#that's all i have energy for at a given time

[salty-autistic-writer]

Buck sits on a hospital bed and looks down at his bandaged hands. Mild burns. They add to the considerable amount of smoke inhalation that makes his throat feel as dry as sandpaper. At least his coughing already got better. Buck's doctor assured him he would be able to leave soon. Too bad there's no home he can return to. 

He stares at his hands and feels … numb. It happened so fast. So fast, it almost seems like a dream. But it’s real. And everything still smells like smoke.

His loft. It’s gone.

In the middle of the night, flames consumed the walls in that scary astonishing speed he’s so well familiar with. And he couldn't stop it.

So many memories. Burnt down to ash. Buried underneath rubble. Gone.

A light knock at the doorframe makes him perk up. Buck expects to see Maddie who left to get some water and a snack. Or Chimney. Or Hen. Or Bobby. But it’s neither one of them.

“Tommy?” Buck looks up, too surprised to prepare himself for the pain he feels when he actually sees Tommy. For the first time in weeks. “What … what are you doing here?”

“I … Howie called me,” Tommy says, avoiding direct eye contact.

“Of course he did,” Buck mutters, looking back down at his hands, picking at a loose thread. Chimney. The ever-hopeful matchmaker.

Tommy clears his throat. “Are you okay?”

Buck flinches. The soft tone with which those words are spoken feels like a punch to his gut.

Are you okay? 

Okay. 

Anger wells up inside Buck’s tight chest like dark ice water, rising to the surface of his mind and fading out all the sadness. Buck glares up at Tommy. “Seriously? That’s what you’re asking about? After weeks of silence. Of nothing. You dare to show up here just like that and ask if I’m okay?!”

It’s Tommy’s turn to wince, his eyes widening slightly. “I’m sorry.”

Somehow, that only makes Buck even angrier. He knows it’s true. Honest. He knows that Tommy cares. And he kind of wishes Tommy wouldn’t. But here they are. Still care about each other way too much.

Tiredness creeps into the murky combination of anger and sadness.

“It burnt,” Buck says quietly.

“What?” Tommy asks.

“My scrapbook. It burnt. All the pictures too. The pictures I put on the fridge. And now I have nothing left.” Buck can feel the tears coming. He doesn’t want them. Doesn’t want to cry in front of Tommy. “All the memories I started to collect. They’re gone.”

I used to look at them. I used to remember the time when I thought I was finally on my way to happiness.  

“It’s all gone,” Buck breathes. And then he really cries.

An ugly sob that escapes his lips. And he hates it. Hates it so much. But he has no energy left to hide.

“Evan,” Tommy says, barely audible. And even though the sadness is suffocating him, Buck has the space for a relieved sigh. Not Buck. Still Even. And it still sounds so right … How does it sound so right after all the wrong directions their path took?

The bed dips as Tommy sits down beside Buck, hesitantly putting a hand on his heaving back. “It’s not all gone,” Tommy says.

Buck wipes at his burning eyes. “It’s not?” He asks, doubtfully.

“No. I … I’ve been collecting memories too. I can share them with you. If you want them,” Tommy says.

“That would be great,” Buck admits, trying to take a deep breath through his stuffed nose with a grimace. “Because … Because they really make me happy. The memories.”

“They do?” Tommy asks, his hand still on Buck’s back, but apparently not daring to move. “Don’t they make you … angry?”

“Not really. Sometimes they make me a little sad. Because I start to think of what could have been,” Buck says. “I start to picture all the happy memories the future might have given me.”

“But you don’t know if those memories would have been happy. What if … What if that future turns out to be so painful that you end up wishing you wouldn’t have lived through it in the first place?” Tommy asks, his voice strained. “Aren’t you scared of what you can’t know?”

Buck shakes his head. “No. I can’t live like that. The future isn’t set in stone. And as long as I think the memories I want to make are worth fighting for … Things will be alright.”

We would have been alright.  

Tommy’s hand is burning him. But when it retreats, Buck almost tells him to put it back. Maybe that’s pathetic. But he can’t find the energy to care.

Tommy is silent for a long moment. He seems lost in his own thoughts, his fingers rubbing over his jean-cladded knees in rhythmic movements.

Buck glances at him. Through a blur of his lingering tears, he suddenly realizes that Tommy looks … rough. 

His edges are sharper. The lines on his face seem deeper. There are shadows under his eyes and he’s close to growing a beard. 

And maybe that’s pathetic too, but Buck suddenly wants to hope that Tommy is feeling that same ache Buck has been feeling for such a long time now. The ache that forces him to bake. To keep his hands busy and his mind empty.

He wonders. What is Tommy doing to soothe his ache?

Buck almost asks.

But before he can, Tommy gets up. He clears his throat. “Are you staying with Maddie and Howie?”

“Yeah,” Buck says quietly. “For now. I guess.”

Tommy nods. He’s chewing on his lower lip. Lingers. Seems like there’s something else he wants to say.

And the silence stretches like a rubber band. The tension is almost palpable in the room.

Finally, Tommy says, “If I would text you in a few days. Would you read it? Would you read it all?”

“I would,” Buck says, remembering the bubbles. “I promise,” he adds.

Tommy exhales shakily. “Okay. Alright. I’m truly sorry, Evan. For the loft. And for what you lost. I can't change what happened. I can’t give the past back to you. But whatever happens, whatever you do after you read what I am going to write, I will give you everything I have. So that you can start a new collection.”

“Thank you,” Buck says, his throat tightening.

Tommy nods. He starts to walk out of the room with slow heavy steps.

Before he can disappear, Buck works up the courage to say, “Tommy. Wait.”

Tommy stops, glancing back at Buck.

“Are … are you okay?” Buck asks.

Tommy’s brows furrow with surprise, but then his eyes soften. “Honestly? No. And I haven’t been in a long time. But I am finding ways to keep the hope alive,” he says. “Goodbye, Evan. Rest well.”

And then he really leaves.

Buck stares into the void and the ache is back. But the pain has a note of hope in its bite. Maybe it’s the same kind of hope Tommy was talking about. And maybe he shouldn’t allow himself to feel it. But he can’t help it.

Apparently, his heart, even though covered in the ash the night left behind, is still convinced that the future he pictured is worth fighting for.

(AO3 Link)

[boldegoist]

Here's my hc somewhat aged up Danny - he's eternally exhausted, cantankerous, and would really like to stop needing to pry ecto-experiments away from evil billionaires.

He still had the original suit until somewhere in his teens where he got too cocky, got nabbed, and [insert fandom-typical vivisection here.] Now he's traumatized and his walls are up and rock solid (he's crumbling on caffeine, spite, and love for his friends)

Alternately, the vivisection-tape design gets added in after the Batfam rescue him from his parents/GIW (which is why there are lil triangles <3 right where the bat wings usually are!) I could probably do a version with a nightingale instead of his logo (who needs a logo, anyway...)

As he gets older, he definitely fills out - so we have a stronger jaw, broader shoulders, large hands and feet - I think his rate of ageing is somewhat slowed down - but by the time he's 40 I think he'll definitely be broad and heavy set, like his dad (which in more realistic proportions, I think like Wilson Fisk yanno?)

This is also kind of a Hazmat AU where the Fentons take lab safety as seriously as they can for two independently employed, neurodivergent parents with a hope operation - Maddie and Jack still like to double-check the seals on his hazmat whenever given the chance. The ecto-tape is normally black, but glows green when it absorbs ecto above the recommended safety levels. (It also acts as a secondary protection, continuing to draw in the energy and convert what excess it can into light.) I suppose this means that Danny could use it as a limiter, removing excess tape when he needs to go all-out... but I think he prefers to keep as much of his hazmat suit on as possible.

[covenofagatha]

Mistakes have been made this afternoon. I have had sake and no food, so fuck it, I'm going to be brave. Agatha/reader, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, oral sex, degradation, praise, and breeding kink if you are still taking requests.

Of course! And to everyone else who requested a fic, they should hopefully be up soon!

A gala to remember

You're feeling a little neglected by your girlfriend so you take advantage of her unfounded jealousy while at a work event for her

Word count: 2400

Warnings: literally pure filth, semi-public sex, girl penis Agatha, cum, creampie, blowjob, vaginal sex, degradation, praise, breeding kink, I think that's it

There’s not enough appetizers at the fancy annual gala for the company your girlfriend works at to make you stop being mad at said girlfriend. 

That doesn’t mean you’re not going to try though. 

You’re on your second shrimp cocktail when Agatha comes over to where you’re standing and tightly grabs your arm. 

“Come over here. And put that down,” she hisses in your ear and drags you across the room. You yank your elbow out of her grasp and deliberately pretend that you don’t see her scowl at you. 

It has been a week since the two of you have had sex. You can’t blame Agatha, work for her is really busy this time of the year, but she has come home late every single night since Monday and you’ve barely seen her. 

She had been promising all week that on Friday night – tonight – she would be home early and the two of you would make up for lost time. You had even gone out and bought some new lingerie. You missed the feeling of Agatha’s cock inside you and you couldn’t wait for the end of the week. 

Until Thursday morning, before she had rushed out of the house, she had told you that she was expected at the company’s gala the next night and she wanted you to come with her. 

Normally, you wouldn’t mind attending a work event with your girlfriend, but a lot of feelings had become pent up over the week and there was also the fact that she had given you a day’s notice on cancelling the plans she had made. 

So yeah, you were being a bit of a brat. 

And Agatha was fully aware of that, and wasn’t having any of it. 

“You need to behave,” she whispers before the two of you approach a group of co-workers. 

“Or what?” You scoff sardonically. “Not going to fuck me for another week?” 

“Watch me,” she shoots back. And then she plasters on a fake smile. “Hey, guys, this is my girlfriend, y/n.” She introduces you to everyone, three men and two women. You politely shake their hands, barely even looking at them, until you get to the last woman, Rio. 

She’s a little younger than Agatha, her pale skin contrasts beautifully with her golden-brown eyes. She’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit, like Agatha, and there’s something about her intense energy that seems to draw you in. 

Speaking of Agatha, she must notice how you’re staring at Rio because she clears her throat and wraps an arm around your waist. 

“Oh, that reminds us, Agatha,” one of the men booms. They’ve been talking about something for the past few minutes but you’ve been zoning out, bored almost to tears. “We need to borrow you for a few seconds upstairs. There’s a contract we need you to look over.” 

Agatha squeezes your waist and you shoot her a pleading look but she’s already leaving with two of the guys. The group disbands and you awkwardly go find an empty table to stand at and eat more shrimp.

Great. Now you’re mad, miserable, and alone. 

Except, maybe not all alone. 

Rio saunters up to the table, holding two glasses of champagne. She hands one to you and silently toasts. You take a sip. 

“Big fan of these parties?” You ask, trying to break the uncomfortable silence that has settled over your table. She shrugs noncommittally.

 “They’re good for the company,” she says. “I don’t particularly enjoy parties.” 

You raise your glass to that. “Join the club. I’m only here because Agatha made me.” Maybe you shouldn’t be speaking ill of your girlfriend to her co-worker but you kind of want to vent to someone. 

Rio rests her head on her elbows and her eyes widen. “Agatha Harkness’s girlfriend. What is that like? Is she as much of a boss in the bedroom as she is in the office? Or is she one of those powerful people who submits completely?”

Images and memories of Agatha in the bedroom flit through your mind (she is definitely not the latter) and you choke on your drink, sending you into a coughing fit. Rio chuckles knowingly.

“That’s an interesting question to ask someone you just meant,” you say once you’re finally able to breathe again, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well, I’m an interesting person,” she retorts with a smirk. You nod in agreement and laugh. 

And that’s when you feel a hand on your lower back and a presence right behind you. You whirl around, afraid it’s some old man, but it’s your girlfriend. 

“Agatha!” Rio exclaims with delight. “What a coincidence. We were just talking about you.”

“Excuse us,” Agatha says rudely and grabs your hand to drag you up the stairs of the event center. 

You roll your eyes exasperatedly. “What, Agatha?”  

She doesn’t say anything until you’re past the top of the stairs and she spins you around and shoves you against one of the pillars. You wince at the cold marble on your cheek but you’re quickly distracted by the feeling of Agatha’s body against your back. 

Particularly, her semi-hardened cock. 

“Were you seriously flirting with Rio Vidal?” She taunts right into your ear. “Was that some pathetic play to get me to notice you?”

You want to tell her that no, of course not, you weren’t even flirting and the only reason Rio had come over was because Agatha had left you all alone, but you don’t do any of that. Instead you wiggle your ass against her, enjoying her sharp intake of breath, and ask, “Did it work?” 

She growls and flips you around, forearm coming up to your throat. “Listen to me, little girl,” she says threateningly. “You are mine.” 

“Oh, am I?” You simper innocently. “I must’ve forgotten in the past week while you’ve been too tired to show me.” 

Her eyes flash with something dangerous. “Get on your knees.” 

It makes you falter. “What?” You look around the two of you. There’s no one up on the second floor right now, but Agatha and her co-workers had just been up here a second ago so who’s to say that won’t happen again? You aren’t exactly hidden from view from the people on the ground floor either. 

“Did I stutter?” 

Despite your reservations, you can feel how wet you’re getting and how much you’ve missed having Agatha like this. So you hike up your floor-length gown and slowly drop down to the floor. The tile hurts but you don’t care. 

You reach up to unzip Agatha’s pants and pull her cock out. The tip is already red and leaking with precum and you gasp at the sight, feeling an ache start to grow inside you. 

“Better go fast before someone catches you,” she says, weaving her hand through your blonde hair. You’d like to remind her that if you get caught, she’ll be the one who gets in the most trouble, but she’s right. There isn’t time for that. 

You drag your tongue up the bottom of her cock and swirl it around the tip, getting immense pleasure when she lets out a small groan. You’ve almost forgotten how good she tastes. 

“God, you’re such a good slut for me,” she says. She collects your hair in a pony-tail as you start to bob your head up and down her dick. You can feel it twitch in your mouth and you tease the vein along the side which makes her hips jump. 

You swallow around her and try to push yourself further down. When you get close to gagging, you come back to lick at her tip while your hand strokes your saliva up and down the rest of her cock. 

“You look so fucking pretty with your mouth stretched around me,” Agatha groans. “Fuck, baby, can I use your mouth?”

You nod eagerly, peering up at her through your eyelids. Something about her using you like a toy really gets to you. 

And then you open your mouth wide and let her fuck her cock into you. You really hope the wet sounds you’re hearing are not as loud for everyone else. 

The need to breathe is burning in your lungs and your eyes are tearing up, but you can tell Agatha is close to cumming based on the tightening grip in your hair, the blissed expression on her face, and the way her cock is stuttering on your tongue. You want her to cum all over your face when she suddenly stops and pulls out of you. Air rushes into you and you cough weakly. 

“What?” You ask, a little disappointed. Without answering, she pulls you off your knees and pushes you back against another wall. She parts your dress at the slit and slides a hand through it to cup you over your underwear, smirking triumphantly when she finds you soaked. 

“God, sucking me off where anyone could see like a whore really does it for you, doesn’t it?” She taunts. “So pathetic, baby. So needy. You want me to fuck you so badly, don’t you? That’s why you’ve been such a brat this whole night, right? You want my attention, my cock in you so bad that this is how you’re acting?” 

Embarrassment colors your cheeks but you hold your head high. Nothing she said was false. “What are you going to do about it?” 

She scoffs and smirks. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m going to remind you who you belong to, because apparently a little slut like you needs a constant reminder.” She directs you to hike your dress up and she slides your underwear to the side. She positions one of your legs over her hip and without preamble, she thrusts her cock all the way into you. Your head falls back against the wall with a loud moan. 

Agatha clamps her hand over your mouth and stays still. She is filling you up so perfectly, even if it’s been a week since you’ve taken her. The delicious stretch is exactly what you’ve been missing. 

“Please, Aggie,” you whimper and she starts to move, hitting your special spot every time. “Feels so good.” 

“God, you’re taking my cock so well,” she grunts, picking up her pace. Your mouth falls open but no noise comes out. “It’s like you were made for me. So perfect, angel. Such a good girl.” You nod your head and roll your hips with every one of her thrusts. 

“Agatha, oh my god,” you moan, feeling her nails dig into your hips through her dress. You know that she’s close, can feel her throbbing inside you, and you’re not too far behind. 

“Such a desperate slut,” she croons. If there’s one thing about Agatha you love, it’s how quickly and effortlessly she can go from praise to degradation and back. “Needing me so bad, making me fuck you at my work event because a whore like you wants to be filled. Where anyone could walk up here and see how desperate you are for me. I want them to see what a whore I make you into. Especially Rio. Want her to know who you belong to. Fuck, sweetheart. Want me to fill you up, baby?” 

The thought of her spilling her cum inside you makes you clench even more around her cock. You absolutely love the feeling: the warmth, the way it feels leaking out of you, the times Agatha would eat you out after and taste the mix of your wetness with her cum and then kiss you so you could taste it too. 

“Yes, please, Aggie, fill me up, breed me,” you whine, whispering the two words that the both of you only use on special occasions. 

It has the intended effect because a feral look settles in Agatha’s eyes and she fucks into you with renewed vigor, hands gripping you so hard you think you’ll have bruises tomorrow. 

Or at least you hope. 

“Gonna breed you, baby, gonna fill you up with my cum,” she pants, the effort getting to her a little. “Cum all over my cock like the perfect slut that you are.” 

You take a hand off her shoulder to reach down and rub your clit and that little extra spark of pleasure sends you orgasming all over Agatha’s cock. Her hips splutter and she lets out a long sigh before you feel her twitch inside you and then a spurt of warmth fills you. You moan at the feeling, almost cumming again.

She stays in you until she softens and the second she pulls out, she wipes her cock all over your pussy to clean herself off, smearing the mess all over you, and tugs your lacy underwear back into place. You bite your lip at the feeling of her cum dripping out of you and when you take a shaky step towards her, you can feel how drenched your panties are, coated with a mixture of the two of you. 

And now you have to spend the rest of the night like that. 

“I promise I’ll clean you off when we get home,” Agatha says, teasing smirk telling you that her tongue will definitely be involved. You clench around nothing at her words and the images they bring, and you can feel more of her cum ooze out. You’re able to tell that some of it is on your inner thighs and you really hope it’s not visible through the dress. Or on the dress. 

But you don’t have time to worry about that. Agatha kisses you softly and pulls you in for a hug. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t made time for you this week,” she murmurs. “I’m all yours this weekend, I swear on my life. I told the guys earlier that if they had a problem, they’d have to figure it out themselves or wait until Monday.” 

You tighten your arms around her, feeling suddenly giddy. “Thank you, baby.”

Agatha reluctantly steps away after a few more moments of holding you close and you miss her body against yours. “Shall we rejoin society?” 

You pretend to think about it for a second until she smiles and then you take her hand. She leads you back down the stairs, her cum still seeping out of you. 

[inmoonsblood]

lover : percy jackson

book percy jackson. unspecified godly parent!reader. takes place around two years post trials of apollo. both of them are in college. 815 words.

synopsis: "like hell! the only one who can get me away from you right now is my mom." ; ft; late night rain dancing, taylor swift playing, warm towels and a shit ton of kisses from your second favourite person in the whole wide world.

note: repost 1 from my old account! i love this fic so so much, but i need to heavily stress that this (and all my percy fics) are for book percy, (17-18 year old) i don't write for show percy as of now. an old fic written before the show came out, so please, be nice to me, directly reposted from @the-ink-of-roses incase you've read it before!

percy's hands slip around your waist, your back to his chest, as he picks you up and gently sways the two of you to the beat of 'love story' by taylor swift while he hums the lyrics under his breath.

he tugs you closer and presses a kiss to your cheek and jaw, resting his head on your shoulder later. you giggle when he does that, turning your head slightly to kiss his forehead.

the playlist probably ran out ages ago, now you two are staying afloat purely on the will of the spotify lords and their music choice, but as long as it's a song that either you or percy know, it works.

(anything works, to be honest, just as long as percy's here, behind you, holding you like you're the one thing he never wants to lose. as long as you have that, you know you've won. as long as percy jackson holds your hand and kisses your cheeks, gods, you'll take anything.)

new rome is fun, it keeps life interesting in a way that doesn't risk you, him and annabeth going out on quests--and annabeth having to mock throw up every time you two kiss even if you know she's just as terrified as you two.

swords and running from medusa's sisters (or medusa sometimes. yeah aunty em was NOT happy last time you met her, apparently she still remembered the store circus thing even if it was more than seven years ago) were replaced with chasing deadlines and seeing how many energy drinks you guys can stomach.

you're in new york right now, staying at sally's (when she learnt you were going to spend the holidays in new rome, she demanded her son get you home. no way in hell is estelle's favourite person going to stay alone for the holidays), and like the two very smart heroes of olympus you two are, you're out here dancing in the rain.

it's a little silly, yeah, but in your absolute defence, this started out as percy trying to teach you how to skateboard before the rain, and neither of you are going to let that ruin a date for you (by extension let zeus ruin another date for you, even if this isn't aimed at you--probably not aimed at you), so you two made the best of both worlds, thanking the gods the speaker piper got for you is waterproof. (in hindsight, percy is also waterproof, he just likes this better. despite the inevitable cold coming in soon for both of you).

with one last strike of thunder, the rain slowly dies down, leaving you and him in the park as the spotify lords finally give up on you two.

percy drops you suddenly and you have only two seconds to squeal in absolute surprise before you're turned around to face him this time. he's grinning at you with a look of absolute mischief--you're sure connor and travis had the exact same look before they shoved you into the pool last time you guys visited camp half blood. of course, percy was in there but something tells you that was their goal.

he looks so pretty you could cry.

and this pure boy, who smiles secretly to you, looks at you like you're the one at the centre of his universe, the one who holds your heart. this same boy has given you his, asking only for your love in return, something you're more than happy to give him.

before you can ask him what he's up to, percy suddenly shakes his hair, causing all the water to fly everywhere, including on you.

you almost yell in surprise but with a small chuckle bite back. doing the same, as both of you laugh while shaking your heads to have the water droplets go around everywhere.

it's probably a weird sight to watch--two teenagers, drenched in water, shaking their heads like there's no tomorrow while holding each other, but you don't really give four fucks.

once your head starts hurting, you stop and cup percy's face, getting him to stop as well. your other hand slides into his hair, messing it up further as the hand on his face guides him for a kiss.

he lifts you up again and twirls you--no doubt to get another laugh out of you--before setting you down.

percy doesn't let go of your hand either, not when you pick up your stuff and head to sally's (your current favourite person in the world), not while the two of you are lectured by her on colds coughs and fevers in this weather, not even when warm towels are given to the two of you.

not even when you two keep sneezing the next day to no one's surprise.

[dreamscapeee222]

i would like to request arcane characters x reader who is a creature made by signed, they are completely in control of there mind but are traumatized by being experimented on

A/n: I quite like this idea. I hope you like this anon ^^

Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Caitlyn

Masterlist

Vi

Vi's first reaction is anger—pure, seething rage at Singed for what he did to you. She doesn’t hide it, clenching her fists and muttering about how someone like him shouldn’t walk free. But when it comes to you, her touch is impossibly gentle. "Hey, you’re safe with me, alright? No one’s gonna touch you again."

She gets that you don’t want to talk about it all the time, but if you ever bring up the experiments or the pain, she’ll sit down, her full attention on you.

Vi doesn’t see you as broken or monstrous. To her, you’re a survivor, someone stronger than anyone gives you credit for. When you’re feeling weak or haunted, she’ll stay by your side, grounding you with her presence. "Whatever they tried to do to you? It didn’t work. You’re still you."

Jinx

Jinx's reaction is a mix of fascination and anger. She’ll ask you questions like, "Did he put stuff in your veins? Did it glow? Did it hurt?" but stops herself if she sees you flinch.

She’s been through her own trauma, so she gets the fractured feeling of not being entirely yourself. Jinx has a way of making you laugh, even when you don’t feel like it, though sometimes her chaotic energy can be overwhelming.

When you’re spiraling, she pulls out her creations and distracts you with wild, fantastical ideas about revenge on Singed. "We could make him pay, y’know. Or just… forget him. He’s not worth the space in your head."

Caitlyn

Caitlyn’s quiet support is unwavering. She doesn’t press you to talk about what happened but listens intently when you decide to share. Her voice is soft but firm: "What they did to you was wrong, but it doesn’t define you. You’re more than what they tried to make you."

She’s thorough about ensuring your safety, setting up layers of protection so Singed or anyone like him can never touch you again. If you’re startled by reminders of your past, Caitlyn is quick to calm you down, steady and sure.

She’s attentive to the little things, like ensuring you have time to decompress or offering a warm drink after a hard day. Her care is subtle but constant.

Ekko

Ekko doesn’t see you as a product of Singed’s experiments; he sees you as a person who’s endured unimaginable hardship. "You didn’t let them win. That’s all that matters." His admiration for your resilience is evident in the way he talks to you.

He’s patient when you need time to process your trauma but encourages you to find ways to heal. He’ll invite you to work with him, tinkering with gadgets or exploring the Undercity, hoping to help you find something that makes you feel whole again.

Ekko is fiercely protective, not just physically but emotionally. He knows when to push and when to back off, and his unwavering presence helps you feel grounded.

Jayce

Jayce is visibly shaken when he learns what you went through. His first instinct is to fix it somehow, though he quickly realizes it’s not something he can simply solve. "I’m sorry. No one should have to go through that."

He tries to show you that you’re not alone, whether by sharing stories of his own failures or simply being there when you need someone to lean on.

Jayce is big on making sure you know your worth. "What they did doesn’t define you. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met." He often marvels at your resilience, treating you like the hero you are.

Viktor

Viktor’s reaction is complicated. He’s horrified by what Singed did but can’t entirely distance himself from the methods, given his own work with Hextech. Still, his focus is entirely on you. "You survived despite everything. That takes more strength than anyone realizes."

He’s methodical in helping you recover, designing tools or devices to ease any lingering pain or discomfort from the experiments. His way of showing love is through action, ensuring you have what you need to move forward.

Viktor is incredibly patient, never rushing your healing process. He admires your resilience and often reminds you that you’re in control now.

Mel

Mel doesn’t flinch when you share your past; her calm, empathetic demeanor never wavers. "They tried to strip you of your humanity, but they failed. You’re still standing." Her words are like balm, soothing and empowering.

She uses her influence to ensure Singed can never harm anyone again, quietly working behind the scenes to dismantle any remnants of his operations.

Mel is your anchor when you feel adrift, offering steady reassurance and endless patience. She encourages you to redefine yourself on your terms, helping you see your worth beyond the pain you’ve endured.

Requests may be sent through the ask box. Only SFW.

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

Hi I really love your writing! Not sure if you are taking any prompts, no worries if not!

I was wondering if you could something with Melissa x reader similar to Janine and Gregory where they both work at the school and maybe the reader is dating someone but they have a moment like the club scene or PECSA weekend.

Hope you're having a good day lovely human!

Not dead! Nor have I given up on writing or filling the prompts I still have to fill! But a weird thing did happen - I went to a hypnotist show with friends thinking I wouldn't be affected... Long story short, I remember the first fifteen minutes of the show. Apparently, I was in the show for the rest of it. So that was a thing. But that's not the weird thing. The hypnotist said that a side effect of his hypnosis is often a better ability to focus, a quieter mind and less anxious thoughts. I have to hand it to the man, his words seem to be true. An unexpected side effect of this for me though is that it turns out the noise and chatter in my mind actually helps me write my fics. Now it's all a bit quiet in there and it's been hard to get the words out. But, that doesn't mean I don't still love writing - so we're pushing through.

I do have a confession though - this story has two prompts noted at the top of it in my drafts and although I can't find any evidence that I've posted it under either prompt, if I have already posted this and somehow have missed it, please let me know and I shall take the duplicate down.

Anyway, enough about me. Enough rambling. I hope you enjoy!

*~*

It would be easier if she wasn’t nice to you. 

If she wasn’t nice to you, she could just be the untouchable, hot as hell, fiery goddess you admired from afar. 

But no.  She let you sit with her and Barb at lunch.  She even brought you lunch after a few conversations had strayed into discussing cooking and favourite recipes during said lunch breaks.

How were you meant to get over your ridiculous crush when she actually gave you the time of day?  When she smiled like that?  When her whole face lit up and she gestured so animatedly when she got caught up talking about something?

And as if that wasn’t enough, how were you ever meant to recover after seeing her so soft with her students?  Going out of her way to open up to them and help them. 

It was ridiculous, though.  You knew that.  What good was ever going to come of it? 

Kid.  That’s what she calls you.  It’s a constant reminder of the age gap between you.  Of the chasm that you feel you can’t even begin to cross when she sees you as some eager little kid.

You’ve always had a thing for older women.  From those early, confused days of watching your on-screen idols, to realising you didn’t want to be them.  You didn’t want to be friends with them.  You just wanted them. 

You want one in particular, but as you look across at her, her red hair ablaze in the sunshine, you force those feelings down once more.  If friendship is what she’s offering you’re not about to beat her with that olive branch.  You’ll deem yourself lucky and move on.

Even if she has ruined you for anyone else. 

*~*

“You know,” drawled Barbara.  “It’s beginning to become a habit.”

“What is?” asked Melissa, turning to face her friend with a frown. 

“Staring at her,” said the older woman, eyebrow raised. 

The red head scoffs.  “As if.  I don’t know what you think you’re seeing but that ain’t it.”

*

It was all said in jest to begin with.  Gentle teasing about a few wayward glances.  That was until Barb started to see her best friend be genuinely nice to you. 

To begin with, she tolerated you.  You weren’t one of the eager little puppies she so often saw when it came to younger new hires.  That much was evident from the start.  You were an old soul.  You carried a different energy. 

One that Melissa apparently appreciated just as much as the view.  Barb stood beside her the red head as they watched over the kids leaving school, keeping an eye on the them as they left for the day, making their way to busses, rides or parents.  Or rather, Barb was keeping watch over the children.  A quick glance at Melissa confirmed that her attention was directed at you where you stood a little way off, chatting happily with a young girl about the book she was waving at you as she waited for her mother to collect her. 

“Girl…”

“Don’t,” sighed Melissa, crossing her arms across her chest. 

That took Barb by surprise.  She had expected the red head to deny it.  “You mean?”

“It’s stupid.  She’s some pretty young thing and I’m…older than I care to admit.”

Turning to look at her friend, her expression sad, the older woman reached out and placed a comforting hand on the other woman’s arm.  “And?  What’s it called?  A Spring, Winter romance?”

“May, December,” corrected Melissa automatically.  “But same thing.”

“Exactly” said Barb.  “There’s a name for it and everything.  It’s a thing.”

“It’s not a thing,” huffed the red head, turning on her heel and heading back into the building.  “It’s stupid and I’ll get over it, just like I do everything else in my life.”

*~*

You’re not sure you’re entirely on board for PECSA. 

Out of school, things are different.  Lines are blurred and you’re seeing a whole different side to your colleagues.  You’re not sure if it’s liberating or terrifying.  And that’s before you add in the factor of the other teachers who have also been set free from the constraints of the classroom and are now loose in the wild.

You’re sure your confusion must show on your face, particularly when at the end of one of the breakout sessions you find yourself caught up in conversation with a striking older woman who teaches at another school across town.

You don’t see Melissa at first, who watches the interaction with interest.  She’s not used to seeing you outside of school, and it takes her back to realise that the woman is flirting with you.  Openly and blatantly flirting with you.  She’s touching your arm, leaning into you.  Smiling and laughing. 

In return, you know you’re blushing something terrible, especially when the woman hands you a page from her notebook with her number scrawled across it.  Watching the woman walk away, throwing you a smile over her shoulder to you, you finally see the red head standing in the doorway where she said she’d meet you so you could head for lunch together.

“She not a bit old for you?” she asks as you approach, your blush still heating your cheeks.

You frown.  “If she looks like that and thinks I’m hot enough to give me her number, they’re the numbers I’m interested in,” you reply, heading in the direction of the lunch buffet. 

Barb overhears the comment, unable not to smirk at your flash of sass.  “Jealous?” she asks, leaning into the red head’s space. 

“Of what?” barks Melissa, crossing her arms across her chest as she watches you go.  “Oh leave off!” she snarks at the older woman’s raised eyebrow.

*

How the day has gone from serious talks and breakout sessions to cocktails by the pool you’re still trying to wrap your head around.  Adjusting your cover up, you head around the side of the pool, heading for the bar.  You hope the day starts to feel a little bit more normal with a drink in your hand. 

Gazing out over the water, you catch sight of Melissa.  Or rather, you catch sight of a lot more of Melissa than you’ve ever had the privilege of seeing before.  Not looking where you’re walking as your eyes drink in the magnificent view there’s no saving yourself as you step forward and your foot finds water instead of concrete.

“Is that?” Melissa asks incredulously at the dramatic splash that comes from the other side of the pool.  She’s up out of her lounger before Barb can comment and the older teacher can only watch on in amusement as the red head storms off in your direction. 

You pull yourself out of the pool, allowing yourself to perch on the edge as you try your best to ignore the chuckles of those around you who have noticed your mishap. 

“What the fuck happened?”

You look up and of course Melissa is there.  Right there, lit up in the sun like an angel, red hair haloed around her head.  It takes a moment to realise that her eyes are roving over you, and not just your face.  You glance down where your cover up now clings to your skin, almost see through. 

Looking up you see Melissa blink rapidly a few times before offering you a hand.  You reach for her, smiling as she helps pull you to your feet.  “Thanks,” you smile sheepishly.  “I guess I should go change.”

“It’s a pool, you’re allowed to be a little wet,” the red head smirks back at you.  “Besides, we’re this close to the bar now, be rude not to take advantage.”

*

Melissa appears at the bar next to you with a huff, grumbling under her breath.  Her attention is focused on trying to get the attention of the barman.  Mumbling though she is, she’s speaking just loud enough for you to make out what she was saying. 

“He was an ass,” you tell her, watching as her head whipped around, finally realising you were there. 

“What?” she asks with a frown, already tipsy. 

“Your ex,” you enlighten her.  You may not have heard the comment that led to her current dip in mood, or ever have met the man, but you know enough.

Her frown only deepens.  “You don’t know a thing about him.”

“I know he didn’t appreciate what he had and left you,” you offer, ordering a drink when the barman appears in front of you, before turning back to Melissa to ask what she wants.  You find her looking at you oddly, her expression unreadable.  She quickly snaps out of it and barks and order at the bartender.

*

Barb has had more than a few drinks, it would appear as she flags you down to sit with her as you pass her table. 

“Sit, sit,” she smiles, trying to reach for your arm and push the chair out next to her at the same time in an uncoordinated matter. 

Catching her hands, you still her as you slide into the seat beside her to placate her.  Her gaze is a little unfocused, her words edging towards slurred.  You hadn’t quite realised how drunk she was, but then again, looking around the room, it would have been more of a surprise for her to be sober. 

“Don’t call that woman,” she tells you, leaning into your space.

“What woman?” you frown.

“That woman who gave you her number,” says Barbara like it’s obvious. 

You try not to think about the fact that for Barb to know, Melissa must have mentioned it.  That it’s been on her mind enough to mention it to the older woman.  “Why not?”

“She wouldn’t like it.”

“She gave me her number,” you point out.  “I don’t think she would mind.”

Barb shakes her head.  “Not her.  Her,” she says, nodding across the room to where Melissa is standing. 

You cross your arms across your chest.  “What has Melissa got to do with anything?”

Barb raises a single eyebrow, the action still smooth and effective despite her drunkenness and it makes you blush. 

Averting your gaze, you shake your head.  “It doesn’t matter what I feel,” you sigh.  “She’s not…She thinks I’m some stupid kid.”

What you don’t see, is Melissa standing close enough behind your chair to catch your words.

*

Somewhere after speaking to Barb you decide that trying to be the sober parent of your little Abbott family just isn’t working.  You’ve lost track of most of them, and honestly, you’ve given up trying to find them.  They’re all adults and can fend for themselves.

You still have eyes on Barb and Melissa though, the former dancing up a storm and the latter apparently winning an ill-advised drinking competition. 

Not that you can judge, of course.  You know you’ve drunk more than you should, feeling pleasantly buzzed from your seat in the corner of the bar.  You should call it a night before you do something you’ll regret, like call the woman Barbara told you not to.  Sober, you wouldn’t.  Drunk, you’re flattered enough and wouldn’t say no to the company. 

With a sigh, you push yourself up out of your seat and head towards the elevators.  Pushing the button, you watch the numbers light up as the lift descends.  You squeak in surprise when a strong pair of hands land on your hips, turning you around as a plump pair of lips meet you own.

“I don’t think you’re some stupid kid.”

You blink slowly a few times, taking in the woman before you.  Melissa.  Melissa Schemmenti just kissed you.  You shouldn’t, but you don’t have it in you to deny yourself the pleasure of feeling her lips against yours once more.  You kiss her back with enthusiasm, not protesting when she backs you into the elevator as it opens and moaning as your back hits the wall of the small metallic box, the weight of Melissa pressed against you. 

You’ve always admired her curves.  Pressed against you they’re a dream. 

The clearing of a throat far to close snaps you out of your living dream and you feel Melissa take a step back, biting her lip as she guiltily throws a glance over her shoulder, registering Barb standing in the elevator, her back to you both as if she hasn’t just witnessed exactly what you were both doing. 

Standing close, you grin at the devious smirk being aimed your way by a certain red head.  There’s a dangerous glimmer of mischief in her eyes.  Smudged lipstick and mussed hair from where you hands couldn’t help but run thought it complete the look.  The woman is a work of art. 

You look up as the elevator doors chime open, realising this is your floor.  Stepping forward, you slip past Barb, who merely raises an eyebrow.  You throw a look back at Melissa, who sways forward as though to follow you, before hesitating. 

The doors slide shut, and honestly, it’s probably for the best.

You miss the dark chuckle Barb lets out as the lift begins to ascend once more.

“What you laughing at?” asks Melissa, scowling.  She’s annoyed with herself for hesitating.  She knows what she wants, and she just let it walk out of the elevator.

“You two think you’re subtle?” the older woman drawls.  “She has more of your lipstick on than you do.”

*

If PECSA was party central the night before, it was hangover central the morning after.  You’re sitting outside on the low wall, sunglasses firmly in place, your phone in one hand and a bottle of water in the other as you take in the cool morning air. 

“You regret what happened last night?”

You turn to see Melissa, similarly attired.  “What?”

She comes to stand beside the wall on which you’re sat, her gaze wandering anywhere but you as she speaks.  “I came to your room last night.  You didn’t answer.”

“I didn’t hear you,” you admit, watching as her head whips around.  “Too busy throwing up everything I ever drank.”  You feel the blush dusting your cheeks, but continue.  This feels too important to let a little embarrassment stop you.  You take off your sunglasses so she can see your face as you speak,  “I have many regrets about my choices last night, but what happened in the elevator isn’t one of them.”

A slow smile spreads across her lips as she shifts to take a seat next to you.  She slips her own sunglasses off, finally letting you see her eyes.  “Good to know,” she murmurs.  “Me neither.”

You can’t help but smile at that.  You notice her gaze wandering and realise she staring at the phone still clutched in your hand. 

“You planning on using that number you were so interested in yesterday?”

“Honestly?” you ask, seeing the uncertainty in her face as she nods regardless.  “That woman was hot, and while I was more than a little flattered she gave me her number…she isn’t a patch on you.”

Pale cheeks blush adorably pink at your words.  Melissa isn’t used to hearing things like what from you.

“Don’t look so surprised,” you scoff, nudging her shoulder.  “You’ve seen yourself in a mirror, right?  And you needn’t think I go falling in pools over every pretty woman I see.”

“I really distracted you that badly, huh?” she asks, a little of her confidence returning.

You bump her shoulder with yours once more.  “Shut up.”

A gentle hand moves to cup your cheek, turning you to face her as Melissa presses a gentle kiss to your lips.  “For the record,” she says quietly.  “I don’t think you’re some stupid little kid.  I think you’re beautiful.”

You take in a shuddering breath.  It all feels too good to be true.  “What happens at PECSA stays at PECSA?” you ask sadly.

“I’ve never been one for playing by the rules,” she smirks back at you, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before pushing herself to her feet and offering a hand to you.  “Come on, we gotta go find Barb.  Reunite her with her shoes, sobriety and sanity.”

You take the hand being offered like a lifeline, grinning as Melissa starts walking, swinging your joined hands between you.  It’s only as you pass through the front doors to the building that her words even register.  “Wait?  Her shoes?”

[my-religion-greek-myth]

Freedom far away - M

I submitted my abstract for a conference. If my abstract is selected, I'll be going to Ireland for my first-ever conference!

My nurse friend said, "If anyone gets hit their solar plexus by you, they'll die." when I just asked if a person could faint if punching their solar plexus... What kind of image do you have of me?

Fem Reader X Agatha X Rio

Part A | Part B | Part C&D | Part E | Part F | Part G | Part H | Part I&J | Part K | Part L | Part M | Part N | Part O&P | Part Q | Part ? | Epilogue

Warning: Depictions of blood, violence, abuse, and may be disturbing to some readers

The bustling capital city was alive with noise and energy, an enticing distraction from the quieter life in the realm. You had hoped to wander the market with Agatha and Rio by your side, basking in their steadying presence, but the timing hadn’t worked in your favour. Both had been busy with pressing matters, leaving you to venture out alone.

Agatha needed to return to her homeland for specific magical ingredients, and her sharp tone left no room for negotiation. "I’ll be back by evening," she had promised, her blue eyes softening just a fraction as she brushed your cheek. "Be careful while we’re gone, doll."

Rio had been equally regretful but no less occupied. Dressed in foreign attire of flowing black fabric and a wide-brimmed hat, she had smirked, the transformation elegant and effortless. "Diplomatic business," she’d said with a playful wink, though her dark eyes held a trace of seriousness. "Keep yourself out of trouble, pretty lady. I’ll know if you don’t."

You had nodded, smiling faintly, already missing them.

The market was usually a place of discovery and joy, but it felt emptier without them. Still, you had decided to make the best of it. The thought of welcoming them home with small gifts had given you a purpose—a basket of sweets for Agatha, who loved them almost as much as she loved teasing you, and a collection of the reddest, ripest apples for Rio, who could never resist their rich flavour.

As you moved through the bustling stalls, your hooded robe concealed your face, the fabric heavy but necessary. The fear of being recognised, of your grandfather’s people spotting you, never fully left your mind. It was suffocating at times, but the safety the robe provided was worth it.

As you wandered through the market, the vibrant colours of fruits, spices, and sweets briefly distracted you from unease. You ran your fingers along baskets of candied treats, selecting a variety of Agatha’s favourites with a small, fond smile. The glistening, blood-red apples you found shortly after seemed to glow under the sunlight, and their vivid hue reminded you of Rio’s piercing gaze. You added them to your basket carefully, imagining her delighted expression when she saw them.

Despite the constant weight of vigilance, these small moments of normalcy gave you a sense of peace. The hood shielded you from wandering eyes, and the thought of returning home with tokens of your affection for them made it all worthwhile. For now, that was enough.

But the warmth of your plans turned icy when you noticed the unease in the market crowd. It started subtly—lingering glances, averted gazes—but soon grew impossible to ignore. The whispers followed low murmurs you couldn’t quite catch but could feel prickling the back of your neck.

Your steps slowed as you approached a noticeboard near the edge of the market. A small crowd had gathered around it, and despite the warning bells in your mind, you edged closer, curiosity overtaking caution.

Your breath caught as your eyes fell on the poster. There, staring back at you, was your own face—a precise portrait that left no doubt. Beneath it, bold text displayed your name, noble title, and the promise of a generous reward for information leading to your location.

Your heart dropped.

The world seemed to blur around you as panic set in, your thoughts racing. Every glance from a stranger felt sharper, every whisper louder. The gift basket in your arms felt like a foolish weight, but you clung to it as your only anchor.

Trying to steady your breathing, you looked down at your trembling hand, willing yourself to summon magic. Agatha’s lessons flickered in your mind, and you tried to channel the energy you had practised with her and Rio. But unlike Agatha’s vivid purple haze or Rio’s confident green glow, your hand only produced a faint blue mist that fizzled out almost instantly, leaving you feeling more helpless than before.

You couldn’t stay here. You pulled your hood tighter over your head and turned away from the noticeboard, your steps quickening as fear gripped your chest. Every sound and every movement in the market felt magnified, your eyes darting to catch any sign of recognition.

The ambassador’s office. You needed to get to the black gate. You needed Agatha and Rio.

Before you could return to the safety of the ambassador’s office, a rough hand clamped over your arm, yanking you into a dark, narrow alley. Panic surged as your body twisted instinctively, trying to see the face of your attacker, but the shadows obscured their features.

Before you could conjure even a flicker of magic in your trembling hands or summon the courage to cry out for help—be it from an animal or a passing stranger—a thick cloth was pressed against your mouth and nose. The overwhelming, sickly-sweet smell of the fabric invaded your senses, and you realised too late what it was.

Your heart pounded, every fibre of your being screaming to resist, to fight. You kicked out wildly, but their grip tightened, rough and unyielding.

"Tsk, what a troublesome young lady," a voice muttered, low and gruff, the words dripping with irritation. Before you could process their meaning, a sharp blow struck your solar plexus, the force so brutal it left you gasping. The air was knocked out of your lungs, and darkness crept into the edges of your vision.

The bags of food you had bought—the sweets and apples meant for Agatha and Rio—fell from your hands, tumbling to the ground in a messy scatter. The vibrant red apples rolled away, smudged with dirt, while the neatly wrapped sweets spilled out of their packaging. It was a small, heartbreaking detail that somehow made everything feel even more cruel.

Your limbs grew heavier with each passing second, your struggles fading into futile jerks. The last thing you remembered was the rough texture of the alley wall against your shoulder, the sight of the gifts you’d dropped lying abandoned in the dirt, and the unbearable weight of helplessness as your consciousness slipped away.

---RAR---

You stirred, your body aching and disoriented, feeling the rough, uneven floor beneath your side. Something coarse and thick was tied over your mouth, muffling your breathing, and your chest still throbbed faintly, a dull pain that flared when you shifted.

Your eyes fluttered open, squinting as dim light filtered into the space around you. Through the slivers of light squeezing in through the gaps, you could make out your surroundings: a building full of old, unused farm tools and scattered objects coated in dust, forgotten by time.

With effort, you inspected your body, noticing your legs were bound tightly and your hands were tied behind your back. You shifted, testing the restraints, and an unsettling familiarity crept over you. This place…you knew it. The rough walls, the faded wood, and the scent of earth and disuse—it was a storage building at your family’s estate. Memories flickered to life; you and your sister playing here as children, hiding among the old tools and giggling as you avoided chores.

The realisation made your stomach churn. They had brought you home.

You tried to sit up, wincing at the tightness in your limbs, the ropes digging into your skin. Crawling was a struggle, but you managed to inch toward the door where the faint light seeped through the cracks. As you neared it, the light was suddenly blocked, replaced by the sound of approaching footsteps. Panic gripped you, and you stilled, heart racing, desperately feigning unconsciousness.

But it was too late. The door creaked open, and blinding daylight flooded the room. You blinked rapidly, your eyes adjusting to the brightness, and then you heard it—a voice you knew too well.

"Finally," your grandfather’s low, gravelly voice growled, filled with a seething anger that made you tremble.

Your chest tightened as he stepped inside, his silhouette cutting an imposing figure against the light. He had been searching for you all this time, never giving up. You wanted to shrink under his gaze, but you forced yourself to look up, defiant. His cold, piercing eyes bore into you, and for a moment, his fury was a physical weight pressing down on you.

"You disgraceful child," he spat, his voice rising. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Running away like a coward, hiding like filth? And now…this!" His words hit like blows, but what made you freeze was what came next.

Your defiance faltered, confusion flashing across your face.

This?

Before you could ask, his words cut through the air like a blade.

"A child," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "An illegitimate bastard growing inside you! Staining the name of this household!"

The word hit you like a thunderclap. Pregnant. Your body froze, your mind spinning as you tried to comprehend. How could he know? Then it clicked—a doctor. He must have had a physician check you while you were unconscious.

A whirlwind of emotions quickly replaced the shock, disbelief, fear, and a strange, growing awareness deep within you. Pregnant. You didn’t even have time to fully process it before the first slap landed across your face, snapping your head to the side and sending you sprawling onto the hard floor. Your lip split under the impact, and you tasted the metallic taste of blood.

He towered over you, seething with rage. "Do you know what I’ve endured because of you?" he yelled. "The royal family humiliated me, and now I have to clean up this mess you created!"

He grabbed you roughly by your arm, dragging you upright, only to strike you again and hurled you down. Pain flared across your face, the stinging sensation overwhelming. But as his furious tirade continued, your focus shifted inward. You became acutely aware of your body, of the small life he claimed was growing inside you. The idea felt surreal, but your instincts kicked in before your thoughts could catch up.

With your hands bound tightly behind you, you desperately tried to retreat, your legs scraping against the rough floor as you struggled to crawl backward. The uneven surface bit into your skin, but you didn’t care—your only thought was to get away from him. Your trembling body moved inch by inch, instinct driving you to put as much distance between you and his looming figure as possible.

His voice followed you, dripping with venom. "Crawling away like the disgrace you’ve become? Do you think you can run from this?"

You didn’t answer, focusing entirely on escape, though your bound limbs made it a hopeless endeavour. The light spilling through the door flickered as his shadow grew larger, and before you could react, a sharp, searing pain erupted in your back. His boot connected squarely with your spine, the force knocking you flat onto the floor.

The impact drove the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping as fresh pain radiated through your body. You whimpered, curling instinctively to shield your abdomen, your bindings biting into your wrists as you twisted in desperation. His scoff rang out above you, cold and unfeeling.

"Pitiful," he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "And still, you protect that bastard child. As if that will save you." He leave you as and left the storage with rage.

The ache in your back spread, but it was nothing compared to the fire in your chest. You clenched your teeth, your trembling body staying curled over your abdomen, silently defying him despite the agony that consumed you.

In the darkness of your mind, one thought screamed louder than all the pain: I must protect my baby.

You stupidly thought it was over. But it was far from over. Your body trembled uncontrollably as you heard the heavy thud of approaching footsteps. A moment later, an angry yell cut through the air, halting the steps. "Father, that’s enough!" Your father’s voice rang out, loud and commanding in a way you had never heard before.

You squinted through the haze of pain, your blurred vision slowly adjusting to the sight of your father stepping into the doorway. His face was pale, his jaw clenched tightly, but his eyes burned with determination as he moved closer, placing himself between you and your grandfather.

"She’s your granddaughter," he said, his voice trembling with anger and desperation. "You’ve punished her enough."

Your breath hitched as your eyes fell on the large sword clutched tightly in your grandfather’s hand. The gleaming blade, though worn with age, still carried an unmistakable air of danger. It was then you realised, with chilling clarity, that the lord of the household had retreated not to collect himself but to arm himself.

He had retrieved the sword not to intimidate but to act—to maim, or worse, to kill you by his own hand.

The weight of that realisation sent a cold shiver down your spine, freezing you in place. Your body, already weakened, trembled with the effort to remain upright. The room seemed to shrink, the air thickening as your grandfather’s icy gaze met yours.

"She is no granddaughter of mine," he snarled, his voice filled with venom. He raised the sword slightly, the blade catching the dim light and reflecting it back like a cruel promise. "She’s a disgrace, and disgrace has no place in this family."

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, pressing down on you as your trembling body struggled to retreat further. But your father didn’t move aside. He stood firm between you and your grandfather, his arms slightly raised in a protective gesture.

"Father, please!" your father shouted, his voice trembling with fury and desperation.

Your grandfather sneered, his grip tightening on the sword in his hand. "Do you intend to defy me?" he asked coldly, his voice quieter now but no less menacing. "You forget your place. I am the lord of this household. The spymaster to the king. Or has that title lost its meaning to you?"

You froze, his words cutting through the haze, clouding your mind. Spymaster. The realisation hit you like a blow. It explained everything—his calculated manner, his ruthless control, his pointed interest in "Lord Rio." He hadn’t entertained the foreign ambassador out of hospitality; he’d been assessing her, evaluating her for reasons far more serious than you had ever realised. The truth of his identity hitting you anew, your mind replaying every interaction and every calculated word he’d spoken in the past. This wasn’t just a man consumed by rage. This was a man who wielded the power of the crown’s secrets, a man accustomed to controlling everything—and everyone—around him.

"She had disgraced this family," your grandfather continued, addressing your father as though you weren’t even there. "Her actions jeopardise everything I have built. She has brought shame to our name, and I will not allow such betrayal to go unchecked."

Your father’s fists curled tightly at his sides. "Betrayal?" he repeated, his voice cracking with fury. "What betrayal? Falling in love? Running from a life she did not choose? You have treated her like a pawn her entire life—like we are all just tools for your ambition. But this—this is madness!"

Your grandfather's eyes narrowed, his cold expression sharpening. "You think you are righteous, do you not? Do you think your sentiments hold any weight here? Let me remind you, boy. Everything you have, everything this family is, is because of me. I built this legacy and will not watch it crumble because of her."

Your father didn’t back down. "Take it all, then," he said quietly, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "What does that title mean if it drives you to do this? To treat her as if she is not family—your own blood? I will not stand by and let you destroy her. You have already destroyed our family enough. "

"Family?" Your grandfather’s sneer deepened, his piercing eyes narrowing. "She has disgraced this family. Running off, pregnant with an illegitimate child, and flaunting her shame as though it is something to be proud of." He raised the sword slightly, his intent clear. "I’ll not have this stain tarnish what I have spent a lifetime creating."

The father and son glared at each other in heavy silence, the weight of unspoken defiance hanging thick in the air.

Lighter, faster footsteps broke the tense silence. Your sister appeared, her face pale with shock. "Grandfather, stop this!" she cried, rushing into the room to stand protectively in front of you. "You can’t hurt her anymore!"

"Move, girl," your grandfather ordered, his voice like ice. "This is not your place."

But your sister stood firm, her jaw set and her eyes burning with defiance. "It is my place," she shot back, her voice  unyielding. "She’s my sister, and I won’t let you hurt her again!"

Your grandfather’s expression darkened, the lines of his face deepening with rage. Your grandfather’s rage boiled over. He stepped forward with a furious growl, the sword in his hand gleaming menacingly as he raised it slightly. "Do not test me, child," he warned, his voice low and ice-cold. "Disobedience will not be tolerated."

Your father moved to intercept, his hand gripping your grandfather’s arm to stop him. "Father, stop!" he said, his voice strained but resolute. "You’ll destroy this family with your madness!"

Your grandfather wrenched his arm free by roughly shoving your father to the ground, his fury intensifying. "It is you and your failure as a father that have brought this disgrace upon us!" he spat, his venomous gaze flicking between you and your sister. "If you will not restore order, I will."

Your sister’s knees shook, but she refused to move, her determination unshaken even as the tension in the room reached its breaking point. For a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your own laboured breathing, the pain in your body overshadowed by the chaos unfolding around you.

Your grandfather raised the sword high, ready to strike. Your father lunged forward, but in the chaos, everything became unbalanced. And somehow, despite the searing pain in your body, you found the strength to move. Your legs, still bound, propelled you forward on instinct.

Your body screamed, dragging yourself between your sister and the descending blade. The world slowed as the sharp edge tore into your back. Your eyes locked with your sister's widened eyes. Pain, unlike anything you’d ever felt, exploded through you, radiating outward in a searing wave.

Your body crumpled to the ground as screams filled the air. The sharp metallic scent of blood overwhelmed your senses. Your sister’s wailing cry and your father’s panicked shout barely registered over the roar of pain. You felt the world dimming, your vision blurring as you curled instinctively to shield your abdomen.

The crash reverberated in your ears as the storage building groaned under the pressure of whatever had caused the disturbance. Shouts of alarm mingled with the eerie hum of magic that seemed to fill every corner of the building. You felt the vibrations through the floor, each a drumbeat pounding against your trembling body.

Then, they appeared.

Agatha’s silhouette emerged first, framed by a violet glow that cast long, jagged shadows against the walls. Her hair whipped around her face as if caught in a tempest, her blue eyes burning with an unnatural intensity—tendrils of purple magic crackled and twisted around her hands, hissing like serpents ready to strike.

Behind her, Rio strode in, her dark eyes blazing with fury. Her presence sucked the air, her steps deliberate, exuding power and danger. Her eyes scanned the storage, landing on you briefly before hardening as they returned to your grandfather. She didn’t speak, but her presence alone was a promise of retribution.

Rio moved swiftly, her sharp features softening as she knelt beside you. "I’ve got you, love," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly as her hands began to glow with a faint green light. She pressed them gently to your back, her magic surging into the wound in an attempt to heal it. But the damage was too severe. Her jaw tightened, frustration flickering across her face as the blood refused to stop, the warmth of your body slipping away with every passing moment.

"Stay with me," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please."

As Death, her healing magic was naturally weaker than others, a cruel irony that gnawed at her now. She cursed under her breath, her brown eyes darkening as she poured every ounce of strength into the effort. But the bleeding persisted, and your hand grew colder with each passing second.

"Enough," Agatha’s voice sliced the thick tension like a blade, cold and commanding. The power in her tone sent a shiver down your spine, and even your grandfather, who had been so sure of his control, hesitated. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of her. Agatha stepped forward, her boots crunching against the scattered debris on the floor. The purple glow surrounding her illuminated the room in flickering light, casting an almost ethereal quality to her presence. Her sharp gaze didn’t waver as she stared your grandfather down. "You’ve done enough damage," she said, her voice low but dripping with venom. "And now you will answer for it."

Your grandfather, ever defiant, straightened his posture despite the tension in his jaw. "Who are you to barge into my household and speak of damage?" he spat, his voice shaky yet laced with anger. "This is my family, my bloodline. She is mine to discipline."

Agatha laughed coldly. "Yours?" she echoed, her magic flaring brighter, sending sparks into the air. "She’s not yours. She never was. You’ve treated her as nothing but a pawn in your games of power, but that ends now."

Rio’s voice cut through, low and dripping with menace. "You think you can beat her, maim her, even kill her, and call it discipline?" Her darkened eyes glinted dangerously, but her touch was a stark contrast—gentle, almost reverent, as she caressed your cheek. Her magic pulsed faintly, flowing into your battered body like a soothing current, assuring you that, despite everything, you would survive. Her gaze flicked back to your grandfather, her tone darkening further. "That ends today."

Your father, caught between terror and awe, stammered, "Who—what are you?" His voice cracked as his gaze darted between Agatha’s purple fury and Rio’s emerald soothing energy.

Agatha turned her head slightly, her eyes flicking to him with disdain. "We are the ones who will undo the damage you allowed," she said, her words laced with judgment. "And if you truly care for your daughter, you will stay out of our way."

Agatha turned her full attention to your grandfather, her expression cold and merciless. The purple tendrils of her magic coiled tighter around him, constricting his throat. His bloodied sword slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground as the force of her magic lifted him into the air. He clawed desperately at the invisible grip, his face reddening as his breath grew shallow.

"You… monster!" he rasped, his voice barely audible through the choking force.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, the glowing blue intensifying as her fury radiated through the building. "Monster?" she echoed. "You dare call me a monster? After what you’ve done? Look at yourself,"  her voice low and venomous, each word cutting like a blade.

Her magic crackled violently, the air around her heavy with unrelenting power. The walls seemed to shudder in response, the building groaning under the sheer weight of her rage. "You beat her and tried to kill her—and for what? Your pride? Your ego? Tell me, who is the real monster here?" Her words hung in the air, heavy and damning, as the tendrils tightened further, forcing a strangled gasp from his lips.

"Agatha," you croaked weakly, your voice trembling. Despite the overwhelming pain, you forced yourself to meet her gaze. "Please… don’t…"

Her magic flickered as her expression wavered. She looked at you, her hands trembling. "You don’t understand," she said, her voice cracking. "He doesn’t deserve to live."

"Agatha!" Rio’s voice cut through sharply, her tone laced with urgency. "She’s lost too much blood. We need to go—now!"

Agatha hesitated, torn between her rage and your plea. But your weak, teary gaze was enough to break through. The magic around your grandfather dissipated, and he crumpled to the ground, gasping for air. Agatha turned back to you, her expression a mix of guilt and anguish.

Agatha dropped to her knees beside Rio, her hands already glowing with purple light. Her rage was momentarily set aside as she focused on you, her touch surprisingly gentle as her magic intertwined with Rio’s green glow. The energy washed over your body, soothing some of the pain and stabilising you, though the amount of blood loss and the deep exhaustion remained.

"You’ll be fine," Agatha murmured, her voice uncharacteristically soft. Her fingers brushed your hair from your face as she worked, her sharp eyes narrowing with determination. "We’ve got you."

Rio, still kneeling, glanced up at your family, her expression cold and unreadable. "We’re taking her home," she announced sharply, her voice a chilling contrast to her tender hold on you. "If any of you even think about coming after her again, you’ll regret it."

Your grandfather, who had been gasping for breath moments ago, steadied himself. Despite the magic that had subdued him earlier, his rage burned hot and unrelenting. His lips curled into a sneer, his eyes darting between Rio and Agatha with venomous hatred. "You think you can take care of her?" your grandfather snarled, his voice trembling with fury. "A girl carrying an illegitimate bastard that isn’t your blood?"

The words echoed in the air like a curse, each syllable sinking heavily.

Agatha’s magic faltered for a heartbeat, the crackling tendrils of energy flickering as her sharp blue eyes snapped to your grandfather. Her hands froze mid-motion, the deadly rage in her expression giving way to something unreadable. "What did you say?" she asked, her voice dangerously quiet, a cold edge making it cut through the tension like a blade.

Rio’s entire body stiffened, her arms instinctively tightening around you as though to shield you from the weight of the revelation. Her dark brown eyes widened in shock, the fury momentarily replaced with stunned disbelief. "Pregnant?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the humming of residual magic in the air. She lowered her gaze to you, her expression softening as if searching your face for confirmation.

Yourr trembling hand moving to rest protectively over your abdomen. "I didn’t know…" you murmured, your voice cracking with emotion. "I only found out because of him."

Rio’s gaze flickered from your tear-streaked face to your grandfather, her shock quickly morphing back into a smouldering rage. Her lips curled into a snarl, and her grip on you tightened. "You knew she was pregnant," she growled, her voice low and venomous. "And you still hurt her?"

Agatha’s expression darkened, the flicker of hesitation vanishing as her magic roared back to life, more violent and volatile than before. The tendrils snapped and coiled like vipers, wrapping around your grandfather once more and dragging him higher off the ground. His gasps turned to choking wheezes as her power constricted his throat.

"You knew," Agatha said, her voice a deadly whisper that vibrated with barely contained fury. She took a step closer, the air around her crackling with energy. "You knew she was carrying a child—our child—and you still did this to her?" Her voice rose, each word sharper and more venomous than the last. "You are beyond redemption."

Rio shifted her focus back to you, her features softening as she caressed your cheek gently, her touch a stark contrast to the fury burning in her eyes. "We’re taking you home," she said firmly, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and protectiveness. "You’ll never have to face this bastard again."

Agatha, however, didn’t move. Her magic grew brighter, more intense, as her rage consumed her. "This ends here," she hissed, her voice filled with a dark finality. "He will never hurt you again. He will never hurt anyone again."

"Agatha," Rio called sharply, her voice cutting through the haze of power and fury surrounding her lover. "Not now. She needs us more than we need revenge."

Agatha hesitated at the mention of you, her glowing blue eyes flickering to you. Her expression softened for a fleeting moment as she saw the exhaustion and pain etched across your face. But then her gaze snapped back to your grandfather, and her fury reignited. "He doesn’t deserve to live after what he’s done," she growled.

"Agatha…" you croaked weakly, your voice barely a whisper but enough to draw her attention. Your tearful gaze locked with hers. "Please…. I just wanna go home."

Her magic faltered again, the tendrils loosening slightly as your words pierced through her anger. Agatha clenched her jaw, and the internal struggle was evident in how her hands trembled and her eyes flickered between you and your grandfather.

Finally, with a deep, shuddering breath, she let the magic dissipate. Your grandfather crumpled to the ground, coughing and gasping for air, his face pale and drenched with sweat.

"Your pitiful life has been spared—for now," Agatha spat, her voice laced with venom as she stepped back with disdain.

Rio adjusted her hold on you, her eyes blazing as she looked over your family. "This is the last time any of you will see her," she said coldly.

Your sister stood frozen in shock, her wide eyes flicking between you and your lovers, while your father looked torn, his mouth opening as if to speak but no words coming out.

As Agatha and Rio carried you out, you felt your strength slipping away, the world around you fading into a blur of light and shadow. The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you was the resolute determination on their faces—a silent promise that they would protect you, no matter the cost.

[p-h-a-n-t-a]

I tend to fixate on evan as a character at times because his whole shtick is that hes mysterious and has issues tm, but also because i have also been the haunted (literally spoke to ghosts as a child) ass white kid (white) suffering from food insecurity (yall ever have a mustard sandwich, its bread heels with mustard on them. Thats how i learned to like mustard.) So i relate to him quite a bit.

But, i cant help but be deeply curious about the other misfits and their lives, struggles, and their mysteries.

I frequently work with kids like Jammer (ive been christened with a nickname by middleschoolers. Its Shawty DooBop. Im glad its that and not "that mean ass librarian") and I wonder what his life is like on a day to day basis. Did he pick his sister up from her after school program? How long has he been writing? A lot of kids I know, no matter how much they like the sports they play, were originally put into them by parents hoping they could be something great, but what would he want to be if he wanted to be something different? Did he ever read the maximum ride series? Does he actually like dragon ball Z or is it more of a cultural osmosis thing?

K is deeply relatable to me on a number of levels (nonbinary tumblrina) but also deeply alien. Do they talk to their family at all? Do they feel remorse for cyber bullying people over steven universe? Do they get mad at themself when they have to remember people cant just be tropes, they also have to be people? Even themself? When will they go to therapy????

Sam black, britain, butler my beloved. Fellow child of divorce, how much did that influence your comunication? How long has being an influencer been her focus? Does she actually want to inluence, or does she just want friends? She struggled in school, did anyone ever try to help? Would it have been better or worse to be on an iep plan? Does she still talk to her family much now that shes famous, is it out of love, or out of that family wanting her support and her energy? How has T2 stayed a teacup pig? Those usually grow into potbelly pigs of some sort. Does she feel like her magic has actually hampered her ability to connect with others because she is so easily liked? What were the sailor moon forums like, what happened after your pink pal stopped liking pink?

Also to the magic mommy of all time, what was Bombini's life like? A 600+ year old wizard who seems to have lost everything dear to him and is upholding the memory of people long lost built on foundations that were crumbling from the start. Dudes middle name is kyle. He seems like a paralell to our sad ass white boy, if they had decided to uphold the nature of magic and the old ways, would evan have become like him? A shuffling, sad, impossibly old steward? Also whats happening on tadershacourt. Whos the shadow man with Khan.

God i have so many questions, im deeply glad misfits and magic got a season 2 but i do think it has just given me more to be insane about. I managed this with only 4 eps and a holiday special, im gonna explode. Truely the tumblr coded series of all time.

[writingtraumaforever]

Here’s some interesting info for my Uncontrolled Chaos readers:

In SA2, Sonic tells Shadow that if he overdoes his Chaos Energy, he’ll disappear.

Not fall to earth and weaken.

Disappear.

And then at the end, Sonic gives Rouge one of Shadow’s inhibitor rings. These weren’t deemed inhibitor rings until Sonic ‘06, I’m pretty sure. And given all the dialogue that happens during the final boss battle of SA2, I think Shadow was originally meant to weaken every time he used chaos energy rather than what they ended up going with: which is that Shadow needs inhibitor rings to control all the energy and power in him.

In the game files of SA2, the inhibitor ring Sonic gives Rouge is simply known as ‘his bracelet’.

Sonic managed to grab Shadow’s bracelet just before he disappeared.

Some of you have caught onto this already in my fic.. but I thought I’d point it out and elaborate a bit more since it DOES come into play eventually. <3

[kafkasgirlhood]

⠀⠀⠀❛⠀⠀⠀hi all !

so , as a high schooler trying ( and failing ) to find a job but also one that needs an income ... i've decided to open up readings !

for now , my readings will be free , but please do consider giving me a tip on kofi if you are able to ! once i build more of a reputation for myself , i will only be taking paid readings .

⠀⠀⠀❛⠀⠀⠀my reading methods

⠀⠀🕊️⠀⠀cartomancy ⠀⠀🕊️⠀⠀shufflemancy ⠀⠀🕊️⠀⠀greek oracle ⠀⠀🕊️⠀⠀clairsentience + claircognizance note ; i can also mix and match , or do all three ! i will take tarot readings once my decks come in ^_^

⠀⠀⠀❛⠀⠀⠀readings i can do

⠀⠀🕊️⠀⠀deity confirmation + explanation ⠀⠀🕊️⠀⠀yes / no ⠀⠀🕊️⠀⠀short advice ⠀⠀🕊️⠀⠀other deity communication ( what does xyz deity think of me , etc ) ⠀⠀🕊️⠀⠀tarot spreads ( though i will do these with either cartomancy or greek oracle instead ) ⠀⠀🕊️⠀⠀other readings on topics such as romance , career , etc

⠀⠀⠀❛⠀⠀⠀readings i will not do

⠀⠀🕊️⠀⠀18+ / nsfw readings ⠀⠀🕊️⠀⠀i reserve the right to deny any other reading(s) for whatever reason.

⠀⠀⠀❛⠀⠀⠀how to book a free reading with me

⠀⠀🕊️⠀⠀simply dm me with the reading you want me to do and your preferred methods ! ⠀⠀🕊️⠀⠀if you do not list any preferred methods , i will ask you to do so. if you don't have any preferred methods , let me know. please do be aware that if you do not have any preferred methods , i will use the methods i see fit for the request.

⠀⠀⠀❛⠀⠀⠀disclaimer

while i am aware the responsibility i am taking on , i would like you all to keep in mind that i am still a neurodivergent high schooler actively trying to find jobs. this means i will not always be able to respond immediately to your requests. i will not always have the energy to do readings within the day they are requested. that being said, i will do my best to communicate as much as i can with you all. if i cannot do a reading for whatever reason , i will let you know. if i need more time , i will let you know. but please do be patient. this is also why i request that if you do decide to tip me , please do so only after i've given the reading. i will not be doing refunds , so please make sure that you only pay me after you've received the reading , if you're going to do so. while i may not be able to do readings within 24 hours of responding to the request , i will try my best not to take more than a week. again , if there's anything that's hindering me , i will communicate that !

[electronicfoxnerd]

Okay. Something I want to propose. Let the 55 and 4 fans hate on Charles as much as they want. Don't defend, don't try to snark back. This is clearly therapeutic to them, so just let them. Remember, people have ragged on Max before for being 'whiny' and 'selfish' as well. Don't fight it. Let it happen. Let them have their fun and let them go on their way to Williams.

Keep in mind who was the youngest ferrari pole sitter and race winner. Remember who out qualified the Sebastian Vettel both years in which they were teammates (This is not a jab at Seb. He's a 4 time champ, I'm fully aware. I'm specifically talking about when they were in Ferrari.)

Remember who was the first Ferrari driver since 2010 to win Monza, and who won it again this year starting from p4 against the fastest cars on the grid pulling off a fantastic one stopper and one of the drives of the season. Remember the driver who has consistently outperformed all the shitty cars and strategies he's been given throughout all these years.

Remember the driver that always gives Max Verstappen a fight regardless of said shitty cars he's been given. Remember the driver who again won in Austin from p4 even though his teammate started from P3.

Remember the driver that used to always accept the shit thrown at him by his team with grace though he could've gone apeshit on them for their pure blunders at times. I know I would have.

Remember the driver who is the darling of the tifosi. Who has been undyingly and unfailingly loyal to the red team and the red dream, who has said he only wants a championship if it is with Ferrari. And now understand why he was the driver Ferrari wanted to keep.

Don't let twitter make you bitter (I swear I didn't mean for that to rhyme, but i guess it makes sense). Charles is an exceptional driver, he lives and breathes this team. Always has and always will. And we will be right there with him.

Now keep calm, be smart and don't give into rage bait no matter how much you want to, click away and move on. Remember, they're leaving anyway. They're not worth you energy. Not anymore.

[earlycuntsets]

image descriptions: "The giant Gerard Way clones vowed to enslave the earth" (gerard way) "trapped wind can be a nightmare" (amy lee) "fall out boy were proud to introduce a stereotypical frenchman to their lineup (fob) "by this point in the evening. the photographer was seeing double" (incubus) "jack white shows off his man boobs (jack white) "amy lee. but wheres her sporran?" (amy lee) "if I close my eyes real tight. I can pretend i'm still in blink 182" (+44) "this one goes out to good people at persil" (AFI)

"Anarchy in the USA. The world's biggest bands lay waste to Los Angeles

KROQ-FM RADIO in Los Angeles is the premier radio station in North America. If a band can get played on KROQ, then it's pretty certain they'll have a big hit on their hands. The station has helped launch the careers of Blink 182, Linkin Park and The Offspring among many others. And every Christmas time, bands return the favour by playing a (fairly) intimate concert for 6,000 fans, with all the proceeds going to charity. Sixteen years ago, when the first 'Acoustic Christmas' took place, the bands actually performed their sets in a stripped down acoustic setting, but slowly, that tradition has given way to full on electric sets that rock the pants off the crowd. And, as usual, Kerrang! was given access all areas to the hottest gig in town…

SATURDAY 5PM Rising emo pin-ups SAOSIN take the stage to a sparse crowd. Hardly anyone Is Inside the venue yet, but they shouldn't be too down-hearted. Linkin Park once played this slot. The following year, they were headlining.

5:30PM It seems unlikely a band with such a full-on rock 'n' roll reputation like WOLFMOTHER would even be awake at 5:30pm, let alone taking the stage. Yet the Aussie lads turn their infectious energy on to churn out new classic rock hits like 'The Joker And The Thief' and 'Woman'. Backstage, singer Andrew Stockdale chats with Hollywood socialite (and daughter of Rod) Kimberly Stewart in the hallway. The big-haired Wolfmother man is also seen drooling over his hero Billy Corgan. Corgan is not performing today - he's just hanging out, taking a much needed break from the new Smashing Pumpkins recording sessions.

6PM After the disappointment that was +44's album 'When Your Heart Stops Beating', the trio's performance tonight is a revelation. Astonishingly, drummer Travis Barker-whose right arm still hasn't fully healed from an injury sustained during the band's September video shoot-plays the entire set with one arm, without missing a beat. It's a jaw-dropping spectacle. Evidently, the band we witnessed playing their debut London gig back in October were only just finding their feet. Two months on, +44 are a sharper, more confident live act, with sparky anthems such as '155' sounding like the greatest songs Blink 182 never wrote. Don't write them off just yet…

7PM 30 SECONDS TO MARS 'Whoa, I can play guitar without even looking!never fail to make an eye-opening entrance. Tonight, the prog-influenced foursome race down the Then singer Jared Leto spends much of signature tune 'The Kill' in the crowd, running up and down the aisles, climbing onto the seats to share his microphone with the fans, and generally betraying the movie star charisma that has won over Scarlett Johansson, Cameron Diaz and Lindsay Lohan, among others. The lucky devil. At the end of the band's set, a flurry of cannons detonate a vast snow storm of white confetti. Magnificent. words and photos: Lisa Johnson

7:40PM FALL OUT BOY "We feel like losers," moans Pete Wentz as FALL OUT BOY take the stage. He's concerned that his band didn't really 'fit' on either night. Sandwiched between 30 Seconds To Mars and My Chemical Romance can be unnerving, but at least the dude got the chance to meet Jared Leto's ex-girlfriend Lindsay Lohan backstage. That's got to count for something. Whatever Wentz' reservations, Fall Out Boy triumph tonight. It's one of the first times they've had the opportunity to air songs from new album 'Infinity On High', and on this evidence, 'This Ain't A Scene It's An Arms Race' is set to replace 'Sugar We're Goin' Down' as FOB's key song. Fun, addictive, and outrageously catchy, the track prompts a massive crowd response, despite most people having never heard it before. The new album will be huge. Later, rumours fly over whether or not Wentz and Lindsay Lohan are an item. From Kerrang!'s vantage point, things certainly seem to be going well for Wentz. Lohan might well be his tonight-providing he can get her out of Foo Fighters' dressing room… [photographed - The venue and grunge legends: Dave Grohl and Billy Corgan]

8:15PM MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE explode onstage with typical flair and venom. the stage is still littered with the confetti from 30 Seconds To Mars' set. Gerard Way encourages the crowd to throw confetti snowballs at him, and a beautiful reverse snow flurry erupts towards the stage. Suddenly one aisles dressed in Santa Claus outfits. giant confetti snowball hits him right in the face. Gerard just laughs, and gives the thrower a congratulatory nod. This encourages a full-on snowball assault, until security intervenes and puts a stop to it. After the band's set, Billy Corgan is ushered into MCR's dressing room. This isn't Gerard's first Corgan encounter-he's never made any secret of his adoration of the Smashing Pumpkins man - but it is the first for the rest of the band. Mikey Way contains his excitement on the outside, but inside, he's overwhelmed. The bands exchange tales from the road, and discuss the perils of onstage missiles (a subject close to MCR's hearts ever since Reading 2006). "The worst is piss," Corgan says.

"Oh, yes, we know!" Gerard, Mikey and Frank chime in unison.

Then they swap piss-throwing stories for 20 minutes. It's a beautiful moment.

9PM Outside the venue, a massive rainstorm is raging. Inside, INCUBUS are performing an amazing set full of hits like 'Nice To Know You.' 'Wish You Were Here' and some songs from their newest release 'Light Grenades'. Singer Brandon Boyd literally falls into the crowd at the end of the set, arms outstretched, like a man giving the performance of his life.

Afterwards, Brandon is sipping wine with his buddies backstage, although bassist Ben Kenney can't join in the Christmas cheer: he's flat out on the couch, laid low by a vicious cold. In the crowded backstage hallways, David Grohl is delighted to run into Billy Corgan. "I had a baby! Want to see some photos?" Grohl asks him, and quickly whips out some pics of baby Violet to show off. Aww.

"We feel like losers." - pete wentz, fall out boy

9:50PM It's been an incredible year for AFI, and they're clearly in celebratory mood as they slay the masses with tracks like 'Miss Murder' and 'Love Like Winter.' Friends Joe Escalante and Dave Quackenbush from The Vandals, along with Jim Lindberg from Pennywise, have come to check out their best buddies' band. It serves as a reminder of just how far AFI have transcended their old school punk roots. Their new material shines through tonight, ditching the skuzzy riffs of old for gleaming hooks, fist-pumping singalongs, and, of course, the ever-more flamboyant overtures of frontman Davey Havok. Always enigmatic, AFI disappear from the site shortly after their set - although later that night we spy drummer Adam Carlson at a Hollywood dive bar, partying under the radar with some friends and who can blame him.

10:40PM The backstage party turns into a ghost town the once FOO FIGHTERS takes the stage. The band, including Foo veteran Pat Smear remain in sit-down acoustic form for the first portion of the nine song set which includes "My Hero" and ends with "Everlong". As Dave Grohl stands to perform "Everlong" the stage silently turns and there the rest of the band reappears with full electric setup. and pounds seamlessly into "All My Life" Tender moments include 'Times Like These,' 'Monkey Wrench', and what Grohl claims is their first ever live performance of 'Darling Nikki', a cover of a startlingly filthy Prince song about a masturbating female nymphomaniac. Ahem. There's no santa suits, no confetti, no dancers. But damn, the Foos own tonight. The 'buzz' acts right now might be the twin emo juggernauts of MCR and Fall Out Boy. But, on this form, Foo Fighters make those newbies look like mere pretenders to the throne. Awesome.

SUNDAY 6:35PM Just prior to ANGELS AND AIRWAVES taking the stage, Kerrang! arranges to introduce Panic! At The Disco to their all-time hero, Tom DeLonge. Since Panic! often cite Blink 182 as inspiring them to start a band in the first place, this promises to be a momentous occasion. The meeting takes place in the crowded hallway backstage, while the Panic! dancers hurriedly prepare for their performance. Tom speaks excitedly to the band, even inviting them to produce a line of shoes and clothing for his Macbeth clothing company. The encounter goes swimmingly, and -as if you couldn't tell from the saucers that replace the eyes of Ryan and Brendon as they chat to their idol - the Panic boys declare themselves 'stoked'. Pleased to be of service, chaps.

7:10PM Once PANIC! AT THE DISCO take the stage, they blow everyone away with their elaborate staging and dancers. The foursome are obliged to strip down their production for the intimate setting, but still, with just a fraction of the mayhem, the performance is topnotch, with the crowd going predictably apeshit for 'I Write Sins Not Tragedies'. Where on earth will they go next?

7:45PM EVANESCENCE's Amy Lee was nearly trampled by the Gnarls Barkley dancers in full elf costumes earlier in the evening (the men behind über- Crazy' were also on the bill today, weirdly enough). hit ' And she seemed unfazed by the numerous dressing room bust-ins that Tom DeLonge made to say hello. In fact, she appeared to be rather amused by his antics. "We don't really fit on this bill," Amy told the captive audience, and thanked the fans graciously for watching, before tearing into a full-blooded version of 'Call Me When You're Sober'. "Most of you probably don't know who we are." Which is being rather modest, since Evanescence have probably sold more records than most of the bands here combined.

8:25PM THE RACONTEURS are enjoying the stateside success of their track 'Steady As She Goes'. And tonight, Jack White is in high spirits. "It's Meg's birthday tonight-it's her 16th!" We think that might be a lie. Backstage, Meg White and Dave Grohl sit down for a lengthy chat about drums. We're sure it was fascinating.

9:45PM THE KILLERS' set is notable for finally laying to rest the supposed 'feud' between them and fellow Vegas natives Panic! At The Disco. Indeed, the Panic! boys make a point of planting themselves in some empty seats, watching The Killers' set with giant smiles on their faces. Well, it is Christmas, after all…

10:40PM FOO FIGHTERS return to play the same set as last night. But it's no less powerful the second time around. "Did you all enjoy The Raconteurs?" Dave Grohl asks the crowd, "Cause I pretty much think they're the best rock band around right now." And with that he launches into 'Skin And Bones' and the crowd explodes into anarchy.

01/2007 kerrang! #1141

[jemilyvsjeid]

First fic ever doesn’t have a name yet I have ideas but ugh guys this is the first time I ever wrote something lowkey nervous let me know if you have any suggestions my anons are open my DMs are open comments…be kind tho like I said this is the first time I wrote something 😭🤚

Pics for reference 💀

Guys …

Ughhh here you go 😭🤚

Tw: language?

Quick Backstory

Sasha Simmons: 22, 6'3", model with a slender build. Naturally blonde but dyes her hair black. She has high cheekbones and icy blue eyes. Growing up in Brooklyn, NY, she's a true city girl, unbothered by the chaos around her. After her father abandoned the family when she was just 7, her mother never remarried. A selfish alcoholic, her mother uses Sasha to maintain her own precarious position in life. Sasha is an only child, with two close friends: Natalia, her childhood "sister," and Emily, who introduced her to modeling back in high school. Girly pop has a hard time recognizing her beauty.

Paige Bueckers:You all know what Paige looks like, so there’s no need for me to describe her appearance or go into a detailed backstory — unless you want me to.

— -

Sasha

Your alarm blares, no, actually it screams at you to wake up. You've hit the snooze button seven times already.

sasha’s mom hurries through the room and throws the phone towards the back of her head

“FUCK YOU!” Sasha bolts upright, searching for the nearest object to throw back, but her mother rushes out the door before she can retaliate. Scanning the mess around her bed, she finally finds her phone, just in time to see the glaring screen flash 8:05 AM.

“Oh no! Oh no! Fuck! Why didn’t you wake me up earlier, Mom? I have that casting call for Nike today!” She races to the bathroom, all the while her mother rolls her eyes, inhaling the smoke from her Winston Reds, which have completely taken over their apartment.The apartment where she spent the last 22 exhausting, painful yet memorable years. The place where she learned to walk, where she learned about disappointments, where she realized being skinny could open more doors than being happy ever would. She never felt fulfilled. Despite winning every pageant she entered, graduating from NYU with a full ride, and traveling to cities in Europe that most couldn’t even name, it was never enough. Deep down, what she always truly desired was a townhouse filled with both parents, a dog, and siblings close to her age—maybe to actually celebrate holidays.

Her mother’s cough, loud enough to be heard from blocks away, snaps her out of her thoughts. The time now reads 8:20 AM. Has she really sat on the toilet for fifteen minutes? She’s got to be at the shoot in forty minutes — twenty on the train! In a frenzy, she jumps into the shower. Within fifteen minutes, she’s out the door, her hair still wet and half-dried, rushing to make it to the train just in time.

---

Paige

As I watch the stylist sort through outfits for my potential partner for this shoot, I can’t help but wonder what this person will look like. It’s strange they waited until today to find someone, but given my schedule, I can’t complain. I know my energy effortlessly charms those around me, making it easy for them to work with me, even if it's an inconvenience. While it feels good to receive such attention, I must admit it’s also awkward to have everything done for me. Glancing in the mirror, I remind myself that I truly earned this moment. The countless hours I spent on the court led to my recruitment by the best program in the country, paving the way for my success and growth as a leader. I’ve faced adversity over the past couple of years, but each challenge has helped me learn more about myself, and for that, I’m eternally grateful.

Robbie, the casting director, enters, enthusiastically explaining that he's looking for someone who's my complete opposite. We've gone over this several times, but his vision of this “dream girl” seems to intensify with each discussion. He hands me a piece of paper.

1.Jet black hair

2.Icy blue eyes

3.Sharp features

4.Tall

5.Shalom Harlow with a twist

With an incredulous expression, I ask, “How is this the opposite of me?” He chuckles and surveys me with a quick up-and-down glance (classic sassy gay man), saying, “Well, love, this dream girl will be the black cat to your golden retriever vibe. Sure, you both have similar eyes and features, but you're kind and sweet; this girl will walk into the room with a cold energy that’s anything but sunshine”.

“Oh wowww, you really have quite an imagination,” I reply, slightly annoyed by his specificity, as if such a person even exists. “Shalom Harlow with a twist?” I murmur again, baffled. She’s one of the hottest models out there, yet I can’t fathom meeting anyone close to that in real life.Let alone at a Nike shoot.Dropping the paper on the table, I walk over to the window, where the breathtaking views of New York City never fail to captivate me. So many experiences, so many stories. I can’t help but wonder what our “dream girl” is doing right.

---

Sasha

Glancing at my phone, I realize I should be right on time. My hair has fully dried, but it's slightly puffy now. If only I had a few extra minutes to fix myself! The casting call requested no makeup and natural hair—just blow-dried, nothing styled. They asked for jeans and a tee, preferably with sneakers, as they wanted to see how we “carry ourselves.” Silly, but I guess there’s a reason behind everything. I press the button for the 18th floor and take a deep breath to calm my nerves. Despite never feeling confident, I've mastered the act well enough that anyone who sees me is impressed. As the elevator doors slide open, I’m greeted by what seems to be at least seventy girls, most already clustered in little groups. Casting a glance around, I note several familiar faces from previous shoots, some of whom are friends of Emily's. As I approach, the only thing I can hear is the name “Paige” around me. Who’s Paige ?

“Hey, you guys!!” I say with the most artificial smile I can muster. “I’ve missed seeing you! How is everyone?” To be honest, I could hardly care less about any of them, but networking is crucial in this industry. As we chat, I mention the mysterious Paige, “So who is this Paige girl? Is she a new model we should be watching out for?” Dolia giggles, giving me a pointed look before saying, “How do you not know who you might be shooting with? At this point just forget about even being here.” She bursts out laughing obnoxiously, solidifying my reasons to not befriend any of these people ever. Hannah, grinning from ear to ear, chimes in, “It’s Paige Bueckers! The basketball player from UConn! How do you not know this?” This is the second time I’m hearing about her; the first was when Emily’s roommate lost her mind over some “talent show” she joined last spring on her live. I still don’t know who this girl is, and frankly, I don’t care. I’m here to work with a major brand, and this could be my ticket to fashion week — possibly an invitation to the upcoming shows. After being ghosted by brands I’d previously collaborated with, last year’s New York Fashion Week made me a recluse.

Just then, the casting director bursts into the room, announcing his last-minute requirements. I dread these moments. “If you don’t have jet black hair, you can leave,” he shouts. As most girls exit, that dwindles to at least twenty of us. Then he states, “Anyone under 6 feet tall can leave,” and that knocks out even more girls. Now there are only fourteen of us left, mere minutes ago there were so many. My thoughts wander as I scan the room and catch sight of a tall blonde just a few feet away from the other room. She’s beautiful—really beautiful—and her laughter makes her glow like… sunshine? “If you don’t have blue eyes, you may exit, and thank you for coming,” the director retorts, pulling me back into reality. We’re now down to just five girls, all looking like identical versions of each other. We're ushered into a room where we're given instructions about what’s to come. I’m the last to go, thankful I can drift for a moment. Hunger and fatigue creep in, but I push it aside.I can’t help but drift back to the girl I saw by the door. I wonder who she is…

—

Paige

Robbie steps into the room, informing me that the number of girls has drastically decreased, and it’s almost time for the shoot. He gestures for me to follow him to another room where I’ll essentially rate the remaining girls. It feels somewhat wrong to assess others this way, but I suppose it's necessary. The first girl walks in—gorgeous, resembling Lauren Jauregui in build and hair type. She’s asked to walk, but struggles to keep up with the beat; she doesn’t stand out. The next girl has shoulder-length hair, giving major Kendall Jenner vibes. Another pretty face, but again, nothing memorable. As I zone out I can hear Robbie buzzing in my ear that we have one last person, and then we are done. Rubbing my temples in frustration, I suddenly hear footsteps approaching.A raspy but sweet voice breaks the tension: “Good morning, I’m Sasha Simmons.” My focus shifts back to the door, and time seems to freeze. The girl walking in ticks off every box. She exudes a captivating energy that pulls me in like a magnet. Our eyes lock, and it feels as if we can't look away from each other. This girl is it. She’s the “dream girl” for both Robbie and, I think, for me too.

As I shift my body and quickly adjust my top, pushing my hair back, I break eye contact with a nudge from Robbie. “I think we found the one,” he whispers excitedly. But like everyone else, he asks her to walk, which she does effortlessly. The silence in the room deepens as Robbie thanks her and tells her to step outside. Confusion knots my stomach as I jerk my head back at him, questioning why he asked her to step out. He brushes it off, mentioning it’s part of a procedure. Filling out a couple of papers, he then directs me to step into another room.

“I’d like to stay,” I insist, but he gives me a sharp look, stating it wouldn't be very professional for me to witness the one-on-one rejection talk. Reluctantly, I accept it and walk to the other room, still in awe. I finally know who the dream girl is… Sasha Simmons.

Sasha

As I’m asked to walk into the room, my eyes are immediately drawn to the blonde girl I spotted at the door earlier. Our gazes lock, and I notice her fidgeting with her top and running her fingers through her hair. A surge of curiosity hits me—did I make her nervous?.... Why would she feel that way around someone like me? She must be used to receiving attention from all the girls surrounding her.

I shift my focus back to the director, who gestures for me to walk for him. With a few swift notes taken, he thanks me and asks me to step out. The whole encounter was alarmingly brief, leaving me lowkey panicked; maybe I wasn't what they were looking for. I can practically count the minutes I spent in that room on my fingers.I make my way to a nearby seat, trying to steady my breath. One by one, the other girls are called back in for the results.

As I sit in my corner, I feel my mind dissociate from the chaos around me—at least now I know who Paige Bueckers is...

••• if you got all the way here thank you so so much for reading like I said it my first time ever writing anything. I’m open to suggestions and comments.I only read over it a couple of times so there might be mistakes. Let me know what you guys want for the next part I kinda have an idea on what I wanna go off of but you’re the reader lol let me know anons DMs everything’s open.

[lunakkip]

The good girl (Falling for her)

| BadaLee x Fem!Reader

Storyline: Bada is a very out-of-control girl, parties, cigarettes, alcohol and uncontrolled sex. A party at her friend Minah's house would change something in Bada's thoughts and desires, but the girl she knows and desires is not like her.

— Cigarettes, alcohol, party, sex, drugs.!!!

——————————————————————————————————————

The bass thrummed through the floor like a restless heartbeat, shaking the walls of the apartment in time with the pulsing strobe lights. The air smelled of spilled liquor and smoke, a cocktail of hedonism that matched the chaos unfolding around you. Bodies moved in tandem to the music, a blur of limbs and glitter under the electric haze. You were out of place here—buttoned up and sober in a room full of unhinged laughter and reckless abandon.

Minah’s voice, sharp and slurred, broke through the cacophony. “You have to meet her,” she said, her manic energy pulling you further into the fray. Before you could protest, she tugged you toward the far corner, where the smoke hung heavier, and the crowd thinned as if naturally giving way to someone untouchable.

There she was—Bada Lee, draped in an oversized leather jacket that slid lazily off one shoulder, her sharp features illuminated by the red glow of a nearby neon sign. A cigarette burned between her fingers, the ember flickering like a warning light. She exuded danger and charm in equal measure, her posture loose but her gaze razor-sharp as it landed on you.

Her smirk deepened as Minah thrust you forward. “Bada, this is the one I was telling you about,” Minah giggled, swaying on her feet. “The good girl.”

Bada’s eyes lingered on you, unhurried and unapologetic. “Good girl, huh?” she murmured, her voice low and gravelly, carrying the weight of a dare.

You straightened under her scrutiny, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. “And you’re the infamous bad influence.”

Her laugh was soft but carried an edge, like a blade hidden in velvet. She stepped closer, her cigarette abandoned in an ashtray. “You don’t seem like the type to let yourself get dragged into something like this.”

“I’m not,” you replied quickly, your voice firmer than you felt. “But here I am.”

“Here you are,” she echoed, tilting her head as if appraising you. “Maybe you just haven’t been given the right... reason to let loose.”

Your breath caught. There was something in the way she said it, a flicker of intent behind her words that both intrigued and unnerved you. But you shook your head, drawing an invisible line between you. “I’m not looking for something temporary.”

The air between you shifted. Her grin faltered, only to return sharper, like she’d found a game worth playing. “You think I’m temporary?” she asked, her tone more amused than offended.

“I know you are,” you said, trying to steady your voice. “And I’m not interested in being someone’s experiment.”

She leaned in closer, the scent of smoke and leather mingling with her warmth. “Experiment, huh? You might be right about me, but that just makes you more interesting.”

You took a step back, the space between you a lifeline. But her gaze followed, unrelenting, like she was determined to unravel the mystery you had no intention of offering.

The tension between you and Bada felt like a storm brewing, electric and unavoidable. She stepped closer, her movements deliberate but not rushed, as though she had all the time in the world to dismantle your resolve. Her hands, adorned with silver rings that glinted under the neon light, found the edge of the table behind you. She leaned against it, her body mere inches from yours, her presence overwhelming but not suffocating.

“You’re intriguing,” she said, her voice a soft drawl that held just enough gravity to make you lean in without realizing it. She tilted her head, a stray strand of dark hair falling across her face. With a slow, deliberate motion, she brushed it back, exposing her sharp jawline. “I can’t tell if you’re brave or just stubborn.”

Your lips parted to respond, but the words stuck in your throat when she reached for the drink in your hand, her fingers brushing yours in a way that was casual but unmistakably intentional. “Mind if I…?” she asked, but didn’t wait for your reply. She raised the glass to her lips, her eyes never leaving yours as she took a slow sip.

“You’re not shy,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Her grin deepened, the kind that felt like an unspoken challenge. “Should I be?” she countered, setting the glass down and leaning in closer, her arm now braced against the table beside you. Her height gave her an advantage, and she used it well, her proximity making it impossible to look anywhere but at her.

“You’re trouble,” you said, more to yourself than to her.

“Maybe,” she admitted, her voice dipping lower. Her hand lifted, not to touch you but to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, her fingertips grazing your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “But you don’t seem like the type to run from it.”

“I am,” you replied, though your voice lacked conviction.

Her lips curved into a smirk, the kind that said she knew exactly what you were thinking but wouldn’t call you out on it. “Prove it,” she said simply, her voice a challenge wrapped in silk.

Her confidence was intoxicating, a heady mix of masculine poise and feminine allure that blurred the lines of expectation. She stepped back just enough to give you room to breathe, but not enough to ease the magnetic pull between you. Her hand lingered on the table, the veins in her wrist catching the dim light as she drummed her fingers idly.

“Tell me something,” she said, her tone light but her gaze heavy. “What’s a girl like you doing at a party like this, surrounded by people like me?”

Your answer caught in your throat, but the way she looked at you made it clear she already knew the truth. She was trouble, yes—but she was also captivating in a way that made you wonder if stepping into her world might be worth the risk.

Bada's smirk lingered, her gaze dropped to your lips for just a second, fleeting but intentional, before snapping back to your eyes. She stepped closer, not enough to touch, but enough that you could feel the heat radiating from her body. Her scent-a mix of leather and something warm and musky-wrapped around you like an unspoken promise.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" you asked, your voice barely steady.

Her laugh was soft, throaty. "Like what?"

"Like you're daring me to do something.”

Her hand came up, brushing the edge of your jaw lightly with the back of her fingers. It Was a fleeting touch, but it left a trail of warmth in its wake.

"Maybe I am," she murmured.

Her voice dipped lower, her tone carrying that perfect mix of teasing and sincerity.

"But l'm starting to think you're too smart to take the bait.'"

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words didn't come. Instead, she leaned in, her lips ghosting just close enough to your ear to make your breath hitch.

"Or maybe you're just scared.”

The challenge in her voice was unmistakable, but before you could decide whether to push her away or pull her closer, she stepped back, leaving you disoriented in the wake of her presence.

"Let's see if you prove me wrong," she said with a wink, her confidence unwavering as she turned and melted back into the crowd.

——————————————————————————————————————

Wait for part 2! (Soon!)

[loverdeity]

Aphrodite Day Blog Post <3

I have been wanting to make some posts based around topics for some time now, you guys can request topics or I'll discuss some that have been on my mind.

I am studying ancient Greek and Roman history, as well as being a practicing pagan, but i need to provide a disclaimer that I don't know everything there is on polytheistic paganism. I can only speak from my own experiences and from what I have learned (:

Secondly, I am Australian so you will most likely see these posts on your Thursday!

I will open with a Prayer:

Aphrodite, Venus, Beloved by All, Hear our love and our cries, the gifting of ourselves, Anadyomene, miracle, from the sea that you came, Wash over us with your presence, come hear our calls.

As we discuss your divine energies, and speak your names, hear us, Despoena, our gentle mother, Pandemos, shower us with your love for your people, Antheia, the blooming, come close to us.

Blessed Be

─ « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─

Today I want to discuss a topic I have seen floating around on tumblr lately - Are the gods their own separate deities or are similar deities known by different names (e.g. mars and ares) the same god?

─ « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─

Personally, I believe that all of the gods are divine energy that can be idolised (given an image) or worshipped with divine communication (divination) techniques. We will discuss this in the context of Venus. Personally, I believe that each name and Epithet of Venus are the same Her, they call come from the same Cosmic Energy that make Her. So other goddesses that were worshipped in the same way and shared the same reasons for worship: Inanna, Ishtar, Astarte, Aphrodite, Venus - I believe they are all different versions of the same goddess.

This means I believe that Aphrodite Areia (the warlike) is a slightly different version of Aphrodite Pandemos (of the people). This is why I use different epithets according to what I am praying about. I also think that the different societies that worshipped these goddesses needed her for different things; we see this in Rome where she becomes Venus and her warlike side is emphasised, in Mesopotamia she becomes Inanna and her fertility side is emphasised. All of these societies see her with the same facets: love, war, beauty, sex, fertility, justice and power. The Ancient Greeks feared her the most as the Goddess of Sex, for she controlled gods and men alike. Two lines in the Orphic Hymn to Venus allude to this:

"...Thy sway confesses, and obeys thy nod, awful attendant of the brumal God:"

"...Great sceptre-bearer of the Gods, ’tis thine, mortals in necessary bands to join; And every tribe of savage monsters dire in magic chains to bind, thro’ mad desire.

I love learning about the different facets of her, alongside learning about new goddesses that represent her values but did not come from the direct line of Inanna. I love the feeling of pure motherly love that I receive from her. To me she is many different facets and names that all come from the same Energy of Her.

I finish this section with a reminder that this is what I believe and if your pagan worship values something different thats perfectly valid!

─ « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─

In Ancient Greece, the country of "Greece" wasn't a concept. The people usually identified with their towns and cities. This meant that a Goddess such as Athena, would not be the same Athena in another time. For example; in Athens, she was know as Athena Parthenos (The Virgin) - Acropolis takes its name from this epithet. In Argos, she was known as Athena Polios (Of the City).

The religion was also incredibly idolic - once an idol of the god/ess was made it was not allowed to move. They did not want to anger the god/ess by moving the item they worshipped as them. When a sanctuary or idol was made, a ceremony occurred BEFORE the sanctuary was made, and worshippers would bury offerings dedicated to the god/ess. This means moving the idol would cause extreme distress and feared wrath from the gods - it had to be on the ground that was consecrated.

As a result, each god or goddess was different according to each city you went to, some cities may have infused other cities gods with their own to create hybrids; - When Rome conquered Egypt they Incorporated some Egyptian gods into their pantheon and even created combined gods. It is speculated that when Mesopotamians met with the greeks, their concept of Ishtar became hellenised as Astarte, and then later became Aphrodite.

In Rome, the gods took on a completely different patronage as Emperors and Acclaimed Political persons would claim closeness through the gods by claiming they were descended from a certain god or hero. Friezes, Artwork, and Carvings were created to perpetuate this. In the time of Augustus, he was closely associated with the divine, he built many temples in his reign, dedicating many to himself and his victories or his household. He dedicated a large Apollo temple across from his family home, and within this temple there were cravings showing him with Apollo, him and his family giving libations and offerings, alongside being visited by the gods.

This gave the gods a whole new meaning, Augustus' Apollo was different to the Apollo worshipped in Gaul. People also had a concept that was different to priest(ess)s and oracles - a person could be in divine righteousness of the gods.

─ « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─

To Summarise, there is no right or wrong way to think of the gods. I believe that if you are open to working with them, they will become open to you. Everyone's practice is so deep and individual you cant possibly put worship in a box, as the gods also cannot be enclosed. They can be many at once or one image. May they be blessed here and thereafter.

These posts will always run in the format of:

prayer

question

discussion

I am not a temple of priestess, just a devotee and trained teacher who loves to yap and learn!

See you Next Week!

[master-sass-blast]

Hello, chronic fatigue and terrible back pain. I have not missed either of you.