#the alternative version goes hard

[sosadraws]

I promised myself that when december starts I would draw this particular image with mynah and Elster. Then I forgot, then I remembered, and proceeded to speedrun this drawing at work.

Anyways,

🎄✨Season's Greasons~✨🎄

Cooler version and original:

[nach0]

wanted to draw fanart for @remxedmoon's isatscryption au but i realised i didn't actually know the plot yet which. whoops! so i settled for chucking my oc at it

OH YEAH INSCRYPTION IS 60% OFF ATM!! Consider this my official propaganda to go get this game

[vocaloid-song-of-the-day]

CRaZY (Sekai ver.) by Umetora feat. Vivid BAD SQUAD and Megurine Luka

[babsaros]

chaser? i hardly know her! i’d at least ask her name and safeword before we start predplay!

[lazy-ahh]

Oooooh superhero gn reader x Viltrumite mark, please! During the Invincible War, Mark goes to take reader back to his universe, saying he’s missed them and their life together. Reader rejects him, and makes a deal: if reader wins, Mark has to stop wrecking chaos on the planet. If mark wins, reader will go back with him and whatever ‘life’ they created. And reader ends up losing. :)))

THE WRONG UNIVERSE TO LOVE YOU IN

pairing viltrum! mark grayson x (superhero) gender neutral reader

this one wants you back. the problem? you don't belong to him. you belong to the mark who loves eve, the mark who will never know you loved him first, the mark whose laugh still echoes in your dreams. now, as his fingers wipe blood from your face with terrifying gentleness, reality splits open: stay and die for a love that was never yours, or let him steal you away to a world where you were his—where you'll always be second to a ghost of yourself. (he promises to be better. you almost believe him.)

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff

the sky is bleeding red when he finds you—a sickly crimson streaked with smoke, the air thick with the scent of burning metal and charred flesh. the distant wails of sirens blend into the chaos, a symphony of destruction that never seems to end.

you’re panting, your bruised knuckles pressed into the cracked pavement as you push yourself up, every muscle screaming in protest. the city around you is a graveyard—skyscrapers reduced to skeletal husks, streets littered with bodies, some still twitching, others long gone. the invincible war has turned your world into a slaughterhouse, and standing in the middle of it all, untouched by the ruin, is him.

mark grayson.

but not your mark.

this one is different—sharp where your best friend is soft, his jaw set in a hard line, his eyes dark with something unreadable. there’s a cruel twist to his lips, a coldness in his stare that makes your stomach knot. he wears the viltrumite empire’s uniform, the sleek, lighter armor a stark contrast to the torn superhero costumes scattered around you. a few blood stains littered the fabric, some of it still fresh, glistening under the firelight. it’s not just from battle—no, this mark wears it like a trophy.

you had just finished killing other variants of him, their lifeless eyes staring up at you, their faces so familiar it made your hands shake. you mourned them, grieved for the versions of you in their worlds who must have loved them as fiercely as you love yours. your breath still comes in ragged gasps, your heart pounding not just from exhaustion, but from the weight of what you’ve done.

and then he arrived.

this mark moves with a predator’s grace, his steps measured, his shoulders squared with the confidence of someone who’s never lost. there’s a quiet intensity in the way he surveys the wreckage—like a king surveying his domain. but when his eyes land on you, something shifts. the cold superiority in his gaze softens, just for a second, before he schools his expression back into something unreadable.

"there you are," he says, voice low, almost reverent, like he’s been searching through a thousand broken worlds just to find you. the way his eyes trace over you—lingering on the blood smeared across your cheek, the way your chest heaves with exhaustion—makes your skin prickle. it’s not relief in his tone. it’s claiming.

and you realize, with a sinking dread that coils like ice in your gut, that this isn’t over. it’s only beginning.

"missed you," he murmurs, the words rough, scraped raw from his throat. his voice is different from your mark’s—deeper, edged with a hunger that makes your pulse stutter. he says it like he’s been holding it in for years, like he’s carved the words into his ribs just to keep them close.

your chest tightens, heart hammering against your sternum. you’ve heard the stories—whispers of alternate marks, warped by viltrum’s cruelty, ripping through dimensions to drag back what they think belongs to them. and now he’s here, standing in the wreckage of your city, looking at you like you’re a ghost he’s been chasing. like you’re already his.

"you don’t even know me," you spit, swiping the back of your hand across your split lip. the metallic tang of blood coats your tongue, bitter and familiar.

he tilts his head, considering you with a gaze that feels like a physical touch. "i know enough," he says, voice dropping into something dangerously soft. "in my world, you were mine." his thumb brushes over a streak of dirt on your jaw, possessive and tender all at once. "we had a life. a future." his eyes darken, something feral flickering behind them. "i’m taking you back."

your fists clench, nails biting into your palms hard enough to draw blood. you think of your mark—the boy who scraped his knees racing you down suburban streets, whose laughter was always a little too loud, a little too bright. the one who looks at eve like she hung the stars, while you’ve spent years swallowing down words that taste like rust and regret.

"what happened to me?" you choke out, the question tearing from you like a wound ripped open. "in your world. did i—" your voice fractures. "did i love you too? or did you just force me to?"

his pupils dilate, just slightly, the only crack in his controlled facade. for a heartbeat, he looks almost human. "you begged me to stay," he says, low and rough, like the memory is a blade twisting in his gut. "the night before the viltrumite fleet came. you held onto me like you knew." his jaw tightens. "then they burned our world to ash. but you—" his thumb presses against your pulse point, a mockery of tenderness. "you were always meant to survive."

the air leaves your lungs. you can see it—some other version of you, screaming as the sky split open, clinging to a monster because they didn’t know he’d become one.

"no."

his expression darkens—not like a storm rolling in, but like a door slamming shut. the brief vulnerability in his eyes snuffs out, pupils contracting into something cold and calculating. his jaw tightens, the muscle flexing as his teeth grind together, like he’s biting back words he’ll never say. the softness that had flickered across his face for just a second hardens into something unreadable, the lines of his face sharpening into a mask of imperial discipline.

but his eyes—oh, his eyes. they’re not just empty. they’re hungry.

the way he looks at you isn’t just possessive. it’s devouring. his gaze drags over you like he’s memorizing the shape of your defiance, like he can’t wait to break it apart and remake you into something that fits in the hollow of his hands. his lips twitch, not into a smirk, but into something far more dangerous—a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, a smile that says, you think you have a choice?

and then, just like that—it’s gone. his face smooths back into viltrumite indifference, as if that momentary crack in his armor had never existed. but you saw it. you felt it. and that’s what terrifies you the most. "you don’t get a choice."

"then fight me for it," you snap, surging forward until your forehead hovers a breath away from his, close enough to feel the heat of his skin, close enough to count the flecks of gold in his darkened eyes. the scent of smoke and iron and something uniquely him clings to the space between you, thick enough to choke on. he doesn’t flinch—doesn’t even breathe—just holds your gaze with a half-lidded, almost lazy intensity, like you’re a puzzle he’s already solved.

then his eyes drag downward, slow and deliberate, lingering on the part of your lips, the quickened rise and fall of your chest. there’s no shame in it, no pretense—just hunger, plain and unapologetic. your pulse stutters. for one terrifying second, you almost falter, because this isn’t the look of a conqueror assessing his enemy.

it’s the look of a man remembering how you taste.

"if i win, you leave this planet alone. if you win…" your voice wavers as a memory blindsides you—your mark’s face, soft in the moonlight on his rooftop, his fingers brushing yours as he smiled at you with something warm and unreadable. you’d let yourself imagine, just for a second, that it was love. that it could be you.

now, you’re bargaining with a ghost of him.

"i’ll go with you," you whisper.

he grins finally, all teeth, but still disciplined—like he’s savoring the way your breath hitches when he leans in. "deal."

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the battle is brutal.

you’re strong—strong enough to have shattered the ribs of other marks, strong enough to have left their bodies broken in the rubble of this war. but him? he’s something else entirely. every hit he lands cracks through your bones like fault lines, every impact vibrating through your teeth until your jaw aches. you dodge, but you’re always a half-second too slow, his fist grazing your cheekbone hard enough to send stars exploding across your vision.

and the worst part? he’s smiling. small and private just for you, but still there.

not the sharp, cruel grin of a conqueror—no, this is lazy, almost playful, like he’s savoring the way your breath comes in ragged gasps, the way your muscles scream as you push yourself beyond limits that should have broken you already. he’s toying with you, you realize with a sickening lurch. not because he needs to, but because he wants to see how long you’ll last.

"you took down six of them," he muses, catching your fist mid-swing like it’s nothing, his fingers tightening until your knuckles creak in protest. "six of me." his voice drops, something almost like pride curling through it. "that’s not nothing."

then his knee slams into your gut, and the world blurs.

you don’t even feel the moment his fist collides with your ribs—just the sickening crunch, the way your body folds around the impact before you’re hurled backward, crashing through concrete and steel like paper. debris hails down around you, dust choking your lungs as you gasp, vision swimming in and out of black.

when the ringing in your ears fades, he’s already there, crouched beside you with all the casual grace of a predator who’s never known fear. his fingers brush the hair from your face, smearing blood across your temple in a mockery of tenderness.

"you put up a good fight," he murmurs, thumb dragging over your split lip. his voice is almost fond, like he’s praising a well-trained weapon. "stronger than most. smarter, too." his grip tightens, just slightly, forcing your gaze up to his. "but you were never gonna win."

your body screams—muscles torn, bones fractured, blood pooling beneath you like a second shadow. but the pain in your chest is worse, a hollowed-out wound no advanced viltrumite healing could ever fix. you think of your mark—his stupid, lopsided smile, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the light in his eyes when he looked at eve—a light that was never, ever for you.

and now you’ll never tell him.

"promise me," you whisper, the words slick with blood, metallic and bitter on your tongue. there’s so much more you want to say—begging, pleading things that claw at your throat like trapped birds. promise me you’ll love me. promise me i won’t just be another trophy. promise me you won’t get bored and break me when i’m no longer new. promise me you won't throw me aside like he did. but all that comes out is: "promise you’ll leave this world alone."

mark’s thumb drags across your cheekbone, smearing dirt and blood in a mockery of gentleness. his touch is warm, almost reverent, like you’re something precious instead of something stolen. "i promise," he says, and for a heartbeat, his voice is so soft it almost sounds like the boy you knew.

then his arms lock around you, lifting you against his chest like you weigh nothing. the sky splinters above you—crimson and gold and burning, the last beautiful thing you’ll ever see.

(and somewhere, in another life, your mark screams your name, raw and shattered, as the rubble of your city collapses around him. but you’re already gone, and the universe does not care.)

1.9k words full of my number one favourite invincible variant!! thank you so much to the anon who requested this one-shot heheheh <33

[pseudophan]

PHANNIE COOKBOOK SIGN-UPS!!

Do you have a really good recipe you think Dan and Phil would enjoy? Consider submitting it to this collaborative phannie cookbook that will be given to DnP at a meet & greet! It will also be available to everyone to download as a PDF.

Family recipes or your favourite dish from your country/culture is a bonus, but it doesn’t have to be that personal. All I ask is that you don’t go rip something random off the Internet right now just to be in the book, I want food you genuinely enjoy!

I’ve decided the most efficient way of doing this is to let you submit up to 3 different options, that way if there are any repeats (and I’m certain there will be) I won’t have to message everyone it concerns to ask if you have any alternatives. Besides, that way I can choose which version gets in based on your other options rather than which one “sounds better” to me, cause I think that would be a little unfair. I also have no idea how many people will actually participate in this yet, which is currently the biggest hurdle in terms of planning. If only a few sign up there is a chance we’ll end up using multiple recipes by some, and if somehow we get too many I’ll have to pick and choose. I do really want to include as many people as possible, but until I actually see the recipes it’s hard to tell what will end up happening.

The main focus of this will be actual food, but we obviously need to include a few desserts, so feel free to submit those as well just be aware the chances of those getting picked might be lower. The same goes for soups, I assume a lot of people have soup recipes and we might include a couple, but for obvious reasons it's a low priority.

Some key things to keep in mind:

Phil is a bit picky and has some dietary restrictions! He shouldn’t have dairy or chocolate and he doesn’t like cheese or mushrooms, among other things. That doesn’t mean you have to avoid these things entirely, but maybe your grandma’s mac and cheese recipe isn’t the best choice

While neither of them is vegan they do eat a lot of vegan food, so we definitely need some vegan dishes. I also think it would be really great if you suggested vegetarian and/or vegan substitutions you know work well with your recipe! That isn’t a must for every dish, but it’s a nice addition where possible

Tragically, Dan and Phil are British, meaning they won’t necessarily have access to all the same ingredients as you. Luckily they are also rich and live in a major city with a lot of options so they aren’t limited to what they can find at their local Tesco, but since the aim of this book is to encourage them to cook we probably shouldn’t be sending them on a scavenger hunt either. I don’t think this will be a huge issue, but if your recipe calls for something you think might be very niche or local to you it might be worth googling it or asking around

The final book will be using UK measurements, but if your recipe doesn’t then don’t even worry about it for now. We’ll get to that later. You also don’t have to worry about typing out the whole step-by-step in detail in the sign-up form, I just need a list of the ingredients and roughly how to prepare it to gauge whether it’s a good fit.

I promise I’m almost done yapping but lastly, about some of the questions on the form - you don’t need to know exactly how long the dish takes to prepare, that will depend on the person or people making it anyway, but we do need a rough estimate. The difficulty level is obviously quite subjective, but I just want to hear how you personally would rank it, and if there is a specific part of the process you think someone who doesn’t cook a lot might struggle with. As for the last question about photos, I’m asking both if you have the time and opportunity to make the food and if you are able to take a good photo of it. Obviously it doesn’t have to be anything professional, a phone camera is fine, it just needs to be well lit and decent quality.

Okay, I think that’s everything-

Here's the sign-up form

The deadline is in a week, at midnight Thursday to Friday CET :)

(I also made a blog for this @phookbook for information and updates! A lot of it will probably still be on this blog, but I'll try to post/reblog the most important things on there for those who want to keep up with everything but who may not want to deal with all the chaos of pseudophan)

[youhypemeup]

❝ the story of us !

eli moskowitz x reader | cobra kai

synopsis, instagram posts of your relationship with eli through the years

or alternatively, dating eli pre-hawk, he didn’t want his face posted and for anyone to know you were together so you only posted faceless pics without mentioning his name and he never commented. then he becomes hawk and his confidence goes up and he wants everyone to know you’re dating so you post him all the time now and he comments on everything. when he reaches his bully arc, you go through problems and don’t post him on your page anymore, but then he reaches his redemption arc and you make up and start posting him again like nothing happened. but then cobra kai cuts off his mohawk and he loses his confidence so you stop posting him upon his request but then he gains his confidence back and wins the all valley boys division and you’re so proud and everything’s alright for the first time in a while (and hopefully it stays that way).

warnings, fluff, my failed attempt at trying to not let my awkwardness show through the characters

note, made this while finishing my cobra kai rewatch for season 6! i wanted to get my yearly post out in time and i think i did? i also tried to be as inclusive as possible in the pics two and three but it was a little hard finding faceless couple photos that don’t have any super obvious features/characteristics. i’m sorry if they aren’t as inclusive as i wanted them to be 😭 thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy!

kwon jaesung version ・ cobra kai masterlist

[skzdarlings]

alternate ending ; sharing a bed ; chan

original sharing a bed one-shot with chan.

author's note: i do love the final smut edit (and it's my most popular piece so clearly i was right!) but i always missed this fluff version. the love confession is very cute in this one.

content info: still some suggestive content, the first half of the story is the same and there's some heavy kissing, but this is definitely the fluffy director's cut lol

word count: 1800 words

-

You let yourself into Chan’s room, expecting to find him awake and working despite the hour.   Whenever you sleep over, your friend is more than happy to let you sleep in his bed when you can’t get comfy on the couch.   Many nights have passed that way, nestled under his blankets and falling asleep to his typing and clicking and absent-minded humming.   He likes to work through his nights so you sleep until morning then leave when he turns in.   

He must have been tired tonight.  His laptop is shut, the room dark save for the little flickering lights of his computer station.  Chan is in bed already, laying with his back to you and the blankets tucked around him.  He is sound asleep, so much so that he didn’t even hear your gentle knocks. 

You feel bad for disturbing him now.   Commandeering his bed is a little different when he is already in it.

You turn to leave when the blankets rustle behind you.  Chan’s groggy voice breaks through the silence, a raspy, “Babygirl?  That you?” 

Maybe it’s the cold floor under your bare feet, maybe it’s the late hour, or maybe it’s the roughness in his voice, but despite how many times Chan has playfully and affectionately called you baby girl, this time a little shiver brushes up your spine. 

You turn back around, wrapping your arms around yourself.   Thanks to the faint light from his work area, you can see Chan clearly even in the dark.  He has rolled onto his back and is rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Sorry, Channie,” you whisper.  “You sleep.  It’s fine.” 

His blanket slips down his bare chest and he drops his arm, looking at you with crinkled, sleepy eyes.  His curly hair is an endearing mess, though your eyes go a little lower when the blanket falls to his waistline.  You quickly lift your gaze from his abdomen to his sleepy eyes.  He squints at you as he adjusts to the darkness.   

“Everything all right?” he asks, still groggy. 

“Yeah, don’t worry,” you say, as if that has ever stopped Chan from worrying anyway. 

He is a little more awake now, his brow pinching as he looks at you.  All at once his face goes slack with realization.  A smile pushes at his dimples. 

“Right,” he says.  “The couch sucks, yeah?  Sorry, wasn’t thinking—”

“Don’t apologize,” you say with a little laugh.  “It’s your bed.” 

“Auuggh,” he says with faux-agony, “I’m such a bad host.” 

You cannot hide your amusement, smiling when he slaps a melodramatic hand over his heart.  As usual, the goofball makes himself giggle with his dumb little theatrics, the sound twinkling in its delight.  Your heart skips a beat.  

“All right,” he says.  “No worries.  Big bed.  You wanna share?” 

It isn’t really a question because he doesn’t wait for an answer, flipping open the covers for you to slide in. 

When you step towards the bed, he throws up a cautionary hand and laughs again.

“Sorry, uh, just wait one second,” he says.  “I’m not, uh, technically decent.”

Your eyes drop again.  The blankets only just reach his hips and when he shifts to get out of bed, it becomes abundently clear that Chan is completely naked under the covers.   You very nearly choke on your own spit, swallowing hard as your frantic eyes dart around his body.  He is seemingly oblivious to your startled state, turning his back to you as he steps out of the bed.  The sheet slips smoothly off his body.

Without thinking, you spin around to give him some privacy.  This plan fails spectacularly as his closet door is a big mirror and you end up looking at him through it. 

He is nonchalant, walking up to his dresser.  Your view is his backside but you have no complaints.  You know you shouldn’t stare, but you do, eyes on the breadth of his shoulders, the definition of his arms, going down his sturdy back to his ass where you linger a beat longer, then diving down his strong thighs until the view is blocked by his bed.   You watch him step into a pair of boxers, doing a little jump before snapping the band around his hips.  He turns around and you quickly close your eyes, grateful he cannot hear your heart going a mile a minute. 

“All right,” he says pleasantly. “All good now.  Come on.” 

He gets in the bed first and holds it open for you.  He is smiling so sweetly and you feel like the world’s nastiest horniest monster, gawping at him as you stumble to the bed.  You try not to think about how Naked Chan was laying between these sheets just moments ago.  

Somehow, you slide into the bed without making a huge fool of yourself.  You even manage to settle down, albeit stiffly.  So stiffly that Chan notices and laughs again, that same bubbly giggle as he reaches out to tweak your nose. 

“Y’okay?” he asks, his bare face so open and sweet that you melt with both affection and embarrassment. 

“Mhm,” you lie.  Your heart skips another beat when your leg brushes his under the covers. 

“C’mere, silly,” he says, wrapping his arm around you and tugging you across the bed.   You go with a squeak of surprise, planting your face in his bare chest.   “Better?” he asks.

“Mmmhf.”

With a little more shuffling, you settle again.   Chan lays on his back with one arm wrapped around you, you on your side just as snuggly holding onto him.  You rest your head on his chest, your fingers bouncing where they rest on his abdomen.   It takes a lot of effort not to start tracing the lines of his body, and even more effort not to drool all over him, but you do manage. 

Your heart is still beating quickly.  You are way too awake to just drift off.   Still, there is something cozy and safe about laying in his arms.  Even though you can’t sleep, you are content to rest in silence.  Your close your eyes and let your breathing follow the same cadence of his chest as it lifts and falls. 

You begin to slip into a drowsy, dream-like state, but you are awake enough that you feel his hand slip down your back.  It doesn’t go lower, but he touches the base of your spine and holds you a little closer to him.

“Baby girl,” he whispers.  “You awake?” 

You are lucky you don’t mewl like an overly amorous kitten.  A few little pets and a whispered name and he almost has you whimpering. 

Not trusting yourself to behave, you pretend you are fully asleep.   He just sighs, his thumb rubbing a little circle on your lower back.  You keep your eyes firmly shut the whole time. 

“I’m so fucking stupid,” he whispers.

He sounds exasperated. You don’t think it’s your fault, because he lovingly tips his head to rest it on yours.  There is another moment of silence, so you assume he was talking to himself about nothing particular, but then he releases a deep breath. 

“I told myself I was gonna talk to you tonight,” he says, still whispering and still exasperated.  “Talk to her when you meet for coffee, Chan.  Buy her favourite tea and tell her.  Tell her now, Chan, while she’s sitting on your couch.  Don’t hide in your room.  She’s hugging you, Chan, tell her now...” 

You try not to get ahead of yourself, but it sounds like your friend is grumbling his way through a love confession.  A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“Does it count if I tell you while you’re sleeping?” he asks.

Yes, you think.  You massive dork.

You have no idea how one man can be so dweeby and so hot at the same time, but Chan manages it.  His hand covers your hip while his other hand brushes hair out of your face.  Is he staring at you with the same lovestruck goofiness that you looked at him?

You get your answer when he speaks again. 

“Love you, baby girl,” he says, voice gone even softer than his previous whispers.  His hand falls away and he sighs.  “Maybe you’ll, like, internalize it or something, in your sleep, yeah?  Please. ‘Cause I’m crazy about you.  I love you so much.  I’m so fucking stupid.  What am I even doing right now?  Fuck, I’m a fucking idiot.” 

You crack an eye open.  His eyes are closed and he looks incredibly pained by his performance despite thinking you didn’t even hear it.    

Joy is a bubbly thing in your chest, threatening to burst out of you with an explosion of giggles.  You restrain yourself in favour of another manouvre. 

You shift as if moving in your sleep.  Your hand slides up his chest and hooks onto his shoulder while you lift your head.  He must be looking at you because you feel a little puff of breath against your cheek. 

“Channie,” you murmur in a sleepy voice. 

“Yeah, baby, I’m here.  What’s up?” 

You blink your eyes open and hit him with the most tender, wanting expression you can muster.   He visibly swallows. 

You wrap your hand around the back of his neck, your nails scratching the way he likes.  Sometimes he just plops his head in your lap and shoves your hand somewhere up there to tickle and scratch his head.  You know what makes him happy and it causes the usual shiver of pleasure.   Combined with your steady gaze, it makes him effectively pliant.  You easily pull his head closer. 

The once impossible space between you is finally closed.  Your lips come together in a gentle, careful kiss, one that is interrupted by his sharp intake of breath.  You take in a shaky breath of your own. 

“Chan,” you whisper.  “I love you too.” 

“Oh,” he says, staring at your mouth.  “Good.  That’s good.”  He smiles when you giggle, then he brushes his nose against yours.  “Good thing.  Otherwise it would have been really awkward when I do this.” 

He rolls over you, kissing you with such ardor that you feel as if you are melting into his sheets.  You hum sweetly against his lips as he gathers your hands to pin them by your head.  When he licks into your mouth, you arch against him and make him moan. Your knees cradle his hips as he settles against you.  

His head falls to the crook of your neck where he kisses you softly. 

“Chan,” you say, a breathy sound.  You wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Yeah, baby girl,” he says.  He kisses under your jaw, your cheek, then your mouth again.  “I got you,” he says. 

Knowing it’s true, you smile into the next kiss. 

[gingernut1314]

Fell First, Fell Harder

Summary: Luffy fell first and harder

Content: fell first, fell harder trope, alternate versions, some death, lots of fluffy love, kinda like a choose your own ending

Word Count: 870+

A/N: This was 1) inspired by the fell first fell harder trend cause I was thinking Luffy would do well as both and 2) it's inspired by this short story I read for one of my classes called "Happy Endings" by Margaret Atwood (it's very fun), which is where I got the idea for the different versions of the story! I hope you all enjoy!

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Luffy fell first and he fell harder. 

No matter the circumstances.

A.

At a single glance, Luffy fell for you and you fell just as fast. He’s gravitating towards you just as you gravitate towards him. There hardly needs to be a single word spoken between you two past a simple greeting because you two just know. It’s as if your very souls know--as if they’d been calling out for each other your whole lives. Two sides of the same coin is what you two are. 

He helps your island. You help his crew. He asks you to join his crew and you agree before he can even finish the question. 

Where one is found, the other is right there too. There is rarely anywhere you two go alone. Many a crew member have commented “if they could crawl into each other's skin, they would have a long time ago.” 

You fall harder and harder for each other the longer and longer you two are together. You’ll follow him wherever he goes, just as he will follow you and you both will do so till you are old and gray and wrinkled. You two will follow each other into death’s embrace and live together forever in whatever sunny afterlife awaits you. 

B.

Luffy saw you, working for the enemy, yet still fell. He could see your pain--your struggle for survival and wants to help. 

You don’t. You see him as a thorn in your side. Someone in the way of your plans. You don’t want or need his help. You joined your Captain's crew for a reason and no amount of love Luffy gives you is going to change that. 

Luffy can’t get you out of his head and he can’t help but keep falling harder for you. Not when you stand for the same things he stands for, no matter how you choose to go about it. 

Fighting occurs. The Straw Hats win. You are left beaten and bruised and, even when you fought against his family--when you tried to kill them--he extends a hand out for you. He wants you to take it so badly. Wants you to be free with him and yet you spit at his feet. You can’t fathom why he would offer you any amount of love.

He offers you the freedom you’ve been craving so easily. You hate it. You reject it. 

You limp away, never once turning back to look at him.

Luffy understands, no matter his disappointment, and walks away too.

He believes you’ll meet again and when the time comes, he’ll offer his hand for you to take once more. 

C.

Luffy falls for you the moment you give him an extra loaf of bread he didn’t have the berri to afford. You gave it to him because of his smile and warmth--things he wants to keep sharing with you as long as you will let him.

Luffy saves you from a band of bandits raiding your bakery and you fall for him hard. You keep falling for him over and over again the longer you follow him across the Grand Line. 

You two spend day after day together. Neither one of you ever wants to let go of the other. You two are happy and oh so carefree within each other's arms. 

The Straw Hats face off against an unforgiving foe. It’s a hard battle. The crew can hardly find the strength to keep on fighting, not when their bodies are beaten beyond repair. 

You’re injured too. Bad.

Luffy sees this and defeats the big bad at just the last minute.

Chopper can’t get to you in time.

Luffy loves you even when you are no longer in this world with him. He’ll love you till the day he leaves it too. 

D.

You’re a part of the enemy's crew and yet Luffy falls for you the moment you shed a tear for the village your boss has just destroyed. 

Luffy wants to save you. You want him to save you too. 

You help Luffy even when you know doing so has put a target on your back. Though, with your extra help, Luffy and his crew defeat your former one. He asks you to join him--to sail around the world and help whoever you wish to help. You join him with hardly a second thought and do just that. 

Everyday Luffy is around you, the more you two talk and laugh with each other, harder and harder he falls. You fall right back and you fall hard because he has become your best friend. 

You follow him throughout his journey and he helps you learn to love yourself despite all the bad from your past.

E. 

You believe you’ve fallen first for Luffy and are stuck in a constant battle against your own emotions because you believe Luffy has only ever viewed you as a friend--a fellow crewmate. 

Luffy believes you two have been together ever since you joined his crew--has loved you since then. Nami even told him this--that you liked him and he thought that was that. He loves you and you love him, therefore you were his. 

Robin tells you this one day and you only fall harder for him.

[altt-account]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓MASTERLIST🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

@l0s3rd0wnt0wn

[Platonic Yandere!Batfam x Weird black neglected!reader]

[Weird black neglected!reader head canons!!]

[platonic yandere batfam x Weird black!Reader]

[Yandere Conner Kent x Weird black!reader]

[Weird black neglected!reader]

[Weird black neglected!reader is the type of mf]

[Weird black neglected!reader and the things the hate about the batboys do that disgust reader]

[Yum, good soup!]

[Reader going with Catwoman to steal shit because she can't afford the Gojo and Suguru Nendoroid]

[the black reader likes physical contact...except with the batfam (alfred doesn't count)]

[adult black!a reader]

[WEIRD BLACK!READERS MUSIC]

[reader is a total fan of another hero]

[Black Weirdo MC becomes the DC equivalent of either a twitch streamer or Youtuber]

[IT'S NOT JUST HAIR!]

[reader loves and trusts completely can touch his hair]

[reader doesn't really care when the Batfam gets hurt]

[MY BIG SISTER GLOWS!!!]

[connor/black!reader. how would the batfam react]

[Weird neglected black!reader loves dating sims of all kinds]

["ONE STEP TWO STEP THREE STEP OW!"]

["WHEN FINE SHYT IS LOW-KEY A WERIDO"]

[batfam react if every time they pushed the limits of black bizarre reader they reacted in very stupid ways]

[Wb!Reader on their 14th hour of forcing Connor to listen to BTS]

[reader's mother's relationship with bruce and does the rest of the batfam know about her?]

[black!raeader listening and singing to peggy by ceechynaa]

["BABY YOU SMELL LIKE HAIR SPRAY!!~"]

["WHY SEE THE WORLD WHEN GOT THE BEACH"]

[One step, two step, three step, ow! Part 2]

[that one scene in Turning Red.]

[reader getting a pericing like multiple ear piercings or a nose pericing without the batfam knowing]

["BABY HE'S A BITTER"]

[reader took a baking for a brief moment because a dessert they saw in an anime looks too good]

["YOUR TO SLOW!!"]

[black reader will totally tchip the batfamily at every opportunity]

[Yummy, good soup! 🍲]

[batfam being complete Yandere for our mother but not searing an ounce of attention to use unless told to by our mother]

[Imma steal thar quote thank you very much!]

[Black Weirdo MC with Vtuber]

[Reader wearing batfamily merchandise]

["HE'S BLEEDING ON MY LIPS"]

[Black reader and corners relationship]

[which lyon kid is reader most like]

[look like our mom wix with Martha Wayne]

[weird reader was emo or coquette]

[reaction of the batfamily if the reader took his mother's last name]

[two people with those face art singing like 🎭🎭]

[What sport would weird black!reader play]

[weird reader has any secret tattoos?]

[wbreader would be one of those ppl that walk the mile]

[wb!reader uses the "is it because I'm black?" card to the batfamily]

[Batman!reader antics]

[Wb!reader fell down the snow bunny hole bruh]

[walking around the manor in ICP make up]

[weird black reader relationship with martian manhunter]

[readers mom and bruce had to co parent]

[WB! Reader have a chunnibyuo phase?]

["TASTE SWEET AND LAST SO LONG~"]

[if magic did run in the family]

[neglected reader goes with slade]

[Black Reader does microlocks]

[black reader and Duke having a small truce just to fuck with the bat family]

["WHY WON'T YOU ANSWER ME!"]

[reader started collecting father figures]

[WEIRD NEGLECTED BLACK!READER HEAD CANONS]

[talia x mother reader]

[wb!reader dating danny phantom]

[Loving Danny is hard]

[Sonic!Reader or Flash!Reader sees after being chased by an alternate version of Mark]

[pairing for a voodoo or vodou!reader, and all of a sudden Bartholomew Henry Allen II]

[reader's mother was dating someone and the reader sees him as a father]

[Danny x wb!reader x Conner]

[youtuber wb! Readers]

[hinking about how maddie, jack and jazz ( danny family ) will accept wb!reader]

[reader and her mom]

[wbReader but is there any chance that they would get permanent fangs]

[being kidnapped by some low-life thug in Gotham]

[Readers mom casually being a yandere for us while she's trying to make the batfam yanderes]

["NO FUN TO FEEL LIKE A FOOL"]

["SHE SO MEAN BUT SO PRETTY!!!"]

[john constantine doctor fate raven and zatanna will be the new reader family that uses voodoo]

["AIM TO SHOOT AIM TO KILL"]

["THE RED MEANS I LOVE YOU"]

[weird!reader ever had a gacha phase]

[get into WB readers' interest]

["DANCE OF THE FATHER"]

[Robin!reader]

[voodoo!reader and girl run]

[voodoo!reader not being herself ever again if she cannot practice her true self]

[love sick]

[Male WB!reader and conner]

["BOI OUTSIDE THINKING HE GROWN"]

["TOP OF MY SCHOOL"]

[Robin Reader with the same style as Moon Girl]

[reader stops caring about the batfam one day they will have their own life]

[MASTERLIST P2]

[donovan-desmond-official]

So, according to Damian, his dad stopped the war... very interesting,,, very interesting indeed.

It's a small line, but it says a lot about Damian, his values, and why he looks up to his father. Damian, likely with a limited understanding of politics, believes that his father was responsible for at least the end of the war. Whether or not that is true (to be addressed later), it still helps to clarify why he would look up to such an "evil" man.

Donovan has long had the reputation of being a war mongerer, and Damian is essentially the only character who has anything remotely positive to say about him. It's clear that the reason Damian idolizes his father is because he doesn't really know who his father is. As a result, he idolizes his father based solely on action, not ideology.

And this is where it gets interesting. Damian looking up to his father for stopping the war means that to Damian, the heroic thing to do in this situation is to stop the war. This implies that Damian is, of course, anti-war.

This also indicates that despite his open adoration for his father, no one actually talks to him about him. He only has second-hand information that he was left to interpret by himself; drawing the faulty conclusion that his father stopped the war.

Damian doesn't know his father. He knows a very vague and disjoint version of him. Most of he loves probably isn't even true, and it's just things he projected onto his father to fill the gaps. At his core, he wants to love his father and therefore will find any reason to.

This helps to better explain the disconnect between him and his family. Demetrius is old enough to know and understand his father's role and beliefs with regard to war, and for that reason, he looks down on him. Melinda knew her husband, but at some point, he changed in such a way that he is borderline unrecognizable. With that change comes fear and distrust.

Now for the big question: did Donovan stop the war?

Answer: Assuming Donovan was in office at the time, yes.

Although I don't think the exact conclusion to the war was ever shared, my best guess is that it was some form of mutual agreement, possibly due to an external force. Given the timing of the story, this would be around the time when the UN was formed, and that could have pressured the countries to go about the warfare in more discreet and less destructive ways. Alternatively, there could be a shift in an environmental factor that caused both countries to pull back (eg, limit weaponry, natural disaster, etc).

(It's hard to say how much influence an organization like the UN would have as we still have no context and the political forces that drove the war. But then we will be getting into discussions about colonialism and imperialism, which is such a drag.)

What we do know for sure is that nobody truly won the war. Hence, why they are currently in a cold war.

Leaning more into a treaty or agreement of some sort being used, we can see why the SSS and WISE are still active. Westalis does not trust Ostania to uphold their side of the bargain and therefore are prompted to keep spies in the east to ensure nothing goes wrong. The SSS is reaction to their presence, seeking to pick them out and stop them from reporting back. This might seem suspicious on Ostania's side, but again, we do not know the true intentions of Westalis.

Without any proper understanding of why the two countries fought, it's hard to define "peace" on either side. The story is told from a biased perspective, so I refuse to simply take Twilight's word on the situation.

That being said

Donovan likely was forced to stop the war by signing whatever treaty or agreement was presented to them. So, even if he didn't necessarily want to, he still did. Therefore, he did stop the war. However, the detail that Damian is missing is the why. We know he didn't want to war to end and is clearly up to something in that space ship of his.

We can always refer back to his very not creepy debate from the 17th century:

He does not believe that humans have the capacity to genuinely stop fighting. According to him, someone is always lying, and therefore, no one can be trusted. A deranged take for a 7th grader, but that does explain his behavior. Ironically, he is now the liar who can not be trusted. His own anxiety turned him into the very person he resented.

At least according to Twilight.

Now i can go on and on about the parallels between Twilight and Donovan, but no one cares, so I'll make it short. Twilight is functionally no different from Donovan. They both aid in the cycle of war.

Although I don't think sxf is sophisticated enough to pull this kind of twist, it is still interesting to think about.

In the same way, we as an audience blindly assume Twilight is right, the same way Damian blindly assumes his father is right. In the end, we don't actually know what Donovan wants. The whole point of the mission is to figure it out. And man is he dragging his feet on it its been 100 chapters Twilight...

[trippinsorrows]

my all + part 2

authors note: well, you whores have done it again. finessed a part 2 out of something from me. and because i'm me, i took it too far, so expect a third and final part after this one.

i took a little too much inspo from batman lore as well as joker and harley quinn.

tldr: this shit is unhinged.

part one

disclaimer: i own none of the recognizable characters or universes.

words: 7.7k

*** gif belongs to @dejameflorecer ***

story song inspo: 'my all' by mariah carey /// chapter song inspo: gangsta by kehlani

warnings: smut and angst

Roman loves when she rides him.

It’s something Solana has noticed about most men. A favorite position of sorts. She’s not sure if it’s his number one favorite, but it’s pretty high up there. He especially loves when she rides him reverse cowgirl, loves seeing the bounce of her juicy ass up and down on his massive cock. 

She can’t lie and try to say it hasn’t become one of her favorite positions as well. Being on top is such an exhaustive thing. Knees hurting, thighs aching, cramps and galore. It’s a workout for sure, something she was never really crazy about with sexual partners in the past.

But, they weren’t Roman.

There’s no man like him.

No one who can fuck her and bring out such a dirty, kinky side of her like him.

That man can do just about anything to and with her in the bedroom, and she’ll be a sobbing, overstimulated mess every single time. 

Solana cries out when Roman’s hand comes down on her ass. That’s another thing he seems to love. Grabbing and slapping her ass, an almost mesmerized look in his eyes every time it jiggles and recoils from the movement.

And, there’s a lot of movement coming from said position.

“That’s a good girl,” he goads, his voice dripping with desire and lust. “Look at how good you ride daddy’s dick.”

She moans, eyes shut, hands playing with her nipples, head thrown back. “Does it feel good, daddy?”

“Feels fucking amazing,” he groans. Solana can only imagine the enchanted expression on his handsome face. His hair wild and free, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead from all the exertion. 

They’ve been at it for almost two hours now with only brief breaks in between rounds. 

“Such a good, submissive pretty girl for me,” he compliments, Solana moaning from the praise. She’s quickly and easily become a whore for such things, for his approval. To be not only his pretty girl but his good girl.

“God, your dick feels so good inside me,” she whimpers. Roman’s hand moves to the small of her slick back, applying just enough pressure to tell her exactly what he wants. Bending over, Solana grabs for Roman’s ankles, using them to stabilize herself as she bounces higher, hips and ass wiggling as she alternates between bouncing and grinding.

A lethal combination.

“Fuck, Sol, just like that. Ride this dick like you own it, baby.” 

“I do,” she responds, eyes still closed, caught up in the bliss and pleasure that comes from his thick dick in and out of her, touching and reaching her in all the best and right places. “This is my dick.”

A sense of possessiveness unlike her. But, to be fair, almost everything about her relationship with Roman is unlike her. 

She’s a loose version of herself.

Something she’s having a hard time even caring about the longer this shit goes on. 

Another slap to her ass. “Damn straight.” Solana is caught up in the sex filled haze when she’s suddenly moved, shifted entirely. Roman expertly adjusts them, never once leaving her slippery, wet ass pussy as he moves to his knees. Solana is propelled forward, half her body now hanging off the bed, her hands planted on the ground.

“Shit!”

Roman is now pounding into her from behind, her body jerking back and forth at the end of the bed, her hands sliding all over the place. 

“Best goddamn pussy I’ve ever fucking had,” he praises once more as tears burn Solana eyes from the depth and feel of him. “Ain’t nobody better than you, baby. Nobody.”

Solana is partially paying attention and mostly trying not to lose her goddamn mind from this new position. Roman stays splitting her open, pinning her down, turning her left, right, side to side and in any other way he can imagine. He be doing just anything, and she eats it up every single time. 

She’s addicted, to say the least.

Her body is his sex rag doll to do as he pleases, and it shames her to admit that it’s truly one of the greatest joys in life to serve the Tribal Chief as she does.

His pretty little slut, as he calls her. 

An honor, truly.

To the surprise of no one, Solana comes all over his dick, her cream coating his still fully erect member, all over her ass, lap, the bed. Everywhere. They always make such a mess during these visits.

But, Roman is a man who needs more than that. Always more. 

He moves her once more, propping her right on his dick, facing him this time. His big hands on her hips moving her up and down his length, fucking her right through her orgasm. The tears have spilled over. It all just feels too good, so good.

“Doesn’t daddy take good care of you?” He groans, still guiding her, recognizing she’s in no position—just yet—to take him on her own. She’s still trying to come down from her orgasm, something he can tell by the way her cunt keeps pulsing and clenching him. 

“Yes,” she gasps, hands over his, eyes fluttering open and close. “A–always.”

It takes a minute, and it’s not helped at all by the way he keeps thrusting in and out of her with an unhealthy need, but she eventually settles enough to take over. Solana moves Roman’s hands from her hips, holding them up on the side of his head. Body leaned over his as she rides him like her life depends on it, the eroticness of it all is increased as he takes her nipple into his mouth, sucking and moaning. 

Solana cries out, her pleasure just intensified by ten. Roman loves her big breast and never bypasses an opportunity to suck on her titties, just like she never wastes a chance to deepthroat him in the way she’s learned he loves. Fucking her throat while she plays with his balls.

Their freak knows no end when it comes to each other.

Roman is an equal opportunist, giving each breast the appropriate amount of attention, but he eventually tires and wants something else.

He detaches his mouth from her right breast with a loud pop, tugging Solana down so he can kiss her. A wet, sloppy thing that has both of them moaning into and on each other as she continues to grind down on his addictive, life changing dick.

“Tell me you love me.”

Filthy, naughty, nasty things are usually said in the bedroom or wherever else Roman decides to fuck her. Most of them come from him, some from her when he gets her in that raunchy space as only he can do.

And, it’s not always just the obscene confessions. There are times where it’s less kinky and a lot more romantic. Kind and caring. Roman always has such a range about him, always somehow knowing just what she needs and how she needs it.

But, this…..this is different.

Solana has never said anything like this.

Never demanded anything like this.

She’s thought about it. Thought about it so much to the extent that her head started to hurt.

She knows she loves Roman. Knows that she’s in love with Roman, but she’s never been able to settle on a final answer regarding if he, in fact, loves her.

So, such a thing escaping the cages of her deepest fears is an unfortunate thing indeed.

The body takes a second to respond, so there’s a delay that prevents Solana from freezing and settling into the panic that ceases all movement. But, it’s an unnecessary thing. 

It’s unnecessary, because Roman responds.

“I love you, baby.”

Now, that….that definitely takes the cake.

Because what?

Solana has no time to process that, either, because Roman is sitting up, pulling her chest flush against him. He stares at her, gradually dragging her against his length, never breaking eye contact. She just continues to stare back, mouth partially ajar, as he brings his hand to her face. A tenderness in the way he cups her cheek matched by the shift of wild, erratic fucking to an almost gentle type of lovemaking.

“I love you, Solana.” 

It’s the second reiteration that breaks the shock, that has Solana scoffing quietly in disbelief. Eyes shut, he kisses her lips, Solana holding onto and hugging him as he buries his face into her neck. Another utterance occurs, pressed into her skin, lodging into her soul, shattering what little defenses remain.

Clutching the back of his head, hugging him tighter as he fucks her deeper, she whimpers, “I love you, too….”

—------

She doesn’t say anything after that. 

Nothing regarding that mind-blowing, unexpected confession. Part of it is fear, part of it is disbelief. A lot of it is still being in a state of shock.

Skepticism, even. 

A lot of things get said during sex. Especially sex with Roman. What if it was something just said in the heat of the moment without much thought? After all, she was the one who kicked it off, who brought it up in the first place.

What if he just wanted to get his nut and didn’t want to risk upsetting her by telling her the truth? By rejecting her?

All valid questions, in her mind. None of which she wants the answers to.

A few hours later, Solana stands in the kitchen, having just finished washing up the dishes from the dinner she’d cooked for them. Nothing nearly as nice as she’d like, given limited supplies and resources but enough, enough for them.

She’s drying her hands and hanging the wash towel over the faucet when Roman comes up behind her. 

A small smile on her face as he holds her and kisses the side of her neck. Solana grasps onto his arms and readies to ask him to lay down with her. 

She’s exhausted.

For more reasons than he realizes.

“I’ll be out sometime next month.”

Solana’s eyes widen. It seems the day is just full of surprises.

She turns to look at him, whispering almost, “what?”

Roman makes a sound, lifting his hand to her face. His index finger traces the outline of her full lips. “That’s why they were here earlier. To give me the update.”

The they he speaks of refers to his two cousins, Jimmy and Jey, as well as his older brother, Matteo. On a couple of occasions, during their EFV visits, the men who are also apart of his inner circle, have come over. They never stay long, never over an hour. The four of them talking quietly amongst themselves as Solana sort of hides out in the bedroom, door closed. 

It’s not a thing of fear. Any and all interactions with the other men have been pleasant. Silly, almost, as the twins are certainly characters. Matteo is very much like his brother, more on the quiet side. But, he’s always been kind, always respectful. The three of them, in a weird sort of way, the kind of people she could see befriending. 

If not for the weird circumstances. 

“About fucking time….” Roman trails off, an undeniable sense of relief on his handsome face and in his voice. But, it doesn’t extend to Solana. Not in the way that it probably should.

It can’t. It can’t, because what she’s been avoiding for almost five months now can no longer be avoided. That terrifying question of what happens when Roman is released from prison. It’s a question she finally has to ask.

There’s no more room for avoidance.

“So…what happens now?” 

A heavy frown falls on his face as he eyes her, asking with understandable confusion. “What do you mean?”

Solana swallows. This is the last conversation she expected to be having today, even if it’s something she should have seen coming. She knew it would come at some point. Just not this point.

“What—what happens when you’re out?” Wording it is significantly more difficult than she could have imagined. Each question feels like a slow slice of the knife into her gentle, sensitive heart. “Will this….will this all be over?” Her eyes glaze over with unshed tears. “Is….is this the end?”

A terrifying, devastating question she’s not sure she wants or can even handle the answer to.

Solana doesn’t want this to end.

Ever.

“Sol….” Roman’s frown deepens as he turns her around completely, hands lifting to gently cup her face. “Baby, where is this coming from?”

There’s something about that question that irrationally upsets her. Annoys her for reasons she can’t identify. “You’re—you’re leaving, Roman. We won’t—we won’t see each other anymo—”

“Solana.” His voice lowers, shifting into something authoritative. “I’m leaving this shithole. Not you.” He looks around the trailer with disgust before landing his gaze back on her. Confused and sympathetic. “I could never leave you….I love you, Solana.”

Solana can only look at him, briefly returning to that state of shock at hearing him say something she’d stupidly tried to convince herself was a fluke.

“You….” A hushed, almost whispered thing, weighed down by continued apprehension. “You do?”

Roman’s expression of shock only deepens her shock. “Of course.” He sounds almost offended that she could even ask such a thing, like she should already know. “You have to fucking know that, Solana.”

No, she doesn’t. She didn’t. 

“Why do you think I do everything I do for you? Look out for you the way I do? Make sure you’re safe and taken care of?” Him listing off each question is the equivalent of that same knife previously digging into her heart, now gradually being pulled out. 

Solana swallows, suddenly feeling just a little stupid. Stupid for not putting all of the glaring pieces together. Still, he deserves an answer. Deserves the truth. “The sex….”

“I’ve fucked a lot of women in my life, Solana.” It’s not a boastful announcement. Nothing arrogant. Just the beginning of a profound point. “And never have I done any of the shit I do for you for them. You know why?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just dips his head to ghost his lips over hers. “Because I never loved them the way I love you.” His eyes flutter shut, his volume dropping. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

Stunned.

Solana is stunned.

The day she’s dreaded has just, in a matter of seconds, with a few, powerful, life-changing sentences, has become the day she’s vied for since the moment she laid eyes on Roman Reigns.

Roman loves her.

He actually fucking loves her.

It’s such a wonderful, overwhelming feeling, to say the least.

And since they’re in the space of confession, and she feels so loved in this moment, Roman kissing the top of her head, his other moving to the small of her back, she has to take advantage of it.

Has to share her own confession of sorts.

“Roman….” He looks down at her, and her heart, for lack of better term, skips a beat. Here goes nothing. “I—I’m pregnant.”

Something about telling Roman that she loved him was always terrifying, but there was something even more intimidating about sharing that piece of information with him. Info she’s been sitting on for almost a week, but something she’s known even longer.

As a woman and a nurse, Solana was certain she already knew what her test results would come back with. She knows herself, knows her body, and she definitely knew that the chances were high. A bad experience with the IUD left her sworn off birth control, along with Roman not once ever even mentioning a condom, conjoined with the fact that they fuck almost several times a week. It all made sense.

Of course, she would end up pregnant.

The very thing she wanted.

And, maybe, just maybe, he wanted as well. 

Because the small smile on his face doesn’t seem like something from a man who’s upset at such life altering news. “Yeah?” She watches him shift that hand from her back to her stomach, where he slides his hand under her shirt and over her belly. “Are you sure?”

Solana hesitates. It all still feels so unreal. “Yeah….” She licks her lips, something calm coming over her as he moves his hand in small circles. “I’m—I’m six weeks.”

Another unexpected response. “Good.”

Solana feels even more stupid just staring at him, but the response she’s receiving isn’t exactly what she was expecting. “You’re…you’re happy?” It’s less a question and more an assessment. Solana didn’t think that he’d be upset, per se, but she also wasn’t expecting such an….almost jovial response and disposition. 

“I told you I was going to put a baby in you,” he reminds. Even more, she’d asked him to give her a baby. Another important detail. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you, Solana.” Her chest tightens. It’s the first time he’s referred to beyond this prison ordeal. His big hand stills, planted flatly and protectively on her belly. “Our child is just the beginning of that.” 

She scoffs in waning disbelief, as Roman lifts her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. “I don’t want you working here anymore.”

Solana’s smile falters just a bit. “Wh–what?” Yet another unexpected thing to leave his mouth for the nineteenth time today. “W–why?”

His answer is simple and firm. “It’s not safe.” Solana goes to protest when he reminds her of the basic facts. “You being pregnant and working as a correctional nurse in a maximum security prison is a disaster waiting to happen, Sol.” 

He doesn't have to bring up her attack for her to know that's largely what he's indirectly referring to.

“It won’t happen again,” she points out, softly. Her hand is planted on his chest. “You—you made sure of that.”

Prisoners taken to her infirmary have barely even looked at her, let alone had the balls to get smart—or worse since Roman's act of vengeance. His grisly message was loud and clear.

She’s off limits. Something about her being pregnant doesn’t seem like it’d change anything, but Roman seems to think otherwise.

“I won’t risk it,” he announces. “I won’t risk anything happening to you.” He resumes his circular movements across the span of her belly. “Or our baby.”

There’s something almost soft and caring about the way he says it. About how he says our baby, because that’s exactly what and who this is. Their child. A child he’s clearly only looking out for. The same way he always looks out for her. 

And, Solana knows he’s right. Knows that her continuing to work at the prison probably isn’t the best. Not for a lot of reasons. 

The smart decision is for her to quit and find another job.

“Okay,” she agrees, looking up at him. “I’ll—I’ll put in my two weeks Monday.”

Relief flashes in his hazel eyes. “Good.” He leans down and kisses her. Soft, slow, and sensual. Just the way she likes. The ways she loves. He wraps his arms around her once more, Solana’s eyes shutting from the instant comfort and warmth he grants. “I’m gonna take care of you, Solana. I always will.” A beat. “I promise.”

—----

Solana waits to tell them.

Waits until she’s showing and therefore unable to keep it a secret any longer.

The table is filled with conversation amongst her siblings and parents. Her nieces and nephews playing out back, being watched by the older kids. Teenagers.

Solana’s been on the quiet side the entire evening. Not that it’s noticed by anyone or any different from most of their family gatherings. Rarely does anyone ever notice much about her, period.

But, they did notice the 2025 Range Rover parked out front in her parents driveway. A gift from Roman. One of many.

Just like the penthouse he gifted her. Separate from the one he lives in. The one they live in together.

“I’m pregnant.”

It goes largely unheard and unaddressed. Not that Solana is surprised. That’s usually the case. However, one hand on the bump concealed under her babydoll shirt, and she knows this is one of those times where she can’t let it go.

She has to say something. 

So, she does.

“I’m pregnant.” A repeating that’s louder and firmer, even though it only catches the attention of her older sister, Zuri.

Zuri looks at her, instantly scowling. Also unsurprising. Zuri, of all her siblings, is the most….difficult, to say the least. “What?” The smile on Isabella’s face dims when she notices her big sister scowling at Solana. “What did you just say?”

It’s only then that Solana has gathered the attention of almost everyone at the table. A stressful thing but something she wanted.

Here goes nothing.

“I said….” Solana takes a deep breath, continuing to rub her belly under the table. “I’m pregnant.”

She’s met with an array of expressions, some confused, some amused, and some floored. 

“You’re kidding, right?” DJ scoffs, wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin, looking around the table for some indicator of him being the only one not in on the joke. “You’re not serious?”

“Of course, she’s not,” Isabella laughs. It’s a nervous laugh. “Sola isn’t even seeing anyone right now, how could she be pregnant?”

Zuri remains scowling, wisely pointing out. “You don’t have to be dating anyone to get knocked up. Fucking is a commitment free thing.”

“Language,” Nina, Solana’s mother scolds her oldest daughter. She then looks over at Solana, nervous as all outdoors. “Sweetheart, what do you mean you’re pregnant?”

Having a set of speculative eyes on her does little to settle Solana’s nerves, but it doesn’t deter her from carrying through with her task. “I mean that I’m pregnant.” Realizing a more….visible display is required, Solana stands up and lifts her shirt up just enough to show her baby bump. A round of gasps and sounds of shock. Solana rubs her belly in a small circle, a small smile falling on her face. “I’m almost four months.”

But, while pride fills Solana thinking about her baby growing inside of her, terror and horror is struck amongst her family. 

“What the hell, Solana?” Harris, her second oldest brother, has an expression of ardent disapproval. “How the hell did you get yourself knocked up?”

Zuri scoffs. “I think we know the answer to that, H.” Solana sits down, suddenly uncomfortable with sharing her exposed stomach with such a judgmental crowd. “I think a better question is why.”

“I agree,” Darnell, Solana’s father, speaks for the first time. His gaze is stern and even. “Solana, you just started that job not even a year ago, and already you’re pregnant?”

It’s then Solana drops another bombshell, attention on the now cold plate of unfinished food. “I quit.”

Another round of gasps and sounds of disapproval.

“What do you mean you quit, Solana?” Nina questions, sitting forward at the table. She shakes her head. “That was a good job you had. A good paying, stable job, honey.”

Solana doesn’t necessarily disagree, but the point she’s about to make made the most sense given her situation. “The baby’s father and I agreed it wasn’t safe for me to be working there while pregnant.” 

“And just who is the father, huh?” DJ presses, though it feels more like a demand than anything. “And how long have ya’ll even been dating or screwing or whatever for you to let him get you pregnant in the first place?”

Solana knew she wasn’t going to be met with overall enjoyment. Almost all of her siblings had their children out of wedlock, and though her parents never outright said it, she’s always known their hope was she wouldn’t fall in line.

That she’d stick with that outdated, traditional timeline of dating, marriage, and a baby.

All things she’s achieved, just not in that order, per se.

However, their tumultuousness from just the first part of her news has her even more nervous about how they’re going to react to this next part. 

Regardless, it needs to be done.

She clears her throat. “His name is Roman.” Another deep breath. “Roman Reigns.”

Silence.

More silence. 

And then….then laughter.

Around her, Solana looks to see every member of her family with amused smiles on their face, oblivious laughter leaving their mouths.

“Lil' girl, you almost got us there.” Her dad chuckles. “Roman Reigns? That’s a good one.”

However, it’s her mom who detects that Solana remains with the same neutral, almost nervous expression that she’s had since first making her shocking announcement, and it’s that unchanging piece that allows the rest to come together.

“Oh my God….” She gasps, grabbing her husband’s hand, forcing him to look at her. “She’s serious.”

And, that statement from the matriarch transcends around the table, bringing on the clearly uncomfortable truth. 

And the judgmental, floored stares have returned with a newfound intensity. 

“Roman Reigns?” Comes from Zuri who’s no longer annoyed. She’s pissed. “What the fuck do you mean Roman Reigns is the father?”

“Solana, do you know who that man is?” DJ asks, like she’s stupid. Like she’s some illiterate child who needs to be educated. “He’s a fucking mafia kingpin.”

“He’s a murderer.”

“A monster.”

More hurtful, judgmental adjectives used to describe the man Solana loves more than anything in this word. 

“How did you even me—” Her father starts to ask, but Solana watches him. Watches as the horrifying reality sets into him. “Solana, tell me you didn’t.” She looks away, tears suddenly burning her eyes. “Tell me you weren’t sleeping with that man while he was in the prison where you worked.”

More gasps.

Silence from Solana. 

She can’t and won’t deny the truth.

“I love him,” is all the response she can muster. She hates how weak and soft her voice sounds. “And—and he loves me. We’re…we’re in love.” 

A loud bang on the table startles her. Solana looks up to see her father as the source as he stands from where he was previously sitting. “He’s not capable of love, Solana! He’s a fucking sociopath, and I can’t believe you could be so naive to fall for his bullshit!”

“Darnell, please.” Nina also stands up, placing her hand on his arm. A comforting act to hopefully help calm him down. “Sweetie—”

“Why haven’t you aborted it yet?” Zuri suddenly asks the question Solana should have expected but wasn’t necessarily anticipating. 

Her hand moves back to her stomach. “What?” 

“You can’t keep that thing,” she sneers. “It’ll probably end up being the next Ted Bundy or some shit.”

“Zuri,” Isabella says in a soft voice. Solana senses some level of sympathy from her family. She casts Solana an almost empathetic glance. 

“Zuri’s right,” Harris scoffs. “Why the hell would you want to have a fucking psychopath’s baby?”

“He’s not a psychopath,” Solana defends. For the first time in this whole shitshow of an announcement, she feels a new emotion. Defensiveness. 

She feels defensive over her lover. Over the father of her child. Over the man she loves. 

“You don’t know him,” she continues.

“No, you don’t know him,” Darnell snaps, pointing his finger at her. “Solana, I’ve spent my entire career putting scum like him behind bars. But, you know what I’ve had to do more of? Investigate and clean up all the murders he’s committed over the years.” She looks away, unable to withstand his disgusted expression. “Do you have any idea how many bodies—body parts—he’s left scattered around this city? He’s not even human, because no human being could do the things he’s done.”

This kind of response, specifically from her dad, was something she did sort of anticipate. It made sense. The police chief’s daughter falling in love with a mafia kingpin who’s been a thorn in his side for 20+ years?

It only made sense. 

“I wasn’t….” Solana speaks again, needing to somehow wrap this up. She’s not sure how much more she can take. “I wasn’t expecting any of you to understand or even agree with the decisions I’ve made, and that—that’s okay.” Her voice cracks at the end, giving away the fact that it’s most definitely not okay. From feeling forgotten by her family her whole life, to now being shunned and judged so harshly, it’s a borderline traumatic experience. “I just—I just wanted to let you all know, because we’re going out of town for a little while, so—”

“You’re what?” Darnell interrupts. “The hell you are. You’re not anywhere with that damn man!”

At that, Solana’s defensiveness returns just a bit. “I’m not a child anymore. You can’t—”

“Maybe not, but you are fucking stupid.” DJ scoffs, also now standing, his arms crossed, largely reflecting their father, the man he was named after. “It’s bad enough you let that man impregnate you, but now you're talking about going away with him? To where?”

She swallows. “He owns a private island—”

“Great, so he can kill you and scatter what remains in the ocean in the middle of fucking nowhere.” Zuri smiles, rubbing her temples, shooting Solana a wink. “Great fucking idea, lil’ sis.”

“Roman would never hurt me or our baby—”

“Solana….” Nina speaks, her voice surprisingly soft. “Did he…did he force himself on you?” A heartbreaking, almost horrified question that has Solana’s eyes widening. 

“No! He’s not like that!”

“That’s exactly what he’s like!” 

“It’s like he’s….brainwashed you or something.” Nina whispers, eyes glossing over. “Oh, mija, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“You’re terminating that pregnancy first thing tomorrow, Solana.”

“No, I’m not.” She shakes her head, both hands planted on her stomach. “This is my baby. It’s our baby, and I’m not getting rid of it! We—we were trying to get pregnant. We—wanted to have him. We want—”

“Him?” 

Solana closes her eyes. 

Shit.

She hadn’t meant to disclose that part.

“It’s a boy?” Isabella whispers, looking over at Zuri.

“You definitely have to get rid of it, then!”  

“Of course, she is.”

“No, I’m not,” Solana reiterates, sitting forward in her chair, starting to push back in her chair. “This is my body. My choice. My pregnancy, and my baby that I am keeping.”

“Solana, you’ve already been stupid enough to ruin your whole life and reputation by breaking not only rules but laws by getting caught up with that man,” Darnell dismisses her wishes. Completely washes over her sounds of protest. “Don’t further that stupid by tying yourself down to that thug for the next 18 years.” Another level of disgust and disdain mars his aged face. “Having a baby for a man ten years your senior is one thing, but having a baby for that man is something entirely different.” He shakes his head. “You’re not keeping it.”

It’s probably the culmination of the conversation as a whole that pushes Solana over the edge. Has her slamming her hand down on the table, forcing the surprise and focus of her family around her. “I’m keeping my baby, and that’s that!” Completely done with being attacked and slammed beyond a hurtful response, Solana stands up from the table. “I’m leaving.”

“Sweetie, please, don’t leave,” Nina implores, starting to round the table, stopping about halfway. As if feeling uncomfortable being too close to her. It stings. For sure. “We need to figure this out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” Zuri cuts through, taking the side of her dad and siblings. “Either she gets rid of it or—”

“Or what?” Solana presses. “I said I’m keeping my baby.” Not only is that something Solana could never personally see herself doing, though she supports any and all women who make that choice, she knows that she’s too far along in her pregnancy to go about it, at least in their state, even if she wanted to. Knows as someone who’s in the medical field. The same field her mom and sister are in, so them not saying anything to express disagreement with such a thing being suggested is….hurtful, to say the least. 

“Solana Esmeralda Miller.” Her father’s use of her full name stalls Solana as she reaches for her purse, back towards her family who continue to throw insult after insult at her, ruining what should be a beautiful time in her life all because they don’t understand. They don’t want to understand. “As long as you are with that man, you aren’t welcome in this house.”

Solana doesn’t have to be facing the group to know it’s her mom that gasps. “Darnell, please, she’s still our daughter—”

“My daughter would never get herself caught up in some foolishness like this!”

“She needs our support right now!”

“She needs to stop being so damn dumb!”

“So let’s help her, not persecute her!”

Solana’s eyes shut. Too much. It’s all too much. 

“Would you all just shut up!” Solana turns around and snaps, unable to keep the reins on her emotions any longer. “Stop acting like you all care!” Because they don’t. Their entire disposition and response thus far have concerned just as much. “For years, years, I’ve felt invisible in this family. It never mattered how good I did, how unproblematic I was, I always came last.”

Nina’s shoulders drop. “Honey….”

Solana shakes her head. “Roman loves me. He makes me feel special and wanted, and…I need that. I’ve needed that for so long, and now I finally have it, and I’m not going to let any of you take that away from me.” She sniffles. “I’m not going to let anyone take him away from me.”

But while there’s a sort of relief that comes from speaking her mind, sharing with them trauma she’s sat on for so long, the relief is quickly snatched away through her father’s emotionless response. 

“So that’s what it was? That’s how easy you were for him?” He sneers. “He shows you a little bit of attention, and you go opening up your legs?”

“Daddy, stop,” Isabella murmurs, continuing to look empathetic but not really doing anything to speak up for her sister. To defend her.

“I’m done here,” Solana angrily jerks her body away as her mother tries to reach for her. “None of you will ever have a relationship with my child.” And with a heartbreaking realization, she shares the part she feared the most. ��And I may not, either.”

—------------

6.

That’s how many people Roman kills. 

All fuckers who’d betrayed him or played a role in the plot that got him locked up for all those months. Slowly, methodically, and with great detail and precision. He ensures to prolong their suffering for as long as humanly possible.

And, even that, even being practically bathed in their blood, in human flesh, pieced of severed organs and other grisly remnants of his butchering, does little to settle him. To settle that uncontrollable rage that influenced the gruesome murders.

Because, the people he really wants to hurt are the people he can’t touch. Solana’s family. 

Her mother. 

Her two sisters and two brothers.

Her fucking father.

Chief Miller has always been a fucking pain in the ass, but this incident has crossed a fucking line. Roman coming home to find his wife sitting on the floor. At the edge of the bed. Crying her eyes out because of how awful they all responded to her pregnancy announcement, about her relationship with him. The only thing he could do after comforting her and soothing her to sleep, was commit murder. But, he couldn't have the victims he really wanted.

Because his wife is kind and good, the things he is not. She doesn’t want them dead. He might, but she doesn’t. And, she doesn’t even have to specify as such, because that’s just not Solana.

She’d rather take it all on the chin and eventually work and move past it.

Not Roman.

Fuck that. 

In his eyes, they all deserve to fucking burn.

But, as much as they hurt Solana, Roman knows she still loves them. She loves her family, and that’s why their reaction hurt her so much. Because while he knows a part of her knew they wouldn’t respond well, he also knows that she was hoping maybe, just maybe, they would be a little understanding.

He knew better though.

He knew they wouldn’t react well, but for the fucking Hallmark type people they tried to portray themselves to be, he didn’t anticipate they’d be so cruel to Solana.

His pretty girl. 

It’s why he partially wishes he’d gone with her.

The same way he wants to go with her now.

“Solana, are you sure this is a good idea?” 

She turns around from where she just placed another bathing suit in their suitcase. He’s not sure why she’s packing clothes at all. He doesn’t plan for them to do anything but fuck, relax, and enjoy each other for the next two weeks.

She sighs, walking over, Roman unable to resist a chance to glance at her stomach. The fabric of her dress falls perfectly against the swell of her bump.

Their baby.

His son.

Solana moves in front of him, hands on his chest as he holds her, kissing her temple. “I have to try.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t agree. After the shit they pulled last week, her piece of shit family deserves nothing from her, let alone another chance. 

But, he loves her and respects her, so he has to respect her decision. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Largely due to him wanting to be the much needed buffer if anything goes left. Also because he wants to be there to support her. 

However, she shakes her head, pulling back to look up at him. “I—I think it might make it worse.”

He’s quiet, once again, because she’s probably not wrong. As much as Roman loves the woman in front of him, he’s not sure he’d be able to control his temper if her dad and/or brothers were to say some shit. Doesn’t know if he’d be able to end the night without dropping at least one of them. 

He nods, hand moving up and down her back. “Fine, but at least take your security detail, Sol.”

That’s the thing that he really still isn’t okay with. He understands why she didn’t want them with her before, because she wasn’t ready to tell her family about them, but now that they know? He’s highly uncomfortable with her going over there completely alone. 

“Roman….”

“Solana, it’s for your protection.” Not even just her. Their unborn child as well. 

“My family is being mean and unsupportive, but they would never hurt me, Roman.” He can see the way she catches herself, forcing a correction. “Not physically, anyway.”

Roman wants to believe her. He truly does, but something feels off. He can’t put his hand on it. “Solana, I—”

“Trust me,” she interrupts in a small voice, her eyes pleading. “Please?” He does. Probably more than what defies logic. “I won’t be long, and it’s just my parents who want to meet and talk. Not my siblings. Not yet, at least.” That helps him feel a little better. Only a little. “Roman, I—I won’t be able to enjoy this trip without at least hearing them out.”

Roman takes a deep, loud breath, rolling his neck and stroking his beard. Going against his better judgment seems like the wrong move, but there’s something that bothers him more about depriving her of this. 

“Alright,” he finally caves, adding a stipulation. “An hour. You have an hour, and after that, I’m coming to get you.”

She nods. “Okay.” Solana leans up and kisses his cheek. “Thank you.”

Roman says nothing, just watches as she continues to pack, wanting to have it all done tonight, as they’re set to board the jet and fly out tomorrow. 

All the while, he still can’t manage to shake the feeling that something is wrong.

—--------

True to their word, it’s only Solana’s parents when she arrives at their house.

And, it’s not that she believed they were lying, per se. She just didn’t know if they thought she wouldn’t agree to come over if she knew it would be an intervention of sorts involving her siblings. 

They wouldn’t be entirely wrong.

Solana settles on her parents sofa, shifting to get comfortable as her father sits in his seat across from her. He’s yet to say anything. 

Nina wears a warm smile as she walks in from the kitchen with a tea kettle. “I made you some raspberry leaf tea.” She pours some in the mug sitting and waiting on the coffee table. “Your abuela used to make it for me when I was pregnant with you all.”

The mention of Solana’s late grandmother is enough in and of itself to evoke a set of fresh tears. 

Paloma would be turning over in her grave to know what’s happening within the family. She never liked or approved of dissension. Especially among family. 

Solana says nothing, just takes the cup and brings it to her mouth. The flavor feels a bit off than how she remembers it tasting, but her taste buds altogether have been off this pregnancy, so she doesn’t think much of it.

“Solana, we want to apologize to  you.”

Nina kicking off the conversation with that as she takes a seat next to her daughter is most definitely not how Solana predicted this whole thing kicking off. Naturally, she’s skeptical.

“What?”

Darnell’s deep voice takes over. “We feel….we feel we may have been too hard on you.” Solana continues to sip on her tea, eager, wanting, and maybe needing a reason to not respond. She’s not entirely sure what she expected from this conversation, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Oh,” she finally mumurs, nervously tapping her short acrylic nails against the glass mug.

“I’m sorry about how I spoke to you, Solana,” he apologizes. Solana places the mug down, wanting and needing to be fully present for whatever else he’s about to say. “I—I was out of line, and I was upset, but that gives me no excuse. It’s just….” He trails off, looking away, fist gently hitting his lap. “Of all our children, with all the issues your siblings have had over the years, we never would have suspected you.”

And, that is where Solana gets lost. 

Suspected what?

She voices as such. 

“I—I don’t understand.” She honestly, truly doesn’t. “What—what are you talking about?”

Darnell looks at her. Voice even and calm as all the outdoors. “We never would have suspected you also struggle with mental health issues.”

Solana’s eyes widen. 

What?

Barely able to process what’s just been implied, she finds herself scoffing. “I—” Solana looks between them, between her parents who have turned what she hoped would be a calm conversation into something entirely different. “You—you think I’m crazy?” The silence is all the answer needed. Solana shakes her head. “I’m not crazy. I’m in love. Why can’t you guys understand that?”

“Sweetie….” Nina leans over, placing her hands over Solana’s. “We—we realize now that we should have been paying closer attention to you over the years.” Solana blinks twice, suddenly struggling to focus on the conversation at hand. “That….that Zuri wasn’t the only one who needed help.”

It’s only when that is said, and Solana looks over at her father who only raises his chin, she realizes that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

A horrified look between the two people who swore to love and protect her. “What—what have you done?”

Solana goes to stand up, only to be hit with another unexpected wave that has her almost stumbling to the ground. 

“You’re not well, Solana. You need help.” Her father’s voice sounds much too distant for a man who’s only steps away from her. “And, we’re going to make sure you get it.”

Blinking increased, Solana again attempts to walk away, only to fall to her knees, her hand planted down on the rug to prevent her from landing on her stomach. A glance back at the table where the mug sits, mostly entirely consumed.

Terror fills her. 

“What—” Solana moves her other hand to her belly. Speech is now another thing that feels impaired. “What did you do to me? What—what did you put—” Eyes clenching shut, breathing has been added to the list, though she’d suspect it’s from her anxiety versus whatever was placed in the tea. “My baby….”

Because, that’s the only thing she can think about in this moment.

About whatever she’s just ingested could be doing to her baby.

She has to get out of here.

But, the second Solana attempts to move up to her feet, she falls to the floor, on her side, hand never leaving her belly.

Distant sounds around her followed by several sets of feet. Three new people. All men. Two dressed in all white apparel. Familiar. But not as familiar as the third man with them. Even with her waning vision, Solana can make out the man dressed in a fine suit, expensive glasses on his face, dark brown hair carefully styled, that empty, void, deranged expression in his eyes as he looks down at her with only cruel, unholy thoughts.

Crane.

Dr. Jonathan Crane.

A local doctor who bounced around from clinic to clinic for years, unable to find anyone willing to support his inhumane research. That was until a few years ago when he landed his current position. The lead psychiatrist at the local insane asylum.   

Rumors have ran rampant for years about his sick, twisted, unsanctioned treatment methods for the unwell at the asylum.

A place that should be burned to the ground, if you ask Solana.

With him in it, because the devil doesn’t always come clothed in red horns and a matching cape. He sometimes wears designer shoes and parades himself as a medical provider eager to “cure” the sick.

A sociopath.

He’s the real sociopath.

And, her parents are handing her right over to him.

Tears fill her eyes. “No…..”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Miller.” Another distant declaration from the devil himself followed by him kneeling before her, his smile just a show for all of his wicked, twisted perversions. “I know exactly what you need.”

Solana opens her mouth to protest, any and all sensation and autonomy in her body all but gone. 

A final act of protest, but it’s a failed effort.

It all goes dark. 

[scribefindegil]

Lorraine Baines McFly and Female Autonomy

Hello. I have spent the past month slowly losing my mind about Lorraine Baines McFly, Marty's mom in Back to the Future, so I am finally trying to articulate some of the reasons I'm so feral about her.

There's a quote from Lea Thompson, the actress who played Lorraine, that goes, "The three parts that women usually get to play are virgins, whores, and mothers, and in Back to the Future Part II, I got to play all three." While this is commentary on Hollywood and the limited roles that fictional women get forced into, I think it's also interesting to think about it in terms of how these roles are reflected onto actual women and used to limit their personhood and confine them to a very narrow range of acceptable behaviors . . . and then in turn to think about how the character interacts with these roles on a Watsonian level. They're affecting not just Lorraine the character as she was written, but Lorraine from an in-universe perspective trying to navigate life as a woman in a patriarchal world. Some of the sexism she faces is a deliberate narrative choice and some of it is a result of the writers' blind spots, but for the purpose of this essay I'm less interested in teasing out which threads are which and more in looking at it holistically.

Because the thing about Lorraine is that she's aware of what the acceptable roles and behaviors for women are, and the versions that we see of her across the various timelines alternately fight against and capitulate to these constraints. What is a woman allowed to be? How much is Lorraine willing to break from those restrictions? How much does she allow other women to break from them? Does she resent her role or embrace it? I have a lot of thoughts specifically about how the different iterations of her interact with concepts of female agency and autonomy.

(Putting this under a cut because it is. Long.)

I started thinking about this when I was talking with my partner about 50's Lorraine. She's extremely active and driven and planning to Get What She Wants (in a way that is very scary, if you are Marty) . . . but at the same time she's clearly aware that she isn't supposed to be. A Good Fifties Girl is demure and passive. Lorraine isn't--but she's still trying to toe the line. I think constantly about the scene where she shows up at Doc's garage to be like "I followed you home . . . so that I can ask you to ask me to the dance." The girl can embrace borderline stalking but she draws the line at directly asking a boy out! She's exercising a lot of agency but views doing so as rebellious and subversive--and risky.

And I also want to talk about the whole "boy crazy" thing because like . . . society (especially in the fifties) tells women that the most important thing they can possibly do is find a good man and become wives and mothers, that this will define the success or failure of their entire lives (and given how many things were unavailable to single women at the time this is in many ways true) . . . and then relentlessly mocks and punishes anyone who actually takes an interest in pursuing this instead of just sitting back passively and waiting. She is trying to do what society says will make her happy! And even her desire for a white knight is very much based in the reality of her situation! She's getting sexually harassed at school and around town and she's doing exactly what she's supposed to and standing up for herself and saying no and fighting back--and this is not enough. She does need backup! Biff harasses her in the middle of a crowded cafeteria and Marty is the ONLY person who does anything! No fucking wonder she latches onto him as hard as she does! (There's. I promise this is related but there's a BttF parody musical on YouTube where when Strickland comes to break up the lunchroom fight he says, "Now, I can excuse sexual harassment, but LIGHT SHOVING?" and like it's a haha funny joke but also?? Yeah?? That IS how it works. The way Lorraine's being treated is so overlooked and normalized that the authority figure isn't going to step up the way he will when it's a physical altercation between two guys. Screams.) I wonder if part of the reason she stuck with George in the original timeline even though they didn't have a lot in common is that "I have a boyfriend" is a boundary that some people might actually take seriously whereas "I'm not interested" is not.

But. In general 50's Lorraine is very much about grabbing as much agency as she feels she's allowed to . . . and then Twin Pines Lorraine is what happens when she regrets the result of those choices (because while we don't see it, it's pretty obvious that in the original timeline she pursued George as aggressively as she pursues Marty in the new one), and so she decides to deny, not just her own agency, but female agency as a general concept. She leans so heavily on the idea that her relationship was "meant to be" because it absolves her of any culpability in creating a life she's unhappy with. She's rewritten her own past to view herself as a passive participant in something inevitable. (Exactly the view of womanhood that she was fighting so hard against in the 50's!) And she extends this idea of female passivity to the women around her: telling Linda that she should sit back and wait and a relationship will "just happen," actively resenting Jennifer for doing something as simple as calling Marty on the phone. It's a really interesting form of internalized misogyny, perpetuating these sexist ideas as almost a misguided form of self-defense.

And then for Lone Pine Lorraine this is completely flipped! She loves Jennifer for the same reason she disliked her in Twin Pines: because she reminds Lorraine of her younger self. And like . . . this is something of an extrapolation, but while obviously her husband and kids are still very important to her, it also feels like she has interests and friends and other things going on in her life, whereas part of the isolation of Twin Pines is that her life has shrunk down to the point where she's ONLY a wife and mother with nothing else to define herself by. And it also matters that in this timeline she has a partner that supports her, not just in the big dramatic moments (although also that), but you can easily see the dance as a catalyst for George actually learning to listen to her and stand up for her about smaller things as well. George McFly feminism arc. (I'm being slightly facetious but like. George starts off kind of shitty. The spying is actively Bad and I hope Marty chewed him out for it offscreen, but also his reaction to the harassment scene being "I think there's someone else she'd rather go with," implying that he sees what Biff is doing as like. Normal flirting that he expects to work. He doesn't GET it. Unsurprising because he is. A teenage boy in the fifties. But I do believe that saving Lorraine was something of a wakeup call and after that he listened to her about things that make her uncomfortable and gave her the support that she needed. Which would also give her a lot more freedom in this timeline because she has someone with more societal power who has her back!)

And then. Hell Valley.

If Lone Pine is the version of Lorraine who has the most freedom, the most opportunities to make decisions based on what she wants instead of What Is Expected Of A Woman, Hell Valley is the opposite. The things denying her agency in Twin Pines is largely societal forces (and herself); in Hell Valley she is actively being denied autonomy by her evil husband who functions as the personification of a bunch of sexist ideas.

She's been objectified to the point that she doesn't maintain control over her own body; Biff pressures her to get cosmetic surgeries so she can continue to look attractive to him because that's the only value he sees in her. Her physical appearance is entirely tailored to his preferences.

Biff's view of Lorraine is wife-as-possession. He treats her like a prize he's won and her kids like parasites. And he is NOT subtle about this. But Lorraine is still desperately clinging to the idea that she's wife-as-family. She calls Biff "your father" to Marty when he arrives, and talks about "our children" because she wants so so badly for this to be something different than what it is. It's especially terrible because this is a timeline where she got seventeen years of being happy with George, she knows what she's missing, and she keeps trying to force this new relationship into a similar mold even though Biff is openly contemptuous of her and especially her kids. It's been twelve years and she's still trying to pretend. To call back to that Lea Thompson quote: it's obvious where Biff thinks Lorraine fits on the virgin-mother-whore axis, while Lorraine is actively trying to centralize her motherhood partially because the kids really are that important to her and partially as a defense mechanism.

(And it's also such a bleak cautionary tale about how fragile women's stability can be when they're dependent on their husbands; Lorraine was happy with George and had a fair amount of freedom, but he was the only one with an income so when he died she was suddenly forced into a truly horrific situation because she had no other means to support herself and her three young children. Especially given that the Hell Valley universe is also worse in some broader political ways that mean there were probably even fewer social supports available than in real life 1973)

And god. It kills me the way that we see her lash out, the way she's clawing for autonomy when she threatens to leave . . . and then exactly how Biff levels all his axes of control against her. It's very interesting that his first tactic is consumerist (Who will pay for all your things? Who will take care of you?) and that doesn't work even though not being able to support herself is a very real concern. It's only when he threatens her kids that she folds. And then she immediately crumples and pivots to rationalizing Biff's behavior and blaming herself for her own abuse (in a way that is both HEARTBREAKING and also? surprisingly sympathetic and realistic for an 80's movie?). It's similar to the passivity we see in Twin Pines, but here we see exactly where it comes from. She doesn't have any way out so she has to pretend. It's the only way she can keep going. She has these flashes of rage but they're immediately snuffed out by despair and denial.

There's not a lot of talk about Lorraine and what there is tends to reduce her to "well she's Marty's mom" as if she's a boring character who doesn't have a lot going on. But even though most of her role in the movies has to do with her relationships with the various men in her life, those relationships are really interesting if you actually pay attention to them! She's not just (in the 80's) a wife and mother--she's someone who has a complex relationship with marriage and motherhood and the societal expectations surrounding them. She's not just (in the 50's) a vapid boy-crazy girl--she's doing her best to go after what she wants in a world that doesn't want her to (the fact that one of the things she wants turns out to be her time-traveling son from the future is unfortunate but not something she has any way of knowing!). She's stuck in a society that doesn't want women to be people, and she knows this, and because we see her across two different time periods and three different timelines you can watch how sometimes society grinds her down until she gives in and tries not to be a person. And also how, sometimes, she fights back.

[lazy-ahh]

Hi, Lazy-ahh! Can I ask for main Mark x AMAB reader? In another universe, reader lost his Mark. He somehow travels to main Mark’s universe. Out of desperation, reader murders the other version of himself to take his place and have a second chance with his boyfriend. But it’s only a matter of time before Mark finds out.

REPLACEABLE

pairing mark grayson x (alternate dimension) AMAB reader

in another dimension, you lost mark. now, you'll destroy anything—even yourself—to get him back. but when mark starts noticing the blood under your nails, you realize: some ghosts can't be buried. and some loves aren't yours to keep.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

you miss him.

it’s a hollow, gnawing thing, chewing through your ribs like a starving animal, leaving behind nothing but an ache so deep you swear it’s carved into your bones. you miss the way he laughed, loud and unguarded, the way his nose scrunched when he teased you, the way his fingers tangled in yours like he never wanted to let go—like you were something precious, something worth holding onto.

but your mark is gone.

you don’t remember much about how it happened, the memory too traumatic to remember yet too painful to forget—just screaming, the metallic tang of blood in the air, the way his body hit the ground too hard, too still, the sickening crack of impact that still echoes in your nightmares. you remember clutching his face, your fingers smearing red across his cheeks, begging him to wake up, to breathe, but his eyes stayed empty, staring past you into nothing.

you weren’t fast enough. you weren’t strong enough.

and then, somehow, you weren’t in your world anymore.

you weren’t even given the chance to grieve yet, to mourn, to scream into the void until your voice gave out. one second, you were kneeling in the wreckage of your life, and the next, you were standing on a sidewalk under a sun that felt too bright, too cruel.

this universe is almost the same. the same streets, the same sky, the same stupid posters of omni-man and the guardians of the globe plastered on bus stops, their smug faces grinning down at you like some sick joke. but then you see him—mark, your mark, alive and whole and laughing, his voice ringing through the air like a punch to the chest. your breath stutters, your chest cracks open, and suddenly you’re drowning all over again.

he’s right there.

you watch him for days, a ghost haunting the edges of his life. he goes to class, he texts his friends, he flies off to fight bad guys like nothing’s wrong, like the world hasn’t ended. it seems like he had just recently gotten his superpowers, his movements still a little unsteady mid-air, nothing like the effortless grace of your mark. your mark had gained his while he was trying to save you during a villain attack, his body slamming into yours as he shielded you from debris, his eyes wide with panic and determination as his powers finally sparked to life. you’d been walking toward a comic store to buy the latest issue of seance dog, his hand warm in yours, his voice teasing as he argued about which volume was better—as cliché and romantic as the scenario was, it was yours. but this mark wasn’t your mark. he didn’t have the memories you two shared, the inside jokes, the quiet nights pressed together under the glow of his laptop screen. he just lived his life happily and heroically, like he didn’t die in your arms. like you didn’t lose everything.

and then you see him. no—not him. you.

the other version of you in this dimension. it seemed like you didn’t get superpowers, didn’t go through the intense training that carved your body into something sharper, something meant to survive. you were... normal. soft in a way you hadn’t been in years. this version of you didn’t get to go on dates where you and mark just flew through the vast, endless night sky, the air cold and biting as you clung to him, the world below reduced to scattered lights while above you, the cosmos sprawled out in all its glory—endless stars, streaks of auroras painting the dark in rippling greens and purples, depending on where the two of you decided to go that night. you didn’t get to fight side by side, didn’t get to know the rush of battle, the way mark’s laughter would cut through the chaos as the two of you pulled off some stupid, reckless stunt, the way he’d press his forehead to yours after, breathless and bleeding, whispering, we make a good team.

but this you—this soft, powerless, ordinary you—was the one who still got to hold mark’s hand. who still got to kiss him goodnight. who still got to exist in a world where he was alive.

it’s not fair.

you don’t plan it. at least, you don’t think you do. but when you see them together—mark’s arm slung around his shoulders, his smile so bright it hurts, like looking directly into the sun—something inside you snaps. something dark and cruel and selfish, something that’s been festering deep inside you, rotting you from the core, finally consumes you whole.

he was walking home alone. it’s easy. he was normal. you were not.

you remember not even letting him scream. every time the memory comes crashing back, it’s like watching a scene play out from somewhere outside your body—like you’re floating in the back of your own mind, numb and detached, as the darkness in your veins pulls your strings, as your hands move without your permission. you let it happen. you let yourself drown.

you had gracefully landed behind them, silent as a shadow. your reflection in the dim streetlights would’ve been horrifying if they’d turned around fast enough to see it—your eyes sunken, bruised with exhaustion, your lips chapped from biting back screams, your hair a mess from nights spent clawing at your own scalp just to feel something. you looked like a ghost. like something already dead.

you remember the way they turned around, playful and fond, expecting it to be mark, only for their expression to twist into surprise. then—wonder? awe? you remember feeling perplexed, watching as this other version of you lit up, rambling in passionate excitement about how cool it was to see another version of himself. you had explained, briefly, that you were a superhero in your dimension, that you fought alongside mark, and their face had glowed with admiration, with playful jealousy, with this aching, innocent want—god, i wish i could do that. i wish i could be out there with him.

then, you remember telling them, voice hollow, that your mark died. because you were too weak. too slow. too human to save him.

and their expression—it falls. their smile shatters like glass, their eyes widening in something like grief, like understanding, because they love mark too, and the thought of losing him—

you watch the exact moment realization creeps in. their breath hitches. their fingers twitch, like they want to reach for you, or maybe run. their lips part—wait—

but you’re already moving.

"but... don’t worry," you whisper, and your voice doesn’t even sound like yours anymore. "you’ll be able to fight alongside him too. it’s just... it wouldn’t be you." your hand brushes their cheek, almost tender. "but then again, we are the same person anyway, right...?"

their face twists in horror.

you don’t let them scream.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

mark notices something's off.

not at first. at first, you're perfect—maybe too perfect. you know all his favorite foods (the way he likes his burgers slightly pink in the middle, how he picks the mushrooms out of his pasta but will eat them if they're chopped small enough). you remember every stupid inside joke, every embarrassing childhood story his mom told you that one thanksgiving. your hands find all the right places—the spot behind his ear that makes him shiver, the way his shoulders tense after patrol that requires just the right amount of pressure to melt away. you curl into him on the couch like a dying star collapsing inward, pressing your face into the warm hollow of his neck, breathing him in like he's oxygen and you've been drowning for months.

maybe he is. maybe he's the only thing keeping you from dissolving completely.

"you've been clingy lately," he murmurs one night, fingers tracing idle circles along the knobs of your spine. you've lost weight. his voice is fond but there's something else there now—a question. "not that i'm complaining."

you tighten your arms around him like he might vanish if you loosen your grip. "just missed you."

he laughs, soft and warm, but it doesn't reach his eyes the way it used to. "i was gone for, like, two hours."

you press closer instead of answering, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

silence stretches. then his hand stills on your back. "...y/n?"

"mhm?"

"look at me."

you don't want to. but you do.

his brows are furrowed, thumb brushing under your eye where the shadows have grown darker, more permanent. "you look like shit." it's supposed to be a joke but his voice cracks. "when was the last time you slept? actually slept?"

you try to smile. it feels like tearing open a wound. "'m fine."

"bullshit." his hands frame your face, calloused and warm and so painfully familiar it makes your chest ache. "you're shaking. you've been—i don't know, jumpy? like you're expecting something to—" he cuts himself off, swallows hard. "talk to me. please."

the concern in his voice is worse than anger would've been. you want to laugh. you want to scream. you want to tell him everything—how you wake up choking on his name, how every time he leaves the room you're half-convinced he won't come back, how sometimes you still smell blood when there's none there.

instead, you press your forehead to his and whisper, "bad dreams."

it's not entirely a lie.

mark exhales, long and slow, his breath warm against your lips. "okay," he murmurs, like he doesn't believe you but won't push. not yet. "okay. but you gotta eat something, alright? and sleep. actual sleep. i'll be right here." his arms tighten around you. "not going anywhere."

you close your eyes.

(you don't tell him that's what your mark said too.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

it's the little things that give you away.

the way you flinch when a car backfires two blocks away—too loud, too sudden, too much like that day. how you forget cecil's name during dinner when mark mentions him, even though the other you had known him since freshman year. the way you sometimes stare at mark across the room like he's a miracle, like he's already gone, your fingers twitching with the need to touch him just to prove he's real.

and then there are the nightmares.

you wake up screaming more often than not, sheets tangled around your thrashing limbs, your throat raw like you've been swallowing glass. the images never fade—blood on your hands, mark's vacant eyes, the way his body had felt so heavy when you cradled him. you scrub your skin raw in the shower until it's pink and stinging, but the phantom stains remain. you see them in the dark, in the flicker of streetlights through the blinds, in the rust-colored water swirling down the drain.

mark always wakes when you do.

his arms are around you before you can choke out another sob, pulling you against his chest where you can feel his heartbeat—steady, alive, here. "hey," he murmurs into your hair, voice thick with sleep but achingly tender, "it's okay. i've got you." his lips press against your damp temple, your forehead, the corner of your eye where tears still cling. "breathe, baby. just breathe."

you want to sob harder at the pet name. the other you had loved it too.

your fingers clutch at his shirt like a lifeline, nails digging into the fabric as you try to anchor yourself in the present. mark doesn't complain, just holds you tighter, one hand rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. "was it the same dream?" he asks softly.

you nod against his collarbone, unable to speak past the guilt lodged in your throat.

"wanna talk about it?"

you shake your head.

he doesn't push. just shifts until he can tuck you under his chin, your ear pressed over his pulse point. "listen to that," he whispers. "i'm right here. not going anywhere." his fingers card through your sweat-damp hair, gentle and sure. "you're stuck with me, y'know?"

a wet laugh escapes you, half-hysterical. if only he knew.

when you finally drift off again, it's to the rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his hand still tangled in yours—like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.

(you wish you could tell him he's holding a ghost.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

he finds out on a thursday.

you don't know how. maybe he followed you when you slipped out before dawn to scrub blood from under your nails in a gas station bathroom. maybe he found the shallow grave you dug behind the abandoned church, the dirt still loose after three weeks of rain. maybe the other you's friends noticed their texts going unanswered, their calls ignored, the way you'd flinch whenever someone said their name.

but when you push open the bedroom door—still smiling, still pretending, still holding the takeout bag from mark's favorite burger place—he's standing in the middle of the room. the blinds are closed. the lights are too bright. his face is pale as milkglass.

"where's y/n?" he asks. his voice is too quiet, too careful, like he's holding back a hurricane.

your stomach drops through the floor. the bag slips from your fingers, greasy fries scattering across the hardwood. "i'm right here."

"no." his hands are shaking now, clenched at his sides like he wants to hit something. or you. "the real y/n. where are they?"

you open your mouth. nothing comes out but a thin, wounded sound.

mark's eyes drag over you—the too-sharp angles of your face that don't quite match the photos on the fridge, the way your fingers twitch toward your pockets where bloodstained gloves are hidden, the defensive hunch of your shoulders like you're waiting for the world to end. again. his breath hitches. "oh my god." his voice cracks down the middle. "you—you're not them. what did you do?"

the grief in his voice is a knife between your ribs. you can feel yourself splitting open at the seams.

"i had to," you whisper. your voice sounds shattered, like you've been screaming for years. "i couldn't—i couldn't lose you again."

"again?" his face twists like he's tasting something rotten. "what the fuck are you talking about?"

"you died." the words pour out of you like pus from an infected wound, thick and putrid with guilt. "in my world, you died in my arms—your blood soaking through my clothes, your eyes going blank while i begged you to stay—and i—" your voice fractures, "i wasn't fast enough, i wasn't strong enough, and then i was here and you were alive but you weren't mine and i just—" your knees hit the floor with a sickening crack, but you don't feel the pain. "i just wanted you back."

mark stumbles back like you've physically struck him, his shoulders hitting the wall with a dull thud. his hands fly up to clutch at his hair, fingers twisting in the dark strands until his knuckles bleach white. "so you killed him?" his voice is barely recognizable—raw and shattered. "you killed yourself just to—to what? replace him? wear his face like some fucked-up mask?!"

"i didn't want to be alone!" you scream so hard your throat tears, the taste of copper flooding your mouth. "you don't understand—you're alive here, breathing and whole and—" your voice breaks into a whimper, "and i couldn't—i couldn't keep waking up to a world where you don't exist—"

mark's crying. really crying—the kind of sobs that wrack his entire body, tears streaming down his face in hot, silent rivers. you've never seen him cry before, not even when he broke his arm during a fight, not even when his dad disappointed him for the hundredth time. his breath comes in ragged, wet gasps as he slides down the wall, his legs giving out beneath him.

"you're a monster," he chokes out, the words barely audible but cutting deeper than any blade. his red-rimmed eyes meet yours, and the look in them—horror, grief, betrayal—makes your stomach twist violently.

you collapse forward, your forehead pressing against the cold floor as your body convulses with silent sobs. the weight of what you've done crushes you into nothingness, until you're not sure you even exist anymore. the last thing you hear before darkness swallows you whole is mark's broken whisper:

"i loved him."

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

he doesn't turn you in.

you don't know why. maybe he pities you—sees the hollows under your eyes, the way your hands never stop shaking, and thinks you've suffered enough. maybe he's too horrified to think straight, his mind still reeling from the blood under the floorboards, the missing person posters plastered across town. or maybe, in some terrible, twisted way, he understands. because he's lost people too—nearly lost himself a dozen times over—and that kind of grief does things to a person. makes them desperate. makes them dangerous. especially if that person was the love of your life. your soulmate. your heart. your everything.

but he doesn't look at you the same.

he doesn't touch you—no more casual brushes of fingers, no more sleepy cuddles on the couch, no more pressing kisses to your scars like they're something precious. doesn't smile at your stupid jokes, doesn't light up when you walk into the room. doesn't say your name like it means something, just avoids it entirely, like the syllables burn his tongue.

you broke him.

(and you wonder, with a sick sort of clarity, if this is how your mark felt when you died in your world. if he'd screamed himself raw, if he'd begged some higher power for a second chance, if he'd have done something just as monstrous to get you back. the thought makes you nauseous. you understand now. you wish you didn't.)

you leave before he can.

you don't belong here. you never did.

the last thing you see is mark's face—angry, grieving, alive—his mouth forming words you'll never hear, his hands reaching out like some part of him still wants to catch you. then the portal swallows you whole, and there's nothing but static and the phantom feeling of his fingers slipping through yours.

(you hope, wherever you end up, that there's a version of him who still loves you. but you know, deep down, you don't deserve it.)

3.1k words and I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMOREEEE WHY DO I KEEP DOING THIS TO MYSELFFFFFF AHHHHHHH thank you so much to the lovely anon who requested this! <33 hopefully you didn't cry as hard as i did when you read this...

[elsa-fogen]

hello lobotomy au - special delivery! PAIN.

it's even more depressing than i expected... shit. it makes ME sad. which, usually, doesn't happen.

this au is really fucking depressing.

"i'm not gonna post about this au any time soon" - she said and immediatelly posted something

okay, so, how this "surgery" affected the Trix

Stormy's now absolutely passive. she doesn't do anything on her own, doesn't talk, doesn't react. she's basically like a ragdoll - except the times when she's not. she has only two conditions now, 1 where you can do anything with her, 2 where you can't move her even with a fucking tank. nothing in between. What is going on in her hed tho is a complete mystery.

Darcy's doing little bit better. just a little bit. she still can talk, can do many things. she just doesn't. she's absolutely apathetic, and without guidence she can just… starve to death, lying on the floor near the full fridge, just because she can't make herself get up and do anything (I wanted to give her memory issues - that she can't make any new memories and wakes up thinking that the last battle with the winx was just yesterday, but i was told that lobotomy doesn't cause memory issues). she also almost doesn't feel any emotions. The only thing she feels - is rage towards people who did this to them, when she sees Icy crying. speaking of her…

Icy is lucky (or unlucky) to be the most functional one of the three. she can still walk, talk and react almost normally to her surroundings. she just has really hard time thinking anout literally anything. it's like her iq dropped from 180 to 40-50, idk. so, yeah, no plans for world domination in this condition can be made. she even has hard time planning her day. And, also, she now can't control her magic at all - anything she touches will be frozen, so she has to wear artifacts that don't let her use magic at all. But not only her magic is out of control, her emotions are as well. In my aus Icy usually doesn't cry at all. In this one tho... in this one she will cry for all her alternative versions, yeah. And, as a bonus, occasional epileptic seizures.

And the worst thing is - she DOES realise how much she changed, notices that things she used to do without thinking at all now are taking her way to long to do. And she sees how her sisters changed as well. And she hates herself, she hates the winx, she hates the light rock for doing this to them. But she can't just end her sufferings, although she was thinking about it, her sisters will not survive without her. so she keeps living. for them.

she found a way, she spends her evenings trying to live through the next day and making a plan in her notebook, she sets alarm clock for every step, she sends million delayed reminders to herself. she goes to bed very late, but at least her next day will be a little bit easier.

But... their life has another catch. Obviously, none of them can work, not with such conditions. Icy tried, but got fired in less than an hour. But they are getting only one pension - for Stormy. Why is that? Because Icy and Darcy have huge family savings. But they can't get to them - it's now too difficult of a task to do. Icy can't plan the whole thing through, something will go wrong and she will be lost. And Darcy can't even leave the house before losing last bit of motivtion. Even if she left, she would stop in the proccess without someone who'd tell her to continue. And they can't go together, not without Stormy. And with her it becomes much more complicated. Hell, they can just lose her somewhere. And so they have to just survive with what they got.

The Trix don't have anyone, except for themselves. Who will take care of Darcy and Stormy if something happens? Icy always would answer: I will. But who will take care about you, if something happens to you? Darcy and Stormy will, isn't it obvious?

she never thought, that something can happen to all of them at once.

[mal0nneiiii]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

i want to love lust sans. and not just in the carnal, sensual way he's used to. i imagine that the haze of lust has warped his ideas of love. he's associated the thought that offering his body to be used is the only way to truly be loved. after all, there is nothing more exposing than taking a person to bed. he's used to being lusted after. hollered at. objectified. used like a toy.

but i want to love him gently.

i want to show him the different ways to love someone.

i want to hold his skull in my palms, stroke my thumbs along the curve of his rounded cheekbones. I want to place kisses along every little phalange, listening to his sweet and flustered giggles. i want to teach him that not all touches have to lead up to sex. that they can just be casual, yet tender caresses that hold no ulterior motives besides an unspoken "i love you." and if those touches do lead to something, then i don't want to fuck him. i want to make love to him. worship him in bed and link our hands together to remind him that it isn't just a mindless act. that it can be safe and loving and good and warm.

i want to shower him in simple little gifts and kisses. something meaningful that he keeps close to his heart. he is an alternate version of sans after all.. maybe a book on quantum physics or astronomy to spark his love of science. watch the way his eyelights glow excitedly as he tells me about the various constellations in the sky or about the behaviors of subatomic and atomic particles. or would a joke book be better instead, i wonder... reading out puns from the little yellow book, earning either groans or chuckles depending on who's in the room with him. would he bring it with him to work? rattle off a few jokes to the others to lighten the mood?

i want to spend hours just worshipping him. calling him "wonderful." calling him "beautiful" or "handsome" depending on what he feels like that day. watch the way his cheeks glow with that pretty plum blush as he grows flustered under the compliments. i want to hold him in my arms during his most vulnerable moments, while he hiccups and sobs against my chest. wondering if he's 'unloveable" or "dirty" for being the way he is. after all, it's hard to break the cycle of something you have known all your life. i want to tell him that he is worth it. that he is capable of being loved and loving someone back. that he deserves to be treated like something precious.

i want to live with him in a domestic setting. i want to help apply his makeup before he goes out for a gig at grillby's, tracing the eyeliner pen around his sultry sockets and applying the iridescent purple eyeshadow he favors. his pupils are all heart shaped while i hold his face, gently turning it from side to side to make sure both sides are even. i want him to wake up to me in the morning, cooking up breakfast while he wanders in wearing some of my clothes that are a size too big on him. we'd sit together in the living room, picking at our food while some crappy rom-com plays in the back. those are his favorite kinds of movies..

i want to give him everything he deserves.

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