bit sick, you know? But I'm sure I'll get better soon!"

Lowering his head [Name] rested his cheek on the table. Looking at it with longing. "But until then... In my place, will you draw for me, other me?"

He said in a low, somber tone as if he's talking to his 'other version' that lives inside the Atelier Tower. "If you do that, I'll do my best."

"..isn't it weird? I'm talking to myself.."

...

.....

"...of course."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"The poor thing..."

"....And so young, how sad..."

"That poor boy... he's still drawing..."

"But... it's such a severe illness..."

"Recently all he does is sleep.... he seldom eats any of his food! Surely that boy..."

"..is going to die soon..."

----------

That was the last day Harumasa saw [Name].

His master doesn't let him hang out with [Name] anymore and when he asked, all Harumasa got was a small smile. As if the older man is trying to comfort him silently. The same goes for the other doctors there. He doesn't understand.

Why? Why are they not letting him see his friend anymore? That's not fair! Not fair at all! [Name] was in the middle of creating that Atelier Tower of his! And he was planning on showing the finished painting to Harumasa! And [Name] was about to go to art school and became an artist!

...oh sweet childhood innocence..

In the end. Harumasa did see the painting [Name] had promised him. It was on display at an art room of a well-known art school. The creator was nowhere to be seen.

Now he stood there with eyes fixed on the painting. A student, on his way to become a part of HSO. Stood motionless at the mere sight of it as people whispered around him.

"Have you heard? They say that the creator of that painting was very talented at drawing.. but his parents were opposed to him continuing the path of art.. so, in order to chase his dreams.."

"He decided to kill himself."

Harumasa's heart dropped at the sound of their whispers. No.. it's not true.. it can't be true. [Name] didn't..

"Whoa, that makes sense!"

"What so, he killed himself?"

"The painting is kinda scary too.. I don't like it.."

"What if it has all of his evil resentment inside it?"

"That's scary!"

No! [Name] parents supported him. They encourage him to follow his dreams! They weren't opposed to it! Harumasa would know! He would know! They were.. they were..

.

.

.

The Atelier Tower was finished.

And so is its creator.

.

.

.

Time somehow passes by in a blur. Before Harumasa knew it he had graduated. This is it. He's going to be a part of HSO now. All he needs to do is..

Harumasa froze. His feet glued to the ground as his eyes widened. His classmates were all busy with their families, friends, and loved ones. Of course they are, they just graduated, they're celebrating!

Yet his golden eyes caught something else—or perhaps it's more appropriate to say, someone else.

He stood there. Locking eyes with Harumasa. Then.. he smiles. The same smile Harumasa had grown to like.. to adore..

"[Name]..?"

[oh-no-its-bird]

Dedicating this to @electricburnz, who made me think about this again, and @ahamasmiyodhah + @tryingahandinholdingapen who found the post for me, thank u

Ok so, based on this post, but taking it a little to the left and making it funnier and much more chaotic

So, Madara and Izuna both want to send Tobirama hate mail. More than that, they want to go the extra mile here, really do something petty. So, they both begin to look into flower languages with an intent to insult Tobirama by showing genuine effort put into their little "go jump off the hokage tower" messages.

It's to note here that both Izuna and Madara have no idea that the other is doing this. They both think it's their own original idea, and aren't mentioning it to the other.

So then, you ask, what is the difference between the two of them?

Well, Madara stops at ordinary flower language.

He goes to his local flower shop, asks the girl at the desk to help explain the meanings of a few things, then laughs maniacally as he starts putting together a bouquet that is essentially hate mail in flower form. Full of flowers that signify loathing, bad luck and ill omens, all that good shit

Izuna, meanwhile, takes a moment to think.

The Senju are a clan that practically worships the mokuton, arent they? Their whole thing is nature, so perhaps they would have different meanings for their own flowers...? He asks around, and finds that yes, they do, though most Senju seem to find it 'a waste of their time' to tell him much more

Luckily, Izuna manages to get his little paws on an old Senju flower language study, and uses it to make his own hate mail flower bouquet. Nice one Izuna!

Here's the twist though: Yes, the Senju do use their own flower language. They see it as the "true" meaning of flowers, and completely ignore anyone who tells them otherwise. But, it's updated every time there's a new mokuton user. The new mokuton user going through each flower and telling their clansmen the "real" meaning of each one. So the study Izuna found was way out of date and completely non applicable

Meaning that neither of the bouquets the brothers made say what they mean them to say.

So !

Madara gives Tobirama his flowers. Tobirama looks at Madara. Standing smug and radiating 'I hate your guts' energy.

Tobirama looks at the flowers, which are filled exclusively with sexual innuendos and "I want to ravish you in the fields" flowers. Placed right in the center of the bouquet, higher than all the others, a single bloom that means "passionate forbidden love"

(eternal hatred, the store clerk had assured Madara)

Tobirama looks back at Madara. Still looking smug, staring at him expectantly.

Tobirama turns bright red and power walks away as fast as he can.

Madara takes the redness to mean anger and congratulates himself on a job well done, walking off smug and happy (but maybe a little disappointed there was no yelling. Still, he'd never seen the Senju run away before! Ha)

The next day, it's Izuna's turn.

Tobirama, feeling like someone has to be fucking with him at this point, looks at Izuna. Who is radiating what can only be described as 'I'm going to kill you in your sleep and enjoy it more than anyone should' energy.

Tobirama looks at the flowers, which are filled with meanings of 'innocent love in bloom' and 'soft, secret passion' and 'dreams of a better tomorrow.' Just a bunch of really cute, romantic, soft meanings

And Tobirama just. Once again, turns somehow an even brighter shade of red than the first time and runs away with his tail between his legs.

Izuna, just like his brother, is patting himself on the back for his hard work. Did you see the way he ran? Incredible. Izuna has to do this again to see if it gets the same reaction. Maybe next time he'll fill his office with the flowers...?

(Both times, it should be noted, Tobirama did in fact take the flowers with him)

So, yk, Tobirama has no idea what's going on but feels like there has to be some sort of trick being pulled on him. He can not decide what any of this shit makes him feel

(if only one of the brothers had approached him, maybe he would have tried to reply in kind to their perceived genuineness, but the fact that it was both...? No, no, he can not comprehend what the hell is going on there.)

I think it'd be funny if more Uchiha (or in general just people who disliked Tobirama: of which there were a lot) caught on to this and fell into the same pitfalls as Madara and Izuna. From Tobirama's perspective, suddenly he's so popular? He's never been so popular before? What is going on?

Ok so now. Pivoting. I bring to you: Uchiha Hikaku.

So Tobirama is kind of gravitating towards Hikaku, the only perceived still "normal" person around as every other Uchiha has begun to send him scandalous flowers.

Hikaku is so mellow and normal, it brings Tobirama comfort as he tries to put his head on straight about what the hell is happening otherwise. They got along anyways, they work well together, both are professional and straight to the point men and they get their work done quickly and then go home— just the way they like it.

And so one day, someone tells Hikaku smthn along the lines of "wow Tobirama is so nice to u, u should really count ur blessings you lucky bastard"

And Hikaku is like "Hmm. Perhaps I should show him my gratitude somehow...?" And goes out and ends up at the flower store.

Meanwhile, the flower girl finds that these Uchiha really like their hate flowers. Like, an alarming amount. Hikaku comes in and she's already reaching for the "I want you to die in a fire" dandelions

But no, Hikaku is there for something much more normal. Just a couple small flowers, something simple and professional, to mean smthn along the lines of 'appreciation' and 'hard work'

I'm sure you can see where this is going.

So Hikaku goes in and gives these flowers to Tobirama like I hope to continue our harmonious working relationship. And. Tobirama looks at the flowers.

Which, obviously, do not mean what Hikaku thinks they mean. Instead of 'appreciation' and 'hard work' they instead mean something a little more along the lines of 'quiet loathing' and 'you are a lazy bastard'

And that, my friends, is the story of how Hikaku became the first Uchiha to successfully send Tobirama hate flowers.

(And was also the first Uchiha to not have actually tried sending Tobirama hate flowers.)

Anyways then Izuna and Madara fill Tobirama's office with flowers that alternate meanings of 'lets get married, Im so in love with you, we are soulmates' and 'I want to fuck nasty in the barn out back' and Hashirama sees it and nearly fucking kills them both

The end

[sst4rdst]

synopsis : your family arranged your marriage to childe, the eleventh harbinger of the fatui, due to financial hardships, and now you are bound to him as his spouse. pairing : childe x reader (no gendered pronouns used for reader) warnings : yandere themes, unhealthy relationships. author's note : got a little carried away with this one oops, sorry, it might happen again.

[ scaramouche version ]

you don’t remember when your life stopped feeling like your own. perhaps it was the moment your parents sat you down in the dimly lit drawing room, voices careful, measured, lips curling around words like duty and family as if trying to soften the inevitable blow. perhaps it was when the contract was placed in front of you, thick parchment with ink that had long since dried, sealing a fate you had no hand in choosing. or perhaps it was even earlier than that—before you knew his name, before you knew what it meant to be given away.

the tsaritsa’s harbinger. a man with a name spoken in equal parts fear and reverence. childe, they called him, though his real name was something softer, something ill-fitting for the bloodied path he walked. ajax, a name you only learned later, spoken in rare moments of vulnerability, whispered like something fragile, something not meant for you to hold onto. but it didn’t matter what he was called—only that he belonged to the fatui, only that he was dangerous, only that he was yours. 

or rather, that you were his.

you had met him only once before the wedding, a meeting arranged in the grand halls of your estate, where everything smelled faintly of desperation, of your family’s dwindling fortunes masked behind ornate furnishings and forced smiles.

he had arrived unannounced, without the pomp and spectacle one might expect of a man of his standing, dressed in dark fatigues that contrasted the opulence surrounding him. his presence was suffocating, not because he was outwardly cruel or unkind, but because he was too much. too confident, too self-assured, too at ease in a situation that had unraveled your entire world.

and then there was the way he looked at you.

it wasn’t love—not in the way fairy tales spoke of, not in the way little girls dreamed of when imagining their futures. it was something else entirely, something far more unsettling. interest, amusement, possession. a hunter’s gaze locking onto prey, not in an overtly threatening way, but in a way that left no room for escape. his smile had been easy, practiced, charming in a way that made you wonder how many people had fallen for it before you.

and then, in a voice dripping with amusement, he had said, “i hope you won’t make this too difficult.”

difficult. as if you had any say in the matter. as if you could change the outcome by sheer will alone.

the wedding had been swift, devoid of sentiment, the kind of affair that was meant to cement alliances rather than celebrate love. you had been dressed in the finest silks, adorned in jewelry that did little to disguise the hollowness in your chest.

the ceremony itself had passed in a blur—an exchange of vows that meant nothing, a kiss that barely grazed your lips, a hand placed against the small of your back that was just firm enough to remind you that there was no turning back.

and now, you are here. his home, your home now, though the word feels foreign on your tongue. the estate is grand, a testament to his wealth, to the power he holds within the fatui.

it is quieter than you expected, devoid of unnecessary extravagance, yet there is something undeniably suffocating about it. maybe it’s the knowledge that you are alone here, trapped in a life you did not choose. maybe it’s the weight of his presence, a constant, inescapable force lingering just out of sight. you barely see him during the day, but you feel him.

a brush of fingertips against your wrist when he passes by, a weighty gaze that follows you even when you pretend not to notice. he does not demand your affection, does not force his presence upon you, but his patience is not born of kindness. no, it is the patience of a man who enjoys the chase, of someone who knows that time is on his side.

"you’re unhappy." his voice cuts through the silence one evening, casual, conversational, yet laced with something heavier beneath the surface. he leans against the doorway, watching you with that same unreadable expression, head tilted just slightly. "i expected that much, but i have to admit, i thought you’d have warmed up to me by now."

there is no malice in his tone, no anger—just curiosity, as if he is studying a puzzle he has yet to solve.

you swallow hard, gripping the edge of the chair you sit in. "what do you expect, childe?" the name tastes foreign in your mouth, too personal, too familiar for a man who still feels like a stranger. "you bought me like a commodity. what reaction were you hoping for?"

for a moment, he says nothing. then, he laughs. it is a soft, breathy sound, something genuine, something that unsettles you more than outright cruelty would. "bought?" he echoes, amused, pushing off the doorway and taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. "that’s not entirely fair. i didn’t buy you—i saved you. do you think your family would have lasted another year with their debts?"

his words sting because they are true.

"would you have preferred another husband?" he muses, stopping just before you, close enough that you can see the shift in his expression—the flicker of something darker beneath the easy smile. "a greedy noble twice your age? or maybe some merchant with wandering hands? at least i’m young. at least i care about what’s mine."

you bristle at the implication, jaw tightening. "i don’t belong to you."

childe hums, reaching out, fingers brushing the curve of your jaw—gentle, but unmistakably possessive. "no," he concedes, "not yet."

it is a warning. a promise. a game he fully intends to win.

the room feels smaller with him this close, the space between you insignificant, irrelevant, nonexistent. you don’t want to move, because moving means acknowledging the tension, means playing into the game he’s laid out before you, and yet, staying still is somehow worse. because he watches you like you are already his, like your resistance is nothing more than a delay, a brief inconvenience to a victory he is certain of.

his fingers linger against your jaw, a featherlight touch that betrays the force lying dormant beneath it. you know what he is capable of. you know the stories, the whispers of what the harbingers do to those who oppose them. and yet, there is no outward malice in his touch—only patience, amusement, a quiet kind of satisfaction that makes your stomach twist into knots.

"you don’t have to like me," childe murmurs, tilting his head slightly, as if examining you from a different angle, searching for a crack in your resolve. "not yet, anyway. that part will come later."

the audacity of it makes your breath hitch, your fingers curling against the fabric of your sleeve. you should snap at him, push him away, do something to make it clear that you are not a willing participant in whatever twisted fantasy he’s weaving. and yet, the words stick in your throat, because, deep down, you know they wouldn’t change a thing.

childe isn’t the type to be swayed by defiance. if anything, he welcomes it.

his hand finally falls away, as if he’s indulged himself enough for now, as if he has already won something just by standing here, just by making you react. he takes a step back, not far enough to give you relief, but enough to make you realize how much closer he had been than you’d allowed yourself to notice.

"get some rest," he says, as though this is just an ordinary conversation between spouses, as though there isn’t an entire chasm of resentment and fear between you. "you look exhausted."

and then he’s gone, leaving you to unravel in the silence, heart pounding, hands trembling, the ghost of his touch still burning against your skin.

you do not see him for days after that. or rather, you do not speak to him. his presence is everywhere, woven into the very fabric of this house, a constant reminder of the reality you now inhabit.

servants move with quiet efficiency, always polite, always distant. you learn quickly that they do not see you as their patron, not in the way that should matter. their loyalty lies with childe, and though they treat you with the respect your position demands, you know that none of them would dare disobey him for your sake.

it is suffocating. and yet, a strange sense of relief settles in the absence of his direct attention. you begin to navigate the estate cautiously, taking solace in the gardens where the air is fresher, where the walls do not feel quite as close. you avoid the grand halls, the spaces where his presence is strongest, and for a brief moment, you convince yourself that this life, while miserable, is at least bearable.

then the gifts begin. at first, they are small. a necklace draped over your vanity, delicate silver with a deep blue gemstone, the color eerily reminiscent of his eyes. then, a silk shawl, impossibly soft, folded neatly at the foot of your bed.

the gestures are not extravagant, not enough to make a spectacle of, but they are persistent. unrelenting. you do not thank him. you do not acknowledge them. but you know that he is watching. and you know that he is waiting.

the inevitable confrontation comes late one evening, when the house is quiet, when the world outside is blanketed in darkness. you had thought yourself alone in the sitting room, curled beneath the glow of the fireplace, trying to lose yourself in a book you barely comprehend. but the air shifts before you hear his footsteps, the faintest change in pressure that sets your teeth on edge, that tells you that he is here.

"you don’t like the gifts."

his voice is light, conversational, but there is something beneath it—something sharp, something dangerous. you do not turn to look at him, keeping your eyes fixed on the pages before you, fingers curling against the binding.

"you don’t have to give me anything."

a chuckle, low and amused, as he steps further into the room. "that’s not what i asked."

you finally glance up, and there he is—leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable save for the glint of amusement in his eyes. it is infuriating, the ease with which he exists in this space, as if he hasn’t uprooted your entire life, as if he belongs here.

you inhale slowly, measured, keeping your voice steady. "what do you expect, childe? that i’ll wear your gifts and suddenly fall at your feet?"

his lips twitch into something that is not quite a smirk, not quite a frown. "no," he says, and then, after a pause, "but it’s a start."

you want to scream. you want to throw the book in your hands at his face, want to shatter the illusion of patience he so carefully maintains. but you do none of those things, because you know, deep down, that he is waiting for you to break.

and so, you turn back to your book. ignoring him was a mistake.

before you can react, he is there, closing the distance between you in a single step, his hand gripping the arm of the chair, leaning down just enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your temple. "you can pretend all you want," he murmurs, voice soft, almost gentle. "but you’ll have to talk to me eventually."

your pulse hammers against your ribs, but you force yourself to remain still. "and if i don’t?"

he hums, as if considering it, before his fingers brush against yours—not harsh, not forceful, but firm enough to remind you of what he is here, even if you try to ignore him.

"then i’ll just have to try harder," he muses, his grip tightening, just barely. "you’re my one and only, after all."

it is a claim, a reminder, a leash tightening around your throat. and no matter how much you struggle, you know that he will never let you go.

[avelera]

I’m curious, how much control do you think Viktor was in in season 2?

I have tried to analyze this but am honestly stumped. Because on one hand it is clearly his intentions and logic being used. Since the beginning he has been wanting to heal people afflicted in Zaun (while it was also to cure his illness I don’t doubt wanting to help those in need was a legitimate motivation). He does immediately go to heal people in Zaun and all the conclusions he jumps to through the season do seem perfectly reasonable for him. He was the type of person who didn’t even conceptualize in season one that something like the hexclaw could be used as a weapon. That and the hexcore showing that he was a pacifist to the point of it being a massive blind spot to danger. So it makes sense being shot by Jayce of all people while in his eyes he was healing people would cause him to go all glorious evolution mode as a natural progression of his arc.

On the other hand he definitely didn’t come back right. The show makes a point to show in season one that the hexcore has some level of physical control over him, and even when going to heal the shimmer addicts he is following Sky’s voice. The writers also confirmed that it indeed was not Sky and was the hexcore manifesting his guilt to push him towards to glorious evolution. And his emotions definitely seem to be muffled and unexpressive. I know this part is joked about a lot but honestly even the fact that he chokes Jayce is surprising because he is consistently characterized as a pacifist to the point of it being a fatal flaw. He doesn’t even commit an act of violence in a show filled with fight scenes until the second to last episode, let alone against Jayce of all people. I think the last thing season one Viktor would do is intentionally cause physical harm to someone, hence why it is only at the part where he is the farthest gone.

Basically if I had to guess I’d say it’s like 50/50 level of control, but you have written some great character analysis so I’m curious what your thoughts are as to how much of season two was Viktor and how much was the Hexcore

Honestly, Anon, I'm wrestling with this on almost a daily basis myself when I write fics. It's definitely not helped by the fact they avoided a lot of exposition in S2 in favor of pacing (the slower pace of S1 allowed for a lot more signposting and exposition of what was going on, I think somewhat to the detriment of S2) and the fact that we don't really get much of Viktor after he stops being the Machine Herald, because to my eyes that's the first time we see the real Viktor all season and it would be nice to get him to express some contrast with what came before (though of course it would ruin the pacing of a perfect moment).

I think you basically nailed all of the points of confusion. I've ever considered tracking all the points where his voice warps for clues, because I think there is something to be gleaned from how and when his voice distorts, but in what direction is also a curious question.

Was saying "affection" kept them together more or less than what Viktor would have said to Jayce? Would he on his own have said love? Or would he, in his infinite shyness, have not dared to mention emotion at all, because Viktor is an expert at pushing those closest to him away and hiding his own emotions? Was that the Hexcore trying to drag Jayce in closer by calling it affection, or push him away before it could gain strength by lowering Viktor saying "love" down to just saying "affection"?

On the other hand, during the Herald's villain monologue at the end in the Astral Plane, his voice is distorted for almost every line except, "This senseless waste," which does feel like a sincere Viktor line, perhaps the only one that is truly him that whole time, including when he said he was pleased to see Jayce, in that horrible mocking tone. Could that not be the Hexcore speaking there?

I'll offer what I think is happening:

In order to chart "What is Hexcore" vs. "What is Viktor" it's less useful to look at Viktor's motives than the Hexcore's.

The Hexore wanted to expand its influence. It wanted to become powerful enough to have its own army and to destroy the civilization around it as other versions of the Hexcore have done throughout history. I believe it reached those goals by posing them as things Viktor, on his own, would want to do like help the needy, thus hiding its ends inside of Viktor's motives.

Note too that people who have dosed up on Shimmer are more susceptible to its molding.

Hence we can assume that the Hexcore, in the guise of Sky, using Viktor's guilt about her and his own failures to help the undercity, guided Viktor down to the Shimmer victim encampment specifically.

Viktor is not a mystic. The most mystical thing he says in S1 is that the Arcane speaks through mages. But the Hexcore is a magical artifact. Something like the Hexcore also destroyed a civilization centuries ago, and the figure in Heimerdinger's memory looks like Viktor when he's cloaked.

So personally, I think we can ascribe any mysticism to the Hexcore's influence too. That means the Cult, for example. Also Viktor's, "You need not suffer anymore," and kind of making them all genuflect to him, feels very OOC and just plain wrong for Viktor.

Whereas Viktor in the Astral Plane feels like real Viktor. Even the fact that when we show his point of view out into the world he is himself in a field of stars, seeing the real world projected in front of him like Plato's Allegory of the Cave gives the impression of imprisonment, like he's looking out through the windows of his own eyes to a shrouded world he can no longer directly touch.

And note, for example, that Sky/the Hexcore doesn't want Viktor to heal Vander. That's all Viktor. I believe the reason is because it doesn't want to run out of energy too quickly.

Basically, I think the Hexcore is stringing Viktor along there as Sky, giving him a little terrarium of stars to play in, while using him as a vessel of assimilation under the guise of healing. These are on both sides, inner and outer, things that Viktor wants to do, so he's seduced. He doesn't fight it.

I also think at a certain point, the Hexcore Viktor gains enough power to be able to impact people who aren't dosed with Shimmer. I think this comes later though, which is why it's not interested in Jayce at first but it is interested in assimilating him later. At that point, again, those motives align with Viktor's own sincere desire to see Jayce again (maybe he's sick of all the hippies in the commune lol) and the Hexcore is happy to get rid of someone who could conceivably stop it.

But note, the Hexcore is still playing along with Viktor. It could forcibly assimilate Jayce, but Viktor wants Jayce to choose his side willingly, so it holds back. In part too because that disappointment is what fuels Viktor to give himself over the Hexcore's goals entirely and ask for Singed's treatment with Apex Shimmer. At that point, as the showrunner noted, it doesn't need the guise of Sky anymore, it doesn't need to string Viktor along anymore. He's bought into the idea of forcibly assimilating the world if he can't get Jayce to join willingly.

I also heard an interesting theory that I'd like to factor in: basically, until he gains access to the Anomaly, Viktor doesn't have the power to strip himself of the Hexcore's influence or overcome it. That's why there's no point in Jayce trying to get through to him sooner, it wouldn't do anything because Viktor would still be trapped in its web.

Once they have the Anomaly, Viktor as an ascended being can strip away the Hexcore's influence. And that's why I lamented that we don't get more of his thoughts in that scene. Because I think an interpretation can be made that the Machine Herald look is just the human form of the Hexcore, using Viktor as a vessel.

Once that outer shell explodes, it really is Viktor again, with all the power of the Anomaly and Jayce's rune at his disposal. Now he and Jayce can work together to reverse the damage, free all the trapped souls from the Hexcore's web, and save the day. But we see that only then Viktor is able to view his own actions as himself, and he's horrified. There I think we get Viktor's one true, sincere reaction to everything that has happened up to that point and confirm that, yes, while the Hexcore interwove its seduction through Viktor's motives, none of this is what Viktor wanted. The ultimate outcome was the Hexcore's goals.

Quick Doylist addition: I also think there's definitely a draft where it's all Viktor getting controlled, but the writers know that can be kind of boring. It's better when characters take action and make choices, rather than being controlled. So I think that's why they settled on a combination of "The Hexcore's end goals, but Viktor's underlying motivations being twisted to support them."

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Nine - Late night scandals

♡♡♡

"What do you think Bridgerton?"

Benedict turns around to find the artist he had accidentally offended at the gallery the other night.

"This one more to your liking?"

"Mr. Granville--" Benedict raises from his chair to approach the man.

"Perhaps they should take it over to Somerset House so it can be skyed right next to mine."

"I believe I owe you an apology, sir." Benedict says, feeling rather embarrassed.

"Unnecessary. I actually quite enjoy the eloquent stings of your critique. So?" He gestures back to the painting on the wall.

"A touch morose for my tastes," Benedict says.

Henry points to the next one.

"A tragedy. The hound deserved better," Benedict comments.

Granville laughs. "Where is yours?"

"My..."

"Your work," Granville clarifies. "Are you tell me you're not an artist yourself?"

"Well, I-- I suppose sometimes I like to... Well, I mean, I almost--"

"I believe 'yes' and 'thank you' are the words you seek. But either way, you should come by my studio." Mr Granville holds out a small card to Benedict, who accepts it. "The pieces I do for myself are there, and I think you will find my real work far less, um... Oh, how did you put it? 'Cold and lacking inner life?'"

Benedict scrunched up his face as he nodded, still burning with embarrassment. "I shall never live that down, shall I?"

Mr Granville leaves.

Benedict returns to his table where he had been absentmindedly doodling. Eyes. He was sketching out a pair of eyes. Pretty ones. From memory.

He sighs and closes the sketchbook.

♡♡♡

As you sit in the drawing room of the Bridgerton house, as invited by Violet, you discover that she had no idea about the boxing match, or that Daphne had been there.

You keep your eyes focused on the latest Whistledown paper, though you had stopped reading it.

Daphne was playing the piano while her mother interrogated her.

"A boxing match is no place for any young lady." Violet sighs.

"Is it a place for a prince? Was he at today's match, sister?" Hyacinth asks.

"He certainly was."

"It is a loathsome and barbarous form of entertainment," Violet was very displeased.

That was when Daphne took the opportunity to mention you had gone as well, which had Violet looking at you.

"You too?"

You glare softly at Daphne, who gives you a smug little look. Crafty one, she is.

"Anthony invited me," you admit.

Violet looked terribly ill all of a sudden. You were sure she would being this up with her eldest son at some point.

"What about the duke?" Hyacinth asks.

"What about the duke?" Both Violet and Daphne ask at the same time. You eye Daphne curiously from your seat.

"Was he also present?" Hyacinth asked, less enthusiastic now.

"I do not know," Daphne says. "If the duke was there, I did not see him."

Hyacinth leaves the piano to go see what Eloise is up to. She had been scribbling away in her book since you arrived.

You put the Whistledown column down and rose from your seat to seek entertainment near the window. Watching the street was surely more entertainment than listening in on that conversation.

Anthony enters the room and greets both his mother and his sister. You turn and he greets you too.

"Did you truly take your sister to a boxing match?" Violet hounds him.

"Your admonishment will have to wait. I have news," he cuts her lecture short. "Prince Friedrich has asked for my permission to propose." He looks at Daphne.

She stops playing. "So soon?"

"Well, what did you tell him?" Violet asks.

"That I know better than to answer for my sister. I have no objections to the man. People speak well of him. Whatever you decide, Daph, you shall have my support."

You look at Daphne quietly.

"I... uh... I..." She doesn't know what to say.

"You need not decide now," Violet tells her. "You certainly have no known him long."

"Let me know when you have an answer, and I shall convey it." Anthony says to his sister.

"Indeed." Daphne looks at him.

Anthony leaves as quickly as he came in. It was clear Daphne needed time to think.

♡♡♡

When Daphne had pleaded with you to attend the next ball with her, you couldn't say no. There was a sadness to her gaze, and you wondered from where it had risen.

Something had happened between her and the duke, and she had been off kilter ever since.

The ball, like all had been so far, was wonderful. The theme was a little more out there this time, but everyone was behaving quite perfectly.

You were standing with Daphne as she scanned the crowd. Exactly who she was looking for, you weren't quite certain. You would suggest the prince on the account that the duke was apparently leaving London tonight.

The prince could be seen across the room. He was in conversation with someone. You glance toward Daphne, but your gaze shifts as Cressida Cowper comes over. You give Daphne a gentle nudge.

"Daphne." Cressida chuckles. "You look beautiful, as always."

"Thank you, Cressida," Daphne says politely.

"You could have chosen anyone," Cressida says. "You have gentlemen lined up to pay you tribute. Yet you did not hesitate to steal my chance for happiness away, did you? I knew the marriage market would make rivals of us, but I never thought youcapable of being my enemy."

"The man made his choice, Cressida. What did you expect me to do?" Daphne asks.

Daphne walks off in the direction of the prince. You look at Cressida and then walk off in the other direction.

There is nothing you could ever say to her.

You begin to walk alongside the dance floor, watching the couples dance. A hand comes into view, and you turn to see a friendly looking young man smiling at you.

"May I have this dance?"

You take a moment to gather yourself. You had hoped one of the Bridgerton boys would be here to dance with you, but you supposed you couldn't rely on them every time.

"You may."

You go with him to dance.

It seemed Benedict wasn't here.

♡♡♡

Benedict was, in fact, making his way to the studio of Mr. Granville. He was intrigued by the artist.

He finds the address and knocks on the door. Henry Granville answers.

"Mr. Bridgerton."

Benedict stands there a little awkwardly.

"Come in, come in."

Granville lets him in. Benedict enters and follows him. He is led further inside and finds himself in a large room. A circle of easels presented around two nude models.

"I do not know what I was expecting, but it surely was not this." Benedict says.

"Oh, simply a gathering of like-minded souls." Henry tells him. "Here, let me show you what I've been working on."

Benedict is led further inside the studio. He passes a couple of painters discussing war so causally.

"What do you think?" Henry asks.

Benedict walks over and takes a look at the canvas.

"Hmm. It's a far cry from Somerset House, I must say."

"I shall take that a compliment."

They both chuckle.

"And I must say, I'm truly jealous. Is this your life?" Benedict asks.

"There are advantages to being the second-born." Henry tells him. "Heirs have the responsibility. Second sons have the fun."

They both chuckle again.

"So... why not go have some fun?" Henry gestures to the models. He's giving Benedict the chance to epress himself through art.

Benedict picks an easel and sits down.

♡♡♡

As you dance once again tonight, you spot Anthony standing off to the side. He's staring at the opera singer.

You hard heard whispers about him being infatuated with an opera singer, but had no idea if there lay any truth to them.

You continue dancing with your partner.

Benedict was still a no-show tonight, which you found to be rather disappointing. You had been looking forward to another evening of his little quips and teasing.

When the dance ends, you curtsy to your partner and head in the direction of Anthony and Violet. Lady Bridgerton had tries to introduce her son to a rather pretty young lady, but he showed no interest.

"Shall we dance, Lord Bridgerton?" You ask, looking at Anthony.

He turns and looks at you, for half a second, thinking you were another lady his mother was intent on pushing on him.

"Yes, let's." He offers his arm, and you take it. Violet watches you both go. Even if he chose you, she would be pleased, but she knows her son will not take you as his wife. You're his friend who has come to rescue him from her for a while.

Violet downs a third glass of champagne.

"She is persistent," you say.

"Hm?"

"Your mother."

Anthony chuckles softly. "Yes. Quite."

"The opera singer..."

He looks at you.

"Nevermind. Its not my business."

Anthony's expression softens. "I was - am - found of her."

"Yes. I assumed as much."

Anthony sighs. "It's complicated.

You nod and say no more on the matter. Anthony spins you around elegantly.

"Is Benedict not here tonight?" You ask, twirling with him.

"Benedict? No." He gazes at you. "Why do you ask?"

"I just noticed his absence."

"Missing your dance partner?" He teases.

You chuckle. "Am I that obvious?"

He winks at you, and you shake your head with a smile. "I'm fond of you boys. I can't help it when I notice one of you is missing."

Anthony grins. "How lucky we are to have gained such a special friend such as you."

As Anthony gives you another turn around the floor, you spot Colin speaking with Penelope. You smile softly at the sight and then turn your attention back to the eldest brother.

At least you'll have one Bridgerton on your dance card tonight.

As the next dance begins, Anthony keeps your company longer. You're aware this may catch attention from others, especially Lady Whistledown should she be here, but none the less, you dance with him twice.

You soon see that Colin has left Penelope on the sidelines to dance with Miss Thompson, and you also find the prince talking to Daphne amidst their dance.

The dance ends, and you manage to catch sight of Daphne fleeing the ballroom.

Anthony bows, and you curtsy.

"Until next time." He nods his head at you. You smile and nod, taking your leave. You worry about Daphne and intend to go check on her, but you're stopped by another gentleman.

You sigh and realise you'll have to dance with him before you can flee again.

The dance feels like it drags on, and on, and on. You smile, you listen to your partner talk, but your mind is focused on Daphne. She did not look well when she fled.

When the dance ends, you spot Anthony leaving the ballroom. You waste no more time and follow him.

He heads outside. You follow.

"Anthony?"

He turns and looks at you. "Go back inside."

"What's the matter? What's happening?"

"Did you see him?" Anthony asks urgently.

"Who?"

"The duke."

"He is here?"

"He was, and now I can't find Daphne." You realise he's concerned about his sister.

You hear something further in the garden, and Anthony hurries off. You follow him, close on his heels.

What you find is not what you ever expected to see.

Simon and Daphne were not just kissing. His hands were all over her. Her dress had been pulled down. You cover your mouth, though you can not hide the gasp that escapes you.

Anthony runs at Simon.

"Bastard!"

Simon receives a strong punch to the face. He falls to the ground, and Anthony takes another swing. He punches him a third time and then stands beside his sister. You hurry to her other side and checks her over.

"Daphne..."

She is speechless. She has no words for you. They have been caught in a compromising position.

"You will marry her," Anthony declares.

"What?" Daphne looks at her brother.

"Immediately. We can only hope no one saw you take such liberties, and my sister is saved further mortification. You will marry her!"

Anthony is angry.

"Brother!"

"I cannot marry her," Simon says.

"You have defiled her innocence, and now you refuse her hand? I knew you were a rake, Hastings, I never thought you a villain."

"I cannot marry her," Simon states more firmly.

Daphne looks hurt.

"Then you leave me no choice. I must demand satisfaction."

"A duel? Anthony, you cannot--" Daphne begins.

"He dishonours you, sister." Anthony looks at her. "He dishonours you and me and the very Bridgerton name. I have misjudged you, indeed. You have duped us both, but I shall not see my sister pay for my own misdeeds. We will settle this as gentlemen."

"I understand," Simon agrees. "I shall see you at dawn."

"I do not understand," Daphne says softly. "You would rather die than marry me?"

You look at Simon quietly.

"I am truly sorry."

"We need to go, Daph. Before anyone should see us." Anthony says softly.

You reach out for her arm gently and pull her away, Anthony follows you both.

Daphne takes her brother's arm after he begs of you not to say a word about anything. You swear by it, looking him in the eye. Anthony thanks you.

You drift off from them as you enter the ballroom once again.

Anthony approaches Colin and tells him he is taking her home. He asks Colin to take care of their mother. You decide to step in and help. Anthony looks grateful.

Anthony and Daphne leave.

Colin looks at you, but you just smile softly at him and ask him to help you with Violet. He doesn't say anything about Daphne or Anthony.

Neither do you.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @crazymar15

@cosmixstar - @bree3parchen -

[cybertori]

Rant about how I literally manifested discovering shifting..

I’m going to be extremely honest, I was literally THE weirdest kid growing up; I had peculiar interests and rarely got along with people from my class.

I was also SEVERELY interested in frozen at some point, mind you I was about.. six? if my memory serves my right— I remember lucid dreaming about the first movie, it was extremely vivid but i’m pretty sure it wasn’t a shift.

So! I was wandering around in the cold- I remember feeling scared, looking around everywhere; the mountain was painted white, it was dark, the only way I could go was upwards toward the top of the mountain or downwards towards the bottom, it was almost pitch black that way— I didn’t know what to do?? I mean— I was six.

I vaguely remember looking around to see if I was fortunate enough to find someone who could help me.. but also, as a six year old you’re pretty curious. So I decided to venture my way towards the peak of the mountain before I stumbled upon— yes! you guessed it right. Elsa’s sister and her boyfriend. (This is weird I know, but stay with me.)

They seemed concerned— pretty sure they were wondering “why the heck is there a six year old out in the freezing cold, where are her parents, it’s literally freezing out, she’s going to get a cold, etc etc.”

So I glanced at them for a few moments— I don’t really think it had hit me yet that I was Lucid dreaming about Frozen, before I could say or do anything at all; Kristoff spoke up and offered to take me to the nearest town (or rather, demanded me to come with them because they were sure as hell not going to leave a six year old girl out in the cold.)

Mind you, they spoke in english + I wasn’t exactly fluent at the time, so I just stood there in disbelief for a few moments.

Then I woke up, sweating— I sat up, contemplating what in the world had just happened and THAT’S when it hit me, I lucid dreamt about my favorite movie in the entire world and it wasn’t REAL 💔💔 I started crying like the little baby I was for a good hour, My mom came in thinking something had happened to me, but I kind of just asked her

“Why isn’t frozen real!??”

This would be a question that would be haunt me, being repeated again and again in different fonts.

Timeskip to around 2019– If you thought my obsession with Frozen was concerning, you should have SEEN me during my miraculous ladybug era.

I was completely and utterly in LOVE with that dumb show, in such a way that my friends would get concerned, my sister would get furious when I talked about it (because trust me, i’d talk NON-STOP), my parents kind of perhaps questioned if I was.. ill. (which I was..! but not the point) but through my eyes; It was my miraculous show against the world.

..It got to the point where I assumed I was Marinette; i’d constantly compare this one crush I had on a guy to Adrien and rant about it in my sparkly blue diary, I kid you not. I could write pages about this. literal essays. I’d constantly write about the same topic again and again, claiming that I was Marinette, claiming that i’d one day get a Miraculous, claiming that my crush was quite literally adrien, daydreaming about the fact that one day, I promised myself that I would travel to paris and obtain a miraculous.

Yeah, I was— exceedingly weird.

Then the question came up again, every single day— I think I was half-expecting that one day; my ten year old self would wake up in the miraculous universe, I didn’t think about anything but these two questions

“Why isn’t miraculous real?”

“Why can’t I just wake up and be Marinette— i’m pretty much her anyways.”

and a wish.

“I wished miraculous was real.”

I cannot emphasize the AMOUNT of times I asked myself why the show wasn’t real and WISHED it was. This went on for about a year straight, I’d just constantly wish that miraculous was real, prayed over and over again that one day i’d wake up in that universe; that i’d at least be friends with Marinette— that I would have a miraculous of my own and help her “save” the world.

Thenn.. I stumbled upon THE post

“It’s 4 AM, I just woke up from a shift of 8 months to hogwarts, I want to go back— let me leave.”

Safe to say, I literally manifested my way here. I’m pretty sure if I told that little girl that it is possible to be a miraculous holder or elsa’s best friend, she’d be sure to make it happen, she’d be sure to believe in it—Now I just have to become the little girl I was once. The little girl who’d believe without a doubt that she could be anything as long as she wished for it hard enough.

[cumplanecrash]

Over 600 words of shizun babies. Nothing is going to plan this week, my phone died for real, and low key I think I broke a finger getting tangled in the dog's leash, but at least this far the fic is good to post

As a heads up if you missed it, the Shizuns are gonna be faking a mental illness (xianxia! dissociative identity disorder) to get away with lying about their identities in an upcoming part, and likely as an underlying element going forward. If that's a deal breaker, go with my love and block the tags; hopefully I'll see you in the next fic.

Of course they were going to handle it in-house. Shen Yuan's disciples were the absolute best.

With Ming Fan and Li Xiaolang finishing things up in the village and voluntold to handle the official reports, the rest of the group returned quickly to Qing Jing Peak: several departed immediately to the library, citing books that might have relevant passages; Luo Binghe beelined to the kitchens, after the Shens had scarfed the traveling snacks he'd brought with 'worrying speed'; and Ning Yingying marched off determined to locate adequate robes, as even the borrowed-and-shrunken sets were still large enough to drag if they weren't held up.

Which left Shen Yuan alone with Shen Jiu, the Original Goods, the Scum Villain himself. Not that he's scared! No way! A certain appropriate level of caution, perhaps. Shen Jiu's motivations were completely opaque to him, even as a veteran reader of Proud Immortal Demon Way and someone who had worn the name and face of Shen Qingqiu for well over a year.

Shen Jiu took Shen Yuan's hand. "Isn't Gege coming?" He asked with a little pout.

"Ugh," said Shen Yuan. "Don't tell me that shit applies even when it's just the two of us."

Wait.

"Wait," said Shen Yuan. "What the hell--?"

"Come on," said Shen Jiu, turning red as a tomato as he started dragging Shen Yuan toward the Bamboo House. "How long do you expect to have to ourselves, anyway?"

"I can walk!! Shen Jiu!!"

"Walk faster," commanded Shen Jiu. "We need to talk."

They double-timed it past the door of the Bamboo House, and Shen Jiu jumped up to activate the privacy wards on the door as it shut behind them. "Eww, no," said Shen Jiu, and the sound of bamboo rustling in the wind started up again as fast as it had stopped. "That did not feel right."

"I don't think a curse like that can just split a golden core," Shen Yuan suggested, before frowning and mumbling more to himself than anything else, "Not without the System's help, anyway."

"Makes as much sense as anything about this" Shen Jiu said, walking towards the main table.

Shen Yuan went to follow him before turning around and activating the ward in question. The draw on his qi started with a brief surge, like turning on a lightbulb, and then steadied out into and almost unnoticably low hum. "Fucked for me to end up with the cultivation when you're the one who worked for it."

Shen Jiu had found (err, well, retrieved...?) their stash of hard candies and was placing the jar on the table when Shen Yuan turned back toward him. The image of a child playing tea party came to mind; surely actual children thought their conversations were just as important as the one he was currently having. "Of course you have it" said Shen Jiu, as if it were obvious. "You're in this world to take over the role of a Peak Lord, obviously the qi goes with you."

"You know about that?!?!?" Shen Yuan screeched just under the volume the privacy ward was prepared to absorb. How could Shen Jiu be so calm knowing that Shen Yuan was brought to this world to replace him?

Shen Jiu blinked slowly, and took the candy out of his mouth. "I prayed for a way to take a break so hard that a god not only heard, but cut me a deal."

Damn toddler constitution, that's the reason Shen Yuan's eyes immediately filled with tears.

He came around the side of the table to wrap his arms around Shen Jiu's shoulders, pressing his forehead into a bony shoulder. "I thought you'd hate me for stealling your name and undoing so much."

"Well," Shen Jiu turned his head away from Shen Yuan's; Shen Yuan obligingly didn't turn to look at him from his place on the shoulder. "This master isn't prepared to argue with results."

His arms came up around Shen Yuan's shoulders tentatively, and the dam broke.

Next