#that's right despairing is Truly the worst of them all!!!!

[ahogedetective]

"Ah?" Even if all Nagito said was 'so', Shuichi still looks up at him in light surprise. But he knew he wasn't wrong: in the end, no matter how Shuichi thought of it, that man still did commit a crime, and rightfully had to be brought to justice for it... "Oh. W...Well..." He drifts off, gaze lowering back to the floor. He always downplays his skills back then, as just 'happening' to solve the case before the police did... but who was to say that the police would have been able to do so, even if he didn't solve it that fast? It was not at all a simple case. He had even become pretty well known, because of it. Had Shuichi not solved it, himself: then who knows if it would have gotten solved on that day... if at all. He truly may have been the only one who could have done so...

"Hm...?" His eyes glance towards Nagito. He silently listens to him give his train of thought of how he sees it. "Ah..." A soft gasp leaves him, eyes slightly growing wide. "Plenty of time to mourn and process what he did.... since he's locked away...." It seemed like a pretty reasonable way to think about the situation and yet; Shuichi never found himself thinking about it like that. His mind was always so clouded with guilt, for placing the man who didn't even have time to mourn or grieve, right into prison.. that it never hit him that prison, would technically give him all the time in the world to fully process what he's done....

".....Well....when you...put it that way... I-I suppose you're not wrong. Sure, maybe the worst place you could be in to mourn someone you've lost, but... it does give him all the time in the world to process what he did. I can only hope he's come to realize by now, that he shouldn't have let his emotions drive him to murder. And...safe from the outside world? And at the same time, the outside world being safe from him... as in he won't have a chance to murder anyone, again... or be murdered, himself? By a family member of the victim?" Almost like a twisted pattern of continuous revenge... He'll never know what kind of person the killer truly was, if he was someone who would usually never murder, or if it wasn't exactly a last resort option, but: if him being in prison meant others were safe from him, or if he was the one safe from others, then maybe... Shuichi doesn't have to feel like he's the horrible one....

"...Thinking about it that way... does kind of help. In my mind, I always thought... was I taking the victim's side, by having that man apprehended? I know a detective shouldn't think like that, but at that time, the way he looked at me. It... it terrified me so much. Made me feel like the monster, there. But... but I know that, if I keep letting it haunt me, it will only hinder my process in trying to believe in myself and my skills, more. S-So... thank you, for trying to cheer me up, Komaeda-senpai. I'm sorry you even have to try talking some sense into me..."

                     ‶  so?  ″ his head tilts slightly, the question spoken very softly. komaeda didn't see how that mattered — he understood the idea of grieving the loss of a love one on an objective level, but he also knew from experience you couldn't let that drag you down. when you lose people left and right on a whim, you tend to stop being able to process the deaths of others in an appropriate manner.  ‶  he still committed a crime. — if you didn't apprehend him, who would've?  ″

                     a man so overcome with despair that he would kill over it. that was unforgivable in komaeda's eyes. but even more so... to bring saihara down like this so long after the fact — to make an ultimate so self conscious of their talent — that was just heartbreaking to the fanatic.

                     ‶  hm... okay, well why not think about it like this?  ″ he raises his finger, an attempt at a reassuring smile on his face.  ‶  now that he's locked away he should have plenty of time to mourn and process what he did. no one can disturb him now, right? not only is the world safe from him... but wouldn't you say he's safe from the outside world?  ″

[cybergoth1]

﹟— ❛❛LOATHING, UNADULTERATED LOATHING...

☆﹟— paring: fem!deadpool!reader x jason todd.

☆﹟— summary: jason todd used to think dying was the worst thing that ever happened to him. then he met you.

☆﹟— warnings: +18, dni. hate fuck. rough sex, oral sex, hair pulling, a little bit of spanking, filthy dirty talk, degrading, unprotected sex. swearing, blood, guns, suggestive dialogue, deadpool being deadpool, reader and jason throwing punches in the kitchen. enemies to lovers (?). the divider was made by @bernardsbendystraws. thank you!. some of deadpool's lore. red hood's lore. 4k words!.

JASON HAD BEEN TORTURED, murdered in a warehouse explosion, and shoved into the Lazarus Pit like some experiment. He came back different; angrier, colder, with a permanent itch under his skin he could never quite scratch. He’d clawed his way back into a city that barely noticed he was gone, wearing a new mask and a grudge like armor. And then he’d spent years readjusting to a world he never asked to return to, trapped in a body that felt more like a cage than himself. But none of that, none of that life-long, soul-crushing suffering, prepared him for the torment of working with you.

Standing by your side made him believe in karma. Hell, even divine punishment at this point. Maybe those christians were onto something after all, because just hearing your voice made him want to put a gun in his mouth. That was the level of his despair.

You, with your mouth that never shut up. Your warped moral compass. Your blood-soaked sense of humor. Your fourth-wall-breaking commentary that made him wonder if he was the one hallucinating. You were a walking migraine. A useless, brainless cheap merc from New York who somehow hadn’t managed to die permanently — thanks only to that freak-show healing factor. And, of course, your kill count that made even him raise an eyebrow.

And now you were in his city.

Bruce was pissed. Truly, deeply furious, the kind of mad that led to terse one-sentence orders and sending Red Hood to "clean up the mess". Which meant Jason got stuck playing babysitter to a lunatic who treated Gotham like it was her new theme park. You kept taking contracts on people too close to the Bat’s interest; mob bosses under surveillance, corrupt judges, the occasional undercover informant. Important people. The kind of people you weren’t supposed to make disappear without blowing up months of work.

Months of his fucking work, by the way.

And now here he was, trying to keep you from burning his city to the ground while resisting the urge to shoot you in the face. Not that it would work. He’d tried. Twice. Shoot you right in the face, and in the thighs at least four times. You just laughed at him. Like the bitch you are.

But in the end, the two of you had a few things in common. You were both taking out terrible people, and it’s not like the old man and his cult could really do anything about it, you’re basically immortal. So, yeah… sometimes he ended up teaming up with you behind his family’s back.

You two were literally doing that right now. And he bitterly regretted making that damn call.

The warehouse you two had broken into thirty minutes ago reeked of cheap gun oil and rust. Smoke still curled in the rafters, clinging to the air. Jason stood near a half-shattered window, body tense, pistol aimed at the last conscious thug crawling toward his dropped knife.

One silenced shot.

Thud.

Peace.

Or… so he thought.

"Okay, but hear me out—what if, instead of just shooting them, we had, like, a dance battle first?" your voice rang out behind him, chipper as hell, despite the blood soaking your suit from shoulder to knee. "Real Step Up vibes. I could’ve been Channing Tatum, Hood. You robbed me of that."

Jason let out a slow, pained sigh.

You strolled into view, katanas dripping, mask rolled up just enough to chomp on some suspicious-looking beef jerky you’d stolen off one of the corpses.

He stared at you — hard — judgment practically radiating from behind the helmet.

You winked. "What? He wasn’t gonna need it. I checked. Real dead. No pulse."

He holstered his gun like he was trying to keep himself from choking you with it.

"This was supposed to be stealth," Jason growled. "You came in like a Michael Bay explosion in clown shoes."

"I only wear clown shoes on thursdays. Today’s monday, obviously I wore my sexy combat heels. They give me great posture."

He rolled his eyes, not that you could see it — but you probably felt it.

"You decapitated a guy mid-sentence."

"Yeah, I freed him from the shackles of his spine. Heroism."

Jason sighed, loudly. It came out all warped and mechanical through his helmet’s voice emulator, like a dying vacuum cleaner. Fitting, given his shitty mood.

"Do you even remember the briefing?"

"Absolutely not." You beamed. "But you looked super hot while explaining it. I was distracted by your mouth. It moves like a really angry kiss."

He turned to you slowly, the glare behind his helmet palpable.

You tossed your bloodied jerky onto a pile of corpses. "Also, sorry about the headshot bet. I thought we were still playing. I win, though. That guy’s brain did a little jazz hands at the end."

Jason’s jaw ticked. His fists clenched. He hated you so fucking much. Every mission with you ended in some kind of bloodbath or blown cover. And he’d put up with it. Again and again. Because, unfortunately, you were useful when managed correctly. Roy’s words, not his.

He’d managed feral dogs with more grace.

Still, he tried.

Every time he managed to think of you as just a useful tool — and not an actual person capable of annoying the absolute shit out of him — some of that deep, deep hatred eased up. Just enough to keep him from having a heart attack mid-conversation.

"Let’s just sweep the building and go," he muttered, shouldering past you. You could feel the raw, seething loathing rolling off him. He was pissed. Yikes.

You grinned. "C’mon, don’t be mad. They were assholes. One of them called me a slut with swords. Joke’s on him, though, I’m also amazing in bed. Two for one."

He turned slowly. Here we go.

You took a playful step back. "Ooh. Somebody’s got the grumpy face on. What’s wrong, Red?"

He inhaled, deep, slow, like he was trying not to explode.

Then he did.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Ooooh, there it is."

"I’m serious," he snapped. "You’re a fucking useless dumbass. You blew the side off the building before I even gave the signal!"

"Well, to be fair—" you started.

"Shut the fuck up."

Your mouth closed, but your smirk widened.

Jason stepped toward you, voice dropping to a hiss. "I have had it with your psychotic bullshit. You treat every op like it’s a fucking improv skit. People are dying. Real people. And all you care about is if your one-liner hit or if I laughed at your dumbass joke."

You raised an eyebrow. Not that he could see. "To be fair, the ‘pencil-dick mafia’ line was comedy gold—"

"SHUT UP!" he barked, voice raw now. "Jesus, do you ever stop running your mouth? It’s like your brain’s stuck in horny stand-up mode while the rest of us are trying not to fuck up the mission. You’re not fucking funny. You’re a goddamn walking catastrophe with no fucking impulse control!"

You stared at him.

He kept going.

"You think you’re charming? You’re exhausting. You make every mission ten times harder than it has to be. You blow our cover, you disobey orders, and you laugh while slicing people open like it’s a fucking cartoon. I don’t care how fast you heal—if you get me or anyone else killed with your bullshit, I will personally find a way to keep you dead."

He was panting now.

"And for the record, stop flirting with me. You’re not sexy. You’re not even fucking attractive. You’re loud, obnoxious, and about as subtle as a chainsaw to the face. You think I haven’t had people throw themselves at me? Women with class, with self-control, with an ounce of fucking dignity? I don’t want you. I don’t even like you. Fuck."

Silence.

The air was thick.

And then—

You let out a soft, breathless laugh. "Holy shit."

You stepped closer, eyes gleaming inside your mask. "That was the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me. I think I need to sit down."

"What—"

You pointed at him. "That? That whole verbal curb-stomp? I think I just came a little."

"No, seriously," you whispered, leaning in like it was a secret. "I am so unwell right now. I think my ovaries did jazz hands. My therapist’s gonna hear about this. If I had a diary, I’d write ‘Today, Red Hood called me a useless bitch, and I got horny in a warehouse full of corpses."

He took a step back like you were radioactive.

You followed. "Say more mean shit. Call me pathetic. Tell me I’m annoying again but in that gravelly ‘I want to strangle you’ voice. Maybe spit on me?"

Jason turned sharply. "I hate you."

You cupped your hands around your mouth. "Is that foreplay?!"

He ignored you while leaving the warehouse.

You grinned like a devil.

Ten minutes later, you were sitting on the roof together, watching the flames lick up the side of the warehouse. Jason was smoking, trying to pretend you weren’t five inches from his thigh. He’d given up smoking a while ago, but being around you made him seriously reconsider. Alcohol or nicotine felt like the only way to survive your presence.

He was so out of it, he couldn’t even bother worrying about you seeing his face without the helmet.

"I’d call this a win," you offered, sipping from a cup of coffee you definitely hadn’t been holding five minutes ago. "We stopped the arms deal, torched the stockpile, and I got to see you yell like a stressed-out dom in a CW drama."

He exhaled smoke through his nose. "Stop talking."

"Make me."

He didn’t move.

You smirked.

"I can be quiet. If you put something in my mouth."

Jason side-eyed you with the force of a thousand suns.

"Like a gag. Or a sandwich. Or your coc—"

He shoved the rest of his cigarette into your coffee and stood up.

You sighed dreamily.

"God, I love him."

TO JASON'S GREAT MISFORTUNE, the two of you kept working together. Worse, you somehow wormed your way into Roy and Kory’s lives, like this was some kind of team-up he never asked for. Naturally, Roy adored you. You made him laugh so hard he had to stop eating and drinking around you just to avoid choking to death. Kory didn’t get your sense of humor at all, but she liked your honesty. And Jason?

Jason just kept hating you for using his damn safehouse like it was your personal Airbnb.

At least during that time, he’d managed to run a few background checks on you — always keeping tabs, just in case. Dug up some interesting things, like the fact that you’d had terminal cancer and underwent some sketchy experimental treatment. It saved your life, sure… but it also wrecked your body. Now you were covered in scars and practically unkillable thanks to a healing factor so extreme it bordered on obscene.

But being honest, he didn’t give a fuck about your messed-up origin story. Cancer, shady experiments, freakshow healing factor. Whatever. Join the club. He’d been blown to pieces and dumped in a Lazarus Pit, so forgive him if he didn’t feel special sympathy. Your problem was your problem. All he wanted was for you to stop eating his food, leaving weapons in his couch cushions, and walking around his place like it had your name on the deed.

You were needy and reckless, an obnoxious pain in the ass with zero boundaries. Jesus Christ.

But, anyways, things had really gone downhill after that garbage fire of a day he had. He and Isabel were done for good, — she’d been his last attempt at feeling something decent in his shitty life, something soft, something that didn’t hurt — you’d tanked another mission, and now you were somehow giving him unsolicited dating advice, like your love life wasn’t a fucking joke. He knew damn well the only person you’d ever seriously dated before turning into Deadpool was a stripper named Vanessa. Sweet girl. Way too good for this mess. She died in New York months ago, because of you.

And then came the shitshow.

Jason had snapped at you again, like it was becoming a habit.

He would never forget the way your body froze, how your shoulders locked up, your breath caught, and every trace of humor bled out of you. Even with that stupid mask on, the look in your eyes gutted him. Like you’d been slapped.

And he meant it to hurt. Every word he spat was sharp and aimed to cut deep. And judging by the silence that followed, he had.

"The only person who ever loved you was a fucking hooker. And even she had to be paid to do it. So fuck off."

The world stopped in his living room.

You didn’t make a stupid joke.

Your fists clenched before your brain could even register it.

Then you hit him. Hard. Square across the jaw.

No more nice ‘Pool, hm?

His head snapped sideways with a grunt, blood blooming in his mouth, but he was already swinging back. Jason’s body twisted with trained precision, his fist caught your side and you gasped, more from fury than pain.

You grabbed him by the front of the shirt and slammed him into the wall hard enough to make it shudder. The plaster cracked behind him, flakes drifting to the floor like ash. His hands came up again, but you were already pushing him back, breath hot, eyes wild under the mask.

"Call her a hooker again," you growled, breath ragged. "I fucking dare you."

Jason spat blood, his grin feral.

The next punch came fast. His knuckles cracked against your jaw. You grunted, stumbled, but swung back instantly — he ducked under it, shoulder-checked you into the wall, and the two of you collapsed in a flurry of fists and curses.

He grabbed you by the waist and slammed you onto the kitchen counter, the edge biting into your back. You didn’t hesitate. Your boot caught him square in the chest and knocked him back into the fridge. The whole thing rattled violently, a magnet flying off and clattering to the tile floor.

Neither of you even looked.

Your eyes burned. Your chest heaved. You were soaked in sweat.

Jason’s pupils were blown wide, locked on you. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, smeared across his lip, but he didn’t wipe it away. He just stood there, chest rising and falling, like he couldn’t tell if he wanted to hit you again or—

"You don’t talk about her. You don’t even fucking know—"

God, you never shut up.

Jason rolled his eyes, and then his mouth crashed into yours, taking full advantage of the way your mask was rolled up to the bridge of your nose — your lips exposed and vulnerable for him. You bit his already-busted bottom lip out of pure fury, tasting copper and spite. You swung at him again, but he caught your wrist, groaning low in his throat.

Then his mouth was on yours again, harder this time, devouring you like he was starving and furious about it. His knee forced your legs apart, pinning you where he wanted you. One hand fisted in your collar, the other wrapped around your throat. Not choking, not yet. Just holding.

"Always running that loud, stupid mouth around me," he growled against your lips. His breath ghosted over your cheek, warm, intoxicating, and for one fleeting second, you almost forgot. Forgot how he disrespected you. Forgot the way he spat on the memory of the only person you ever truly loved.

"Gonna do everyone a favor and keep it busy."

The kiss tasted like iron, blood on both your tongues, heat rising like a fever. And despite everything you felt yourself melting into it, breath hitching against his mouth. Your hands curled in his jacket, unsure if you meant to push him away or drag him closer.

Jason’s hand fisted in your leather mask, rough and impatient, and tore it off completely. The air hits your skin like ice. You flinched. You felt naked. Your scars, your ruined skin, were now fully on display. And for a second, you hesitated. You turned your face just slightly, instinctively, already bracing for disgust.

But Jason didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.

Instead, his hand came to your jaw, guiding your face back to his and then his tongue slid past your aching lips, slow and deliberate.

Your brain short-circuited.

"Jason…"

You whimpered against him, a soft, unguarded sound you couldn’t even stop. His bigger body pressed against yours, pinning you to the counter. He was already hard, you could feel it heavy against your thigh.

"All that goddamn noise, every smirk, every wiseass comment, walking around my place like you owned it…" His mouth dragged along your jaw. "You’ve been begging for this. Dripping desperation under all that leather."

His hand dipped between your thighs, fingers finding your clothed cunt. You’d never been a prude but the sound that left your throat was a full-bodied, surprised whine, like some Victorian maiden getting her ankle glimpsed at a ball.

"Is that what gets you off, huh?" he growled against your skin, his thumb finding your poor clit. "Pissing me off until I snap? Playing dumb little games, fighting me in my fucking kitchen, so I’ll bend you over and fuck the attitude out of you?"

Yes, you were absolutely eating that shit up. Thighs already twitching, core pulsing, hips aching to grind into the heat of his thumb. But being a little shit was practically a personality trait by now.

"You sound like a discount Christian Grey or, I don’t know, one of those garbage Tumblr fanfics written by a—"

Jason didn’t let you finish.

He spun you around with zero finesse, hands gripping your hips like handles, and bent you over the kitchen counter so fast your breath left you in a grunt. Cold marble met your cheek as your hands scrambled for purchase.

"Try saying that again with my cock halfway inside you."

You just smirked, eyes wild.

"Oh, I love that."

He yanked the bottom half of your uniform down in one smooth, breathless motion. The cool air licked across your thighs and your ass.

Jason froze.

"...Hello Kitty panties? Are you fucking serious?"

You craned your neck with the most unapologetic grin known to man.

"I got them at a Walmart discount bin. Two-ninety-nine."

He stared for a second, dead silent, like he genuinely couldn’t decide whether to fuck you stupid or haul you in for crimes against fashion. His fingers hooked the waistband of your ridiculous Hello Kitty panties and let the elastic snap back against your skin with a sharp flick.

From that angle, bent over the counter, ass bare, pants around your knees, he could see everything.

Strong legs braced wide. Thick, powerful thighs. And the scars, God, the scars. Burns, patches of rough, discolored skin where your healing factor hadn’t cared about aesthetics. Jagged textures that twisted and crawled across your flesh.

He didn’t say anything.

Not at first.

You sighed after a few seconds.

"Gonna leave a lady hanging?"

"I don’t see any ladies here."

Your grin widened.

He dropped to his knees behind you.

Rough hands yanked your thighs apart as he ducked between them, spreading you open — your ugly panties were already balled up in his jacket pocket, swiped without a second thought after he���d torn them off you.

"Hey," you panted, voice wobbling through a half-laugh, half-moan, "you don’t have to steal my underwear, okay? I can buy you your own. Maybe with little bats on them—Jason?"

His only response was a low growl as he sank his tongue into you without a shred of mercy.

You jolted, mouth falling open.

"Fuck—okay, okay, take the panties, Jesus—"

He didn’t even look up. Just shoved your thighs wider, buried himself deeper, and groaned like your pussy was the first meal he’d had in days. Whatever joke you’d been about to crack turned into a breathless scream, your fingers scrabbling across the counter for something to hold on to. He licked like a man possessed, angry and hungry. You tried to push him back just enough to breathe, and he slapped your thigh. Hard.

"Don’t fucking move," he moaned against you, voice wrecked, wet sounds echoing through the room as he sucked your clit. Then he spit directly onto your cunt, tongue catching it before it could drip, and shoved two thick, warm, fingers inside you without warning.

"Oh—God—what the fuck?" you gasped, legs trembling as his fingers did something positively illegal, curling them just right inside you.

"Where the hell did you learn that?!"

He bit your thigh, hard enough to bruise, then sucked another mark into the skin.

"Jas—fuck—Jason—"

He pulled back just enough to speak.

"Did you ever shut the fuck up?" Jason growled, fingers still deep inside you, knuckles slick, "you sound like a fucking chatterbox."

You gasped, moaned, and tried to sass back but it caught in your throat. His fingers were so big, stretching you up so good…

He smirked, mean and low. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."

He stood up suddenly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and his fingers on his jeans. You didn’t get to finish the way you wanted.

"Hey— I was in the middle of something…"

Jason didn’t even glance at you. Just muttered, "Didn’t ask," as he undid his belt with sharp movements, the clink of the buckle cutting through the room. You twisted around on the counter, half-smirking through your haze.

"Hmm, someone’s eager. I get it, okay? I’m hot. Hot like Jessica Alba in The Fantastic Four."

He stepped forward, belt dangling from one hand, eyes dark, mouth set in a flat line. His other hand grabbed your hip hard enough to bruise and spun you back around with no effort at all. Jason lined himself up and thrust in, deep, splitting you open in one filthy, perfect stroke.

Every snarky comeback, every filthy one-liner, every sarcastic jab — all gone. For the next thirty minutes, you couldn’t even form a normal sentence. You moaned loud. Legs shaking.

"Fuck," you gasped. "Jason—"

"Shut up," he grunted. "You can take it."

He fucked into you hard. Brutal. Like punishment. Like he was trying to tear you apart from the inside out and stitch you back together in his shape. You were moaning high pitched, snarling, begging under your breath.

God, that was the best of your life.

He grabbed your wrists, pinned them behind your back with one hand, his other braced on your lower back, pressing you flat to the counter. Every thrust knocked the air out of your lungs. His cock dragged against every overstimulated nerve, punishing and perfect.

"Ah— Fuck, please, Ja—!"

Jason grabbed your hair and pulled you back against him.

"What?" he muttered behind you, giving your cheek a wet kiss, hand tangled tight in your hair, tugging your head back hard enough to sting. "Runned out of jokes? Got nothing for me now?"

He fucked you until the slap of skin was louder than your ragged breathing, until your thighs were shaking and your voice was breaking. And you moaned happly, pressing back into him like the goddamn animal you were, desperately trying to fuck yourself on him.

Jason chuckled, his grip tightening for a second.

"Thought so."

©cybergoth1, 2025

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Keith Edwards at No Lies Detected:

Donald Trump has been in office for one week, but it feels like a year’s worth of events have been crammed into those seven days. That of course is by design. Trump thrives on overwhelming our capacity to react, flooding the zone with chaos until we are too exhausted to resist. He wants you to feel powerless. He wants you to surrender. But this is not about resistance; it is about reclamation. Resisting implies he is in control, and we are simply pushing back. Reclaiming puts us in the driver’s seat, taking back what was always ours to begin with. Today, I’m going to write about how not to give up, how to take back your voice in your own future, so that when a year actually has passed, you’ll be able to look back not with exhaustion and despair, but with the satisfaction of knowing you fought back. 

Give Yourself a Break – But Do Not Break

You do not have to be a political warrior every waking moment. If following every outrage sends you spiraling, turn it off. If breaking news alerts drain your energy, silence them. Stop following doomer influencers or left-wing media outlets that profit from outrage-mongering.  To borrow an exhausted but accurate phrase: this is a marathon, not a sprint. Take the time to process your anger, to feel the betrayal, to curse the failures that got us here. Be furious at the Democratic Party’s fecklessness. Be enraged at the indifference of Republican enablers. Allow yourself to mourn the election loss. But do not wallow. Do not linger in the abyss. Feel your anger, harness it, and then use it. Because we never truly processed the trauma of the first Trump presidency – like with COVID, we let it taper off without closure. Whatever you need to do to process the fact that Trump is in power again, do it, because...

Accept That This Is All Going to Suck

There will be worse weeks than this one in the next four years. Many will seek refuge in denial, pretending that the worst-case scenario is mere hyperbole. Do not indulge them. Reality, however grim, is better faced than avoided. When I lost my sister, I found that I actually felt better when I accepted that she was not coming back. I found that the alternative – resisting reality and trapping myself in an endless cycle of grief – actually caused more suffering. Once we embrace the truth, however, we can begin the path toward something new. This applies here, too: America will not be the same, nor is it lost. If we accept the darkness ahead, we can begin carving out the light. The only way through this is forward. This is going to be bad. And the sooner you accept that, the better you are prepared to fight.

Get Involved

Fighting doesn’t have to feel big. Start small. Do something that reminds you that you have agency, that you are not a passive observer of history but an active participant. 

​​When Trump was first elected, I refused to wallow in misery. I joined my local Democratic club, handed out ballot proposals, and took an active role in shaping my community. That decision put me on the path to becoming a Democratic strategist and creating a successful YouTube channel. Starting locally is the most satisfying way to get involved, because politics are most responsive when they are local. Federal politics are sluggish and hard to break into without experience, but local activism can be swift and potent. Attend a city council meeting. Get involved in your local Democratic Party. Knock on doors for a local candidate or ballot initiative. Don’t just vent your frustration into the digital void – channel it into tangible change. 

[...] Do not let Donald Trump eat your hope. He is not a king. The courts have already blocked his blatantly unconstitutional rollback of birthright citizenship. State governors are taking advantage of our federal system to prevent the rollback of rights and protections. Federal employees are pushing back against sweeping policy changes. We are only in week one, but this gives me hope.  

Keith Edwards wrote in No Lies Detected on how to survive Tyrant Trump’s 2nd reign: don’t give up.

[ora-draws]

A little analysis on how Hans & Henry were handled post-ending (heavy KCD2 spoiler alert)

Ok, so I've seen a lot of people talk about how they feel like the ending-part after the siege falls short when it comes to Hansry and leaves out a lot of possible interactions that could have been included.

And I feel you there, although I'm also a big fan of show-don't-tell and leaving things to imagination and interpretation.

However saying we got like a 4 minute romance scene after only being fed crumbs for hundreds of hours does not only fail to acknowledge the crafty subtlety with which their relationship and development has been told over the whole course – it also disregards how impactful the ending actually is.

More under the cut.

In order to put this into perspective, we need to consider not only Hans and Henry, but also the other main romance options: Rosa and Katherine. Rosa happens rather mid-game and while she isn't as mutually exclusive as Kat/Hans, she can be Henry's desired sweetheart by the end if you so choose. Yet whether you do or not, Rosa tells Henry that she considers this a one-time thing, even comes across rather pragmatic about it and tells him off by reminding you that any future is impossible anyway, since he is bastard and she's a nobleman's daughter.

As for Katherine, this is a bit more complicated; she opens up to Henry a bit in the very last moment, they spend an intimate and vulnerable moment together, finding comfort in each other's arms. Yet although she is clearly relieved about Henry's survival and brightens up after the siege, she's more open than set on staying with him, yet implies she'll give it a try. And that's understandable, given her past and circumstances. She even mentions how she doesn't believe she can truly ever be happy again, even if you suggest looking forward. There's a lot of shared trauma here which gives common ground, but is the biggest obstacle at the same time. Apart from that, Kat doesn't bring a lot of baggage, she's a commoner like you, and is just as unbound.

And then we have Hans. Who is not only literally the 'worst' choice Henry could have made in any possible regard considering time period and society, but also a 'lost cause'. We spend half of the ending dialogue with him and Hanush talking about how Henry needs to force him to attend his wedding if the need shall arise. And yet, despite all things given, the moment you can talk privately, Hans doesn't give a second thought to all this. Not only is he genuinely happy and relieved about Henry's well-being: He has no regrets, utters no doubts about what has happend, and the first thing he talks about is how to postpone the wedding as long as possible, even if he cannot avoid it in the end.

He is annoyed, yes, but he doesn't despair about it – and remarks quite clearly that he and Henry will just need to see how things will work out for them. Which is sensible, even if it is also naive. They could never be together openly anyway. But again, it's worth mentioning how even with all that uncercainty, he treats it with a genuine & positive outlook. And – of course – let's not forget that he right away (and happily) jumps onto your offer to take a look at his arrow wound and very bluntly makes the suggestion to find a place which is more private again, showing he wants to be close with you again and stay this way. And Hans – ironically – is the only love interest who does it this way. Which is absolutely heartwrenching and sweet and says a lot, even if we don't get 'much'.

And it is also very very Hans lmao. The second you are alone he's like: Yeah, that's my man, fuck everything, let's go. One has to keep in mind that his heartbreaking Galehaut/Lancelot talk was possibly one of his most vulnerable moments and a rather stark contrast to his usual behavior, because there was just so much at stake. If at all, it shows how much it meant to him.

I see a lot of people depict him as very sensitive, passive or whiny, but honestly, while he can be a spoiled brat and a nuisance, Hans is everything BUT subtle most of the time: he's impulsive, needy, jealous and a short-tempered hothead and it's a very lovely detail this shines through as soon as you are together again. Why? Because it shows how he feels comfortable in his skin and with his choice – and with Henry. Despite everything. This sets him quite apart from the other LIs imo & and all these little details are what make their story and relationship so appealing.

If you've read all of this: Thank you.💚 This is a first for me, I never engaged this much with people online before. I was somehow sucked into this fandom and I genuinely love it, it's an absolutely lovely and welcoming community.

Thanks also to @dill-weeds for chatting about this beforehand, it made me write this down ha.

[harbours-lighthouse]

continuation of 'jason todd loves loudly'

Jason Todd learns to love slowly.

He's never known exactly what to do, when to do it. He's awkward and stiff because no one taught him how to treat a woman properly before he died. He knew that the way his father treated his mother wasn't right, and he knew that the way Bruce loved Selina never truly struck him as pure, unconditional love. There was always something sly lingering behind their eyes, and sometimes Jason got the sick feeling that there wasn't any love at all, but simply lust.

And when he came back, it was hard not to notice that there were women who noticed him, who took an interest. Sometimes, he tried to take their attention to his advantage, but it always ended in some sort of hushed apology and a slam of a door, vomit along the bathroom floor and Jason being alone again. At some point, he didn't bother trying.

Of course, there were a few relationships that stuck around for a little while, ones where he didn't actively pursue it, but it just...happened. And he did learn from them, but with each lesson it felt that there was alway some sort of horrible situation to accompany them. He'd learn that he has to put effort into the relationship—a date here and there, maybe flowers, loving words, consistency, etc—but the newly acquired knowledge would be followed with a shouting match or the silent treatment. More often than not, those days left him hiding away, feeling ashamed that he's not better—angry that he's seeing a diluted reflection of the very men he punches enough times to bring them lingering on death's doorstep.

To avoid that creeping feeling of despair, the hot burning shame in his stomach and the awkwardness that wraps around his throat, he doesn't search for anyone. He occasionally reads a novel and he might think that something like what's written in the books would be magical, but the thought is quickly dropped and he's picking up a different book like crime and punishment.

And yet, on a day that felt too long and too short at the same time, he met you. To say you were 'different' from all the other girls wouldn't be accurate because all of the others were unique in their own way—but there is something about you that screams 'I'm the one! I'm the one that might really love you!'.

Getting to know you was easy, though Jason stumbled over his words half the time (he'll deny it). He tried hiding the tense line of his shoulders and the crack in his voice by driving you around the city on his bike. Can't exactly notice much about the driver when you're zipping through a city and the wind is snapping at you, right?

You lit up his world, to say the least. Made all the shadows shrink away, brought a sense of hope even on his worst days. But Jason knew that you were the one he loved because you loved him in a way that was slow, patient. Unhurried.

There'd been an initial fear that he'd do something wrong, that you'd shout or storm away, and he'd be left alone again. But the first time the two of you had an argument, there wasn't a door slammed in his face, a finger jabbed into his pec, or an insult or curse thrown his way.

You didn't baby him—no, definitely not—but your voice never raised, and you insisted on talking things out. There wasn't a single chance that you were willing to take when it came down to Jason Todd, so you stayed and you made sure that the both of you spoke to each other—taught each other.

So Jason learned how to love slowly. You gently guided him when his actions or his words made you feel neglected or lost, and he guided you through his thought process and why some days it's too hard to look at you for so long, and that memory and fear are closely intertwined and they rule over him often.

He wasn't perfect in the least. He often forgot anniversaries, special appointments, etc. Flowers were rare because he simply didn't see the point but sometimes he put in the effort—he tried to make it more meaningful by getting your birth flowers. But more significantly, there were times where his mouth simply sealed shut and he struggled to tell you what was on his heart and mind. He couldn't bring himself to open himself up entirely, but again, you taught him slowly. He learnt slowly.

You taught him what it's like to say something soft, even if it's a little awkward and he stumbles a bit. The intent is there—that's what matters. You taught him that taking care of himself was in of itself an act of love within your relationship, and there was nothing corrupt about him. You taught him about the small habits he did that annoyed you, and subsequently he taught you about the things you did that annoyed him. You taught him that you need him to talk when something is wrong, and he taught you to always listen when he spoke.

Though you were one or two paces ahead of Jason, you never let go of his hand. Jason learned slowly that that was what real love is.

tags: @kitkatlover015 © harbours-lighthouse 2025 / i do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, or fed into ai. all works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

[kaisaerinlover]

big brother kaiser

tw: incest, dubcon, abuse, PISS🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑

this is just horny slop i wrote at night don’t read if you’re grossed out by little things easily

you’re a grown woman but kaiser still treats you like you’re a little baby. but maybe it’s because you are his little baby. his little baby sister who is, unfortunately, going through her rebellious preteen phase way too many years late. purposefully irking him and not listening to him, seriously, what is he ever going to do with you? you know everything he’s sacrificed for you and yet you still somehow manage to be disobedient and piss him off, somehow still have it in you to give him an attitude. he really hoped you would skip this phase; he likes punishing you but not for this. this is seriously pissing him off.

everytime you turn your head up at him, glare at him, tell him he’s the worst brother ever, cuss him out whatever he gets so angry with you. you should know better than everyone else how little patience your brother has, how angry he is, how twisted he is, how he’s not shy about punishing you at all. but you think you’re too special for that. and in a way you are - sometimes he truly can’t bring himself to hurt you. you heal the anger in him. but you’ve pushed your luck too far with him now; way too far, little bitch. you know, when your elder brother is a the kind of human that michael kaiser is, you should revel in that. and you don’t. he knows it’s his fault, as much as he hurts you he knows he’s probably spoiled you far too much for your own good. that’s why you think it’s fine to talk to other guys, isn’t it?

that’s why he has you pressed against the hard wood floor of your shared bedroom, growling into your ear. “what’s wrong with you, you slut? is your brothers cock not enough for you? getting dicked down by me your whole life isn’t enough for you? you want other men? you’re not even my sister anymore. if you wanna be a slut i’ll treat you like one” he’s enraged. you can tell. and you sniffle. sniffle and cry and look up at him with big glassy eyes like he’s a god ready to pass judgement of you, like it’s reckoning day and you’re begging a divine otherworldly being for the mercy of survival. and in a way, he is your god. he is your divine being. you’ve not been treating him like that though; so deep down you know you deserve it.

he flips you onto your back (still on the horribly painful floor because michael kaiser does not care about the comfort of sluts) and slaps you in the face. it stings, and the sight of your despaired face just pushes him onwards even more. god he loves it when you look so fucking helpless under him. if you wanna act like a whore he’ll fuck you like one. he’s rough enough as it is when he deems you his precious baby sister so you can’t imagine what you’re about to get now — probably hell. or worse.

looking up at your brother’s eyes when he’s deranged is horrifying, to say the absolute least. it’s even worse when he laughs. you’re so sheltered; spent all your years with him — yet he’s unreadable to you still. you can’t tell what he’s thinking or if he’s actually amused or ready to bite your head off when he laughs to himself whilst looking down at you, smushed against the hard wooden floor. he knows it’s hurting you, he just doesn’t care. you’re nothing in his eyes right now.

kaiser maniacally starts stripping you of your clothes; and you let him. you let him manoeuvre you around painfully so he can take them off easier. “i should have known something was off,” he rips off your shirt “something was so fucking off when you suddenly didn’t want to fuck anymore” he peels off your tights, “i mean, i’ve trained you to crave this cock, so seeing you suddenly be ‘too tired’ and fall asleep and not let me fuck you for 2 weeks was weird” he rags off that tiny skirt he bought you a week ago “you’re normally such a whore for me, i should have known you were slutting around” he stares down at your half naked form; pretty lingerie being the only cover over that pussy he loves to fuck and those tits he oh so loves to pinch and make you yelp. “seriously, just how much of a slut are you? i don’t even want you as my sister anymore, i don’t even think i love you” he’s sneering down at you condescendingly and pulling his cock out of his pants now. it fucking hurts, being stripped down like a slut whilst he’s fully clothed save for his cock in his hand he’s palming so slowly. “but it’s fine, i know how to treat a filthy slut like you.”

you don’t know what’s scarier; your brother when he laughs like some deranged lunatic or your brother when he suddenly drops all signs of amusement and stares at you dead in the eye. he won’t even talk to you now, doesn’t say anything as he jerks himself and roughly pulls your panties off of your dainty legs and shoves them in your mouth. doesn’t even say anything as he just buries himself inside of you with no prep or anything — that’s real mean, big bro. you’re drooling around your panties like a stupid fucking whore. god you’re embarrassed. he won’t even address you, won’t say anything to you that you’re supposed to answer. “whore” he growls as he fucks you hard into the floor. as he pierces you with his cock. it hurts, you’re terrified about your intestines maybe spilling out from your insides and onto the expensive polished wooden floors and giving kaiser another reason to hate you. “bitch” he grunts as he rags your hair and pushes down on your stomach to feel the huge bulge his godly dick leaves there. “fucking- ah- slut” he bites at your ear and punches you so hard in the stomach you vomit a bit as he fucks you. you’re disgusting; you actually look fucking disgusting. snotty nose, teary eyes, drool everywhere, panties shoved in your stupid fucking whore mouth, a bit of puke seeping out, big bruise on your stomach from your brothers unforgiving fist. you look so fucking gross under your brother. and you deserve it — you stupid fucking slut. you chastise yourself in your head whenever you get the chance to think throughout your brothers angry ordeal. kick yourself mentally for being such a whore. every hard thrust into your poor abused pussy reminds you of how badly you’ve messed up. and kaiser won’t stop, when he’s mad, he’s mad. maybe he inherited your father’s rage; maybe soon you’ll inherit your mother’s trait of leaving. maybe you’ll leave him finally. kaiser’s worried about it plenty of times too — so he’s taken measures to prevent it anyway. a slap to your cheek brings you out of your thoughts and back to the painful reality you’re suffering right now. it hurts as he slams himself into you over and over, when he hits you and drags you around like you’re nothing but some sex toy and not even a person, when your body slams into the less than comfortable floor. but then, he pulls himself out of you. he didn’t even cum. it’s weird, your brother is always ready to drain his balls deep inside of you regardless of his temperament at the moment; maybe he’s not mad anymore? maybe he realised how badly he fucked up? maybe he’s sorry for hurting the sweet little angel known as his doting little siste-

his cock is shoved in your mouth and your panties are discarded as he kneels over you and fucks your tiny throat so hard you’re sure you’ll vomit a second time. you’ve both seen enough graphic and vile things unfold in front of you with your own two eyes to the point that the fact he’s fucking your puke from that nasty punch on your tummy back down your dumb throat isn’t even a concern for you. “you’re nothing but a whore, i don’t cum in whores; maybe i’ll catch something. maybe i’ll give you a baby. i don’t want a nasty slut mothering- my offspring- ah-“ he condescends you. “but i need to put my cum somewhere- you’re a good slut- you’ll eat it all. it’s the only meal i’m giving you for a good while so be grateful. it’s the only thing- ah- i’ll be feeding you for some- time- you fucking bitch-“ kaiser is so… cruel. but you deserve it. you know he’s about to cum when he grabs your hair and shoves even his balls into your tiny mouth; you have to squeeze your eyes shut from the ungodly amount of pain you’re being put through. god; you really have messed up. what the fuck? really, you’re so sorry to your brother. your eyes sting from your tears and your throat burns as your brother unloads himself into it. wrings himself dry into your abused body. and roughly slams your aching mouth closed so you don’t dare to waste any of his precious seed. “don’t waste that; spill any of it and i’ll do something even worse to you” his eyes are full of malice. why must you always be subject to it? you’re still crying, still teary eyed, still look disgusting.

bruised all over, you look fucking pathetic. “i-i’m sorry- i won’t do it again-“ he almost gives in. almost. seeing you like this is almost making him hard again. almost making him want to obliterate your stupid fucking whore pussy again. but he won’t; he has something even better planned. crouching over you looking down at you like you’re some piece of shit on the floor, some subhuman who is worth nothing, anything that lacks value. and he smirks at you. he coos down at you. the tone of his voice almost sounds loving. “aww, how sweet of you, are you sorry now?” he pouts at you mockingly. you almost get excited; but even your poor ability to read people knows that it’s not sweet at all. “that’s just too bad, maybe you should have thought of that before being such a slut. but it’s okay, do this one thing for me well and maybe i’ll start thinking about forgiving you” and you nod, so eager to please, missing your kind saviour brother already. still crying but looking so hopeful. so hopeful as he drags you by the hair to the bathroom.

that hope disappears as he pulls his pants down again and has you on your knees. “you’re not worth anything to me right now, i don’t care about you. but if you do a good job at this i’ll see how sorry you are and then we can talk about forgiveness” he looks down at you so mockingly, such a condescending glare. and you just gulp and nod. kaiser’s cock is nothing new to you; but this is. what he’s about to do is. “open wide, or don’t, but i think you don’t want to piss me off more than you already have. it’s in your best interest to listen now, hm?” and you open your mouth. open your mouth as he puts his cock to it and relieves himself. “wow you actually did it” he sniggers down at you. god this is fucking embarrassing. getting pissed on by your brother. “you’re such a fucking whore” he patronises you even more. thinks you’re soo cute when you look so defeated. dejection written all over your face. you’re lucky your brother is an athlete, he drinks plenty of water. he sort of wishes he wouldn’t though — he’s so pissed at you he would gladly have made it as disgusting as possible if he could. but this will do. when he’s done he wipes his spent cock on your cheek, piss dripping down it, and ruffles your head a bit. you actually just drank his piss. you’re not sure if he’ll ever even love you again now! but this was the first smidge of affection he’s shown you since hours ago. so you lean into it. “good girl” he coos at you, still mocking; but this is better than nothing. you’re ruined. your hair is a mess, you have piss down your face, your nose is all snotty, eyes all teary, half naked on his bathroom floor. you’re a wreck. no other man could ever want you in this state, only him. don’t worry, your brother isn’t like all of the other nasty men that roam this earth. he just wishes you understood that too before you did what you did.

he’s had you sleeping on the floor for weeks at the point he finally realises that, well, michael kaiser was wrong for once. you weren’t whoring around at all — you simply talked to a guy who asked for directions one time. he just assumed otherwise. and the guilt slowly creeps up on him. the guilt of the way he’s been treating you the past few weeks, oh my god. he’s actually fucked up a great amount. a grandiose amount even. and you just took it. he wants to take this as a moment to pat himself on his back for how well he has you trained that you seriously accepted you were wrong and gave in to all of the unfairness he subjected upon your stupid little self, but even that makes him feel guilty. seeing your bruised form sleeping on the floor next to his bed just to be near him when you could easily go into one of the guest bedrooms or your own bedroom at night. he sighs and rubs his forehead; he’ll be needing to make this up big time. but the next morning, that guilt has vanished. sure, he starts treating you normally again. calling you his sweet baby sister and doting on you all over again. and you just bask in the attention and suck up to him like always. pliant and cute, just how he likes. that guilt is gone, replaced with the realisation that you’re really and truly his. even when he’s in the wrong you just take it. and he likes that. and you like that too; love it even. love when he leans down to kiss you on the forehead and tell you what a good sister you are. not once is an apology uttered on his part. that’s for you. sorry isn’t a word in his vocabulary. never has been never will be. and you’re too dumb and far gone to know that it should be after everything you’ve been subjected to by your brother. but ignorance is bliss. maybe if you had awareness you’d need years of therapy to recover from such mistreatment anyway.

kaiser is a gracious man, so he won’t let you become aware enough to get to that state. lucky you, having such a nice brother.

“i love you, such a perfect sister for me” he coos down at you. and you smile so innocently at him. “i love you too, you’re the best brother i could ask for” he embraces you after that. and you embrace him back. maybe you’d expect him to cry after hearing such a beautifully pure confession from you; but he just smirks as he holds you. right where he wants you. so lucky he is.

[colorlessjay]

A truly underrated part of the Confession is that Dean, while panicking about how he’s gotten them into this situation, utterly despairing and truly honesty and says

“she’s going to kill you AND THEN she’s going to kill me”

(Emphasis mine lol)

Like. Dean is terrified and he knows that

Cas won’t stop trying to protect Dean and Dean won’t be able to stop him from doing so and

The worst things are happening, the world is dying, God himself is after him in particular, and yet Dean still has to pick out Cas dying in front of him (again) as another truly awful thing that’s going to happen. Like he knows he’s got maybe minutes to live and he’s despairing enough that he’s going to have to outlive Cas by perhaps a few seconds that he “wastes” precious moments and breaths to even mention it

And like, Cas doesn’t really understand that? Or catch that? Like it’s a canonical t fact that Dean CANNOT survive Cas dying, he “lives” for at best a few months after but yeah Cas dying is essentially a terminal diagnosis FOR Dean! and it’s canon!

And Cas, in a combination of his poor self esteem, his insecurities with his importance to Dean in particular, his chronic fear of being staying past the point he’s actually wanted&welcome, and the fact that he never sees Dean when he’s dead because he’s, ya know, DEAD and all and Dean or anyone never TELLS Cas that Dean literally NEEDS Cas alive to continue existing. Cus Cas hears Dean say “I/we need you” and takes it as “you are useful” most of the time and when Dean says “you should stick around, it’s better when we are all together and you’re here” Cas’s brain is translates it to “since you are useful, it’s easier for me to have you around to be useful” and therefore Cas is all, ah, but if I’m MORE useful away/dead then even better!!

(oh Cas)

But anyway! Dean’s about to die, the whole world is dying! But he knows that Billie and Chuck want to maximize their hurting if him and he knows THEY know to do that is to kill Cas right in front of him and he’s so, so heartsick over it even now.

(Also, do you think Dean was terrified that Michael knew about that particular chronic, soul deep fear of Dean’s after he possessed him?)

You should write a fic about that btw, Anon

Not sure how to answer your question but thank you for telling me

[chdarling]

As we’re getting closer to a truly awful day for America, I just wanted to check in on you. Things are bleak and about to get so so much worse, I want you to know I’m here and many others are here too when you’re ready

This is very kind of you, thank you. Honestly, I have not been doing great. Watching my neighbors elect a racist, fascist, Nazi-loving rapist triggered a pretty bad depressive episode on top of what was already the worst period of professional and creative burnout of my life, so….I’m struggling. Still trying to claw my way out of the dark. I’m deeply appreciative of the kindness of this community and am sorry that I haven’t (and probably won’t for a little longer) been able to engage the way I once did. I will again one day, and I am so thankful to know all you wonderful people online. <3

On a note that is completely unrelated to this gentle ask, I’ve been getting a ton of messages lately asking for a date when TLE3 is coming out and I don’t feel up to answering them (sorry) so I’m just going to tack this on here since I buried my last post on the subject under a mountain of despair reblogs: TLE3 is going to take a while.

I’m still planning to continue with my writing projects (be they TLE or other things), but right now I’m focusing on securing my own oxygen mask, etc. When I finished posting TLE2, I said that I would be taking a break and also that I would not be posting TLE3 until I had written all of it (like I had for TLE1). Even if I had been writing diligently every single day since I posted the last chapter, I still wouldn’t be done, so please understand that it’s going to take a while. It certainly will not be coming in the next 6 months, very possibly not in 2025. I know some people won’t be happy to hear that, but just a fun statistic: OOTP has 257,045 words and took three years to write/publish after GOF. TLE2 has (and this makes me cringe a little) 407,079 words and took roughly 3 years to write as an unpaid side hobby on top of full time work, education, etc. I don’t say this to toot my own horn (frankly, it just makes me desperately want to retroactively edit the crap out of TLE2 lol), but rather to reiterate that writing a book-length work takes a lot of time, energy, and love. I don’t want it to take 3 years (and I don’t think it will, TLE3 will be a more reasonable length), but it’s certainly not going to be finished in a few months. That would be insanity and I am not that talented lmao.

I do know that the requests for updates come from a place of love and enthusiasm and excitement and I really, truly appreciate that. I also appreciate all of the kind words of the asks I haven’t been answering. Please know that I’ve read them, I love you, and I will be back eventually. I just have to focus on my health right now, and unfortunately these days being online is pretty bad for that, so I'm going to try to be logged off for a while.

And finally, on another completely unrelated but perhaps mildly tangential note: if anyone has any books recommendations or resources on processing climate grief, I, uh, could use them. 🫠

[yunirgo]

someone’s someone - steve harrington x reader

summary: steve wishes his heart belonged to someone who will truly and devotedly love him, and so do you.

tags: sfw, reader is gender neutral; it’s implied they’re a virgin and inexperienced, allusions of steve not wanting to live anymore, bit of angst but mostly fluff. sorry for any mistakes or incoherence, english isn’t my first language!

wc: 728

Steve still remembers his first heartbreak as if it was yesterday. He can perfectly remember how his chest felt so tight and how much his heart ached to the point he swore he’d die. He gets sick to his stomach just thinking back at the hours he spent laying on his bed wondering what he did wrong in his life to not receive love from the people he held closest to his heart, wondering if it would be better to stop being the loving boy he was and just turn into a new person who didn’t believe in love because it's not real. 

The feelings of hopelessness and unworthiness, the desire of not seeing the light of day anymore… He wouldn’t wish it upon his worst enemy, or the cruelest person in the world; not even his parents. 

And though the months go by and he feels he’s healed from the heartbreak, there is still a tiny crack in his heart that gives way to despair and misery.  

Then, the unexpected happens: he meets you. 

You, the sweetest and kindest soul he has ever met. You, the classic hopeless romantic who has never even held hands romantically with anyone in their life. You, who thinks will never experience love because everyone your age is either sleeping around or eloping and having kids. You, who just like him, wonders what’s wrong with yourself that no one seems you worthy of love. 

He falls suddenly hard for you, of course, he does. He spends every second he can with you just to hear you laugh at his lame jokes, hold doors open for you, and share secret touches with you when all of his friends are around. He especially loves it when you absentmindedly take his hand on yours and play with his fingers while talking to him or any of his friends, and when you look up at him with that glimmer in your eyes you seem to have only when you’re with him.

It gets to a point where Steve has no other choice but to open his heart up to you, and you do the same with yours. You share your deepest darkest secrets and concerns and build this special and intimate friendship with him, wishing deep down it was more than that.  

“I feel unlovable sometimes,” you told him while stargazing.

 He’d called you over to his house for purely selfish reasons, because he couldn’t stand being apart from you even if you’d had an 8 hour shift together at Family Video earlier that day. 

His heart skipped a beat when you turned your face to look at him, a small, sad smile grazing your face. 

“I just want to be someone’s someone, you know? I want to be someone’s everything,” a deep sigh escaped your lips. “I wonder if I’m meant for someone. What do you think?,” you asked. The boy just stared at you.

 How could he comfort you when he knew that feeling all too well and without giving himself away? 

“I think…” he finally spoke after a few seconds, his hand searching for yours. He intertwined his fingers with yours and squeezed them gently before speaking again. “I think we’re all meant for someone. I know one day we’ll meet someone we can’t live without.”

“I hope so.”

“I hope so too,”  You knew he was trying to make both of you feel better, but the gentle whisper of his voice made your heart ache uncontrollably. 

Steve Harrington was the person you wanted to own your heart. He’s the one you wanted to dance under the rain, go on silly dates, and share secrets and gossip like two old ladies with. He’s the one you wanted to have all your firsts with. But most importantly, you wanted to mend his broken heart and remind him how deserving of love he is for the rest of his life. 

So, you decided right there and then that you would show him how much you wanted him to be your someone in exchange for you being his someone.

Funny enough, Steve was just thinking the same thing. 

And four years later, after both your plans were taken into action, the two of you can say with certainty they were successful as you vow your lives to each other with your shared loved ones as witnesses.

-

an: thank you for reading!! i hope you guys like this bcs it was very scary to post😭 i will say i might have started a mini series inspired by the “all bout luv” album by monsta x around january this year because it’s one of my favorites ever so you can imagine how long these ideas have been brewing in my mind for💀 so idk, lmk if you’d like to read a bit more of what goes inside my head lolol. anyway :p that’s all, thank you sm again for reading<3

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

you know what's delicious? yn who started wearing flavored lip balm/lip tint because of suguru — so that every time suguru ate a curse, he could just easily pull the man into a kiss to get rid of the disgusting taste suguru hates so much ((bonus points if yn also pops in a candy/sweet/chocolate in his mouth before feeding it to suguru through a kiss — anything to help suguru forget the taste of curses)) yeah... just... suguruyn for the win man 😋🫶

((even more bonus points when satoru finds out later and he gets all jelly because 1. he doesn't know the lip balm/lip tint can come with a flavor so he felt blindsided and of course, he humphs and puffs because of it and 2. he wanted a chocolatey sweetness kissies too!!!! and of course lastly, 3. he felt left out because he never knows that suguruyn always makes out every single time suguru ate a curse so he's all pouty about it — ask him to join in next time!!!))

❝ He's just like candy, he's so sweet ❞

polycule (Satoru x r! x Suguru)) | alternate universes (Suguru is not a cult-reader), fluff, NSFW | vers. bottom. reader (AMAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 3.6k

warnings: foodplay, threesomes, pouty satoru & smug suguru, semi-public sex, d/s dynamics

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

author's note: in this au, they slayed the links that made me lose my mind (thank you @xuxitheii for making me squeal and kick my feet): geto suguru : gojo satoru : gojo satoru being a big baby

Curses. Ugly as sin and tastes just as foul. Suguru remembers the first time he discovered he could devour them; how awful it felt as it went down his throat, bulging out and staying there — blocking his airway as he struggled to find it in himself to swallow.

The way his teeth ached. His throat convulsed and his instincts forced it back up but his fingers blocked it from doing so. It warbled in the back of his mouth, begging to be let out and 7-year-old Suguru just knew he couldn’t bear for it to disturb him again. He couldn’t handle it speaking nonsensically into his ear, slinking under his bed or even staring right at him as it grinned so wide Suguru swore he could see his reflection in its yellow, wicked-sharp, teeth.

The pills his parents (his poor, non-sorcerer, parents) had given him to help with his “hallucinations” made him feel as though a thick fog was obscuring his brain. His thoughts faded and his movement groggy, his emotions caged while his body still felt the anxious tremors that ran through him when he saw them.

The curses made him feel like he was constantly in a deep pit of despair. Everything wrong in the world, the depravity and impulses of humanity that manifested into these grotesque creatures in the palm of his hands made his nose sting, till this day, as an 18-year-old; it made his eyes well with tears.

Suguru can't describe it in a way people could understand. But if asked, he’d used the viscera of a vomit rag being forced down your throat.

But the strong protect the weak. While your lips protect them from his ire. This one goes down with a loud gulp, his fingers blocking his lips as he tosses his head back. The worst is almost over, the aftertaste will linger but not for long. Because then, he feels your weight on his chest and Suguru is pliant as you gently pry his fingers away.

“You did a good job, baby.” Suguru flutters his eyes open and he can’t help the way his lips twitch eagerly. Your lips are glossier than usual, he can smell the cherry flavour on them. His hands wrap themselves around your waist. It’s a firm grip.

Mine, he says without speaking, mine — all mine.

He pulls and a huff of air escapes you in a series of chuckles. “I know we haven’t been out in a while, but did you miss me that much, Su-Su?” Suguru frowns at your jest. It’s rare for him to pout. That role is often delegated to your boyfriend, Satoru. So this must truly upset him.

Because, yes, he did.

You’d been called overseas to complete a mission. It was the norm for sorcerers considering the population of sorcerers in Japan; outsourcing they called it. Your curse technique was needed for this mission and truly, it didn’t take long but Suguru had done solo missions and he missed you.

Three solo missions. Three disgusting, dog-shit, vomit-stained rags, down his throat. Three days without you by his side.

He hated it.

“Don’t ask a silly question like that ever again,” he mumbles. Silly. The way he scolds you always makes you smile. Never crass or rude — his voice reminds you of the symphony of leaves singing with the wind as they danced and speckled light onto the forest floors and cool water bubbling over rocks.

“Why? Why can’t I ask silly questions?” You tease, placing your elbows on his shoulder and hanging your hands behind him. Purposefully lax despite the coquettish smile on your face.

“You already know the answer.” He speaks with such sincerity. Every word is heavy with nothing but candour and adoration. It makes your eyes soften and Suguru squeezes you closer.

“I do?” He nods at your words, the tip of his nose brushing over yours and his tan skin so flushed on the apples of his cheeks.

“Kiss me like you miss me, baby.”

Suguru’s lips land on yours like a feather. Supple as always he begins it with a long-lasting peck. Pouty lip against pouty lip. His hands climb up your back and he presses between your shoulder blades to somehow hold you closer; his jaw opens and yours does the same. There it is — that heaven that’s your mouth. Suguru groans and you feel his tongue sneaking in, devouring you like a starved man.

The cherry flavour on your lips, the sweetness of the candy you let melt on your tongue, the way your fingers grip his hair, the way he can feel your breath on his cheek as you try to breathe. He wishes that the two of you never needed air. Suguru wants nothing more than to kiss you forever and ever and ever —

“Hey!”

You part with a gasp, cheeks warm and lips almost bruised as the line of spit between the two of you breaks. At the mouth of the alleyway was your boyfriend; Gojo Satoru.

His arms are crossed and he taps his foot in a cartoonish fashion. Despite that, both of you know that the frown on his face is very much real. “What gives? I exorcised the other curses and I came back to the two of you making out. So unfair!”

Suguru parts with a sigh, rolling his eyes to the side and pouting his lips to the side as he muttered about Satoru having FOMO. It makes you giggle and he smiles when you lean forward to place your face right under his jaw.

“S’toru, you’re being a baby. Suguru did a lot of work and I was just thanking him.” Satoru unfolds his arms and flaps them around in protest.

“I did work too!”

And it has begun — Satoru’s famous little tantrums. Oh, he could go for a full hour if he was really worked up but there is a saving grace in him having them. He closes his eyes when he’s yappering. Suguru is listening to his huffy boyfriend but then you kiss his chin and he tilts his face down to look at you.

“Hm?” your teeth brush over his lower lips, then plant firmly on his. “Baby?” he smiles in the lip-locking and you whine about it because his lips should not stretch into that handsome smile, they should be pursed outward and part to let you in.

He tastes chocolate on your tongue. The creaminess of the chocolate makes him groan along with the citrusy notes. That combined with the fruitiness of the cherry tint on your lips makes the taste of the curses he’d ingested (exorcised) all but disappear. Your hands climb to the lobe of his ears and his breath hitches when your fingers trail the curve of it, he protests a bit as you undo his bun; then you whisper his name and Suguru tightens his grip on your waist.

“Hey!”

Satoru is whining again but this time he’s closer. Close enough for Suguru to grab a fistful of Satoru’s white button-up and pull him in. As his face turns you giggle, wiping away some smeared gloss as you watch Satoru turn red from Suguru’s heated kiss.

Satoru groans with his eyebrows twitching. Listless in his attempt to remain angry at Suguru. He pounds his fist against Suguru’s shoulder and attempts to crane his neck away. When he turns, he gasps as you steal his breath.

Satoru’s graceful legs tumble over themselves as his boyfriends press him to the rough wall of the alleyway. There’s a constant hum of an A/C machine and the noises from the pipes keep the intimate noises between the three of you contained. Suguru’s blunt nails drag onto the faded plastered-on advertisements — yours grip onto the bars of the window that had been covered up by old newspapers.

Satoru’s grip onto the front of both of your shirts. His glasses go askew as he struggles to keep up with his boyfriends. Suguru misses Satoru so much. He’d been away too, the Higher Ups sending him overseas at the same time as you and Shoko had to deal with a depressed Suguru for those 3 days.

“Mah, Satoru,” you drag your lips to Satoru’s sensitive neck. His hands don’t seem to know what to do with themselves. It grips and pushes and stutters. “I always give Suguru special kisses after a job well done, you’ve just always been too busy to notice.”

“S’not fair,” Satoru retorts with no real venom in his words. “I deserve special kisses too, don’t I?” Suguru chuckles, forcing Satoru to look his way and shut him up. Satoru glares over the rim of his crooked glasses as Suguru’s thumb presses down on his canines.

“What a jealous brat.”

“Can’t even handle a little teasing.”

Satoru would heavily disagree with that. A little teasing? You called being pushed to a wall, groped, kissed, and bitten by your handsome and powerful boyfriends a little teasing?

Satoru was a sign of change, his birth instantly tipped the scales of the sorcerer world, but he was still human!

Suguru grins that irritatingly pleased grin when Satoru’s protests die out thanks to your hands slipping down his pants. “Oh shit,” he hisses. His speech is odd with Suguru’s thumb in his mouth, casually inspecting it. But you laugh anyway.

“You know, since he has been away too, maybe he does deserve a bit of sugar from you, (Y/N).” You glance at Suguru, your cock chubbing up in your pants as he pointedly motions his gaze to the ground. You kneel in front of Satoru and drool slips down his chin as his pupils chase after you. Suguru chuckles, wiping it away and wiping it off on Satoru’s shirt — to which he hears no complaint. Suguru stands behind you, bending at his waist to peer down. It’s unfair how pretty he is from any angle. The Gods took their time making him. Of that, you are certain.

“Ready, sweetheart?” you nod, opening your saccharine-sweet mouth; Suguru pats your cheek as praise and undoes Satoru’s pants for you. His cock springs out, nearly bumping into your nose as it strains and twitches in the open air. When Suguru holds it, Satoru grunts and raises his hips. Fucking into his fist like a dog in heat. Suguru regards this with a shake of his head and guides Satoru to your mouth. You form a fist around your thumb, looking up at Satoru through your lashes as you wrap your lips around him.

Suguru straightens his composure. He takes in the sight.

Satoru and you know better than to be handsy. The pale-haired man grabs onto the bars of the window behind him, breathing through his nose as the toe of his shoes dig into the floors. You slip your eyelids close and languish in the taste of Satoru’s cock — breathing through your nose as well as you bob your head.

Fuck, Suguru missed this. He really did. He could get off on this alone. Just watched as both of you enjoyed the other. His darling boyfriends, who so obediently listen to his whims even if he didn’t say it out loud.

Who could ask for more?

Suguru strokes over your eyebrow and barely stifles a laugh when you tilt your head so Satoru’s tip pokes your cheeks.

“Good boy. My sweet boy.”

His voice alone makes you want to give in to whatever it is he asks of you — it’s insane how much power and sway he has. Your charming Suguru.

Satoru moans, swiftly reaching out and gripping onto the collar of Suguru’s top. They kiss. Fighting for dominance because Satoru needs to be pushed into submission. He relishes being put in his place — smacked around a little.

You could pinpoint this kink originating from his frivolous childhood and naturally talented self needing some sort of edge to sink down into a more fuzzy headspace.

Or perhaps Satoru was just a brat and he trusted his lovers enough to relinquish that control. Both theories worked.

Suguru grunts as Satoru tugs at his hair, the pleasant tinge of pain making his dick strain against his loose pants. You spot it from the corner of your eyes, an obscene slurping sound coming from you as you attempt to not make this blowjob too messy. An impossible task, really. But a worthy effort.

“Your lips taste like cherry, why?” Satoru’s question catches Suguru off-guard. He expected Satoru’s usual quips and huffiness. He indulges.

“(Y/N) wore cherry-flavoured lipgloss.”

The proof is in the coloured streaks on his dick. You feel it twitch on your tongue and pull away, your hot breath on his cockhead making precum leak out of his blushing tip. You rest it on your velvet tongue, unabashedly pouting to kiss the tip and then taking him inside again. Those slightly shimmery streaks made Satoru grit his teeth.

“I didn’t know those came in flavours,” Satoru moans. “How come you don’t wear that for me too?”

“Because it’s for me, you little shithead,” Suguru growls lowly. Their foreheads touch as he tightens his grip on Satoru’s neck, the pressure making Satoru’s eyelids flutter for a second. “It’s my prize for exorcising curses.”

“You jealous?” you wonder out loud. The answer was clear but there was a rush to make Satoru admit it.

“Yes, I am!” He curses for a moment as you descend further down to lick at his balls, looking up at him still as if this conversation was taking place over a dinner table and not in an alleyway with society just a few meters away. As if his dick wasn't on your face while you feel his balls tightening up on your tongue.

Seriously, if somebody peered down long enough they would most definitely catch sight of the three of you here.

“I just – just...fuck, I missed the two of you too. It’s completely unfair you’ve been keeping this from me too! I’ll never forgive you.”

Suguru grabs the back of your neck and pulls you backward. His large hands effectively push your head down further and further until your nose is at the neat patch of pubic hair Satoru has. You relax your throat and jaw, eyes watering while you brace your hands on Satoru’s thighs.

“So why didn’t you just tell us that, darling?" Suguru purrs. "Instead, you chose to be a brat and stomp around. You’re better than that, Satoru. Aren’t you? Hm?”

You gag but Suguru holds you in place. His hand barely has any real strength behind it. If you jerked backward, he would not hold you in place. No, no. Suguru’s power comes from the lack of strength he needs to exhibit. His dominance is in the ease Suguru commands it.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You needed him inside of you.

“Screw you, Suguru,” Satoru chokes out.

He pulls you off. You cough, spit staining your chin as you smile loosely at them. Suguru then pulls you onto your feet, pushes you to the wall, and undoes your pants. You bite down on your lower lip, staring at Satoru as you brace your hands onto the wall just next to him. Satoru watches on, trying to keep himself strong by pretending he isn’t affected by the sight before him.

Suguru gathers spit in his mouth but pauses as he feels the candy wrapper in your pockets. The chocolate brand makes his brows raise. It’s expensive. No doubt Satoru’s influence had rubbed off on you. Only one company in the world made this chocolate, its pink colour is a dead giveaway. No wonder your cherry-flavoured gloss tasted so strong, it was complimented nicely by the leftover taste of this ruby chocolate.

He lets your pants pool around your ankles while he takes a bite. It wasn’t disgustingly soft, but your body heat made it melt quickly on his tongue. He spreads your ass apart and spits a thick glob of his spit and pink chocolate. The sensation sends shivers up your back and you arch your back further, unsure about the new sensation.

“Suguru, that was expensive — ngh!”

Your eyes widen as he presses his cock inside. You were thankful for your morning romp with them. It loosened you up enough that Suguru’s impatience didn’t cause pain and only mild discomfort — he reaches forward to jerk your cock off to ebb it away and you moan out his name.

“Shh, shh, not so loud. We’re still outside, baby.”

Satoru groans, reaching to toss his glasses away as he turns his back to the entrance and gives you his full attention. He’s craving touch. To taste or to mark you up. To do anything, really. He is goddamn hypnotized by the way Suguru’s dick thrusts in and out of you. Suguru gives you a good fucking for too short of a time — pounding into you like a jackhammer and making you nearly bite your tongue off in an attempt to keep quiet before he pulls out.

Your knees buckle, thighs twitching as you try to keep yourself upright. Satoru’s knees thud onto the floor and he greedily laps at Suguru’s cock, moaning at the creamy taste. The same flavour leaks out of you while you catch your breath. The mouth of the alleyway is quiet but there are still the faint noises of the city just there. A few big strides away. But there. It excites you. You imagine it’s exciting your equally perverted boyfriends too.

"Satoru," Suguru groans at the sight of him. You peel yourself from the wall. Shoulders thudding onto the hard surface while your pants drop to your ankles. Shakily, you use your feet to push it all the way off, eyes trained on Satoru savouring the flavour of Suguru and the ruby chocolate. He pulls away with a breathy 'pwah!' and strokes Suguru's creamy dick.

You're tempted to join Satoru. Just sharing Suguru's cock, kissing Satoru with his cockhead between your lips. Fuck, just the thought has your dick slapping lightly against your navel. Suguru plants a hand near your head, turning his head to kiss you while the other is tugging on the roots of Satoru's head. a

"Both of my boys are being so obedient," he says after a deliciously deep groan of Satoru's name. "We missed you," you reply in a whiny whisper.

"Missed you so much, S'guru..."

Satoru moans, pulling away as he catches his breath and shares a heated gaze.

"Fuck, I missed you so badly. Missed this dick too," Satoru turns to your crotch and kisses the underside of your dick. It makes your breath hitch, hips jerking forward. The wetness of your precum smears on Satoru's cheek a bit but he doesn't even mind. Nor does he seem to notice.

"These cocks are the only ones that make me this hungry."

Suguru glances at the alleyway. You're not loud enough to draw attention. Still, better safe than sorry.

"Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure." You throw your head back to laugh. A veil was meant to conceal, protect those outside of it, and maintain secrecy. To use it so improperly.

The three of you were truly perverted.

"What's got you all giggly?" Suguru speaks against your lips. Tilting your chin upwards then squeezing the sides of your neck just to relish in the way you bare your neck to him.

"You used a veil," Satoru speaks for you. He raises, ignoring Suguru's pointed glance in favour of unbuttoning your shirt and kissing down your chest. His lips are sticky, smears of pink tainting you but you find it hard to care. "He's laughing because he thinks we're perverts."

"What are you? A mind reader now, Satoru?" You huff.

"I might as well be, huh?" Satoru smirks. He's so handsome that it makes your chest hurt sometimes. You're against the wall, exits blocked by Suguru and Satoru and you wouldn't have it any other way. "You know, I missed you too. It's been weeks — "

"Three days," Suguru and you corrected.

"Weeks. And this morning wasn't enough. We did such a good job, those wrinkle bags can't complain if we just so happened to work overtime, right?"

Ijichi can't stop his cheek from heating up. It's painfully, painfully, obvious why the three of you took your time for this mission. He had waited in the car for the first hour, then occupied himself with some coffee at a nearby cafe but by the third hour, Ijichi almost called Principal Yaga.

Three Special Grade Sorcerers took that long to exorcise an abandoned building. Surely, something must have happened!

Yet, seeing you sleeping on Suguru's lap with your legs across Satoru's lap confirms the real reason why it took the three of you that long.

Satoru has a weighted eye mask, head tossed back as he recuperates. This gives Ijichi a clear sight of his marked-up neck. Your shirt is wrinkled, hitched up from the bend of your waist, and giving him the whispers of handmarks. Suguru met his gaze from the rearview and Ijichi whispered out an apology.

"No, please. We're sorry for keeping you waiting." Suguru is brushing your bangs back, gently wiping down some residual stickiness on your cheeks with wet wipes (that Ijichi had made a point to stock up on in the car after earlier missions involving you three).

"No, I understand," he says with a shaky voice. Sighing a little he laughed awkwardly from the driver's seat.

"You must've been missing them a lot for those three days they've been gone, Mr Geto."

Suguru's expression softens, leaning one shoulder down when Satoru leans to place his head on his shoulders.

"It's hard not to. I love them."

[a-simple-imagine]

Winter (K)nights

Requested by anonymous: “van and reader in the wilderness!! maybe something with what just happened about the dynamic of van rigging cards/hurt/comfort about winter being there again”

Pairing: teen!van palmer x reader

Words: 3.6k+

WARNINGS - mentions of the wilderness and the horrors that come with it

It was getting colder. Each passing day brought a fresh layer of frost. A heavy layer. It used to be easier to pretend. When you had settled into the idea that this was home so you had to make the best of it. The sun shone brighter then. There were animals to provide. The nights were warm. And for a moment, as you sat around and listened to tales of triumph, everything felt okay. Even after what happened to coach, there was still a way to make everything okay. You may not know what happened to the cabin; or who truly burnt it down. There was no way to prove it was coach, but he was the most likely candidate. Taissa made a strong case. You answered the wilderness's call with your own song and dance. Honoured to have provided. To appease. The merry dance of the yellowjackets was so rudely interrupted. And with strangers came the crushing reality of your situation. Lottie said the Wilderness did not want them here. That they didn't belong. You agreed, but not for the same reason. Why couldn't they have just stayed away? Left you all to your make-believe. Instead, their arrival brought you all something you hadn't felt for a very long time. Hope. Hope that was so quickly shattered by Lottie, Tai and worst of all, Shauna.

"Hey, you've been in here all day." This morning, you were woken up by shrill cries of despair. The kind that you hear in horror movies. The type of scream that jerks you violently. Van had dragged you out of the hut to inspect alongside just about everyone else at camp. Dragging your feet as you approach the animal pen to find Akliah hunched over a small goat, sobbing. You couldn't believe it. Every animal lay motionless. Dead. The animals that were supposed to help you survive the upcoming winter. A step closer to Van, she takes your hand. Sensing your uneasiness. It was in this instance that it was decided that you would have another hunt. According to Lottie, the wilderness was unhappy. It demands sacrifice. True sacrifice. Shauna agreed. Nobody else really got a say. Not like you used to. You returned to the hut and haven't left again since. Watching the shadows as they pass. Trapped in your own thoughts. "Are you okay?"

"What's the first thing you wanted to do when we got home?" You wonder. Thoughts of home have consumed most of your waking moments. It couldn't have changed much in the last year, and yet it feels like a distant land. Do your parents still think about you? Is your room exactly how you left it? Do your teachers see empty seats and think about the girls lost in the wilderness? Van lingers by the opening.

"Honestly? I miss my bed," She comments as she passes over the threshold. "I just want to bury myself under fresh, warm sheets and sleep for like a week." Your eyes flicker up as she comes to stand over you. "What about you?"

"I wanna take you out on a date. A proper date." You admit, offering a small smile before your gaze falls once more. It seemed like a childish admission. You're only desire right now is more time with Van, but she's been the most consistent thing in your life the past year. You couldn't have done this without her. There were so many things you wanted to do with Van that you never could before and possibly never will. Senior year stolen away by this grim reality. "We'd go to the movies to see whatevers playing and I'd get us a large popcorn to share. Maybe sour gummies," You know Van loves sour candy. "And we wouldn't have to think about anything else for like two hours. You'd deliberately reach for the popcorn every time I do so our hands brush and I tell you to stop it, but actually think it's really cute. Then we drive around because neither of us wanna go home yet, and I listen to you tell me everything you liked or didn't like about the movie."

"Damn," Van responds. "Can I change my answer?"

It makes you chuckle lightly. She'd always been able to break through the darkness even if it was just for a moment. "No." You answer. "Be true to yourself." She deserved as much. It is no surprise that softness is what she seeks most. Comfort. Van had been through so much out here. If you could give her even half the safety she sought, you would. You'd do anything. But you have nothing to offer.

"What else would we do?" Van asks, taking a seat beside you. You take a moment to think as if you're nightly thoughts aren't filled with a future entwined with Van. As if you haven't already thought of all the silly things you could do together. Finally, tell your parents that she's not just your best friend. "Whatever you want. Maybe we go... rollerskating and you keep falling over. Either because you're clumsy or just because it makes me laugh, I offer to hold your hand. Maybe that was the plan all along. And we skate around together, giggling and just having fun. We get food after, something greasy like pizza or a big bag of fries. Oh, and milkshakes for sure."

"What I wouldn't give for fries and a shake right now,"

"Or there's the arcade. You keep denying it, but you let me win at all the games because you just wanna see me happy. You love how excited I get. You try to show off and win something. Maybe you do, maybe you don't. I'm trying to encourage you from the sidelines. If you do win, obviously you give it to me and say something real dumb like 'for you m'lady'."

"I'm such a good boyfriend." Your relationship with Van had started way before you'd gotten stranded out in the wilderness. You had been friends for years. Your parents knew her quite well. The whole dating thing was a newer development. Started the summer before senior year as you sat in the park. Van plucking pieces of grass out of the ground. The sun setting in the distance. She had been so nervous. You knew something was up immediately. A stolen kiss. Brief. Light. Hardly worthy of a headline. She told you she fancies girls. One girl in particular. Had been expecting the worst but she felt confessing both things together took some of the pressure off. You hadn't know what to say at first. Van got flustered. Started brushing it off like some kind of joke. You could have responded better. It didn't matter now. You glance at Van, a small smile forming.

"Yeah," You nod a little. "You are."

"Do you think about that stuff a lot?" Was she referring to herself or just the future?

"More frequently after everything that happened," You shrug. "But yes. More so, what we’re missing out on."

"That'll drive you crazy," Like you hadn't all lost your minds a long time ago.

"Probably." A heavy sigh. "Would you have asked me?"

"huh?"

"To Prom- do you think, you would have asked me?"

Oh uh..." A shrug. "I would have liked to. We wouldn't have gone together though." That would have meant coming out to everyone. You may have shown up together, but should anyone ask, you would have had to say you were flying solo. Out here, you didn't hide that part of yourself. Everyone knew about you and Van. It had been so simple. Makes you wish you had done it sooner. "It's weird to think about." Yeah. Yeah, it was. You get the feeling that Van isn't the type to dwell on the loss of the last year. She was so focused on the here and now. Keeping everyone going. You admired that. Wished for a similar strength instead of a burden.

"Van,"

"Yeah?"

You take a deep breath like it will settle the nerves rattling in your chest. "I can't do this,"

"Do what?" Her response is unhurried. Without a care.

"Everything," You tell her, turning to her. She's staring straight ahead. Wrapped up in multiple layers of clothes with animal skin over the top. It was already so cold and it was just gonna get worse. "I can't go through another winter out here."

"We have to," She tells you. A small quick nod. "It'll be okay."

How could she be so sure? You know she hasn't forgotten what happened last winter. The cold. The way you all nearly starved to death. Jackie. Javi. Stories of grandeur may have blinded you from the harsh realities of the past. You can keep telling yourself it was a necessity. It was a matter of survival. You wouldn't have made it this far if you hadn't... But maybe you never should have. Maybe death was the least you all deserved. The hunt tomorrow morning was a step backwards. A descent back into the chaos. Was it truly just a matter of survival when the chance for rescue had been right there? You could have gone home. Left this all behind. Escaped. This was a choice. One forced upon you but still. None of you stood up to Shauna. There's more of you than her. Even with Tai and Lottie's support, there were still more of you who had wanted to leave. "We could have gone home. We had the chance to leave."

"I know." Van refuses to look at you. You can tell. It just means she doesn't really believe what she's saying otherwise she'd be looking at you while pleading her case. Didn't even have to work all that hard, you usually allowed yourself too much comfort out here. "But we're here."

"Van-"

"We're here," She interrupts firmly. It surprises you. It's rare Van snaps at you. "We have to make the best of it. Rescue will... come again," You weren't so sure. It'd been nearly a year before the frog scientists stumbled across your soccer team. A moment of chance because they followed the sound of your song. Who knows if you'll get that lucky again? And this little game could only last so long. You can't just ... hunt everyone. Would the wilderness just keep demanding sacrifices until there was no one left? A lone survivor. At this rate that'd be Shauna.

"What if that was our only shot?"

"It's not- just... trust me, okay?" Van reassures, she looks at you now. Meeting your eyes but you look away. You can't stand that look of hope right now. You fall into a somewhat awkward silence. Both in completely different head spaces. You wonder how it's possible for Van to remain so hopeful. Where was she getting the motivation? You watch her hands fiddle with the deck of cards that seal your fate. The red queen sits atop. Would it really be so bad if you picked that card out tomorrow? If it's what the wilderness wants, maybe it's what you deserve. A punishment for how weak you've been. Indulged in delusions.

"I hope it's me," You admit. It sounds weird coming from your mouth.

"Which?"

You're almost too scared to say it again. Like you would put it out into the universe. Reaching over you pluck the queen from Van's grip. Feeling it between your fingers. An old ratty queen of hearts would decide who dies. Maybe this was right? As much as your stomach churns and bubbles in fear at least it'd all be over. At least you will have provided for your team. "Tomorrow." You can feel Van's eyes on you. You're not sure if it's shock or she just takes a moment to realise but there's a moment of pause before she speaks up.

"No," Firm. Simple. Your fingertips press into the card.

"I do."

"Don't say that." Her voice is louder. Louder than it had been for the rest of the conversation. She snatches the card back as if just holding it was somehow sealing your fate. You're about to plead your case when a cough sounds from across the hut. Taissa stands at the entrance; and walks in without an invitation.

"Hey, can we talk?" You know she means Van. You didn't have a terrible relationship with Taissa by any means but lately, she just seems different. You stay out of her way.

"Sure," Van replies, getting up onto her feet. Brushing herself off. Tai's eyes flicker to you still sitting on the floor.

"Do you need to be here?" She questions. Your brow furrows. This was your hut that she barged into.

"We were in the middle of a conversation," You express, with no intention of leaving.

"Yeah quite loudly. If you're gonna undermine Shauna's leadership maybe do it a little quieter."

"That's not what was happening-"

"She's staying," Van interrupts. "It's fine. What did you want?" Tai gives you a look you can't quite figure out before turning to Van.

"The hunt tomorrow,"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"What if," Tai's eyes flicker to you before looking towards the entrance. "What if we help the wilderness with its decision?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've been practicing with the cards right?" Tai's voice is calm and quiet. Like she's been practising her pitch. "You've done it before."

"What are you asking here, Tai?"

You look between the two girls. Was Taissa suggesting what you think she is? Card draws become the easiest and fairest way to make decisions about who does what. You didn't only use it for hunts but to decide who does the tasks nobody wants to do. With Van being in charge of the deck she'd gotten good at messing with cards so she could decide who got the queen. "like with Crystal," you say aloud. Tai looks to you with a nod, and Van's eyes follow. "you made sure she got the queen, right?"

"Yeah but that was just for shit bucket duty," Van responds. "You're asking me to... choose who dies. These are our friends. Our teammates."

"Not all of them," Tai clarifies.

"Hannah," Her name slips from your lips as easily as she pops into your head. The only person she could be referring to is Hannah. She was one of three scientists to arrive at camp. The only one still alive. After she stabbed her companion in the eye during an escape attempt, she had been welcomed into the fold. Allowed her own degree of freedom. She was a nice enough woman. You had spoken a few times while doing chores.

"You can't honestly trust her? We'd have to do something about her eventually anyway," Tai shrugs. The reason Tai had said she wanted to stay was because she didn't trust the scientists. They left her with a bad feeling. She insisted the rest of you were just so blinded by your desire to go home that you couldn't see it. We have to stay and figure out a story to tell everyone. You knew going home was never gonna be easy. You'd done awful things out here that you'd have to explain.

"You want me to give Hannah the queen," Van states, looking at the cards in her hand. The queen of hearts still sits prettily on the top.

"Think about it. She's a complete stranger," Tai answers.

"I thought the point was that the wilderness decides?" You express.

"Maybe it's Hannah or maybe it's one of us- maybe it's them." Tai points at you and you suddenly feel so small. You knew what she was doing and the conflicted look on Van's face suggested it was working. "Are we really gonna be congratulating ourselves when one of us ends up dead?"

"I guess not," Van responds softly.

"Think about it," And with that, Taissa exits your hut and leaves the tension behind. Neither of you make a move. Sitting with the idea. If Van rigs the cards to get rid of Hannah then your friends get to live. You and Van get to live. But how long until the wilderness demands sacrifice once again?  The burden would continuously fall upon Van to do this over and over again.

"Van," You say softly. She doesn't respond but her eyes flicker to you. You reach up ushering her closer. She takes a few steps and your hand finds hers. "Talk to me."

"What do you think I should do?" She asks. Small and quiet. You can't comprehend the predicament that's going on in her head right now. It's selfish but you're glad it's not you. There is so much you would do for Van but you're not sure you could do that. Sentence someone to death.

"I... don't know," You sigh softly, squeezing her hand. You wish you had the answer here. That you could make this easier for her. "Whatever you think is best."

"Wow so helpful," Van sighs. Her normal sarcastic tone makes a reappearance. It makes you smile a little if only for a moment before reality sets back in. "I just... I don't know if I can do it."

"Then don't," You tell her. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Just let the wilderness decide." Van takes a step closer so she's almost looming over you. So much conflict behind those pretty eyes. You just look up. Still holding her hand, you start to sway it a little between the two of you. You know Taissa only mentioned you to make the decision harder. It was a smart idea on her part. It was clearly working.

“Would that make you feel better?”

"Baby," you say softly, running your thumb over the back of her hand. Van's little story times while entertaining also had another purpose. A desire to make everything okay. Anything can be twisted into a hero's tale. She has put herself into a role that's now acting as a cage. "You're not responsible for everyone."

"Maybe," said quietly. Her other hand falls to her side, a card slipping to the floor. The queen of hearts sits face up mocking the both of you. One stupid little card the source of so much anguish. "What if it's you though?"

"Then it's me," You shrug. What were you supposed to say? What was she expecting here? “It’ll be the will of the wilderness.”

Van's eyes now shimmer with the threat of tears. It tugs at your heart. You pull on her hand and she practically collapses into you. Wrapping her arms around your shoulders pulling you tight. It's a little startling. Unlike her. But you soon relax, putting your arms around her too. She was so warm. “I can't let it be you,” whispered into the curve of your neck. A tight squeeze. “I won’t let them.”

“You don't have to do that,” You never imagined Van’s desire would outweigh her morals. This decision will probably haunt her. You don't want that. Don't wanna be the cause of her future regrets. It wasn't fair to her. She pulls back, a little sniffle. Oh, Van. Heat floods your face, that peppery feeling before you’re about to cry.

“I do,” She confirmed.

“No.”

“Tai’s right. It's one of us or it's her, at least this way I keep our friends alive. I keep you alive,” Guess Taissa’s plan worked like a charm. Like some medieval sense of honour and duty outweighed her sense. It was stupid but it was also endearing. You've never had someone care about you so much.

“Van,” You sigh softly. “You know I wouldn't blame you, right? Nobody would but if you do this… there's no coming back.”

“I know but I need you more,” You look at her for a long moment. Taking her in. The wild edge to her long red hair. The glossy shine of her blue eyes. The sprinkling of freckles. Deep red scars that’ll never allow her to escape this place. “I need you,” she repeats quietly as if to make sure you heard her. To stress your importance in her life. Your heart twists. Your forehead falls to rest against hers. You stay like this for a minute before leaning in to connect your lips. It's short but slow. Ghostly.

“I need you too,” you admit against her lips.

“Lay down for me,” She tells you. “On your stomach.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” Your brow furrows a little but you do as instructed. Menovering to lay down as comfortably as possible. Even with a blanket, it was rough. Sharp. “Can I touch you?” You nod a little before laying your head on your crossed arms out in front of you. A moment later you feel her push your shirt up. Your mind goes to the most obvious place but it seems like a one-eighty from your conversation. You're not really in that kinda mood but you don't stop her as you feel her fingertips apply light pressure against your back before sliding down until her palms hit your skin. Oh. This made a lot more sense. A soft hum of approval. Van always did this to help you calm down. Soothe you in stressful moments. She says she likes it too. Can't resist getting her hands on you in whatever way she can. Sometimes you’d do it to her too. And other times you play a game where you form words with your fingers and have to guess what the other is writing. It was nice. Helped pass the time. You overhear Van sigh. Random shapes she was drawing on your back now begin to form letters. 'I', followed by a heart and 'Y' 'O' 'U'. Typical Van. It makes you smile to yourself. Your eyes drifting closed. "I’m gonna protect you,"

[aswanlake]

᯽ 0.1⠀( what a cliche . )⠀by aswanlake.

tags: dividers by @sseuda & @strangergraphics-archive | @harrypotterlovers-things

synopsis: finnick made a vow to never mentor anyone again, he was terrified of getting people’s hopes up just for it to ultimately end in despair. until his new tribute is a breath of fresh air and letting her die would be too much on his conscious, however he focus too much on make sure she was physically strong and not mentally.

content warnings: mentions of prostitution , more fluff for the first chapter , not a lot of finnick (for now) , I don’t think much else it’s a calm first chapter

word count: 2.1k

a/n: this was supposed to be out two days ago . . my bad . working on “the worst guide to murder” right now however I’m not sure if people really like it so if the first chapter doesn’t do well then I might scrap it .

song of the chapter⠀⠀:⠀⠀your left me first by d4vd .

© aswanlake do not copy, steal, translate, repost any of my works

Finnick made a promise to himself after his sixth year of being a mentor that was going to stop completely. He was never a bad mentor, Annie won, five years after he had won so it was proof that he wasn’t terrible however he couldn’t deal with the guilt anymore. He was freshly twenty and yet he has never known a day of peace, the Capital took advantage of him, his naivety, his broken mind and body. It didn’t matter who, man, woman, all of them would take their chance with the newest victor, claiming their disgusting comments talking about how handsome he’ll look whenever he “grows up”, he wasn’t even grown up yet. Twenty didn’t feel old, it felt like a slap in the face, an insult because the older he got the more clients that came and it was sickening, he felt gross in his own skin.

Until you. District four was a career district although it was never really regarded as one because the reaped had enough training to survive but never truly to win. They never ganged up with the other career districts, merely kept to themselves until the time came down to choose a winner. You however felt the fault in your luck, you’d felt it in your bones, as soon as you were of age you would be reaped. It was as if your guardian angel whispered the words of ruin in your ear anytime you were reminded of the Hunger Games. You hated watching them, children hunting others for sport didn’t seem exciting or enticing by any stretch of the imagination, your best friend from district four agreed, it's why you were so close, the two of you would always do anything but watch the Hunger Games together. You would watch bits and pieces– the highlights to at least be able to fit in with the crowd but beyond that, the two of you would be cooped up in your room doing some type of arts and crafts activity. The past few times you’ve made seashell picture frames for Christmas and then you started to try your hand at crochet, which was a lot harder than you had expected, the different types of patterns had you spinning, attempting to make even simple items was a struggle. However, over the past couple months you’ve been getting better and better, almost finishing a sweater that you were going to give to your mother.

Calder– your best friend, said that he was working on something as well but wouldn’t tell you who it was for or even what it was. You only got bits and pieces whenever the two of you got to work together. “ It’s for a girl, isn’t it? You're making a cute little present for your crush. ” You teased heavily, carrying a basket filled with food from the market the two of you had acquired for dinner. His smile grew heavy but he didn’t confirm or deny, just shrugging his shoulders with a wicked glare. “ Oh come on! I know it’s true! Is it the girl from down the stream? What’s her name. . . Amaya? Or the girl from the bakery? I see you two look at each other a lot whenever we go in for bread. ”

He pushed your shoulder playfully, enough to shove you but not enough to catch you off balance as you two walked. “ Shut up, we do not look at each other a lot. I’m buying bread from her, obviously I’m gonna look at her! ” You rolled your eyes at his very reasonable but stupid excuse. “ Yeah but you don’t gotta give her googly eyes as she hands the bread to you. You could just look around outside or at the other bread in the case as you wait for her to give it to you. ” He ignored your comment but that slick smile was still there so you were positive that you were correct. Before you could open your mouth to speak, a siren began to sound, springing the fear out of the both of you for a moment. “ Reaping. ” Calder’s voice was calm, too calm as if he knew nothing would truly ever happen to the two of you. Thank god for him, you never did think you were going to get chosen but that didn’t stop your heart from sinking every time it came around.

The two of you quickly made your way home, dropping off the items you had picked up from the market, you both would back in time to put everything up in the pantry. Sadly you two parted, it was better to be with family during the reaping, even though you wished you could be by his side for this part but it would probably only get you two in trouble. Last time you two were near each other during something important, you burst out laughing and got grounded for three months. Your mother wasn’t anxious, she was rather calm, you were the opposite. You couldn’t help the nerves, they made you sick even though you knew everything would be fine. You blocked out the sound of the woman’s voice, her droning on was enough to make you sick until the sound of your name cut through the silence. You didn’t process it at first, everyone around you did but you didn’t. Your body stilled and your head never lifted from the ground, you just stared. Your mother’s tears and gasps pulled you out of your trance and you faced her, unsure of what to say or do. “ I forgot to put the bread up. Can you do that when you get home? ” Your voice was shaky, perhaps it was the shock, you weren’t even sure why you said that.

You still didn’t move so the peacekeepers started to move you, dragging your limbs easily as if your body had gone limp. The only thing you heard was the sound of Calder screaming for you, fighting for you. “ I’ll volunteer! I’ll volunteer as tribute! Let me take her place! Please! ” He was held back by another set of peacekeepers, but you tried your best to reach him, however your efforts were fruitless. Peacekeepers were built to fight. To withstand. To be an immovable force and remind you of your unforsaken fate. “ I’m sorry but only other young women can volunteer for the female tribute. ” The colorful woman on stage spoke, that was the only thing that got him quiet. They forced you onto the stage, held Calder in place in the crowd as tears filled your eyes. The woman asked you if you had anything to say but you couldn’t force the words out. You just shook like a leaf on that stage while your mother wept because you were reaped. Then the tribute for the boys came, the woman on stage could barely get the words out before Calder spoke. “ I volunteer! I volunteer, me! ” He forced his way out of the peacekeeper’s grip to make it to the stage. Despite the people blocking him, you felt his arms wrap around you, grip tight as if he was afraid you’d be ripped apart. He was right which only made it more disheartening whenever they did pull him, you fought against it, wanting to keep the only thing you had left close to you but couldn’t. Not until the end.

You visited your mother one final time, told her about the sweater you were working on. If you were being honest, you didn’t think that you would make it home. The Hunger Games was a ruthless and despicable game. You couldn’t even kill a rabbit, what made you think that you could kill a human being. The train ride was relatively silent, Finnick didn’t really have any words for you, you didn’t think he would. You’ve heard of his streak, refusing to help his tributes, complaining that they were too weak minded for the games and he didn’t want to give them false hope but you knew it was bullshit. If anything you thought it was selfish, selfish of him to not give them false hope. You’d rather die with false hope because at least it would give you a chance, right now you didn’t even want to try, you had accepted that there was nothing to you. No point in you even giving it a go with training or the games or trying to be intimidating because you had no hope.

Calder kept you close, head pushed into his chest, you’d stopped crying a little while ago but you didn’t move your body. Too afraid to face the outside world. “ So, what are you two? Hm? Lovers? We going for a star-crossed concept? ” Finnick’s tone was cocky, laced with nothing but sarcasm. It was heavy and mocking, maybe it wasn’t on purpose but you felt like it. Your eyes moved to see him out of the corner of your eye, he was perfectly sober but neck was littered in hickies. You wanted to puke, the PDA was irritating, the least he could do was keep it to himself. Is this how victors bragged about living? By showing themselves off? You’d heard the rumors from the other districts about the victors “getting around”, only people in the capitol had enough to pay for it but the first district knew a lot. They were a disposal of secrets. Things tunneled out of the Capital and into the first district.

The victors were show ponies, they turned their lives into a reality show to deal with the trauma of surviving. You didn’t think it to be possible but everyone dealt with their trauma and grief in different ways and besides, you didn’t survive. You couldn’t decide how other people should live their lives. You could barely even decide your own. “ Fuck off. Are you even going to mentor us or will you just sit there awkwardly and make bad jokes? ” Calder’s voice was harsh and rough, his hands cradled you as one would a baby bird. Finnick’s face dropped, as if he wasn’t expecting the harsh manner, his hands moved upwards in a sign of retreat, the smile that was wiped off of his face returned. “ Didn’t mean for the hostility kid. Just. . wanted to lighten the mood. ” He sat back on the opposing couch, arms and legs crossed as he digested the sight before him. You pulled away from Calder, his body flinched, head whipping to see you and ensure you were ok. The tear streaks had dried on your face, eyes were red and puffy. “ Will that work? ” Your voice was quiet, shaky, harmless. They both didn’t expect you to speak and Calder surely didn’t expect such a question out of you. “ Will acting like that in public work? Will it help us survive? ” Two victors was impossible, that you knew very well but if it gave you the public advantage and even helped Calder further in the competition then that’s all you wanted.

However he was rather apprehensive, his hand resting on the small of your back as concern covered his face. “ Are you sure about doing this? We don’t know how the public might take it? We don’t even know how to act. . well you surely don’t. ” Him picking fun at you almost made you forget where the two of you were, a smile finally pulling at your once saddened expression. “I can- I will, if it means it will help. ” Now the two of you turned your attention back to Finnick, now skeptical if the plan would even work. Finnick was going through an internal battle watching the two of you. He vowed to not help anyone ever again, not give those kids any false hope about survival but you two tugged at the heart strings he had tried so desperately to hide from this line of work. He couldn’t take it, had the two of you been focused you would have noticed how glassy his eyes got and the tremble of his lip before he smiled– washing it over as if it was fine.

“ Yeah, I think we can make that work but you have to be believable. You aren’t the first pair to try it so your expectations will be high. I don’t mean be on top of each other, just… show them that you care– give the capitol a show to enjoy. ” It sounded so sinister as he said it but this was truly one of the only ways of survival. “ The more the capital enjoys you two, the more they’ll try and send you gifts, gifts are good. They help you survive longer. As your sponsor I’ll do my best to send you things from others and if you do good enough then maybe– maybe even myself. ” He let the room fall silent before finishing. " Are we clear? ” You looked at Calder, his soft eyes waiting for you before agreeing or disagreeing and then you both nodded. From this point on, you were lovers, shouldn’t be that hard, right?

[thequietkid-moonie]

A new oportunity you don't know if you want

[ ONE-SHOT ] [ Twisted Wonderland ]

⚠️ Hidden depresion, intrusive thoughts, implied suicide

Cooked right after my own depresive episode, i think it is good, i mean, is exactly what i wanted to wrote and its odly comforting but maybe i should make another part for the comfort, after all this is too sad and hits top close to home

The day you came to this world was quite the experience, it was quite shocking to suddently be in a place you didn't know with people you didn't knew, you were quite nervous because all the eyes were on you but not for what could happen to you,

Getting used to your new life truly felt like getting used to live, you had to make extra efforts to get up at morning, sometimes you feel like you don't know what you were doing or why you were even doing it and when you started to make friends with the people on this school (normally not under the best circumstances) you had to repeat yourself over and over again that they were truly your friends because it felt too surreal

You weren't scared even when it was only you and Grim talking to the headmage of Night Raven College, he was trying to find anything about your world when you finally realiced something, you didn't remembered you world, you remembered a few things like the name of where you used to live, you had some vague memories of people who were important for you and small insignificant details but that was all, even so he promised that with the little information you provided he would find a way to send you back, you thanked him but deep down you don't even care if you went back or not

You spend quite some time doubting your new friendships and even more yourself just because it was so weird, you were a magicless human, you weren't even from this world! Is it really alright for you to call them your friends? Maybe they were just pitying you, there were times where you found yourself thinking that maybe they would be better without you or that they just feel like they have to include you for being polite, but just as those thoughts start to wandering in your mind someone is quick to prove you wrong, getting you out of those thought and dragging you around to whatever they were about to do, making you feel reasured without even knowing it

Still, no matter how much you tried to ignore this thoughts and strange feelings there were times where this void and despair inside of you just consume you in the quiet loneliness of your room, sometimes it is just the momentary feeling and doubting yourself but quickly being able to dismis it, other times the feeling persist for days, forcing you to put a smile in front of your friends, not wanting to worry them, after all you feel like you already are too much of a burden

It was in one of those times where you were alone, just trying to get ready for the day when something caught your attention, in your skin there was lingering a scar, a rather suspicious one, one that couldn't have been done during any of the classes nor even with magic, it looked old enough that it was normal that you didn't remembered it, it was more likely to be something that happened back in your world

"Oh right, i was suppoused to die back then"

The thought came out of nowhere, passing throught your mind like the most normal thing ever and yet it startled you completely, making you cover your mouth and hold your breath as if to prevent anyone to heard what was going on in your mind, slowly, once the initial shock finally faded away the memories that you thought were lost slowly came back, that world you forgotten was one that you didn't want to be in anymore, even if it wasn't the worst or maybe your life wasn't that bad nor lonely you just couldn't ignore your feelings, the deep sadness, the hate, the wish to just go to sleep and never wake up again

And you did, you put an end to your life, but just as if the universe thought you suffering was fun, you died in your world just to be brought to another, you took a moment to process everything, to look back and think while desperately avoiding looking at the scar in your skin

"Do you really want to be here? Do you want to continue? You took your life once, it wouldn't be much problem to do it again, after all you aren't from this world, nothing will change if you are gone, right? Besides, do you really want to try again? To keep going? Is there truly a better tomorrow?"

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Grim's voice as he was complaining about how you were wasting time, what could have been taking you so much? You two need to go now unless you want to get scolded by Profesor Trein, do you really want to get punished again?

It took you a moment to realice where you were before quickly fix yourself, hide as much as posible your anxious and frighten state as much as posible, grabbing your belongings and running with Grim towards the class, saying a quick sorry and trying to concentrate in your rutine, ignoring completely when Grim asked again what took you so long, or when Ace and Deuce asked if you were alright, you looked... frighten, a but pale even, you sure you weren't sick? but you insisted that it was nothing

But it wasn't just nothing, no matter how much you tried to ignore it all the doubts found its way back to your mind in the less expected moments, slowly making its way to your heart once again, do you really want to try again? Do you really want this oportunity to live?

The memory of that day came a few days later, you remembered getting ready to take your life, looking back just to make sure everything was ready and you won't stopped, you remembered the last deep breath you took before doing it, and the way you felt when life escaped from your hands, that tempting peace you felt as your eyes closed, feeling scared of how much you were wishing you stayed with your eyes closed

That memory quickly started to haunt you down, making you have nightmares about the day Crowley find a way to send you home, having a quick farewell with your friends before being pushed on the mirror to return home, just to find yourself stuck in the cold and lonely darkness of death, alone with no place to return to, other times your nightmares were about your new friends, about how after you left your fear of really not meaning anything was comfirmed, no one talked about you, not even remembered you, you were just a faceless lost memory, a moment in their lifes, not even here you would be missed

But all of that were just nightmares, just irrational fears, or that what you try to say to yourself since you still were too scared to share any of this thoughts with anyone, suffering in silence and being haunted all day once again by the sadness, the fear and the hate, and, under all of that, the emptiness and feeling numb, the same feeling that leaded you to take your life once

You don't know how much longer you can handle this all alone, this life seems at least a little more bright, more hopeful, but thats until your friends graduate, after that you will be left alone again, and you don't know if you will be able to handle it when it happens, or if you will even make it to that day

[indierpgnewsletter]

New Itch Games Dec to March 2025

Missed an edition of this regular round-up of new games on itch. If this is the first time you’re seeing one of these: they are mostly games that came through this form. I haven’t played or read them but each of them has something that made me sit up and pay attention. This is a particularly bountiful episode because I would play all of these games.

Deluge at Drizzle Distillery: There’s a magical storm at the holy water distillery! Oh no! An adventure by Mun Kao for Kala Mandala, his fantasy SE Asia setting.

Land in the Mist Starter Set: This is a horror game where you play through specific scenarios set in the real world between 1750 and 1850. The starter set contains all the rules and has an adventure, Of Pagans and Reindeer, set in Northern Finland in 1811. (Rat in a Suit / PWYW)

unfamiliar: A game of magical familiars who have lost or been abandoned by their wizardly masters. It’s partially inspired by We3 which is one of those sad comics designed to hit you right in the feelings. (Feature Creep / PWYW)

What Happened To Margot Kwan: This is a mystery for Girls at the Genziana Hotel, a PbtA game of maids in a hotel investigating the disappearance of one of their own. This moves the game to an American university town. Genziana Hotel is a really interesting game and this adventure/setting moves it into more explicitly Life is Strange territory. (Mynar Lenahan)

Tactical Espionage Action: Dice Goblin Games wrote 16 adventures for FIST, the occult espionage game, in two months. They include: infiltrating casinos, volcanic lairs, frigid research stations, colonial horrors, and of course, Satan trapped in a beach ball. (PWYW outside the bundle)

Alone in the Loop: A solo journalling game of a time traveler experience hope and despair as they explore the same loop over and over again. Great premise. (Paul Doyle / PWYW)

Mum Chums: A slice of life game about motherhood and looking after children from Tanya Floaker. It’s a real world game exploring real world themes, simultaneously high stakes and low stakes in the best way. (Unlimited community copies)

Faire Season 2: A group of historical reenactors at a Ren Faire-type event get pulled into an actual quest of myth and magic by the power of The Dream. It uses the Belonging outside Belonging system to explore our relationship to our roleplay alter-egos. (Okami)

Ringmaster: A Descended from the Queen game about a dark, magical circus. Honestly, that was enough for me. Like For the Queen, it revolves around a powerful NPC, the Ringmaster, and ends with a pivotal question: is the circus your home or your prison or both? (Spotless Dice Games)

One Of Us Will Die: A social deduction RPG of tragedy and fate. One of the characters, the Mark, knows they will die at the end but can’t say so. One of the characters is trying to kill the Mark before they can fulfill their destiny. The rest of the group are trying to save the Mark and maybe sacrifice themselves instead. (Titus Villanueva)

The Archivium: A solo dark academia game. By day, you’re a student. By night, you’re a guardian of a secret, magical library. You build out the archive and its weird classification system and play towards one of 16 endings. (Lich Light)

In Love With The Moon: The year is 1968. You are a team of scientists, crowded in an old castle where the air flows thick with LSD and there is a maze of rooms below you stocked with every scientific oddity, all for one purpose: to get you to the moon by whatever means necessary. (James Kerr / PWYW)

Ring-lationship Disc-ord: A game where you play Crokinole (!?) to tell the story of two people who are locked in an argument that stems from their past and identity. Truly one of the worst names for anything ever (I say this with love) but I am a sucker for using folk games to explore a story that resonates with their existing mechanics. (Colin Mancini, Sociable Turtle Games)

Codename: Cinderella: A cute one page game about espionage agents working for the Fairy Godmother to execute nursery rhyme-inspired missions. (Fuzztech)

The Burning of the Free Port of Dohn Amuran: This is an adventure for Grimwild from Natalie Ash. It’s a powder keg situation featuring a violent dockmaster, a free union of boat captains, and the adventurers with a chance to prevent bloodshed and broker a fragile peace.

Deadline: A GM-less, map-making, news-chronicling game. Play journalists who are capturing the story of a changing city with their headlines. The city itself is in the grip of an industrial revolution and all that entails. (Wanderers Tome)

I really enjoyed making this list. It just reminded me that there’s so many interesting games out there and I wish I had time to play them all. These designers are all doing fascinating work and making weird art. It makes me happy and I hope making this stuff made them happy too.

[guiltycorp]

Damn i really want to know tf happened in the writing room of arcane s2. Some of the downgrades were inevitable due to the show's corporate limitations (not being able to progress the class war story in a meaningful way, having to tie things back to league of legends in terms of making playable characters more appealing to well, play... rip Mel and Viktor in particular), sure. But i still feel like it's even worse than that? There are so many bad decisions that i couldn't even start listing them all... the characters, plot, pacing, themes, it's just such a mess? Even the dialogue writing, it feels much more mm Marvel at its worst i suppose. What i am most bothered by is probably just the straight up harmful messaging so um... Cycles of violence and abuse can be broken by individual decisions to become a better person! Got nothing to do with systemic oppression, living conditions, mental health issues, you can just conveniently ignore aaall the social context, live laugh love and then things get better automatically yep, oppressors famously stop oppressing you when you show them that you're harmless and won't put up a fight anymore. Literally three out of three suicidal characters dying to redeem themselves? Not even in a tragic/cathartic way but in a bittersweet 'they finally atoned for their mistakes' way? Groundbreaking lmao. Romantic relationship between Vi and Caitlyn including no communication about their biggest fight, just conveniently skipping to sex and getting back together - would have loved that if it was framed as the unhealthy fucked up thing that it is, skipping over Vi's hurt and her background to once again become a cop, her girlfriend's direct underling at that (!) due to her not having any other support systems... But nope that was our cute lesbian romance wrapped up, a good thing all around, not concerning at all. Jayce telling Viktor that what he 'always admired about him' was his disability and his deadly disease (??? from a character who spent the whole s1 and first act of s2 desperately trying to help Viktor find a cure? sure) and that those imperfections don't need fixing, just wtf truly. Magic bullshit was also weird, some implications of 'natural magic is ok, but achieving that power through other means corrupts you into a crazy robot bitch or just wilts your trees i guess', but tbh it was written in such a weird and inconsistent way that we can skip this one... Yeah actually a lot of things were just such a mess that I feel silly pointing to specific moments or lines I didn't like, I mean duh, it barely makes sense as a story at all... I am happy we have s1 which comparatively was a masterpiece, and i also really enjoyed s2 act1, i truly believed it would lead somewhere good at the time, my mind still kind of cuts off the story at that point when i think about it, that WAS the open ending of the show to me (is it possible that there were rewrites? targeting act 2 and 3? idk, wishful thinking perhaps). Despite my extremely negative feelings about this season's conclusion i remain glad that so many people appreciate the show regardless, it is clear that there was STILL a lot of love in the process of its creation (although i'd argue that even some of the visual aspects of the show suffered in quality, once again i have to wonder about behind the scenes mood of it all) and i get very upset when i see creatives online despairing over reception of their projects even when i'm absolutely in the disgruntled crowd hahaha... ...however yeah, this wasn't great In a world that increasingly grows more and more right-wing politically... we really needed something different i think.

[miasmaghoul]

Here, have some soft dewther emotional hurt/comfort for reasons that do not at all reflect anything about my current mental state no siree👍

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

It's past midnight when Aether flops onto the common room sofa, exhausted from back to back shifts in the infirmary. It's a night he wishes that his own quintessence would work on himself, that he could wick away the ache in his back and the searing heat behind his eyes. He'd dragged himself here in search of food - Aether can't remember the last thing he ate, or when - but the sight of the couch had forced him to redirect.

So here he sits, alone in the dark common room, staring out the massive windows flanking the fireplace and watching the stars twinkle. He knows he should get up, should find something to put in his stomach so he can at least try to sleep, but his legs weigh a thousand pounds each and the thought of moving is enough to have Aether groaning into the silence surrounding him.

He wishes he were like Rain, like Swiss. That he could just close his eyes and be on his way to dreamland. That he didn't have to deal with the storm in his head, the revolving door of tasks to be done on his next shift. Reviewing the cases he'd handled today; there had been a flu outbreak in the human wing, and Aether stretches his hands while he thinks of every fever he'd soothed, every cough he'd calmed, every bit of suffering he'd pulled from those fragile bodies and let sink into himself.

Ghouls may not be susceptible to human illness, but the power it takes to heal them always leaves him feeling ill. Empty. Hollow.

Aether cracks his knuckles as the memory of one particular Sibling crosses his mind - a young girl, no more than twenty. Pale and shivering, hacking up a lung into the sleeve of her habit while she curled up in the corner of the waiting area. She was the only one who has arrived at the infirmary alone, a newly anointed Sister of Sin who hadn't found her footing yet. Hadn't found her family yet.

Her pain had been some of the worst for Aether to handle. Not because she was sick, there were other Siblings in far worse condition, but because she was alone. Aether could feel it in his bones the moment he touched her hand. An icy wave of anxiety and regret that had washed over every part of him, an ache even Aether couldn't soothe.

It would pass, he'd assured her. Everyone goes through this - the fear, the loneliness, the feeling that you've made a huge mistake by abandoning everything you knew and loved in the name of something new. Something better. Because there are expectations, assumptions, promises made that paint the church in an ideal, rose-colored light that draws in those eager for a place to belong.

It would pass, he'd assured her. It always does. She would find her routine, find Brothers and Sisters eager to take her under their wing. Find comfort in their Papa's sermons, in prayer and worship, as they all do. Eventually, everything would fall into place. She just needed to give it time. To let it happen.

She'd looked much better once her treatment was complete, had thanked him with a hug he could still feel untold hours later, and Aether was glad to see it. Truly.

But that cold pit of loneliness had stuck around long after she'd left the infirmary, a whirlpool of despair still swirling around in his chest. It's happened a few times before, when he's drained like this, but it's unpleasant all the same. Sore, almost. Like a thorn in his heart, digging deeper with every beat.

He should just go to bed. Make his legs work and drag himself down the impossible distance of the hall. Should collapse into his own bed and try to ignore the chill, the ache, the pounding in his head. He'd get to sleep eventually, right? It would be better than this - at least he'd be laying down. He should at least try.

The kitchen light flips on behind him, and Aether's too tired to jolt.

"Aeth?" A sleep-thick voice creeps into his ears, familiar, and Aether's shoulders sag. "What're you doin' in here?"

The soft patter of bare feet follows, and Aether sighs when their owner comes into view.

"Hey, Dew."

"Hey yourself," the little ghoul mumbles, rubbing at tired eyes. He's dressed in one of Aether's beat-up old shirts and a pair of sunflower printed pajama pants that undoubtedly belong to Sunshine. "I could smell you from my room," he says through a yawn, and Aether cringes. "D'you just get back?"

"Yeah," Aether rasps, working immediately to get his scent under control. It's something he always struggles with on nights like this. "Long day."

He crosses his arms over his chest, rolls his neck, and Dew frowns.

"Looks like more than that." Aether hugs himself a little tighter. "Wanna talk about it?"

"It's nothing," Aether huffs, the guilt of having woken Dewdrop enough to have that thorn sinking in further. "Go back to bed, love, I'm fine."

"Pfft," Dew waves a hand, dismissive, "how many times do I have to tell you you're a shitty liar?"

Aether groans, tosses his glasses to the side to dig the heels of his hands into his burning eyes. He hears Dew's tail thump against the area rug, obvious concern that he must be too tired to hide.

"I just...it was a long day," Aether sighs, resting his elbows on his knees and hunching over. "I'll be fine, I'm just...just tired, that's all."

Warm, bony hands come to rest on his shoulders, and it takes everything Aether has not to whimper at how good that simple touch feels.

"Aether," Dew says, low, "look at me."

He doesn't want to. Knows he too exhausted to hide the way the void in his chest will have darkened his eyes, brought out every line on his face. He knows that if he does, Dew will see the hurt. Hurt that isn't his problem, isn't something he needs to worry about. It's not his job.

"C'mon, Aeth," the little ghoul encourages, one hand leaving a shoulder to glide through Aether's thick, unruly hair. Aether does whimper then, can't help it, but silently prays Dew doesn't hear it. "Please?"

There's something so sincere in that one word that Aether can't deny him. He heaves a mighty sigh, leans back into the couch and begrudgingly lets Dew see.

Those copper eyes bore into him like white hot fire, and it only takes two breaths for Dew to understand.

"Oh, Aether," he breathes, cupping his worn face in those incredible hands. Aether sinks into the touch, something he can't quite name caught in the back of his throat. "What can I do?"

Nothing. Everything. Aether has no idea, too scattered and distracted by the icy claws scratching at his rib cage to do more than shake his head and flex his fingers. Dew won't break his gaze, looking down at him with concern knitting his brow and his mouth turned down at the corners. He brings his own hands up to hold Dew's wrists, overcome by the need for...for...

"Could you just -" a hiccup, one he can't help, "just...remind me I'm not alone?"

The words are miserable to say, a request he feels stupid for making and regrets instantly. Wishes he could take them back the second they pass his lips, a flush of embarrassment rushing up his throat when Dew tips his head. When a lock of golden hair that had slipped from his bun floats across his forehead, those gorgeous eyes gone soft around the edges.

But he doesn't have time to take them back, because Dew's already moving. Gently shaking off Aether's trembling grip and moving to straddle him on the couch. Skinny thighs bracketing his own while Dew settles in, leaning forward to get his arms under Aether's wrinkled white coat, looping them around his waist. Scooching closer until they're chest to chest, no more than their clothes to separate them, and then Dew's resting his head on Aether's shoulder.

"Don't worry, starlight," he lilts, soft as Aether's ever heard him. Dew kisses his neck, no more than a chaste peck. "'S long as I'm around, you never have to be alone."

The little ghoul starts to purr, his unnatural heat seeping into Aether's whole being, and Aether shudders. Wraps him up in strong arms and holds on tight, breathing in cedar and burnt cinnamon. Something so distinctly Dew that it overrides the mess in his head, in his heart, and as it does Aether can do nothing but believe him.

"Thank you, firefly," he huffs, voice thready. Something Dew would normally tease him for, but not tonight. He nuzzles closer, and Aether lets his cheek rest against the little ghoul's head. "Thank you."