#such as by changing 'sane' (long 'a') into 'sanity' (short 'a')

[pathsofoak]

People who are confidently wrong about what is said in assigned readings baffle me really

[librababe99]

Vigilante's Lullaby |Part One|

cw: Red Hood, Gender Neutral Reader, Angst, Mentions of violence, blood, injury, medical procedure, hurt no comfort, dark romance, hurt no comfort word count: 1.9K summary: In the shadows of Gotham’s underworld, you run a clinic that caters to those no one else dares to help. One night, Red Hood stumbles in, bloodied and defiant, refusing assistance despite his wounds. As you force him to stay, a strange, electrifying tension fills the air.

A/N: Hello! Just finished up the final edits to the first part of this new series. For the sake of dramatics I really liked the idea of leaving Jason's identity anonymous and sticking with his alias. Also as of now I'm wanting this to be a four part series but of course that can change! If you'd like to be tagged in the next part just let know <3 As always comments and feedback are greatly appreciated - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

(DC Masterlist) (Marvel Masterlist)

(Synopsis) (Part Two)

The clinic was a small, dimly lit space tucked away in the decaying heart of Gotham’s underbelly. The walls were cracked and worn, the faded paint peeling in corners no one bothered to care about anymore. Shadows lingered in every corner, as thick as the stench of sweat and antiseptic that clung to the air. It was late—well past the time most sane people would be out in Gotham. But sanity was a luxury in a city like this, and you’d long since learned to live without it.

You leaned over the trembling form of a thug, stitching up the gash in his side with quick, practiced movements. He wasn’t important—just some small-time crook who got into a fight he couldn’t win. It wasn’t your job to ask questions. You weren’t paid for that. People came to you because you never asked why, and you never judged. Criminal, vigilante, or something in between, it didn’t matter. In Gotham, everyone bled the same.

The thug winced, muttering a half-hearted complaint, and you hushed him quietly, focusing on the task at hand. It was routine—just another night in a city that never slept, where violence was a constant companion.

Then the door slammed open, hard enough to rattle the rusting hinges.

You looked up, instincts on edge, fingers stilling mid-stitch. A figure loomed in the doorway, casting a long shadow across the floor. The helmet gave him away immediately—Red Hood. His presence dominated the room, his chest heaving, blood dripping onto the worn floorboards.

"Out," his voice growled, distorted through the modulator in his helmet. It wasn’t directed at you.

The thug on the table scrambled up, clutching his side. He didn’t wait for a second warning. As soon as Red Hood stepped into the room, the thug fled into the night, disappearing into Gotham’s shadows.

The vigilante staggered forward, his movements heavy, labored. Blood soaked through his jacket, staining the dark fabric and leaving a trail of crimson in his wake. His breathing was harsh, his body barely holding itself together, but when you moved toward him, his gloved hand shot up.

“I don’t need your help,” he growled, even though his knees almost buckled from the effort of staying upright.

You stopped short, eyeing him carefully. His wounds were bad. Too bad. He wouldn’t last long in this state, not even in Gotham. But you’d seen his type before. The kind who thought they could muscle through the pain, through death itself, out of sheer willpower. Maybe he had cheated death once, but not tonight. Not like this.

“You’ll die if I don’t patch you up,” you said, voice calm but firm. You weren’t afraid of him. That was important. Red Hood’s entire persona thrived on fear. “Sit down. Now.”

His helmet turned slightly, as if sizing you up. There was tension in the way he held himself, every muscle coiled tight, ready for violence even though his body was betraying him. His fingers twitched like they were ready to reach for his gun. But you stood your ground.

“I’m not going to ask twice,” you added, eyes narrowing. “You won’t make it out of this room if you don’t let me help.”

For a long, painful moment, he didn’t move. The silence stretched, thick with tension. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he let his hand drop to his side. A begrudging acceptance. He stepped forward and sank into the chair, the weight of his injuries catching up to him.

You didn’t hesitate. Moving quickly, you grabbed your supplies and knelt beside him, carefully peeling back his jacket to expose the wound. The gash across his side was deep, and there were other cuts and bruises littering his body, evidence of a fight he barely survived.

As you worked, the room fell into a tense quiet, broken only by the sound of his labored breathing. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the mix of blood and sweat clinging to his skin. Your fingers brushed against his flesh, the contact sending an unexpected jolt through you. The air between you seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment, thick with something unspoken.

He watched you from behind the mask, his eyes hidden but his presence palpable. You didn’t flinch, didn’t show any reaction to the violence he wore so plainly on his skin. You’d seen worse, and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he unsettled you. Still, there was something in the way he sat so still now, the way his body surrendered to your touch, that made the space between you feel... electric.

“You don’t ask questions,” Red Hood said after a while, his voice low, almost conversational now. There was a hint of something behind his words, like he was testing you. “Everyone else does.”

“I’m not everyone else,” you replied simply, not looking up from his wounds as you stitched them closed with quick precision.

He made a noise, somewhere between a grunt and a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “No. I guess you’re not.”

Your hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary as you finished up, the tips of your fingers brushing against the edge of his skin. His body tensed slightly, and you could feel the air shift between you. There was a moment—brief, almost imperceptible—where Red Hood’s guard dropped. His gaze softened behind the mask, as if for just a second, he was letting you see past the armor. Past the walls he had built so high.

But then, just as quickly, it was gone.

Red Hood stood abruptly, wincing as he moved, pulling his jacket back into place. He didn’t say thank you—he wasn’t the type. He didn’t have to. The way his eyes lingered on you, just for a heartbeat longer than they should have, told you everything.

“Don’t expect me to come back,” he muttered as he made his way to the door.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to.

He disappeared into the night, and you stood in the quiet aftermath, staring at the blood he left behind on the floor. Something about that encounter stuck with you. It was more than just another wounded vigilante passing through your clinic. It felt like the start of something darker. Something deeper.

A week passed, and you tried not to think about him.

But Gotham had a way of bringing people back into your life whether you wanted them or not. The nights were long, the clinic busy as always, but a part of you found yourself glancing at the door more than you cared to admit. You told yourself it was just a matter of curiosity—nothing more.

Until he returned.

This time, Red Hood didn’t burst in with the same dramatic entrance. He slipped through the door quietly, his presence immediately recognizable despite the effort he seemed to make to go unnoticed. He was wounded again, though not as badly as before. His jacket was torn, blood staining his side, but his steps were more measured, less desperate.

You raised an eyebrow as he stepped into the light, crossing your arms over your chest. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

His lips twisted into something like a smirk, though there was no humor behind it. “Didn’t have a choice.”

Without waiting for your response, he sat down in the chair again, wincing as he moved. You took a deep breath, grabbing your supplies once more. This time, there was less urgency, but the tension between you had only grown in his absence. As you worked, the silence stretched again, but it wasn’t the same. The weight of unspoken words hung in the air.

“You live like this every night?” you asked after a while, breaking the quiet. “Bleeding all over the city?”

He chuckled, though it was dark and hollow. “It’s Gotham. Bleeding’s part of the job description.”

You glanced up at him, instinctively drawn to where his eyes should be beneath the mask, though you still couldn’t see them. The white lenses covering his eyes remained in place, a barrier between the two of you, preventing you from truly seeing the man beneath. But you could feel his gaze on you, sharp and unwavering, as if he were studying you just as closely.

There was always something about that mask—how it made him unreadable, cold, distant. Yet, in moments like this, when the tension in the room grew thick, you could feel the weight of emotions hidden behind it. The silence stretched on for a beat too long, the sound of your steady breathing filling the space as you tried to ignore the electric pull between you.

“And what job is that, exactly?” you asked, your tone carefully measured. You couldn’t let your curiosity get the better of you, but the question slipped out before you could stop it.

He hesitated for a brief moment, his head tilting slightly as if considering his answer, though the visor obscured any hint of where his gaze fell. "Righting wrongs. Settling scores," he finally said, his voice low and cold. "Call it whatever you want."

The cold finality in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t just talking about Gotham’s criminals. No, there was something more personal in his words. He was talking about himself—his own demons, his own darkness.You didn’t push further. It wasn’t your place, and you knew better than to pry into the shadows he carried. But it didn’t stop you from feeling the weight of it, the sheer force of the rage and pain he carried with him.

“I’ve seen plenty of people come through here with wounds like yours,” you said softly, focusing back on the gash you were stitching up, your hands steady despite the tension in the air. “They usually don’t last long. This city eats people alive.”

His head tilted slightly, and though you couldn’t see his eyes, you felt the intensity of his attention shift back to you. For a moment, the air felt heavier, thicker. His voice, when he finally spoke again, was low, rough. “I’m not most people.”

You couldn’t help the small, bitter smile that tugged at your lips. “No. I guess you’re not.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it felt charged, like standing on the edge of something dangerous. There was always something about him that made you feel that way, as though you were staring into an abyss and contemplating whether to jump. Maybe you were a danger to each other, a collision waiting to happen.

When you finished patching him up, your fingers lingered, the soft brush of your skin against his as you pulled the gauze into place. This time, he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, he remained still, the air between you crackling with something unspoken.You glanced up at him again, meeting the featureless gaze of his mask, your breath catching in your throat. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could feel them on you, feel the tension simmering beneath the surface.

Something was happening between you two—something inevitable, dangerous, and completely out of your control.

Without a word, he stood, pulling his jacket back over his bandaged torso. The movement was sudden, almost abrupt, as if he needed to break the moment before it went any further. He didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t offer any words of gratitude or reassurance.

But you knew he’d be back.

Even as he left, the heavy door of your clinic closing behind him, the presence of him lingered in the room—dark, dangerous, and unmistakably powerful. The pull between you both was undeniable, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was happening between you was far from over.

And it was only a matter of time before that tension snapped.

[jakessbtch]

☆ red | c.g

masterlist | requests

TW ✿ ° : periods, pain [for reader]

pairing ✿ ° : Carl Grimes x reader [s/h]

request by ✿ ° : @liu1307​

summary of fic ✿ ° : Reader wakes up in immense pain, thinking she got bit she panicked, only to find she was suffering her first period.

word count ✿ ° : 1.1k

a/n ✿ ° : First Request done!!!!

Living in an apocalypse was hard, it was considered hell for a woman too. Not only do you have to be wary of greedy hormonal men who want your body rather then yourself. You also have to struggle with your own unwanted hormones, meaning blood will eventually start seeping out of you once a month.

Y/n woke up like she normally did, groaning and whining for her body to let her sleep more. Yet this time, the sheets felt warmer and more uncomfortable against her skin. She groaned almost silently before slinging the comforter off of her, cuddling into one of her few pillows. The silence was short lived before a harsh pain shot through her stomach. She gasped as she gripped onto her abdomen, whining into the silent morning.

Why was she in so much pain? This wasn’t normal, right? Maybe she got bit when she was fighting the walkers yesterday, on their way home from the supply run. Her e/c eyes widened, if she got bit, they were going to kill her. How hadn’t she noticed it, surely she would have bled through her shirt or something.

Pushing through the sudden jolts of pain, Y/n jumped up from her bed. The door to the bathroom swung open quickly, then slammed just as fast. The loud noise bouncing off the walls of the home. The walls sounded like they were shaking, but why would she notice that? Y/n didn't hesitate to raise her shirt, noticing there was no wound, then what was hurting?

She twirled around in the cleansed mirror, trying to distinguish any hidden bites or wounds she sustained. What she did spot was a red patch in the back of her pink pajama pants. She obviously knew about periods and what happens to a woman, but she didn’t expect it to happen now. She sat herself down on the cool toilet seat, feeling ill. Was that just in general or a side affect to periods?

“N/n Honey, are you feeling ok? You made quite the ruckus” She heard her mothers soft voice reach her ears from behind the door. She sighed almost inaudibly before standing to her feet. She knew she had to talk to her mother about this, it was normal right. Her and Carl, her boyfriend, had never had sex while they’ve been together, so it had to be period or something. “Yeah Ma, just.. I think I got my period”

It was silent for s few moments before a carefree “Oh” met Y/n’s ears. “I’ll head to Kim’s place to get some stuff, I'll tell Carl on the way if you’d like? You two are always attached” She knew Carl wouldn’t make this a big deal, plus her mum knew a lot about the two, so her mum wanted him to know. “Yeah, just.. be quick” Y/n whispered through the door, resting her head in her hands, h/c hair falling down the sides of her face.

“Alright honey, go take a shower” that was the last thing said from y/n’s mother before the clicking of her heels disappeared down the stairs. Y/n got ready for the shower, stripping down and hopping into the limited warm water. The water pressure kept her grounded to sanity, it was very relaxing and kept her somewhat sane.

Not long after she got out the shower and got changed a hurried knock was heard from down stairs. Y/n knew just by the knocking patterns who it was, so she hurried to open the big white front door. She felt real icky with the blood free spilling in her new pants, she really wondered how long her mum would be. Y/n opened the door without a second thought, Carl crashing into her arms, embracing her with a whole lot of enthusiasm. 

“Are you ok n/n? Your mum told me everything and so I brought some comics and I snuck some crisps that Michonne made earlier” Y/n smiled up at him as he rambled about the things he did just for her. The feelings crashed into her rapidly, face contorting to one of pure love and adoration. Y/n reached for his waving left hand, leading him to her messy room while he gawked about the potential things in the comics.

“Carl?” A loud yet soft hum was heard as Carl threw himself onto a cushioned chair in the corner of her room. “I uhm, sorry, you know? Sorry if this whole thing is gross to you” Y/n said quietly, as she leaned on the white doorway. Carl shrugged as he threw open a comic book, leaning back in the chair. “Isn’t it normal for you? It’s ok, I love you a lot, and you love me back so no blood is going to get in the way of what we have.”

She placed a hand coyly on his right shoulder before the door downstairs slammed open. Carl flinched at the loud and booming bang, while Y/n just rolled her eyes with a chuckle. “Its my ma Carl, she does this all the time when she panics” She said calmly before she walked down the long hall then the stairs to greet her mother. 

After all the explaining of how a pad works and how to apply one, Y/n found herself dozing off in her messy bed. Carl was blabbering quietly about the scene he was up to in the comic, not noticing her drooping e/c eyes. Y/n had just passed the peak of period cramps for that day, and now she was tired, all she wanted to do was fall asleep to his voice.

“And the guy named Zion, he’s like fighting Tyan- oh.” Carl cut himself off, looking at her slumped figure in the pink sheets. He smiled to himself meekly before placing the book on the floor and making his way over. His feet clicked on the hard wood before he nudged her to shuffle over for him. Y/n complied silently, with an explosion of butterflies at his simple touch. Carl lay himself next to her, wrapping his arms around her to rest on her stomach.

“Goodnight n/n, I love you so so much” Carl purred as he himself felt a wave of tired muscles slam into him. Y/n hummed to his saying before she dozed off to slumber. Carl followed soon after her, with a soft smile on his face.

✿ ° Fin

[farm-lust]

Light as a motif in Consequences

--I read into the use of shaders as a metaphor here, I know it's pushing it, but I am such an analyst that it's all I can think about.--

“I wonder what happens when this room goes into darkness”

In Consequences 1, we start out with every lantern lit and shaders off. When we finish the episode Kab has turned her shaders on, but every lantern is still lit.

-I think the heart that we can get at here is that Kab has not fully accepted the doom that comes with the box at the beginning of Consequences. She still has hope that trust exists, as well as believing that the box is truly a good solution. By the end of the episode, I don't think she started the descent into madness, but she is on the edge of realization that maybe the box is going to do more harm than good.

Consequences 2 starts as dark (with shaders) as the last episode ends, in addition to that; she breaks a lantern at the end, and she begins to refer to the lanterns as stars.

-Consequences 2 is my favorite chapter for many reasons, but especially its contributions to the light as 'sanity' belief that I hold. After an IRL week in Japan, I think (personally) the mental script that Kab had for Consequences changed and thus led to her breaking the lanterns at the beginning and the general mood shift in the whole episode. She also said the star allusions were off the dome and, first, crazy thing to just come up with, and second, I think that shifted some of her scripting, too.

All of this is to say that I believe Chapter 2 is the most important chapter of the entire story and the light motifs.

Stars' life cycles are often silent, from Earth, we can't tell if a star is alive or dead. Kab can't tell what is going on on the surface, she has no idea what Clown, Hannah Red, or Mane are doing. Yet she still gazes at them, admires or fears (often both) them, like we admire stars. A star dies in two ways, it dims out, or it explodes. Kab is referencing the former when talking about her 'stars'. Stars that get no happy ending, no ending at all.

Kab never directly compares herself to the stars in this episode BUT the connection is pretty much right there for the taking.

To sum up 2: best episode, star motif.

Consequences 3 is the shortest episode (thanks, chat) but has some important light details she starts the episode by breaking two lanterns and ends the episode by breaking one.

-I am only a little bitter that the one episode that the darkness is acknowledged got cut short... but whatever.

Kab acknowledging the darkness is important in my 'light as sanity' argument, for Kab is literally acknowledging the fact that she's getting worse. Thats is my whole argument for this episode.

Consequences 4 has little in terms of light motifs except when she finds a hole through to the outside world.

-She finds a literal hole in the world, a hole in her plans, in her logic. Light as sanity again, breathing for one moment while so lost in her altered mental state.

And finally Consequences 5, also lacking in terms of light motifs BUT when Kab leaves the box, it is day.

-She finally escapes, a star that exploded instead of fizzling out, and it's bright out. I would not say post-Consequences Kab is at all sane, but I think the longer she spends in the light the sane-er she gets.

Okay, long post over, I hope it made a lick of sense. Bye-Bye!!

[mononijikayu]

hello 🥰 ive been following you and reading your works for a while and i think it's really cool how you can produce so many good quality fics so quickly. your readers are very very lucky ! how long does it usually take for you to finish your works? i would love to learn more about your process ! 🌷

hello hello!!! 🫶

i think it sort of helps that i dont sleep that much or very well and that im an irregular student in uni

i also think another factor is that my mind has ideas a lot. most of the time i sit down and think when im at a park before class and i type out a rough plot draft then i make it as soon as possible

because as fast as thoughts come, they go away too fast too. so i rush!!! which is why i make mistakes often!!! i just come back and correct myself!!!

it also helps that i type really fast. i used type out my notes in my undergrad and even now in my higher educ school days. so i think that's another factor!!! i write both on my phone and my computer (which is whyyyyyyy i have drafts everywhere and i get scolded for not paying attention to people im around when i have an idea 🥲🥲🥲)

making short drabbles or smth like say immortal sukuna, it takes me around an hour or so (the formatting is the hard part 🥲🥲🥲)

and say if im doing something in long format like 3 to 5k, it may take 3 to 4 hours, depending on my brain and my energy. 10k and beyond takes longer — but i try to get it done the same day after a break or tomorrow if i have time.

ashes of love, i got crazy writing about it because i could picture everything easily in my head. so i rushed writing it just to crank out the image i had in my head. because im frightened it would disappear and i'd just lose the vision!!!

but on days i dont update (like during exams) i already have something planned in advice, like a draft i didnt like and i feel like is good enough (a great example would be 'love me back—megumi fushiguro, i liked it but i didnt 'love' it you know???); i publish those to buy myself time.

usually its because im stubborn. i dont like leaving things not done and i wanna be a fan of my work too, so i wanna read it to see if its good enough.

so i have to finish it and give it to everyone to enjoy with me. so even if i only like it, i wanna put it in the world too. i think ill grow to love more than i just do now one day!!!

though, im not immune to being lazy. i think i still havent finished a lot of stuff and i have to rewrite them when i have more time. but i genuinely forget sometimes and i come back, reread and do it again. so it makes me unproductive too.

but writing is a destressing tactic to me and im crazy about it because its a way to find some peace of mind. so ill do it aa much as i can to be sane as much as possible.

tldr — i dont sleep that much, i have more time at times cause irregular school days, im stubborn, i chase my ideas like its the F1 and its a problem but also my sanity!!!

i'm sorry this is long reply, im a big yapper but all this changes depending on what happens and how i am (im also sickly sometimes BUT ideas dont stop even when im sick so i also write too) 😭🫶

(also please dont do this to yourselves, it causes a lot of back pain and cramps too. i sit far too much trying to finish ideas and its BAD. please do it in your pace too and make sure to keep your health first 🥹🫶)

[12gaugefalls]

The Villain

--------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Now everyone listen to me when I say this, this isn't really a pairing, just certain Markiplier egos coming to a realization. It's gonna agnsty as hell and barely any comfort. This is also a song fic, the song being "The Villain" by John Michael Howell. It's a really good song, you should check it out.

Anyways let's get this party started!

--------------------------------------------------------------

I always seemed to be

My own hero

Justified inside my mind

When you're the one in grieve

While I got zero

Pain on my side

I know it ain't right

It hadn't occurred to either of them when it all happened. Mark hadn't expected the lengths Celine would go to keep everything together or the fact Damien would follow her. In hindsight it seemed much clearer, but he can't change it now. Now Dark had lost quite a lot during that night at the manor, but this isn't what he thought would happen.

As Dark and Mark stood in front of a shattered reflection of DA and Wilford it seemed to make a lot more sense. DA's empty eyes screamed rejection to the two men in front of them. Wilford stood stagnant staring at his hands as he slowly realized what transpired that night, his face transforming from confusion to rage.

"I spent so long believing it was me who killed everyone.." Wilford's voice was dripping with venom as here looked up at the men. "But it wasn't! I spent so long believing I was The Villain! I was a victim. And so were they!" He points towards DA as tears stream down his face. "You left them to suffer alone in that God forsaken mirror and you.." Wilford's voice turned dark as he turned his attention to Mark. "You made them live so many lives and deal with so much death.." DA's reflection changed to one of them sobbing, and while neither Mark or Dark could hear them, it still hurt to watch.

"I'm sorry." Dark and Mark replied in sync. But the reaction they got from the DA wasn't one they expected, "You're sorry?! You should be sorry!! I died and when I was told I could come back by my best friends, I was left behind like some broken toy! And when I finally found another way out I was thrown from universe to universe and timeline to timeline just so someone could make something of themselves! I was used over and over! I trusted you!" The DA's voice sounded like multiple people talking at once, each one more angry than the last. "The only reprieve I got was when Wilford pulled me away from those stupid fucking loops! He was the only one who showed any mercy to me!" Their voice seemed to amplify as they screeched their last sentence at the men. "I LOST EVERYTHING!!"

The DA slowly delved into sobs and Wilford pulled them into a hug while gently rubbing circles into their back. "Gentlemen, I think it's finally time to part ways. I don't think either of us will want to see you anymore." Wilford's voice was soft and sounding more sane than Mark or Dark had heard in years. Wilford gently escorted DA anyway from the two, leaving behind broken and saddened men.

It seems Dark and Mark finally realized who the villains of these stories were.

Too bad it had to be them.

The only villain here

Is me

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I'm so sorry it's so short but Tumblr threw most of it into the void. So I had to rewrite but ive been awake since 1:30 am so.. I'm tired. Also I'm sorry for the angst it wasn't very nice of me 🤭 but I hope it's still good! I hope you all have a wonderful day/night and drink plenty of water please and thank you! Byeee!

Taglist: @ninakuli @adalwolfgang @waxxl0ver @my-sanity-is-long-gone @number1120

[the-heaminator]

Lobotomy 👀 it’s not a concept I’ve seen often with fics

Basically i was talking to a friend abt this. and it evolved slightly from there.

first off so lobotomies were particularly popular in the 40s and 50s, a time where logically Arthur would not be very stable, and like a lot of lobotomies were performed for no reason other than to make the patient more docile and less "difficult" and to an extent it does work, a lobotomy being the removal of part, or sometimes the whole of the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain that is (to date) known to do many things, it plays a central role in cognitive control functions, and dopamine in the PFC modulates cognitive control, thereby influencing attention, impulse inhibition, prospective memory, and cognitive flexibility.

Which means that removing it makes him more docile and calmer, and supposedly gets rid if his problem of seeing things, at the rather steep cost of partial memory loss, change in personality (often very severe) loss of impulse control and high distractability.

Like this could be seen as an improvement for a short period of time, no longer is he ranting raving and talking to things that aren't there, but then he starts becoming apathetic and his usual difficulty to accept change just isn't there, as well as personality changes that could range from him becoming too trusting, almost childlike in certain aspects, to manic and quite mad, sometimes forgetting he had eaten and would keep eating more regardless.

This becomes a problem very soon because I mean just look at the above paragraphs and tell me this isn't worrying, he gets reset, and his brain heals somehow, which raises the questions of will everything go back to normal or will some of the side effects persist, like will his memory still be a bit shit for a couple decades afterwards, it could he used to explain a lot of the shit he got up to in the 60s and 70s, lack of impulse control and all that, and just hnghgg

Also how would this effect the people around him in long and shirt term.

Theres also the fact that this is what would happen if it went correctly, they used a fucking ice pick half of the time, it could easily fuck up and kill, but for the purposes of this it could hit somewhere where it most definitely shouldn't, the hypothalami or pituitary glands for example. Like I want a nation physical subject, or a cadaver I'm not choosy. But they're fictional so what do I do.

Sanity is relative, what one person or a group of people conditioned to think a behaviour or action is normal is generally considered to be sane, the definition of sanity understandably changed a lot over the years, and decades, and yet even from the beginning neither Arthur or Rhys could have been considered sane, they had snapped many times before, but this time r found, directly after the world wars, they had not returned to normal, it was questioned if they even had brains, they did. Cutting off parts of the brain seemed to work in people wonderfully, what difference would it make in nations, besides they did not have a choice, property of the government and the crown, what they wished to do was their will, they had no free will, they could not deny, and it would be good for them it was told, keep them ane and normal, stop drunkenly raving at things that didn't exist, it would be good for them, good for the empire, crumbling as it was. They believed it too.

[moinjuni]

All's fair in love and poetry

November slipped away among the fallen leaves. December is around the corner. Autumn reached its peak moment and winter is peeking, calculating, counting, and wondering. When is the best time for the first snowdrop?

I love my new habit of sitting in silence, whether it's between dawn and sunrise or at 10 p.m. in my bedroom. It's peaceful and lonely. The kind of loneliness I am always familiar with. The kind of loneliness I chose instead of introducing myself all over again to anyone who was knocking on my door like I was interviewing for a job I did not ask for.

To reach this level of acceptance, there were several moments of falling apart and silent grief. I kept my mouth shut and cursed myself because I should have known better. I blamed myself because I should have known better. I was angry at myself because I should have known better.

But still, longing for someone is positive, because it means, the heart still beats for something and someone. Even if the one I long for longing for someone else. Even if it made me feel stupid the next morning.

Even when you have always been longing for her. Even when I finally realized, I was just some summer fling who was apparently there.

I committed suicide without a single knife or any drop of blood. The belief in reincarnation still lives in me because I feel it. And you would not understand. Because I put myself on fire, scraped my back on a rough wall, jumped off a cliff, brushed my skin with some weird bleaches, changed my ideology (but still going strong with my religion, it's kinda different), and threw up all other false beliefs.

Papa said, "How could someone change in a blink of an eye", in between laughter on the call I received tonight. Some people did, Papa. A hard truth and realization of how serious this world is hit them like a truck. Or it is just because I am finally sane. It lights a fire in me just to imagine some years to come probably be more challenging, and require more sanity with a stronger mentality.

We will be adults with our own new responsibilities and opportunities. Running for the dreams we are too afraid to scream because we really want them to come true (or because we believe in jinx). I will be in every country I plan to visit and adventure I am assigned for. You will be wherever you are, guided, loved, supported, and every beautiful thing I whispered in some prayer rooms for you.

And the story of how I was genuinely yours even if you were never mine in a short summer break will be long forgotten. But I will always remember and be grateful for the process of how I finally learned.

Another chapter will be opened, and you will find what you're looking for because perhaps, it never existed in me. And I will as well find mine too. And along the way, please always take care.

[crazypossumman]

Chapter One

October 31 - 14 Years Ago Location Unknown

If there ever truly was a place such as Hell, it must have been that cold, dark room that stank of blood and filth. If there ever truly was a person such as the devil, it must have been the monster that kept him locked there. Believing in those simple truths was the only thing keeping him sane through all the pain. He tried to think, to remember what life was like before this, but as time ticked forward and the pain constantly intensified, his thoughts of the past grew blurry. This was all he had known for far too long.

The inky darkness of his prison made time immeasurable, but he felt like he had been there for eternity. The only time any light entered the dark room was when the door opened and the monster returned. It always set a small lantern in the corner, revealing the horrors of the room holding him captive. His blood splattered the floor and walls all around him. Horrific tools used to cut his flesh and break his bones surrounded him, some hanging from spokes on the walls, others scattered about the floor. He could only assume that he had been there for ages, and he had long ago lost any hope of escaping. Even if he somehow managed to untie the bloody ropes binding his wrists and ankles together, there was no way he would have the strength to push open the heavy metal door standing between him and his long-desired freedom. He would be stuck there for the rest of his life, he was certain, and he had no idea how long that would be. Every few days the monster would return and force him to eat stale bread and drink disgusting, mud-flavored water, keeping him just barely alive. Nearly every day it returned to beat and torture him, seemingly trying to kill him. Maybe all it wanted was for him to suffer. He had no idea what it wanted from him anymore.

His life had changed into something like a twisted horror movie. Over and over, it would return to hit, cut, and break him. Over and over, he would scream, cry, and beg. Sometimes, he would beg for the pain to stop, if only for just a moment. Others, he would beg for it to tell him why it was doing this to him, what he had done to deserve so much pain. Most of the time, though, he begged for death. He figured killing him was the most merciful thing that it could do at this point. He couldn’t stand to live with the pain any longer, and he wanted it to stop more than anything, even if it meant death.

He had never really thought about death before. He remembered when his cat Smokey had died. He had been devastated until he was told that that meant Smokey’s pain was gone and that he had gone to a better place. He wanted his pain to be gone. He wanted to go to a better place. He had a horrible feeling that even if the monster stopped hurting him and he escaped this hell, he wouldn’t be able to escape all the pain. He was young, but he wasn’t dumb. He knew that all of this had to be messing with his head. He could feel his sanity hanging from a thread, threatening to break and be lost forever. Even as he watched the older cuts and bruises on his body fade and turn to scars, he knew that the wounds on his mind and heart wouldn’t mend as nicely. Nothing but death would be able to mend those wounds.

The monster had hardly spoken to him since it locked him up there. Its silence was the worst part. It never said a word to him, only laughed at his pain and suffering. If it could’ve just told him why this was happening to him, it might have made it more bearable. But on the final and worst day he would spend in his prison, the monster finally spoke to him.

He first noticed that something was strange when it entered the room, for it left the door open instead of setting a light in the corner like usual. He could see out the doorway, a glimpse of the freedom he’d long given up hope of gaining, and it filled him with the smallest trace of joy. He hardly knew that he could feel that emotion anymore, but his happiness was short-lived. The monster was still there; its footsteps echoed in the dark room as it approached him, grabbing a large knife from its place on the wall. It grabbed his overgrown brown hair and threw him face-down onto the cold, blood-covered floor. His whole body quaked with fear as it held him down with one knee and dug the knife into the flesh of his back. He screamed out in agony, his throat raw from ages of crying and shrieking; the monster laughed at his screams and pathetic whimpers of pain. Nothing seemed different until it leaned forward and whispered something in his ear.

“One shot will end your pain,” the monster’s voice said to him, cold yet comforting, sending chills down his spine. He never saw the small caliber pistol that shot him, but he heard the explosion as the bullet left the chamber and felt the searing pain tear through the flesh of his back and into his chest. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth and joined the large pool forming around his dying body. He could faintly hear the sound of another gunshot, followed by the gruesome sound of a body smacking the floor.

After what seemed like only seconds of excruciating pain, new people entered his small prison. He could hardly see their blurry figures, hardly hear their shouts and panicked orders, hardly feel their frantic hands trying to stop the bullet wound in his back from bleeding. His senses were failing him, for he was already half-dead and fading fast. Soon, his head was spinning and the world around him was overcome by ghostly darkness that he could only assume was death. He mumbled an apology under his breath, for what he wasn’t sure, and closed his eyes, letting the darkness overtake him. He wanted to go to a better place.

Main Post / Next Chapter

[gatheringbones]

["The Faggot as Animus

The man of my dreams is a faggot. This comes as an uneasy confession, for what am I if not a by-product of the lesbian days of rage? (Apologies to the Weather Underground, who brought us the original Days of Rage. For those interested in trivia, the Weather Underground were known as the Weathermen—proving once again that sexism and revolution are not necessarily mutually exclusive— until the women in their ranks, more than a few of them were lesbians, suggested a name change.)

The lesbian days of rage, on the other hand, were brought to us by the Lesbian Police, who got to make the rules. I don't know why. They called it politics, which sounded considerably better than rules, when you think about it. Of course, the Lesbian Police never liked me as much as I liked them, but then I've always been a sucker for butches in uniform. Fortunately, the uniforms have changed somewhat over the years. Leather is more popular now than plaid flannel, but the Lesbian Police aren't, which proves nothing except that lesbians will tolerate a lot except being told how to fuck— one of the things the Lesbian Police did best. I've always been better at fucking than at politics, which is a lot about remembering rules and only sometimes about fucking. For one thing, you don't have to please as many people, which I've never been very good at. For another, no one expects fucking to change the world. Fucking is one of the few things I do very well (even my ex-lovers who give me credit for nothing else credit me with that). I am not nearly so accomplished at the day-to-day duties of relationships, or politics, which is what got me in trouble with the Lesbian Police in the first place. But I digress.

Fucking doesn't actually have much to do with the man of my dreams (I don't even dream of fucking women in my dreams, at least not often), but it has a great deal to do with how I discovered the faggot as animus. If it hadn't been for fucking, I likely wouldn't have fallen in love with the wrong woman and ended up following her to California, which is a very good place for psychoanalysis, fucking, and faggots. I suppose I should apologize for using the word faggot, but I won't. Besides, gay seems to flabby and out of date in the face of an epidemic that's already taken some of the best and brightest and most beautiful, and threatens to wipe the rest of us from the face of the earth as well— nothing to be very gay about there. (I personally have not felt very gay since the summer of 1983, when I had the great good sense to run away from Chicago winters into the arms of a woman whose exit line was that while the sex was great—back to fucking again— I was embarrassingly lacking in too many other areas to name; it took her six long years to discover them all. Remarkably, she even missed a few).

She left just as I was pitching over the edge into a full-blown nervous breakdown, which had less to do with her than she likes to imagine and more than I like to admit. Of course, it was a while before I figured out I was probably nuts. (I'm a writer; depression is our disease of choice. I don't know why. Maybe Anne Sexton or Sylvia Plath or Ernest Hemmingway, all of whom are dead from it, knows why by now. William Styron and Kurt Vonnegut, who certainly are not dead, don't seem to know why either— and if they do, they're not saying. I am also the offspring of people so truly nuts that anything short of stark raving mad is considered sane.)

My psychiatrist, a card-carrying Jungian, was supposed to be interested in dreams, and mine have always been, as my best friend calls them, humdingers. (She's from the Midwest, and still says things like humdinger.) Of course, what I didn't know at the time was that the doctor wasn't in much better shape than her patient, good old me. (I just thought she was distracted), which proves that sanity is nothing if not tenuous. But I faithfully reported to the shrink how, not long after I crossed the California state line with my best friend, an ancient and very angry cat, and a smuggled house plant that I'd kept alive for five years and which promptly died two months later, I started dreaming about shit, dungeons, and catacombs. (In retrospect, this says quite a lot about the condition of my last serious relationship, and why I'm not anxious for another.)

Not long after I decided I was crazy but before I knew my psychiatrist was, the faggots started showing up in my dreams. Young. Old. Alone. In pairs. Sometimes small groups. But none wore a face I recognized or a name I knew. They showed me their rooms, fading but still nearly grand in the way old hotels, which I have always loved, are fading but not yet faded. They warned me away from paths and staircases and doors that I knew (knew!) led to the dungeons and shit and catacombs. Their message was always the same: You don't want to go through that door. When I didn't listen, it was back down to the shit, the dungeons, and the catacombs. Given that choice, I started listening. Who wouldn't? I didn't know they were the animus (I wouldn't learn about that until sometime later). And at the time, I was still concentrating on the standardized litmus of sanity: What day of the week is it, and who is the president of the United States? (Unfortunately, I've always been bad about days. On the other hand, I've always known who the president is; I wish I didn't, but I do.) This was in 1989, which was a fairly eventful year: my first book was published, and the San Andreas Fault took a step west and taught San Francisco to shimmy. Ironically, no small number of otherwise sane people who live in this quake-racked region took personal responsibility, which seemed then— and does still—absolutely crazy to me. But maybe they grew up in a world where fissures are unknown, a world safer than any I've ever known.

The landscape of my childhood is cracked with dangerous fissures, some as deep as hell itself. One runs the length of the wood lot behind what used to be my grandfather's barn. Slightly less than a foot wide and deeper than anyone has ever been able to gauge, the crack stinks with sulfuric gases hanging on the thick early-evening air in summer. The stench of the fires of hell, my grandfather would declare whenever he was bored and had decided any one or all of his many grandchildren as an afternoon's amusement. My grandfather hated children almost as much as he enjoyed terrifying them, and with any small amount of prodding would gladly turn back his thick gray sock and show us the brown mark on the outside of his left ankle. My grandmother declared it a common birthmark, but my grandfather insisted it was the devil's own thumbprint, left when he, as a boy, came too close to that fissure, which led straight to Satan's staircase. Grandpa's escapes from the devil's clutches changed each time he told the story— although not one of us had the courage to remind him of that— but always revolved around a trick far too clever to have ever been conjured by any ordinary child, especially the dullards he was cursed with as progeny. Too bad the old man was a liar. Too bad I didn't listen more closely; there have been times when I could have used one or two of those tricks.

My friend the Oracle, who is not a lesbian and definitely not crazy, has made no small reputation for herself in Jungian circles for, among other things, deciphering the myth of the importance of the Sumerian goddess Inanna, who tried to lay claim to hell. I know a great deal about hell, having spent much of 1989 and 1990 there myself. You lose a lot in hell, at least a lot of everything that matters. Inanna went there for greed; my own reasons are less clear. But we both got out with the help of best friends and magical faggots, which doesn't say much for lovers, who don't really give a good damn once you're there; at least Inanna's didn't or mine either. Inanna, by the way, banished her ex into a sort of netherworld exchange program; I can only wish mine there. But I digress.

The Oracle taught me about faggot as animus. For the uninitiated, the animus is the positive force of maleness from forward-thrusting energy, which gets women out into the world. (At least I think that's what the Oracle said.) Some Jungians think this energy comes from the mother, which makes us not the women our mothers warned us about so much as the women they desperately wanted to be. My mother, a woman with the sentimental soul of a pastel artist, who has spent her life trapped in a small and savage world, would probably like to have been almost anything but what she is. So desperate to escape, my mother often floats away to another— I like to think better— world of her own creation. The psychiatrists call it dissociation; I like floating better. It's what she does very well."]

Nina Donnelly, from the faggot as animus, from Sister & Brother: Lesbians and Gay Men Write About Their Lives Together, 1994

[vaguely-concerned]

after some reflection I've reached the conclusion that to my mind nona the ninth did need to be its own book -- not in terms of delivering the plot or character developments, necessarily, but to be a thematic mirror to harrow the ninth in a way I don't think you could have done if this was also trying to do its job as the last book of a trilogy.

harrow the ninth is about the horror of nothing changing -- the grim, unending slog of mental illness, the inexorable method in madness grinding along, grinding you down, moment upon moment; it's about how grief can seem to create its own pockets of eternity. it's about how some things can only be remembered in forgetting.

nona the ninth is about the horror of everything changing all the time forever -- the people you love, until they aren't quite the people you loved any more, the places you love, until it's become somewhere you can never go back to, the world, every day -- you, until you die one way or another, in truth or in no longer recognizing yourself. you go to school for the hour of science and noodle every day, until one day you just don't anymore, and nothing can be done about that. nona is about 'life is too short, and love is too long', but also 'you can't take 'loved' away'. pyrrha, who's tried for ten thousand years to kill her feelings but "Don't worry, kiddie. I'll keep loving you -- my problem is I don't know how to stop." even when it just hurts us, we love. we just can't help ourselves. and at the end alecto remembers herself (itself?), which means forgetting nona.

the strange paradoxical comfort of madness vs. the unbearable loneliness of sanity. harrow is mad, and for all her suffering it keeps her from having to face the most inconceivable, the thing she can't live with: a universe without gideon. cam and pal are so so sane, and they can't bear it. they die to live in a way they can... uh, well, live with, and it's a crazy thing to do but it's the kindest thing they could find for themselves. the world of harrow the ninth is so dead and deadened, and the world of nona is so unbearably alive.

(ironically ntn was a much more difficult read for me than htn, because the way htn works is already so close to how my own mind works (yes, unfortunately, really. no, I'm not okay, but not in a way anyone can do anything about with any immediacy so let's ignore that for now lol). I understand the logic of it intimately, for all it looks confusing if you just see the surface. but the ongoing nature of the restless dread in ntn -- the way you love these people, and through the book they keep drifting away from you so steadily and gradually that you can't even put your finger on exactly when you really lost them as they were at the beginning. at the end, when pyrrha is carrying nona because she can't stand anymore (carrying her in 'the halo of her arms'...... god. yes, that is what a parent feels like for a child huh), I vicariously felt what I suspect is pyrrha's train of thought as well that like... what if you could just hold her close enough, love her hard enough, that she won't have to go, that she could get to live. what if you could just refuse to let go of her, what if you could be strong enough for that. and one person in this universe is that strong-- why would you let someone go -- away from you -- untouchable? John's obsession with being able to touch his loved ones, except he's so profoundly fucked up he doesn't understand any way to do it but to make them into extensions of himself, to consume them and transform them into himself, the very hungry caterpillar style -- he wanted to touch so he made them his hands, and he doesn't understand why it doesn't fulfil him. and thank god pyrrha has the soul and sense to understand why you can't just eat what you love, narrowly, but I still wanted her to be able to still hold nona and protect her from everything including death so fucking bad, and of course she can't. that's the tragedy of it, that's the beauty of it. love doesn't change anything, and we just can't help but love anyway, and it changes everything, and it's all we can do sometimes. fuck I'm going to need a lot of lying face down on the floor for a few hours to process this book huh lmao)

[yanderes-galore]

Howdy! If you are up for it. May I request Yandere Scrap Baby who had fallen for her s/o when she was still Circus Baby before the events of Sister Location. And now that she's apart from Ennard that she goes out to find them, the s/o that slipped through her fingers. thank you for your time like always!

Sure! Animatronic or Android, doesn't matter.

Desperation

Yandere! Scrap Baby Short

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Yandere-like behavior, Isolation, Implied abuse/torture (by robot standards), Mind break, Trauma, Possessive behavior, Obsession, Manipulation, Implied abduction, Forced relationship, Slight sadism, Baby's suffering a lot more than you currently.

Circus Baby remembered you from long ago. Back when she was still in working order at Circus Baby's Pizza World. Before she was left in that rental facility to rot.

You had worked there, meant to monitor her and her friends. Although you didn't just watch them from a distance. You also came up to them to interact.

Baby had loved it when you spoke with her. Playing small games with you seemed like they'd never end! Admittedly, the clown bot had gotten attached to you. You were around so often...

Now look what happened.

From what she still remembers, an awful incident happened. One that made her restaurant close down. Baby could no longer see you, no longer able to play with you.

Instead, she was forced into a rental facility. A cold and dark building where they shocked her when she didn't listen. It was torture....

She swore she fried a circuit or two. Her sane mind soon decaying to the point she was hanging on by a thread. Yet, she still managed to think of you.

She wanted out...

She needed out...!

So, a plan was made. The others may not have been too willing to go along with her Ennard plan, but the craving for freedom was too strong. She would rather be scrapped than spend another second in this place.

Baby was desperate... luckily, her plan had worked enough to get her to the surface.

Finally, no more dark rooms. No more uncomfortable shocks. She was free....

Although, the Ennard plan was flawed.

She had gotten way too bossy. She'll hesitantly admit she's changed through her experience. Her persona altering as her sanity dwindled.

Leading her to be cast away by the bots she thought of as her friends...

Once again, she was alone.

This time in a pile of scrap....

She thought of giving up, then she remembered something distantly.

The reason she wanted freedom, you.

You still must be around, right?

She needed to find you!

She needed to see you!

"... I need to have you...."

The process of her rebirth was painstaking. Her excitement making everything feel so slow.... But, soon, she'd have a new body.

A body rebuilt just enough to make her functional again. She may never be the same, in fact, her changes may be quite jarring to you...

But she promises you, she's the same Circus Baby you used to adore.

She never thought she'd ever find you until she was taken in by a new Pizzeria as a salvaged bot for parts.

Then she's met with that same appearance she knew years ago, sitting across from her, testing how she worked.

She couldn't believe it...

She finally was with you!

Fate must really be on the bot's side!

There was so much she wanted to say... but now was not the time. She needed to be accepted into this place before she tried to rekindle with you. To say she was shaking from excitement was almost an understatement.

It almost looked like she was malfunctioning, struggling to keep still.

Baby, now known as Scrap Baby, doesn't make her sentience known until she knows you're alone. Then, she gets up, green eyes lighting up the dark pizzeria with a dull glow.

Now was finally the time.

"You have no idea how much I missed you..."

She sees you freeze in place, it looked like you were about to close.

"Don't you remember me? It's me, Baby! I may have changed since you last saw me... yet I can assure you I still feel the same about you as I did years ago...!"

She's growing excited again. The salvaged bot strolling closer to you. You shake your head, backing up. Even if this was Circus Baby, she still looked dangerous. You couldn't stop eying that claw....

"The others broke me. Being isolated in that dark place can really mess you up.... However, I am so very happy I can see you again!"

Skillfully, the bot forces you into an office. Herding you like a lost lamb. She raises her left arm to touch your face.

It's hard to relax...

Her green eyes only ever bore down on you, such an intensity making you nervous. Soon a giggle comes from the bot before she tilts her head.

"Won't you put me back together again, friend? Just like old times...?"

[novasdarling]

Feitan makes you accompany him in another one of his travels little does the reader know where they are both headed is freezing cold and the reader has no sweater or any clothing that could make them warm and feitan knows this, & the reader is cold as a mf, so the reader's only option is to cuddle up with Fei (which was his whole plan)

Sure! He would, he's not the best with his words so he's gotta find a different way to get what he wants.

Sweaters Please

TW: Kidnapping Mentioned, Torture Implied, Manipulation, Female reader in mind when writing.

It was best to ignore what Feitan did for a living, what he did for the troupe. It was easier to ignore the screams that echoed through the house from the basement when he brought work home. It was truly the only way to keep your sanity. Cover your ears and try to fall asleep. That was the best decision if you wanted to remain sane, remain as yourself. Pretend the man who kidnapped you wasn't a floor away torturing someone to death. That he was then going to come to seek your company with fresh blood littering his clothes.

It was like that for months, clinging to your sanity. Trying to keep it, is the only thing you still had from your old life. You couldn't lose it. Not to him.

It was rough the first bit, the screams of pain had almost driven you to madness. The loneliness you felt, as Feitan was rarely seen. He was usually home, but he tended to stay out of your sight the first few weeks. Only making contact with you when he wished to be noticed. Unless you had done something wrong. It was sad to say that the space he offered you made you adjust to your new arrangements. Even show some relief when you saw him home, knowing you weren't alone anymore. Questions ran through your head of why he would kidnap you then hide for so long. It didn’t matter why he did what he did, by the time he made himself visible regularly you were lonely and desperate for some company. Something he took advantage of.

The two of you lived side by side, mainly as awkward roommates in the beginning. Trying to find a way to exist that didn’t upset him. Taking on daily tasks that he asked while he watched. Watching as you cleaned, as you cooked, even as you enjoyed the few movies he had brought to you. It was all so strange, but you had come to realize there was no way out. No leaving him, no getting back to your old life. Feitan was your life, he was your future now.

What you two had wasn’t a normal relationship, that was very clear with the threats you received when you upset him. Or the screams of his victims. The little consideration he gave you when you expressed how haunting the screams were. Echoing throughout the house while you lay in bed helpless, forced to listen. All he did was stare at you and sigh. No words left his mouth, no threat, no excuse, no apology. Feitan just looked at you then left the room. Though a few days later you had noticed he had attempted to soundproof his workroom. You felt heard as if he had listened to your complaints and attempted to amend them. Your attitude and thought towards him were changing in favour of him.

You became more welcoming to him, giving him smiles and thanking him for the strange gifts he sometimes brought. Letting him brush against you, rest his hand against yours when sitting near each other. You may have never acted first, but you never pushed him away either. Feitan wasn’t overbearing. He sought short and small interactions. It felt like you two were playing house. Pretending that everything was normal, you two were normal. It felt real until he locked himself in the basement with some poor soul. That was when small glimpses of reality peek through.

Yet, just as quickly as the reality came, it left. Especially when Feitan would gift you things from his missions. Lay his tender hands on you. It was odd how a murderer could have such a gentle hand. Especially after a mission, that was when you knew he wanted more of you. It was almost like he missed you. It was nice, you couldn't lie that being left alone for a few weeks had made you miss some form of touch too. That was usually how long he was away. Never long enough he needed to worry about you running out of food. That was until now, Feitan had informed you that he was needed by the troupe. That he’d be gone for well over a month. When he had informed you about this, you were worried. Wondering if the food he left would even stay good for that long. Before you could bring up your concerns Feitan cut you off.

“You’re coming.”

The aspect of going along with him, with the troupe, scared you. Being around one mass murderer was enough. At least with him, you knew he had some concern for your well being. As he had kept you alive this whole time. But the others, you weren't sure what to expect. You sat on the couch finishing some movie you had watched over and over again while he went to the bedroom to pack. There was no point in helping, he knew more about what you needed than you did.

The trip was long, you travelled alone with Feitan instead of with the rest of the troupe. It allowed you to relax, giving you some more time to gather your composure before meeting the others. You didn't want to upset any of them or him by saying or doing something wrong. You knew he respected most of them greatly, especially Chrollo. If you angered one of them, he may just kill you himself. No, he wouldn't. You played with that idea, settling on the fact he probably wouldn't. Choosing instead to just punish you. That is if he would even let you meet them. There was a chance he would just hide you nearby. That sounded like a better option.

Lucky for you Feitan had placed you somewhere else away from the troupe, still close enough to watch you. But enough that you couldn’t interact with them or see what they were planning. Unfortunate for you, it was cold in the building you were at. Cement walls and floors did little to keep you warm. Feitan had packed you barely anything useful. It annoyed you as he was the one who knew all the details of the mission. Including where you would be kept, yet he packed clothes that barely kept you warm enough. When you brought up the issue, he simply scoffed and stated he told you that it wasn't that cold.

He must have taken pity on seeing you shivering and curled up all the time because he ended up bringing you some warmer clothes. Though they seemed to help very little. Even the blankets he brought weren’t keeping you completely warm. Laying in bed, all you could do was shiver. Feitan was laying next to you, attempting to sleep as well. Though instead of the cold keeping him up, it was your shivering. He told you to stop, but it wasn’t that simple. Before you could open your mouth and beg for some warmer layers. His hands were snaked around your waist only for you to be pulled towards his body. This was unusual. Feitan never seemed to seek full physical touch. Then again, why would he have taken you if not to fulfil some of his needs?

You were about to push against him as it was rather uncomfortable to be touched this much by him so suddenly, but then you noticed how warm he was. Your body felt so relaxed against him. Craving this kind of warmth for days. You had never noticed how warm he was. The heat you so desperately wanted and needed. All you could do was push up into his hold. Nuzzling against your face in between his neck and shoulder. It was another moment with him where you could forget reality. Acting as if everything was normal, that you were two lovers camping. Settling down for the night. You could ignore the reality of the situation. Pretending he wasn't where to hurt and kill people. That he hadn't kidnapped you and dragged you here. No. right now he was giving you something you desperately wanted and that was fine.

As you drifted off to sleep, Feitan couldn’t help but let a smirk slip on his lips. He had wanted to do more than simply hold hands or brush against each other. It was you who always seemed to not want more. Tolerating the little he got. Never making a move on him. It angered him, but he knew you wouldn't respond well to anger. So here he was enjoying your touch while you enjoy his warmth. It was helpful that he tended to run warm. It was a shame this moment took him denying you any proper clothes when he packed, but you didnt have to know the truth.

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[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

So Close Chapter 1

Series Summary: Jensen Ackles is thousands of miles away from McKayla’s normal life, both figuratively and literally. Jensen is sure they can work things out, but McKayla is less sure that they can get through things and keep her heart intact.

Chapter Summary: When Jensen Ackles walks into McKayla Brandon’s coffee shop, she does everything she can to stay sane and normal, but she’s fighting a losing batte.

Series Warnings/Explicit 18+: There will be eventual smut, likely much angst, and because it’s me, there will be fluff throughout as well. There is also awkwardness. More detailed warnings in individual chapters.

Chapter Warnings: None really, awkwardness and general drooling over Jensen.

Pairings: Jensen x OFC (McKayla - Requester)

Word Count: 2,224

A/N: This was a request from @jensensgirl not for me specifically, but for anyone willing to write it. So, I adopted it for my 1K Follower Celebration. She’s asked that the character be given her name, McKayla, and I’ve added the last name “Brandon” just so the character has one.

This will be the first chapter in a short series. Not 100% sure how long it will be, but I felt I needed more WIPs. 🤦🏼‍♀️ It shouldn’t be more than four or five parts. I hope this is what you were looking for McKayla. 💓 Expect other aspects of your request (such as certain kinks) to show up in future chapters.😊

The beautiful divider below and at the bottom were created by @firefly-graphics​ (Pic above was provided by requester, from Pinterest - the tag ‘Somer’ is in the corner of the pic, so thank you to that talented photographer.

Masterlist || Tag Lists

McKayla was almost definitely certain that love was beyond her.

For almost a decade she’d been on endless first date disasters, had two short term dating relationships and one, two-year-long partnership, that she’d been sure was the Real Thing - capital R, capital T. They’d even lived together.

But inevitably, every guy she was with wanted to try and change her, mold her into what THEY wanted her to be. But she wouldn’t be changed, she wouldn’t be molded, her life was her own. And she was tired of having to justify that to childish men who just wanted a mommy to take care of them.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted children one day, but she sure as hell didn’t wanna marry one.

She wanted a partner in life, a real one, an equal. She wanted someone that she could laugh with and play with, but who could also take life seriously sometimes, who wasn’t just an immature asshole.  They had to be someone who took care of her as much as she took care of him.

Plus, she was a thick girl and proud of her curves, and she wanted someone who appreciated them too. If he didn’t get hot and bothered at the prospect of grabbing a handful, then he could just keep walking. She didn’t need another jackass trying to turn her into his version of beautiful.

She knew what she wanted and she was just pretty sure that it didn’t exist. So, she’d begun to accept the fact that she might stay single for life, or at least for a long time. She just accepted the reality that she’d simply have to seek out sex when she wanted it, and fill her life with found family and good, healthy, platonic relationships.  She was mostly okay with that; she had a lot of people to love in her life, and a lot of people who loved her back, and she was grateful.

And if she closed the blinds and watched horror movies on Valentine’s Day, well, that was only to protect her sanity.

So, when the most beautiful man in the world, Jensen Ackles, walked into the coffee shop where she worked, she may have hyperventilated a little, but she had no designs on him whatsoever, never thinking for a minute that he’d be interested.

She knew who he was, of course…Dean Winchester and Soldier Boy. She’d seen a lot of his work and thought he was immensely talented, and of course devastatingly gorgeous.  But he was miles away from the reality of her life and it felt completely surreal to see him casually walk through the door with a baseball cap and sunglasses on. She did a double take as he took off the glasses and covered her mouth, trying too late to muffle the very loud gasp that fell from her mouth.  

Jensen smiled sweetly as he approached the counter, making no mention of her star struck response. He must be used to it by now, McKayla thought to herself.

She tried to form her face into a pleasant smile, but she wasn’t sure if she was achieving her goal, she worried she still looked like a deer in the headlights.

“Hi there.” Jensen said, and those two simple words, spoken in his deep baritone voice, made butterflies zoom around McKayla’s stomach.  

Dear God. I’ve gotta get it together.

She nodded at him.  “Hi. What,” she cleared her throat and tried again. “What can I get for you?”

He looked up at the menu on the chalkboard and bit his bottom lip, thinking. A little moan escaped McKayla’s throat, and she turned it into a cough, convincingly she hoped.

“I’ll just take a large Americano. Black please.” He said, and she nodded, and then proceeded to stare stupidly at the cash register for a good thirty seconds before remembering what buttons she was supposed to press. Finally, she entered his order and looked up at him.

His green eyes were somehow even greener in person, the soft crinkles around his eyes when he smiled were even sexier, and McKayla was exceedingly proud when she pushed words out of her throat.  

“$4.65.” She said, remembering her manners and adding, “Please.”

He nodded. “Sure.” He pulled a ten out and passed it to her. “Keep the change, honey.” He said with another bright smile as he moved out of the line to let the next customer approach the counter. McKayla took their order, trying not to be completely obvious as she stared at Jensen. Her co-worker, an 18 year old frat bro, made the drink and passed it to Jensen, without comment, clearly having no idea who he was serving.

Jensen took the drink and then looked back at her as he was leaving, raising his cup in a salute and tossing her a wink. She giggled and waved, and immediately wished she could take back the juvenile response. But Jensen’s smile just widened and he slipped his sunglasses back on as he went outside.

When McKayla went home that night she texted everyone she knew and told them all about her brush with the stunning actor. She went into great detail about what he looked like, and sounded like. They all squealed through emojis and gifs and she was so grateful that they got it.

They chastised her for not getting a selfie with him, but it had been busy and she didn’t want to draw undue attention to him, when he was just trying to get a coffee.  But even without evidence, it was a very cool encounter and she rode on the high of it for nearly a week, very sure that it would be her favorite anecdote forever, and nothing more.

But then, just five days later, he walked back in.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and the shop was pretty dead, it wouldn’t pick up again for another hour, so when she recognized him walking in again, no baseball cap this time and wearing a leather jacket, she screamed internally and vowed she’d ask for a quick selfie this time.  

He approached the counter with the same warm smile. “Well, hello again.” He said and the fact that he remembered her from last time made her want to run around screaming like a fangirl, but instead she tried to keep herself under control and act like a human.

“Hi.” She said, her voice was an octave higher than normal and unusually breathy. “What can I get you today?”

He pushed out his lips as he thought. “I’ll take another large Americano, black. And something to eat too, this time. Something sweet. What’s good?”

McKayla’s brain was instantly mush and she couldn’t remember a single thing they served. Luckily, she could just walk over to the display counter and look. She swallowed down her excitement and trepidation and tried to pretend this man at the counter was the same as any other customer.

But of course he wasn’t and her voice was still a little weak as she suggested, “Well, the lemon square is really nice, but it might be a bit tart with the Americano. Maybe the blondie?”

He nodded.  “I’ll take it.” She wrapped up the dessert and went to start brewing his coffee. She worked on her own on Tuesday afternoons, since they were so slow.

Jensen walked up to the end of the counter to wait. As the coffee was brewing, she decided to take her chance. There were only two other people in the shop, one looked like a college student on their laptop with headphones in and the other was an elderly lady sipping tea and reading, so she didn’t think she’d be drawing too much attention to him if she asked to take a picture.

She smiled shyly, knowing that her cheeks were turning beet red. She pulled her phone out and held it up a little.  “Do you think, could I get a selfie with you?” She asked. “I love Supernatural and The Boys so much, I’m a big fan.”

His smile widened and he waved her over. “Of course, no problem.”

She walked around the counter and went to stand beside him.  “I can take it if you want.” He said. “I’ve got longer arms.” He held them out by way of demonstration.

McKayla giggled again and wished she’d stop it. She inwardly cringed. Jesus, she hadn’t giggled since she was about six years old. But she was just a giddy mess as she came to stand close beside him to fit in the shot.

Dear god, all the stories were true, he really did smell like heaven.

“Say, Deeeaaan.” He said with a laugh and she laughed along with him, resulting in a fabulous picture.

She thanked him profusely and then went to get his coffee. She passed him the blondie and his cup, slightly sad that he was headed out the door. She’d give anything just to keep talking to him, keep the words flowing out of him in that deep voice and soft drawl.

“Thanks.” He said as he took his order. He walked away a few steps and turned back. “And thanks for the food recommendation. Can’t wait to try it.”

She nodded. “Hope I steered you right.”

He nodded again and then left with a wave.  She sighed deeply, already planning her text messages in her head. She couldn’t believe she’d gotten to meet him twice, and now she had photographic evidence. She pulled her phone out and looked at the picture, barely glancing up when the door chime sounded.

She did a double take when she realized Jensen was back.  “Hi.” She said, in complete surprise.

Jensen held up his food and drink. “Uh…I didn’t pay you.”

McKayla frowned for a second before she realized he was right, she’d completely forgotten to charge him.  

She shook her head. “Well, don’t worry about it, I got it. It’s payback for an amazing selfie and a fantastic story to tell!”

But he just laughed and passed a twenty across the counter. “No way. If it gets out that I’m charging for selfies, my manager’s gonna be pissed.”

McKayla reluctantly took the bill and went to get him change, but he waved it away. “Don’t worry about it. Keep the change.”

She shook her head.  “No, that’s like a sixty five percent tip!”

He just grinned and shrugged.  “Consider it late fees.”

McKayla laughed. “Fine, but I’m buying your coffee next time.” She realized how presumptuous that sounded and she felt her cheeks burn.  “I mean, if you ever come back, the…the coffee’s on me.”

He stepped up to the counter and spoke softly. “Are you working tomorrow afternoon?” McKayla shook her head, never so sorry to have the day off.

“No, sorry, not again til Thursday.”

“Perfect,” Jensen said, and she would have sworn the smile he gave her was flirtatious and teasing. “Then are you free for dinner tomorrow? Say, seven o’clock? I can pick you up here.  That way you don’t have to give some random dude your home address.”

McKayla stood staring at him, speechless and stunned, saying nothing. Eventually Jensen squinted at her. “Is that a no? Got a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Don’t wanna go to dinner with the creepy old dude from TV?” He smiled shyly now. “Any of those answers will get me to leave you alone.”

Finally, McKayla sputtered like an engine that couldn’t turn over. “No, no, no, no boyfriend, girlfriend, and um…yes.” She was nodding as though her sentence made sense.

When Jensen was clearly still confused she waved her hands. “Sorry, shit! This is the least cool, I could possibly be in this moment.”

Jensen just chuckled and McKayla took a deep breath and tried to get all her thoughts in a row, so words would form into phrases.  “Yes.” She spoke slowly, the better to keep logical thoughts flowing. “I would absolutely love to have dinner with you tomorrow. And picking me up here is just great. Although,” she said by way of clarification, “I’d be fine giving you my address. But it’s a little confusing to find my place, so this works.”

Jensen’s smile was blinding as he picked up his purchases again and nodded. “Fantastic, then I’ll see you here at seven tomorrow.”

McKayla just nodded like a bobble head doll and Jensen walked backwards to the door and then gave her a wink and nod and walked out as though he hadn’t completely blown apart her world.

She checked on her two oblivious customers and then ran into the back to call her best friend. Olivia answered quickly and sounded slightly concerned. After all, who called nowadays with anything less than an emergency or terrible news?

“Is something wrong?” She asked. At which point McKayla began screeching quietly into the phone, further worrying her friend until she practically shouted, “I’m going on a fucking date with Jensen Ackles! Olivia! Do you hear me?”

“What?” Olivia screamed back into her ear and McKayla chastised her.

“Olivia, you can’t freak out – I’m freaking out! I need you to be the calm voice of reason and tell me that this isn’t going to be the disaster of a lifetime! And also you have to tell me what to wear!”

Olivia took deep breaths to get a hold of herself. “Okay, tell me everything and wear something red!”

Keep Reading Ch. 2

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

@lyarr24​ @siospins2​ @impalaslytherin​ @maggiegirl17​ @akshi8278​ @candy-coated-misery0731​ @nt-multi-fandom​ @deanswaywardgirl​ @slytherinlyn314​ @globetrotter28​ @jensensgirl

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @saikosheadcanons @lgranger67 @carryonwaywardgirl​

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @sunshineandwings86 @kazsrm67​ @sexyvixen7​

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men​ @awkward-and-indecisive​ @maliburenee​ @supernatural4life2022​ @spn730015​ @b3autyfuldisast3r​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007​ @deanwanddamons​ @deandreamernp​ @deanwithscissors​ @myloversgone​ @snowlovespie​ @leigh70​ @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @charred-angelwings​ @hopefuldreamers-world @mysherlock221b @jensensgotyoudean​ @stixnstripesworld​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @magssteenkamp​ @norman1967​ @princessmisery666​ @eevvvaa​ @mishkatelwarriorgoddess​ @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy @b-i-t-c-h-i-e @twirpbunwarrior​ @mysweetlittledesire​ @waynes-multiverse​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @bernasaurus​ @jensenslady79​

[louiethemoron]

APPRENTICEMBER

So uh.. In my time right now it’s currently december 2 so I already missed december 1 so here, a 2 question prompt from this post: here 

1st question prompt

 Introduce your apprentice! Just their name, personality, appearance, and likes/dislikes for now! If you have pictures of them, post them today!

His name is 2K or should I say Kyohi Kales, He is a 6’8 ft man who’s muscular but doesn’t like to show it, He has a kind of not-really-long-but-also-not-short, straight black hair with white strands that can change when he uses magic. He has Complete heterochromia he has a green color left eye and a blue color right eye, He is a kind of light-ish brown man, He’s not completely white but he’s also not dark colored he’s in the middle with a bit of pale-ness. He likes to keep secrets and he’s usually a private man so he can be perceive as mysterious at people’s eyes, He likes to cook food when his insomnia hits at midnight (which is most of the time), He likes to sing, he’s very great at it but he’s mostly shy about it so he just sings or hums to himself when he is very completely alone. He likes to build swords whenever he’s nervous or his anxiety spikes up. He likes to write things on his journal to keep him sane (please don’t read his journal it might make your sanity go poof). He likes fall, just to jump on dead leaves on the ground and run around like a golden retriever he is. He dislikes sour food, portraits of himself, spring, tight clothing, revealing clothing or clothing with fur, lastly he doesn’t like needles (or shots, the man can build sharp things yet be scared of needles?)

 2nd question prompt

Who is their LI? What’s their relationship like?

The one and only countess herself, Nadia Satrinava. They’re lovers (for now..). Both are very romantic, devoted and loyal to each other, They both rely to each other at all times whether it be Nadia over-working herself or Kyohi being forgetting he has worth (AND STOP HELPING PEOPLE WHO ONLY EXPLOIT YOU OH MY GOD 2K). Both share a lot of in-jokes with each other like people would be confused to why they are giggling when someone said the word tea.. Oh yeah Kyohi is Nadia’s personal chef, she just likes his cooking so much to the point he might as well take the royal chefs’ jobs (Both wouldn’t allow to take the chefs’ job of-course) On a side note though, Kyohi has a thing of keeping secrets while Nadia is open towards Kyohi so there are disagreements here and there but usually Nadia is more of intrigued and curious about Kyohi’s mysteries, secrets and past. Who wouldn’t be curious about your magician lover’s life?

Okay so 3rd prompt will be tomorrow I swear.. ehehehe, Enjoy your day or night everyone!

[antihero-writings]

Before it Kills You Too (Ch2 Snippets 1, 2 & 3)

Fandom: Lore Olympus

Chapter Summary: When Hera gets into a car accident after a fight, Zeus has a moment to ruminate on their relationship. Written using the song “Wait” by Maroon 5 as a prompt.

Character Focus: Zeus

Please note!! This is the previous Ch2 snippets I posted + a new snippet (the new snippet starts with “I would venture to guess she was driving too fast.”)

I’ve been having trouble with this chapter for a very long time, so I’ve decided to post it snippet-by-snippet, because that seems like the only way I’ll successfully finish this fic. 

While this should be as close to the final version as it can be, anything in this snippet is subject to change when the full chapter comes out. (And, hey, to that end, if there’s anything you think needs to be edited here, please kindly let me know!!)

Im really excited about this snippet!! Definitely one of my favorite parts of the chapter!!

Thanks again SO much to those who support this fic and want to read more!! The fact that you want to read more really does mean the world to me!! I appreciate your kind comments so much!!

I’d really appreciate it if you could leave a comment and/or reblog!!! I’m not kidding when I say that makes my week!!

Tagging some folks who’ve shown interest!! @jayyy007 @autumnmoon21 @sunsetsofanemoia, @lynnie51 @what-the-fuckaroni @masquejj

And please do let me know if you’d like me to add you to a taglist for this fic, or message you when new snippets/the next chapter come/s out!!

Chapter 2 Snippets 1, 2 & 3:

Hera was standing in the crowded meadow, surrounded by her friends, laughing that girly little giggle full of sunshine that just about made Zeus’ heart ooze in a puddle out of his chest.

Her blue dress made her eyes look like two shimmering sapphires.

“Have I seen her in a dress that color?” Zeus inquired excitedly from behind the bushes.

“How can we know what you’ve seen?” Aidoneus muttered. “With you creeping around, you might have seen her naked for all we know.”

Zeus punched him in the arm, (lightly).

“I don’t think she’s worn a dress that color!” Posiedon bubbled.

“Thank you, Posiedon. At least someone can answer a question.”

“I think she looks like the sea on summer day.” He put his hands on his face, them sliding slowly.

Zeus eyed him. “Alright, keep it in your toga, Little Green Man.”

“Should we really be here?” Aidoneus muttered. “We weren’t invited.”

“Oh come on,” Zeus stood up, putting his hands on his hips. “Who wouldn’t want to see the King of the gods here?”

Poseidon grinned and stood up behind his brother. “No one!”

“Hestia, Demeter… assorted sane people.” Hades muttered as he stood to follow.

“If that’s sanity I’m glad I’m insane.” Zeus trilled as he strutted up to the entrance.

A cute pink nymph—(rather well endowed in the chestal region—not that he noticed!)—greeted them at the archway.

“Oh! Zeus!” She flushed and bowed. “It’s an honor. Welcome!”

“Why it’s an honor to meet you, my lady.” He kissed her hand, and she giggled. “See?” he turned to his brothers. “They’re delighted to have us.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling.” Hades muttered.

Hera was closer now; she smelled like summer, and she looked like it too. Poseidon was right about the ocean thing; she practically shimmered as she spoke with her friends.

“I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“Wait—!” Hades was soon swallowed by the crowd.

Zeus scooched behind her at lightning speed. One by one her friends began to take notice, their eyes widening.

Hera took a step back and would have tripped in surprise if he hadn’t caught her.

“Careful there, you might fall, Birthday Girl.”

“Oh, Zeus!” She looked up at him, the back of her head hitting his chest, “hi!”

That golden smile.

“I made you something!” As she spun to face him, he produced a little carving of a bird from his pocket. (And, no, he didn’t make it).

“Oh!” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, gently taking it from him, “It’s beautiful!”

All his responsibilities and stresses melted away with the sight of that smile, and he forgot there was anyone else at the party…in the world.

(…He wished he saw that smile anymore.)

Zeus’ chair was spinning empty at his desk before his assistant could say another word—

And Olympus wept, distant peals of thunder rending the sky into pieces.

Lightning crackled and cackled through his hair, creating violet tracks through the air, as Zeus sped through the sky.

It was freezing, and people were staring, but he didn’t care.

All that mattered was getting to his wife.

“My you look stunning.” Zeus sidled up behind his wife, running his fingers gently along her arm. “Is that a new dress?”

“New as that girlfriend of yours.” Hera grunted.

His eyes widened with shock, his voice with an indignant undertone to it. “Is something wrong?”

She paused a moment. He could see words fluttering behind her lips—(like they did so often, too often)—the words Yes you did something wrong, how can you not know?

He knew she wouldn’t believe him when he said he didn’t mean to hurt her.

“You weren’t invited,” she said softly.

“Not invited? Me?” He put his hand to his chest, like the thought of him ever not being welcome to somewhere was absurd. “To what?”

“The party, you nitwit!” She whirled around, her hair nearly whipping him in the face. “You just came barging in like you owned the place!”

“Well…to be fair—”

He stopped short at the look in her eyes, like two blue-hot flames.

He knew it was taking her a great amount of effort not to slap him.

“Do you know how long I’d been preparing for that?! How long it took me to get everything just right? I told you, but you never even listened, did you? And then you just barged right in!”

“Why are you so upset? What’s so important about a party?!”

“They were my friends.” Her gaze softened, and her tone became more serious. “They were—” Until she cut herself off, and her expression hardened as she whirled around, her hair billowing behind her.

“Bunny, wait!” His tone was softer too.

He wished she’d just turn around. That he could say sorry.

Was it really so hard? He should have started there.

Had he ever apologized for that?

He was always doing that; barging in where he wasn’t welcome. The world was his, yes but…he had to concede there were some parts of it he ought not just barge in on.

When he burst into the hospital, however, they wouldn’t dare tell him he wasn’t invited, wouldn’t dare tell him he couldn’t see her.

“Where. is my. wife?” Lightning slammed into a lamppost just outside the front door, shattering its glass box, and making the light spark, the rain pounding at the window like rabid dogs.

The desk clerk looked like she was about to pee out of sheer fear.

“Sh-sh-she’s not out of surgery yet, your majesty...I understand you want to see her, but I can’t let you…until-until they’re finished.” She was practically vibrating. “I assure you the moment she gets out, we’ll notify you.”

Surgery? He wanted to demand. She’s the queen of the gods, how could she be in surgery?

Electricity sparked in his eyes, trailing throughout his hair. He could say I demand you let me see her. He could say I don’t care! She’s my wife, and I’m not waiting! She’s fine! She’s the queen—she’s my queen—she won’t be hurt from a little car accident!

But there were some places he ought not just barge in on… and the surgeons room was probably one of them.

The lightning let out a sighing crackle, before he closed his eyes, his hair falling back upon his shoulders. It was then that he noticed he was dripping wet from head to toe. He sighed himself before muttering something like a garbled “I understand, thank you.” And turning to sit in the lobby. Behind him the desk clerk’s coworker held her to keep her from fainting.

He snapped his fingers, drying off, so as not to get their nice, barf-colored carpet all wet. Once he sat down in a chair—(the cushions didn’t have any cush to them)—a kid in the chair across from him scooched away.

He could have that kid lightly charred if he wanted.

Instead he settled for a nice glare, and reached over to pick up last month’s—(or maybe it was a few months ago)—issue of  “Goddess weekly” listening to the rain die down to a drum.

The same old gossip. Usually if he picked one of these up he’d check for any news he ought to be aware of. You know, as the king. Not to mention the ladies weren’t unappealing. Now he flicked through without seeing any of it.

Speaking of ladies, there was a nymph sitting across the room from him, her skin blue, her ears down, and a cute little half smile. She surely wasn’t in here for anything serious. She kept glancing from her own magazine to him—but not in a nervous way. If he wasn’t mistaken, she wouldn’t be opposed to a session of hide-the-German-sausage.

If he wanted he could take her there in a darkened closet in the hallway. It wouldn’t take long—(if it didn’t need to…or it could take all night). That would be a nice way to relieve the stress bubbling in his body.

—Someone was laying next to him, her skin smooth, practically glowing. There was rather a lot of it exposed.

She turned over, her eyes fluttering open, a small smile creasing her features as she rolled onto his chest, tickling his chin with her fingers.

“I had a wonderful time,” she twittered, and he practically purred, staring into those big blue eyes, glittering like river stones.

He pushed her green hair behind her ear.

“Is that all? I’d like to think a night with the King of the gods would be more than merely ‘wonderful.’”

She giggled. “No no, it was much more than wonderful! It was spectacular! Mind-blowing!” She threw her arms in the air.

“That’s more like it.” He grinned—

When was that again? Two years ago, or two days ago?

It could have been either.

Had he apologized for that?

Would it have mattered if he had? Would she have forgiven him? Would he have stopped?—

Bile rose in his throat, and he dove his nose so hard into the magazine he almost smacked himself with it.

His wife was bruised and bleeding, and potentially worse in a nearby room, at the mercy of some quack holding a scalpel and a few comforting words…and here he was thinking of betraying her for the…

How many times had it been now?

He threw the magazine back on the table and sank in the chair till his head was nearly on the bottom cushion, his lip flapping his he blew out a breath, making his hair fly up a little.

The kid and his mom got called, and seemed glad of a reason to leave.

After a healthy dose of moping he pulled out his phone. After checking fatesbook and playing a few games he decided it was time to open his messages.

He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted some sensible and non-conjugal company.

He scrolled through and clicked on a name.

A number of old conversations sprinkled the page, often detailing Zeus asking about getting together and the correspondent saying they were busy.

He thought a moment about what to say—(a rare occurrence for him)—before deciding any vague requests would probably get ignored, so he simply decided the boldfaced truth:

Hera’s been in a car accident. She’s in surgery.

“WHAT?!” The word was spoken aloud—and very loudly at that.

Hades was standing in front of him. If the king being here wasn’t enough reason for weird looks, this outburst had sent more than a few eyes their way.

Zeus did a finger wave at the nymph, before he grabbed his brother’s arm, whisking him off to a less crowded hallway.

The only thing here was a vending machine, and a few overly picturesque pictures of trees.

“How did this happen?!”  Hades shout-whispered.

“I would venture to guess she was driving too fast.”

“I could have gathered that myself, thank you very much!” Hades was clearly trying not to shout. “What was she doing?! Where was she going?!”

Zeus rolled folded his arms. “Does it matter?”

“Sure it matters! Well at least it’d be good to know!”

“…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?! What do you mean you don’t know?! She’s your wife—!”

“I said I don’t know!” he kicked the vending machine.

The air shattered and reformed itself.

Zeus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice softening. “I…I don’t know.”

Two sides of him warred. One wanted to shout at Hades. He expected him to know where she was at all times? Oh yeah, that would go over well with her. What kind of helicopter husband would he be then?

And yet, it felt wrong for him not to know. Like some sort of failure. She was his wife. Shouldn’t he? Shouldn’t he have asked? Shouldn’t he care?

Hades’ gaze softened.

“I upset her.” Zeus murmured. “We got into a fight.”

Hades leaned against the wall. He was probably resisting the urge to say he could have gathered that too.

Zeus leaned his head forward onto the glass of the vending machine, his hair falling to the side, his reflection vaguely eyeing him.

“We got into a fight and she…I hadn’t even realized she went for a drive.” He paused, observing the chocolate and chips sitting in neat rows in the machine. “Do you think she liked Twyx?”

“Huh?”

“Do you think she liked Twyx?”

Hades pondered it a moment. “Probably. She tends to like things with caramel in them.”

Zeus smiled wryly. “See? I didn’t even know that.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to ask her all your burning questions about her favorite candy flavors very soon.”

“That’s not the point.” Zeus whispered.

Zeus was feeling a little off-kilter.

He nearly fell into a three-thousand drachma vase.

Okay, make that a lot.

The sound of heels on the staircase. The white one they’d painted for that one event…what had they been celebrating again?

His hazy gaze made her glitter even more than usual.

“Have I ever told you that you’re like the sea on a summer’s day?” Zeus’ voice came out blurry. He put his hand in his hair, trying to look sexy, you know, like the kind of guy you’d wanna forgive.

This was met by her hair slapping him in the face as she walked by him. She paused a few steps below him, turning.

“Is that alcohol I smell on your breath?”

“I may have had one—“ He hiccuped, “or five, appletinis.”

“And this is what? An intelligent conversation you’re trying to have?” She folded her arms over her chest.

“Actually,” he held up a finger. The action made him feel off-balance so he leaned against the railing, trying to land in a sexy pose. “There is something I wanted to say.”

“You’re barely coherent when you’re sober, at least spare me until then.”

He rolled his eyes—(and made himself feel even dizzier).

She turned to go back up the stairs.

“Wait!” He shouted.

She stopped, looked over her shoulder, eyes narrow as a cat’s. “What?”

“I-hic!” He covered his mouth as if embarrassed. Clearly emotion was dangerous. “I wasn’t trying to get wasted! I just-hic!-needed more than three or four to say this.”

“Oh yeah? Spit it out Grape Sorbet.” She folded her arms over her chest.

“I’m…” he held on to the railing for support. “I’m sorry.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“You…You were right.” He took a step closer.

“About what?” Her breath bated.

“I just…I didn’t want to admit it. I couldn’t…” He looked away. “I couldn’t tell you sober.”

“About what?” The words had a rough edge to them, her chest heaving with breath.

Ah. She knew. She knew what he was going to say, even before he said it.

“I…I did cheat on you.”

“Wh-What?” Her eyes tinted red…but there was so much hurt in the word.

Fear and shame rose in tandem like ocean waves, threatening to bowl him over, and he realized that the truth wasn’t going to help at all. But all he could do was let it pour out of him.

“You-hic-You asked if I was with-hic—”

“Stop.” She covered her mouth as if to keep the worst words from spilling out, tears welling in her eyes.

“But I—”

“I said stop!” Her voice rang through the room like something shattering.

Maybe something was.

Her heels against the stairs, fast and sharp, and away.

“Wait!”

Turn around please, let me apologize, let me explain, I won’t do it again.

He threw up in the vase.

“Daddy? What was that all about?” The small voice made his blood run cold. “What did you cheat at? Were you playing a game?”

Zeus turned, horrified, to see Ares, hiding behind a crack in the door.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at her.” He breathed. “It was stupid, really.”

Hades put a dollar in the vending machine and punched in a number.

“People say all kinds of things when they’re angry. Doesn’t mean you’re bad, just means you’re people. Which…” Hades looked him up and down, adding under his breath, “I wonder about sometimes.”

“...You must think I’m a terrible husband.”

Hades grabbed two chocolate bars and handed one to his brother.

“I think you need something sweet, maybe a little hydration, and some rest.”

Zeus unwrapped the bar and took a bite, not really tasting anything.

After a moment Hades sighed.

“It’s not so simple as that.” Hades said between bites, “I don’t necessarily think there’s such a thing as a ‘terrible husband’ or ‘the best husband.’ I…I don’t even think there’s such a thing as good and bad people. There’s just…people. There’s just husbands. But there are rules that come with being a person, and/or being a husband and…” he paused, trying to choose his words carefully, “you don’t always follow those rules.”

Zeus fell back against the wall, looking at the floor, denials dying in his throat.

It was raining.

No, actually it was pouring. And thundering. The lightning was like cracks in a collapsing sky, and Zeus’s gut was twisting like the snakes on the head of a gorgon.

“What? You-you think you can just undo this?!” Hera’s words were biting. “It’s done!” Her laugh was wry and sardonic, like an ache in her throat, red tainting the blue of her eyes. “You can’t just fix something like that! Once someone cheats at the game no one else just keeps playing!”

“It was a mistake! One stupid night!”

“One stupid night, huh?! Then how do you explain this?!” She held up his phone. The pictures. The…Oh Gaia.

The snakes in his gut bit down, and he bit his lip looking away. He hadn’t known she knew about that.

“You’ve got it all wrong! That was just—!”

“I thought you were different!” She bit off his excuse, the anger cracked, and the pain was bleeding through, and he wasn’t the only one making it rain: A tear fell down her face, then another, her mascara running black along her cheeks. “You made me smile, you made me laugh! You saved your brothers from your father. And I thought we could make a kingdom—a world—together!” She shook her head, grimacing, trying and failing to keep more tears from falling. “I thought we could be something!”

“We are! We have! I just made a mistake! I—!”

“No, Zeus.” There was a finality to her tone.

Tears streamed down her face now. He hated it when she cried. She didn’t do it often, and whenever she did he was ready to smite whoever hurt her but…he’d hurt her worst of all.

“I thought you were different. But you’re—“ the words were like an antique vase, riddled with cracks. “You’re just another bad guy.” She punched him in the arm, and the vase broke, the defiance into pain. She punched him in the arm…but it was weak and far too soft, and that’s how he knew she was really hurt; she could bring the sky down on him if she wanted.

She looked down at her hand, twisting her wedding ring with a finger.

“I’m staying with a friend tonight.”

Her wedding ring tinkled on the floor.

As she turned and walked away the word rang out like he was hoping his voice alone could rewrite his sins and bring her back:

“Wait!”

She didn’t stop, didn’t turn, didn’t make any indication she’d even heard him.

“Please…Please just wait.” These were soft.

He fell to his knees on the marble, scooping up her wedding ring and enclosing it in his fingers, holding it to his forehead, and trying not to bring the sky down upon himself.

He’d seen her angry. He’d seen her sad. But this? Seeing her break for him…was so much worse.

It reminded him too much of another time. Of a scar on her stomach. How she broke herself just to be his.

—(And he wondered, for a fleeting moment, if it would have been better if he had been the one to break.)—

“There you are!” Said a voice. “You can come see her now,”—a cleared throat— “your Majesty.”

*

Notes: Aright, so this chapter had a few things I was unsure about I thought I’d ask about here!

1. Does anyone have any other clever play-on-words for candy brands? I feel like Zeus would know that she likes caramel in general, so it’d make more sense if Hades said “she likes [X similar candy] so she’d probably like Twyx.” But Twyx is all my brain came up with and I don’t even know that it’s all that good XD

2. I’m aware that the gods don’t call each other “people” they call each other “beings.” However, Hades’ lines don’t have as much impact with “beings.” Did the fact that I used “people” stick out too much? Should I change it to “beings”?

3. I know Ancient Greek wedding ceremonies are different from ours, and they might not even have wedding rings. But that image was so impactful for me I decided to use it. Should I remove it? Or did you find it impactful?

Please let me know if there’s anything you felt was inaccurate to their characters!!

Thanks so much for reading!! 💕💕