#there's a big difference between people gaslighting you

[randomnameless]

Typing about a certain support, I wanted to share some nuggets :

The only reason nobles enjoy the status they do is because their bloodlines carry Crests. If Crests lose their value, so will titles of nobility.

Supreme Leader's "logic", there are no nobles in Fodlan who don't have crests, so if crests = nobles, no crests = no nobles.

Even a mooner could understand it!

I suppose someone who lived in Leicester and heard many heroic tales about Judith, the Hero of Daphnel who was noble even without a crest, and sat at the roundtable until she was replaced by another crest-less noble, would disagree with her, right?

I really agree with your thinking.

The ills of having two crests : it makes people lose their grasp on reality - hopefully the formula was refined thanks to House Ordelia's participation, so Supreme Leader doesn't suffer from the same symptoms.

My parents have suffered throughout their lives due to their nobility.

Remind me why her parents suffered ? And who did it ?

Eighteen years ago, House Ordelia was involved in a civil conflict within the Empire. All we did was respond to a call for aid. We weren't involved politically. But once the rebellion was crushed, my family was held responsible for the aid we gave, and the Empire gained some sway over us as a result.

Or

Ah... I imagine it was when the Empire was meddling with my family. We lived in shackles back then. I have no doubts. We weren't allowed contact with anyone from the outside. It was strictly forbidden.

Surely House Ordelia suffered a lot because they were nobles, and not because they helped people, and Ionius took it wrong so sent some of his people there to control said House and use its children as guinea pigs.

Tldr : Crusts BaD, Lizards BaD, Church BaD

[quasi-normalcy]

Here's the 100% accurate Vibes-based way to recognise evil people based on simple traits:

Their eyes look different seen in different lighting

Do they have eybrows? Narcissist trait.

They switch between different codes of communication depending on who they're talking to (only psychopaths do this)

They make you feel oogy

If you're mean to them, they cry. Manipulator behaviour

Sometimes they smile with only part of their mouths

They avoid eye contact. Also they seem to be really into trains and the Star Trek franchise

They try to gaslight you into believing that making snap judgements about peopple based on vibes is "rationally indefensible" and " deleterious to the health of society". Manipulator behaviour

They try to convince you that my "Evil b Gone" twelve-step lifecoaching program for developing your Light Warrior Empath Skills (now available for the low price of $59.99/mo) is "literally a pyramid scheme" and "sounds kind of like a cult"

When you were a kid they didn't show you proper love and affection. Like for example, maybe--maybe you had a little league game or something and it was the big game and you were at bat and they said they would be there and then they---they just weren't and they said it was because they were called away buit you could smell cheap liquor on their breath and the scent of their secretary;s perfume and why couldn't they have just guivenb me a little love and affection that;s all i wnated oh god dad why didn't ypou love me why whwy why why

They're Scorpios

[insert-name-heres-things]

Happy Disability Pride Month!!!

Remember Folks:

- SELF CARE IS NUMBER ONE

- Use your spoons sparingly! Here’s some spoons to go: 🥄🥄🥄🥄🥄🥄🥄

- Clean your mobility aids! (Seriously dude when was the last time you wiped that shit down with an antibacterial?)

- Accommodate yourself, as others will follow.

- Make goals within your reach and abilities

- DO YOUR COPINGS SKILLS

- Remember to stay hydrated and take your meds!

- For my fellow heat sensitive homies, stay cool this summer! A cold rag draped behind your neck, airy clothing, a small portable hand fan, keeping ice packs ready, cold water and expecially cold electrolyte drinks, all do wonders!

- For my fellow autistic folks, don’t be afraid wear earmuffs, stim, use chew charms, whatever it is that helps you regulate. You don’t have to mask if it’s something that isn’t benefitting to your life.

- POTS havin mofos like me, salt the ever loving fuck out of your food. Try different foods with salt, such as fruits and vegetables! I’m currently eating a salty tomato. Drink lots of water, I’ve been aiding gateraid packets to my water and it’s made a HUGE difference, especially as someone who hates drinking water.

- Those with PTSD for whatever reason, I wish you safety and support as you learn to cope and hopefully heal.

- I don’t know exactly what to say to others with H-EDS, as I’m still understanding this disorder other then BE CAREFUL WITH YOURSELF THIS PRIDE MONTH. I swear to god we are the most accident prone mother fuckers lmfao-

- If your immune system is all fucky like mine, keep clean and be sanitary, communicate with others that if they’re sick you can’t be around them, and wear a mask if you feel like that’s the right option for you. In my hometown I’ve gotten yelled at more than once for wearing a mask post-covid, however you can’t let someone else’s ignorance result in your own suffering.

- Don’t forget to move around and stretch! A little movement can do a lot for your body.

- Check in with your disabled friends! Try and see if there’s any way you can help one another, see where both of your strengths and weaknesses lie, and swap some spoons!!

- Be aware of what triggers your disorders. Whether if it’s caffeine triggering bipolar episodes, the weather causing fibro flares, big changes causing meltdowns, overexerting your hypermobility, whatever it is, it matters. Listen to your body and mind.

- Don’t be afraid to call out that doctor who isn’t listening, dismissing your symptoms and medically gaslighting you.

- While it may not seem like a big difference for some, trust me when I say your appetite is so important! Remember if it comes down to it, that it’s better to eat something, ANYTHING, than nothing at all. 

- To that person who might be hesitant, ashamed or might be questioning wether or not they should use a mobility aid, if it’s the difference between you being stuck at home vs going out and living some life… USE THAT MOBILITY AID!!! Same goes for braces and any other tool that may help you live a better quality of life.

- Be accepting towards those with disabilities different then your own- remember this month isn’t a competition about who’s struggling the most, rather to understand that people of physical, psychological, sensory, neurodivergence, and even undiagnosed disabilities all share one thing in common.. WHICH IS BEING DISABLED!

- Doesn’t matter who you are, how young or old, black or white, thick or thin - the disabled minority is one you can end up becoming a part of at any time, and likely will if you live long enough. Disability doesn’t discriminate, so EVERYONE should be advocating for disabled people’s rights.

- And of course, have pride in being disabled. This shit is fucking hard, but if you’re reading this, you’re doing it. Just being here today and doing what you can handle or manage, is doing your best, and that’s enough. You don’t have to push yourselves to impossible lengths to be proud of yourself.

Here, have the disability pride flag:

[planetdream]

PLUTO !

CHARACTERS ! vampire!lee minho, human!reader [ft. human!kim seungmin, servant!han jisung]

GENRE ! horror/thriller—vampire!au. “romance”. smut. minors dni.

SYNOPSIS ! when your fiancé, seungmin, fails to return home after notifying you of his departure from count minho's estate, you decide to search for answers yourself.

WORDS ! 12.2k more or less

THIS FIC CONTAINS ! writing inspired by the various varieties of dracula. horror [vampirism. gore—body horror: details of blood and bloodsucking. spiders. strange creatures. nightmares and overall very lucid dreams. allusions to character death.] hypnosis. hallucinations. manipulation and gaslighting. kidnapping? and references to religion [christianity/catholicism], prayers and comparisons to a Higher Power™. mentions of food. infidelity and smut [one wet dream. pussy eating—a lil bush appreciation. hair pulling. big dick minho. grinding. fingering. worship. term master used once. degradation—whore shaming. choking. nipple play/breast fondling. lots of spit. squirt n cum.]

💌 extremely self indulgent. all the thanks and love in the world to the homie, @cosmicbyeol for beta-ing for me n overall being an incredible help !!! 🥺 also, as always, accepting feedback and constructive criticism!!

The last three weeks have been weary, to say the least. You had been elated as your fiancé, Seungmin, was scheduled to arrive back in the city after a nearly two-month-long business trip. With the day of his return steadily approaching, you found yourself excitedly performing various small tasks in preparation for the moment you finally see him again. Then the big day arrives and Seungmin is nowhere to be found. No big deal; perhaps his arrival is a bit late, or he may need time to himself to unwind after long travels. If anything, he’ll show up at your door the next day with flowers and a gift, ready to tell you all about his journey and the people he’d made connections with. 

Then the fourth day comes, and by that point, you’re knocking on his front door but to no answer. You stroll past his home on your evening walks and the lights aren’t on. You’ve revisited the post office, checked in with relatives; and still, nothing. Seungmin is seemingly lost to space and time. By the sixth day, you’ve written a letter to Count Minho, the friend and business partner that Seungmin had been staying with; explaining the situation and the fact that you’ll be visiting while in search of Seungmin. 

Count Minho is a mystery to you. Seungmin never spoke with you about his relations with the Count, and you never pried into the specifics of his work business. From what you do know, Seungmin’s work involves him being in contact with several different people from real estate to archaeologists and historians, to priesthoods and other religious leaders. You simply assumed Count Minho had been one of the aforementioned, or possibly an artifact seller or buyer; as Seungmin is interested in the hobby himself, and has countless other buyers and sellers he knows. While the Count is a mystery, you feel that there is a possibility that he can lead you back into the arms of your lover. 

After a few days of planning and packing, you finally decide to get started on your journey. By the Sunday of the third week, you’re lodging with some very nice people in the town nearest to Count Minho’s estate—which is only about a two-hour distance away—you choose to stay in the village to get the word out about Seungmin. 

The townsfolk are a welcoming and lively bunch. You were fed, rested, and told stories of both local legends and the juiciest gossip around town. On the eve of your final night in town before you join the Count, you mentioned him, and the room fell silent. A feeling of unease weaved its way into the small kitchen you’d been standing in. The two women beside you failed to meet your gaze. You had already been told of the creatures said to be lurking through the forests between town and the area of the Count’s estate. A classic story of a wolfman who is out to kidnap unsuspecting young men and women; only brought up because of very recent alleged sightings. 

A third woman finally spoke up. Urging you to forego your plan of visiting what she called such a vile and off-putting man. There’s a legend about the man who lives in the castle at the edge of the forest—whom you presume to be Count Minho—who comes into town during the night of the first full moon of the spring season, with the sole purpose of terrorizing people in their homes; feasting on their organs and drinking their blood. The last occurrence happened nine springs ago: a family of five, two completely drained of blood and tossed to the side, with another two torn piece-by-piece; left mixed in a pool of wasted blood. There had been one remaining survivor, eyes removed from their sockets, who only could say one thing: “He called himself God.”

Though the story terrified you—you refused to let that stop you. If Count Minho is some extraordinary beast, then let you be the one to stop him if it means you get to become one with Seungmin again. 

Alas, the day to meet Count Minho has come, and the women you shared dinner with last night are appalled to hear that you were insistent on making your way to Count Minho’s estate. Knowing that they cannot stop you, they wish you luck and pray for you, gifting you a crucifix for safety on your journey. 

By the time you approach Count Minho’s estate, it is about an hour after sundown. The sky begins to dim rapidly, as the former golden-pink hue of the sky begins to turn into a deep purple and later fading into black. The temperature drops by the hour but thankfully the winter season is coming to an end. The snow is already clearing up, and in a couple days it will have been long gone and forgotten for generous showers of rain. 

Your arrival, predestined and arranged to be brought by carriage, led you here. And as you pull into the gates of the estate, an unsettling feeling hits you. Deep in the pit of your stomach as if something had crawled inside of you and is now scratching to be freed. Despite that, the feeling of discomfort quickly begins to wash over you, seemingly dispersing into fascination—like a group of butterflies or a bouquet of flowers flourished within your body and spirit. You feel a lot lighter, elevated as if a veil was pulled over you. 

You can hardly see the castle in the darkness, but if you strain your eyes hard enough, you may be able to see the silhouette of the grand estate. Though that’s no use, the surrounding forest, and deep black sky work as a void, shielding away any ounce of natural light, encompassing the castle within its secrets. The moon, nearly full, and friendly to those who respect it, is useless as the structure of the castle casts away the inquisitive nature of the celestial body—nothing will be brought to light or justice tonight. 

The carriage, drawn by three black horses, halts in front of the main entrance. Several long, white, cylinder candles light up the main door of the Count’s castle. The entrance is similar to that of a cathedral’s—two heavy-looking doors adorned with indescribable red patterns; swirling into shapes that seemingly recreate human-like faces. It’s vague. At a simple glance, the patterns reflected by the candlelight look like faces, but the longer you look at them you realize otherwise. The patterns seemingly have no rhyme or reason, endless red swirls that are simply just decorations. 

Atop the door is a large arch, and in the dead center is a sculpture of a man—perhaps it’s of the Count. In the brief flicker of the flame, you can see the face of the sculpture. Its face is horrid, angry even; a permanent scowl displayed. But in that short second, you notice its eyes, big and red, fixated directly on you. There’s a chill that runs down your spine in that brief moment of eye contact. And while every nerve in your body warns you, there are matters that the Count needs to assist you with that are bigger than just a feeling. 

In your deep thought, one of the doors opens with a loud screech, almost like the scream of someone. It garners a gasp from you, shaking you out of your head and back into reality. Before you know it, your feet are moving faster than your brain and you step out of the carriage. Collecting your bags and holding them tightly, thanking the coachman for bringing you safely. As you turn back to the door, it’s open wider than before, but still, the Count is nowhere in sight. 

You walk closer, hand reaching up to touch the door and you enter, eyes unable to find a resting place. There are candles everywhere, several of them as if there are no electrical lights within the place, despite the huge chandelier hanging from above. The smell of the place does not come from the candles—it’s something else that draws you in, a familiar scent perhaps from your past, but you’re unable to put your finger on it. You step further into the home and when you do, the door behind you slams shut, making you jump and turn back. 

The slam is followed by an unsettling silence, practically deafening. You call out. 

“Hello?” You look around. Just ahead of you is a long hallway, lit up with candles. You’re not sure how long the hallway is, as at a certain point, the light from the flames is no longer visible, fading into a pitch-black blanket. The walls are decorated with cobwebs and a boring gold and red damask; the colors are fading, or at the very least very dusty and in need of upkeep. The floorboards are wooden and when you shift, they make an awful creaking noise. This castle has been around for a long time—centuries even, likely and believably kept within the Count’s family. Modernity has not caught up to it. 

“Hello?” You begin again. “I’m Y/N. I wrote to you a few weeks ago as I had some inquiries for you about Seungmin.” 

Your voice trails off. There’s a cloud of unease that reigns above you, and still, as you stand in the foyer of this already strange place, there’s a familiar warmth that surrounds you. When you breathe in, your chest expands, hair brushing against your neck as you sigh in both contentment and exhaustion. 

“Good evening,” You heard his voice, but you hadn’t heard him come over. “I have been expecting you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but any aforethought words get caught in your throat at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. You catch his eyes immediately, locked into his stare, lost in the deep sands of his chocolate brown eyes. There’s a soft yet teasing nature behind them and it draws you in, latching onto you. He looks to be a lot younger than the age you heard him to be. His lips curve into a smile as he sticks his hand out for you to shake. Though, quite frankly, you’re not sure if you’re supposed to bow to him or not. 

“Yes, um,” You shake his hand, giving a small, shy smile. You’re unable to take your eyes off of him. 

“Come on. You must be cold and tired, let us go sit.” He speaks before you get the chance, letting you collect your thoughts. “Feel free to leave your things there. They will be collected.”

You nod, setting your belongings down and following Count Minho deeper into the castle. You’re unsure if it is because you’re a bit tired, or some very serious architectural error, but the interior of the castle is like a labyrinth of sorts. The Count opens a door you initially assumed to be a room—but instead turned into another hall of rooms. He turns left on his heels and into a side room, you follow along. 

The room you enter is small but comfortable enough for three or four people to have their space. Ahead of you are big windows, covered with thick black curtains that scrape against the floor. To your right is a fireplace, a huge flame already burning and keeping the room nice and toasty. On the right are three large bookcases that reach the ceiling, the multicolored spines of the books add little pops of color. In front of you are two velvet chairs facing the fireplace, divided by a porcelain side table and atop of it are two books and a tea set. 

The room is very neat overall. A couple of misplaced books here and there, sat on the floor. Otherwise, it’s eerily neat. As if the Count rarely uses the room but chronically dusts because everything is just for decoration. The Count takes a seat and as he beckons you over, eyes diverted from your face, as he pours you a cup of tea. You move hastily, sitting at the chair across from him. 

“Hibiscus,” He says, a small smile on his face. “It also seems that I’m forgetting my manners. Those in the town call me the Count, however, you are welcome to call me Minho.”

“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet with and host me,” You begin, ready to get to the point. The Count—Minho—nods. “As I mentioned in the letter sent, I’ve arrived here to look for my fiancé, Seungmin. I’ve only received letters from his arrival and departure, and not many in between those times; which is unlike him on his usual work trips. It’s been weeks now, three to be exact. And since you are a friend of his, I was hoping you knew of his whereabouts.” 

“I fear I will be of little to no help to you, my dear.” His choice of words, while peculiar, are selected carefully. “Seungmin is a near and dear friend to my heart and I truly hope that he is safe, wherever he may be. The thing I can say is, he had been acting a bit—” He pauses, seemingly pondering on the right word to say before continuing. “A bit…abnormal.”

“He had been here at your home for nearly two months, what exactly do you mean by abnormal?” You inquire, pressing Minho to say more, not caring of how your tone might sound.

“He began to have these dreams, and some active hallucinations. Completely plagued by them. Night terrors, I’d say. He feared whatever he had seen, and while he initially confided in me about it, he soon concluded that I was untrustworthy. Somehow, Seungmin lost touch with reality.” 

Plagued by nightmares is something that you take note of. A month into Seungmin’s stay at the Count’s castle, you began to have these vivid dreams. Some good, some horrendously terrifying and, well, a large percentage of particularly electrifying dreams. The most recent—waves crashing together on a violent stormy night on the sea. You’re aboard a ship, standing in the center of the forecastle, and all around you are piled up bodies; and there’s blood on your hands and arms, staining your skin. Blood soaking into the fabric of your clothing. It felt immensely real. You felt the unease of the rocking boat, you heard the crashing of the waves and the squawks of the birds circling overhead. Weirdest of all, you could smell the blood; almost craving it. The dream ends with the sounds of a heart beating and the rushing of blood flooding to your brain. And then there’s nothingness. 

The Count takes a sip of his tea, and you choose to follow suit. Though, the tea is bitter, even with the added sugar, and not slightly tart as Hibiscus tends to be. Quite frankly, the taste is gross, but you drink out of respect. You do your best to keep a straight face at the taste, quickly setting down the cup. A small smile appears on Minho’s face, exhaling with a short laugh. 

There’s a knock at the entrance of the door. In the frame of the door stands a slender figured man who seems to be a tad shorter than the Count. He’s rather cute with his medium length hair and round cheeks, though he wears a blank expression on his face. He turns to you, doing a brief bow and opening his mouth to speak. 

Minho interjects first, walking towards the other man. “This is Han. Very simply, Mr. Han is my servant. Forgive me, Han here, was supposed to see to your arrival, but he had other obligations to take care of.”

The two look at each other, but only the Count smiles. Han keeps the same stoic facial expression, looking more exhausted than anything. The Count begins speaking once again. “Y/N, here, is the fiancé of Mr. Kim. You remember Mr. Kim, don’t you, Han? Y/N informs me that Mr. Kim didn’t arrive safely back home, now is that right?”

The Count looks to you, and you stand from your seat, nodding. “I’ve gotten a letter of his departure but he hasn’t been home yet,” You let out a deep sigh. “I just miss him so much. I hope that he’s safe wherever he is.” 

The air in the room is thick with tension. For the three of you, this has to be an outstanding situation right? For you, as young as you are, to have the love of your life—the man you plan to marry and give yourself to—to go missing without much word. And for the Count, who has been a longtime friend of Seungmin, having to deal with the weight of potentially being the last one to see Seungmin. 

“A friend of Count Minho is a friend of mine,” Jisung smiles. “I’ll do my best to help you find Mr. Kim.” 

Han and the Count step off to the side to exchange words briefly. Han turns to leave and the Count turns back to you. “Hungry by chance?”

The dining room is rather spacious, and includes a fireplace, which seems to be a running theme within the Castle. The wooden floor panels are mostly covered by a large, deep red rug. Red is the main color of the decor of the room; the velvet dining chairs and all the flowers,—from the pansies to the roses—even the dinner plates; are red. Despite this, it’s clear that Count Minho has quite a bit of money to have afforded all of this: from paintings to small artifacts that decorate end tables and small statues of gargoyles. Perhaps he is indeed a collector of sorts. 

Minho pulls out your chair, pushing it back in once you’re seated. He then takes his seat at the other end of the table. There’s a spread of food on the table and various bottles of wine, to which the Count motions for you to help yourself to. After making yourself a plate, you pour yourself a glass of wine—a red, twirling the liquid within the glass, foregoing the tradition of smelling the aroma and instead shooting it straight back. The wine is rather sweet and washes down smoothly; more like juice than a wine. 

Count Minho watches you eat with inquisitive eyes, studying you. He drinks from his wine glass as he stares at you. “What exactly do you know about your fiancé’s career?”

You meet his gaze, eyes fixated on you with a squint; it all makes you a bit uncomfortable. It’s like Minho can read every bit of you with just a simple look. 

“Not very much.” You admit. 

“Oh?” The Count is especially interested now. “Had he told you anything about me then?”

“No. Only that you were a long-time friend.” You pour another glass of wine. “Although..”

You trail off, unsure of if you should mention the story you heard from the town. You look at the Count, and he raises an eyebrow to you. 

“I had been staying in the town nearby for a few days before coming here. And well, I’m not too sure how to explain it. The only things I know of you come from word of mouth, and well, they aren’t very good.”

“Go On.”

You recite to him the story you had been told about the man in the castle who would come into the town and terrorize its citizens. At the end of the story, Minho erupts in laughter. He’s holding his stomach and chuckling, wiping faux tears from his eyes. 

“Let us just say, I have more valuable things to do than whatever that is,” Minho rolls his eyes. “I only ask because you intrigue me. That, and I never thought of Seungmin as someone who would lie to their lover, really.”

The word lie is interesting. You’d always perceived Seungmin to be an honest man, really. The two of you forged your relationship on the basis of being fully honest with each other. You never thought you would ever come close to doubting Seungmin nor his truthfulness, his faithfulness even; but Count Minho’s tone of voice—the seriousness coating every bit of breath he takes—along with the fact that you don’t truly know of Seungmin’s work, has you second guessing yourself. Now it’s your turn to press him. 

“Continue.”

“I’m saying, you don’t know what the man does for a living but you choose to throw away all inhibitions and potentially roll yourself into danger for a man you almost transparently know next to nothing about.” The Count pauses to sip more of his wine. “Seungmin was into things of the rather unusual variety, I’ll have you know. If you want, I can show you the things that he and I were discussing.” 

You take Minho up on his offer, and he gives you a small smile in return. 

“While I’d love to get to work on such matters tonight, I’m afraid I must go to sleep. I have some important matters to tend to in the morning. Shall I show you where you’ll be staying?”

—

You follow Minho, out of the dining room and down the endless hallway. The wallpaper is practically peeling, and the higher ceiling riddled with cobwebs notably hasn’t been cleaned up in quite a longtime. The obvious decades old paintings that were placed against the walls had been covered in dust and grime, dimming the vibrancy intended by their various artists. He then stops at a white door, turning the knob to open it. The room is dark and cavernous, but with the help of a lit candle sharing its warmth with the candles previously naked and cold, you see that it’s actually quite spacious and bright. White and light brown decor gives the room a light and more alive look in comparison to the thick dreariness of the parts of the castle you’ve seen so far. It’s almost like venturing into another world, or peeking back into an oddly shaped past. 

“Breakfast will be served early in the morning. Sleep well.” And with a smile, Minho exits, closing the door behind him. 

In the silence, thoughts begin to fester, nipping away at your well-being. You’ve gotten next to nothing so far from this meeting with the Count, but tomorrow is a new day and you hope he can give you insight into this world of Seungmin that seems to be unraveling. It’s confusing—for a brief moment you find yourself questioning your decisions. Have all of your life choices led you to this exact moment? The Count is vague in his ways of doing things—it’s like he’s not even trying to hide the potential of his true nature. He appears like any other person, but there’s something more to him than what meets the eye. You’ve been caught in a web of mystery, slowly sinking deeper and deeper.

You find that your bags are sitting next to the bed and you reach in to find your night clothes. Once you lift your shirt over your head, you cannot help but feel like eyes are watching you. Covering yourself, you scan the room in an attempt to soothe your psyche, and as expected, you remain completely alone. Shaking the feeling, chalking it up to being nervous about being in yet another new place, you continue to change your clothing. Sitting at the edge of the bed, you reach into your bag to pull out a letter you received from Seungmin. 

“My dearest heart, 

There is not a moment that goes by where I am not thinking of you. On my lonely and rather daunting work evenings, I look to the sky and am reminded that we share the same view together. You are the one thing keeping me balanced and sane. I know that you are waiting for me to return, and I want nothing more than to return to the safety of your warmth. Until then, look to the sky and be reminded of me. 

K.S”

Once finished reading, you press the letter against your chest. The second to last letter you received. Initially, it was rather hard to sleep at night after you received it. You had longed for your lover—missed his existence to no end, and you still do. There is nothing in the world that you would rather have than the gift of your lover returning to safety. You long for Seungmin, aching for the chance to finally touch him again. To hug, to kiss, to feel every inch of him once again. Today marks the third week since you had last heard from Seungmin, and from tonight onward, you demand to get the answers you deserve. 

You gently place the letter onto the nightstand. You kneel onto the floor, elbows pressed against the bed with your hands together in prayer. You had never been religious, nor, in a situation in which you felt you needed to pray before—but it has become a habit of the last few weeks. Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply. 

“Dear God,” You begin. “Please align me with my lover. Please return him to me safely.”

Pulling back the covers, you snuggle into the bed, drifting off into an idyllic night's sleep. 

You’re stuck. Seemingly, your body is paralyzed; hands resting at your sides, legs pressed together. You try to move, starting with a pinky and then your foot, but the longer time goes on, the more your ability to move lessens. Unable to even move your head left or right. You’re completely stuck. Not to mention, stuck in some complete void of a room, unable to see anything. 

There’s a vibration around you. It’s a subtle vibration, though you can feel your body swaying back and forth as if suspended in the air somehow. Just then, there’s a spotlight. It shines in your face before spirling in circles, lighting up various parts of the area you are in; but still, there’s nothing but darkness, even in the brightness of the light. Just until you view a quick flash of something briefly catching the light. The light runs from the figure before spinning back to shine itself on the mystery. 

Despite its distance away, you can see the thickness of the short hairs that decorate the body of the arachnid. The many eyes of the spider sparkle in the light, its eight moving legs speeding their way over to you. You watch as it clicks its mouth, salivating as it makes its way to its fresh catch. 

Here you are: a mere fly in the realm of the spider. 

At a blink of an eye, the spider is circling you, inching closer and closer until you can no longer see it from your horizontal position. Suddenly! It lurches, jumping atop of you. The spider sinks its fangs into you, piercing your skin harshly, burning. The attack against your skin causes blood to splash everywhere, spraying onto your face and body. You shriek in horror—attempting to send signals for your body to wake up from its terror. Your entire body burns; throat dry and brittle from yelling so much. The area around where the spider’s fangs are latched inside of you, both itches and stings. Feels like you’re getting pumped for your blood yet also injected with its venom. 

If possible, your body gets stiffer. Cold. Vision fading.. And fading until there’s nothingness. All you can feel is the body of the eight-legged creature draped over you; taking and taking freely. 

Despite the nightmare, you feel rather refreshed waking up. A minimal amount of light shines through the curtains. Stepping out of bed to the faint smell of food, you yawn and stretch briefly before heading to the closed door. Stepping into the hall from the confines of the room you spent the night in, you take a few steps across the hall to look out into the window. It looks bright and comfortable outside, a stark difference between the drab, dreariness of the castle’s interior. 

When you arrive at the dining room, there’s a full spread of food. Toast, tea, and a plethora of fruits and berries. In the daylight, the interior of the dining room looks a lot dustier, as if it's barely used. And to be fair, it seems as though only the Count and his dedicated servant occupy the estate. Which you wonder about—does Count Minho have no family? And what about Mr. Han? Any lovers? Who exactly is the Count and what was Seungmin’s business with him?

“Will Count Minho be eating with us?” You ask as you take a seat. 

“Sir is taking care of some business this morning. This breakfast is all yours.”

“You won’t be eating?” 

“Ah,” Jisung sighs with a smile. “I had a big breakfast earlier.”

With that, Jisung lets you begin eating. He simply just stands there, and while his eyes aren't on you, you can feel him observing your presence, similar to Minho. 

“So, Mr. Han,” Playing with your food as you speak. “How long have you worked for Count Minho?”

“Only a few years. Feels like a lifetime, though,” He turns to you, a small smile on his face. 

“Are you also a friend of Seungmin?”

“I’d only spoken to Mr. Kim a few times before his most recent visit. I typically stay out of all of Count Minho’s business affairs. I prefer to deal with the home side of things,” Jisung nods. “Speaking of, you’re free to explore the castle if you’d like. The Count won’t return until later.”

“Really? Are you sure he’ll be okay with it?” The opportunity to explore this grand castle piques your interest. You raise your eyebrow towards Han and he nods in response. 

“It’s no problem, really. To warn you, some rooms aren’t used as much anymore so they might be a bit untidy. Almost time for some spring cleaning.” Han gives you a short, dorky laugh. He’s adorable, if that’s the word. He seems to be on the more timid side, probably doesn’t speak to many people other than Count Minho on any given day. “Jisung, by the way, you can call me that.” 

“It’s nice to officially meet you.” You smile. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

Jisung nods. 

“What room did Seungmin stay in?”

“The room that you are staying in.”

The castle looks rather different during the daylight. The hallways feel hollow, completely blank despite the moderate amount of clutter in the form of various books and paintings littering the sidelines. While the idea of a large estate is stunning, it is clearly a bit too much for only the Count and Mr. Han. You wonder if Count Minho has been previously married—or even married at all; to be fair he looks a little young, but it’s possible he’s had a lover in the past. Perhaps that’s why he’s so understanding of your pursuit to find Seungmin. 

You return to your room. Beginning at the bedside table, you tour around the room, looking for clues that might help you. Searching the dressers in the room, you make your way over towards the small desk in the far corner. Opening the drawers of the desk, there remains nothing but untouched letter paper. Scanning the area for any unchecked marks, your eyes fall towards the bed. Dropping to your knees, you crawl the short distance to the edge of the bed. Pulling the bed skirt up in anticipation only to be left with nothing but dust bunnies. This initial search leaves you empty handed but you go off to make your way through the rest of the Castle. 

The castle is indeed like a labyrinth. Some doors open to an empty, decrepit room of various doors. Admittedly, you’re a bit too afraid to open one of the random doors. You’re not familiar with the layout of the estate, and you refuse to get too deep into this trap of a home. One door opens to a windowless room, and the singular wooden chair in the middle causes you to back out of said room slowly. 

Continuing on your pursuit through the endless halls of Count Minho’s estate, you approach a doorless room. Without needing to walk in, you can tell by the bookcases that it’s a library of sorts. Making your way through the entryway of the library, you find that the temperature of the room is noticeably colder than the hall. The library has dark wooden shelves filled with books from the ceiling to the floor, and you know that if Seungmin was here, he’d be able to tell when and where the shelves were constructed. He would always pick up little pieces of knowledge like that—claiming that he didn’t know why yet, but knowing such would help further him in life; and importantly, in his studies. 

You run your fingers over the spines of the books as you stroll your ways through the library. There are books spanning across language and subject—the majority of it, completely unidentifiable to you. 

You come across a leather-bound book displayed on one of the bookshelves, cover forward. It’s dark, dusty, and might even be a little dirty. The cover of the book itself is twisted, the skin of the book twists and dives into different layers, somehow folding the cover of the book inside of itself. It’s complex and strange, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. Just to hold it, the weight of the book is heavy, somehow warming up in temperature. To feel the book, to hold it in your hands, it intrigues you just as much as it disgusts you. 

The language of text presented on the pages is unknown to you. The drawings that accompany the writings, however, are disturbing. Dark and detailed illustrations of creatures that you would never have thought of. Upon the first page is a visualization of a winged creature with the distant silhouette of a man. Only there’s a huge eye where the head would be, and its legs are tangled and twisted together. Turning a page, you’re presented with another drawing. An illustration in charcoal of a dark figure. The drawing looks as though it’s been drawn in haste; a rushed, frantic effort. Alongside is another illustration of a mouth—though without ink, the artist did their best to emphasize the splotches of blood that stain the mouth. What stands out the most are the set of razor sharp canines that protrude from the teeth—two sets, specifically. Beholds, the only romanization on the page: Vampyre.

A chill runs down your spine, but you’re unable to remove yourself from the grasp that the book has. Turning page after page, overstimulating yourself with various images of creatures that are likely to lurk in the shadows. The longer you examine, the more your head pounds. Nausea interrupting all plans you may have had. Head spinning and spinning, visions bending and thrawn within itself. Figments of the images you’ve viewed imprinting themselves on your vision in dark splotches like a memory. The new and the strange tangling itself within your memories, hiding within them for safe keeping. 

“Y/N?” There’s a light voice that breaks you out of your spell. 

When you come to, Count Minho is standing over you, his cold hand pressed against your forehead. You look around the room, sitting in an opposite corner of the library than you originally remembered. 

“Are you alright?” He asks. 

“I’m not too sure,” You sit up straight in your seat. You look towards the open window and the sky outside is completely dark. Somehow, it appears that hours have passed. What a freaky and strange thing. 

When you look up at Minho from your position on the chair, you’re immediately pulled into the pools of his eyes, locked in. “You must be hungry, yeah? It’s dinner time.” 

Just like last night, Minho leads you to the dining room. Just like last night, he slides your chair out and pushes it in for you. The spread of food tonight is different from last night, and you notice that some of the decor around the room looks different as well. Your vision hasn’t quite recovered from its hectically blurred state, and in your moment of disillusion, none of this interests you.

“Is there something wrong?” Minho asks as he sits. What isn’t wrong? You feel a rather painful shift in your own mood. 

“I think I might be a bit tired.” You exhale. Despite aching for the continuous pursuit of knowledge, sickness continues to trail behind you. Uncertainty creeping its way up to the forefront of your thoughts. You’re unable to escape the feeling that there might be something seriously wrong. Anxiety rests in the pit of your stomach, slowly eating away at you. Refusing to look at Minho, you pick at the food on your plate. Honestly, you feel rather sick. Your vision, while still painfully blurry, continues to spin ever so slightly. Placing your hand flat against your forehead to find that you’re burning up on flu type levels. You look across the table toward Minho and your vision doubles, triples, then suddenly you're seeing eight versions of him. 

It’s a bit of a hassle to move the heaviness of your hand, fingers slowly creeping up to grasp onto the wine glass. You close your eyes to soothe your vision, taking the glass into your hand fully. 

Minho coos. “I was really looking forward to dinner with you; but if you’re tired we can postpone our conversation.”

Taking a sip and allowing it to savor on your tongue. The slight, unsuspecting note of pomegranate makes you smile—something comforting in the mixture of mess you’re currently feeling. 

Grace be to God. When you open your eyes, your vision returns to normal. It’s something of a miracle. 

“No. It’s fine. That strange book in the library,” You look at Minho and struggle to find the words. All that remains in your head is visuals of every creature you saw depictions of. 

“What book?” He doesn’t follow. 

“It has drawings of these strange creatures in it. Some kind of horror book, I think it made me a bit sick.”

“I’ll tell Han to search for it so that I can have a look,” 

Dinner continues with only a few moments of silence. The topics range from a variety—the original focus of conversation on Seungmin before venturing off elsewhere. Count Minho gives you insight on what he does; referring to himself as someone who studies human nature, communication and our state of existence. He loves the study of humans and thus dedicates his life to it, choosing to be of help in any way he could be. Of which, is how he met Seungmin, and from there, they became partners due to their similar interests. Somewhere, is a layer of information that Count Minho refuses to give up so soon. 

“May I walk you to your room?” Minho asks, rather politely, but your room is not too far from your current position. Still, you say yes to him. 

Unlike dinner, the very short walk is in total silence, but Minho’s presence is comforting. You reach the door to your room in no time and Minho steps in front of you before you can say anything. The silence continues as Minho and you stare at each other. Though, the silence turns to static when Minho leans in to kiss you. His lips on yours and you don’t even bother to pull away. Instead, you kiss back, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He pulls away in haste, muttering a goodbye before walking off into the darkness of the hall.  

You step into your room and therefore, instantly step into a pool of guilt and confusion. Seungmin is so far from the forefront of your mind—for you to indulge in a kiss with another man and to not think once about your lover. What kind of monster have you become?

Once changed into your night clothes, you peel under the covers and you pray. You don’t feel like yourself, and the feeling creeped upon you. The thoughts in your brain are mixed together, both elaborate and unintelligible, a mixture of things you know and things you never knew. Images of those same creatures stain the darkness when you close your eyes, peeling back layers of the person you once knew to be you. Before sleep finally engulfs you, you pray for the guidance of whoever is listening. 

Minho guides you towards the bed. Red and black satin sheets fitted across the bed and the pillows. Minho pushes you against the bed and huffs out a short laugh, smirking at you. You bite your lip out of nervousness, peering up at him. 

“You’re so beautiful, my rose.” Minho’s hand is soft against the skin of your knee. Lightly, he drags his nails against your thigh, inching closer and closer to the material of your nightgown. 

Before he does anything, he leans down to kiss you; eyes closing as your lips work in sync, souls melting together. The kiss deepens for just a moment until Minho pulls back, brown eyes staring into your own. He plants one more quick kiss against your lips before his hands begin working beneath your gown. He slides your dress up to your waist, admiring the softness of your belly and the smoothness of your skin. One kiss above your navel and another kiss below, is all he lets himself have before he gets too deep into it. 

You make it easy for him, foregoing underwear to allow your lover easy access. Minho can only scoff, but he shuts himself up with another kiss to your mound. “Just for me, my dear?”

“Only you, love.” You smile at him, motioning for him to come closer. Minho, of course, follows suit. He would give you a billion and one kisses if he could. 

When the kiss breaks, Minho drags you towards the edge of the bed. Spreading your legs apart, he drops to his knees beginning his worship of your cunt. Tongue flailing out, slurping up every drop of your wetness, soft lips drenched in your flavor—and there’s no other way Minho would rather have you than at his complete surrender. His hands grip your ass, trying to push you into his face. Lips covered in slick and spit, puckering around your clit, sucking it in; Minho’s head bobbing up and down slightly, moaning into your cunt. 

“So fucking delicious,” Minho mumbles, continuing with his feast. Your hands fly to his hair, pulling with every lick and suck he gives you. Moaning freely, not caring if the entire world can hear you. In fact, maybe the entire world should hear you. 

Minho eats you sloppily, savoring not only your taste, but the feeling of your cunt against his skin. The feeling of the softness of your pubic hair against his skin is like heaven to him. Sometimes, he’ll spend time rubbing this face against the hair before he dives into your cunt. Not to mention the feeling of your juices soaking into his skin, which he’d use as a natural moisturizer if he could. Minho’s obsessed with every inch of you; from your cunt to your skin, to the very blood that courses through your veins.

His fingers push into you as his tongue swirls against your cunt. His lips suck your clit into his mouth, tongue lightly beating against the tip of the bud. Minho pushes his saliva to the front of his mouth, soaking your clit in a mixture of his spit and your juices. 

Your fingers pull against Minho’s hair, tugging harshly against his scalp but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He might even ask you to pull harder. You push Minho against your cunt, slowly grinding your hips against his face. Moans bouncing off the walls as you drip onto Minho’s tongue. Minho takes this opportunity to suck on your clit just a tad harder, triggering your pending orgasm. Eyes rolling to the back of your head allowing you to see colors as warmth rocks through your body. Limbs daring to curl together, Minho doesn’t allow you to move from the hold of his hands nor the warmth of his mouth. 

Minho slowly kisses up your body. You can feel the remnants of his kisses even after he’s long gone from a spot because of the wetness on his lips. He kisses at your neck, then your cheek, and finally your lips. Deepening the kiss as he taps his cock against your cunt, you invite him in. 

Three long orgasms later, you and Minho are snuggled in bed, snoring softly beside each other. Suddenly, you’re woken up by a loud bang. Looking to your side, you find Minho unbothered, still asleep, chest rising gently with each breath. There’s another bang, louder and possibly closer than last. You slide out of bed, looking back at Minho’s sleeping figure before making your way towards the door, hand reaching for the glass door knob. 

There’s another loud crash as you twist the handle of the door. You step into the hall of darkness, wooden floor cold against the bottom of your feet. Closing the door behind you, you venture out into the darkness. The halls of the castle are quiet, unmoving; day in and day out they remain the same, even in the dead of night. It’s rather sorrowsome, actually. So full, yet so empty—the castle feels like it's dying. 

Another loud bang. Followed by another and another. One after the other, four beats apart. The knocking appears to get louder with each step you take towards the staircase. You raise your foot to take that first step, there’s another bang once you firmly plant your foot against the stair. Quickly but carefully, you make your way up the staircase. In the near distance, towards the end of the hall presents a glimpse of golden light. 

Letting your legs guide you, you make way towards the door at the end of the hall, almost floating. The knocking doesn’t stop, getting louder and louder the closer you get to the door; but when you try to halt, you’re guided to your destination by a sudden force; body stiffening, neck making a sharp turn as you peek into the room. The crackling warmth and light emitted from the fireplace sets a gorgeous, homey scene. 

“Help.. Me..” 

Your eyes shoot towards the ground until you find the fingertips of a man laying in a puddle of blood. But before your brain can process who the person is, you’re snatched away. Falling fast into a pit of darkness. 

You awake in the dead of the night to a knocking at your door. It’s soft and subtle, but has been consistent enough to pull you from your sleep. One knock after the other, four beats between each knock. 

Tossing the covers away, you step out of bed. Muscles tough and sore, there’s an unease as you rub the sleep from your eye, feeling as though you’re encumbered in your own head. You take another heavy step, the knocking still not ceasing. One step after another until you reach the handle of the door, and only then does the knocking stop, floorboards creaking as the sound of footsteps shuffles away. 

A minute goes by until you decide to open the door. The hallway is dark, the only light is coming from the window across the hall. You look towards the moon—there she is, full in all of her glory, bringing the spring equinox along with her. You walk towards the window, looking down towards the ground and noting that the snow has completely melted. There’s a dark, shadowy figure in your peripheral that breaks your appreciation for nature. Turning in the direction, there’s nothing in the distance. You follow, passing by the kitchen and making your way to the stairs. The shadow dissolves into the darkness at the top of the stairs, beckoning you to chase after it. 

Once you reach the top of the stairs, there’s a sliver of light peering from the far end of the hallway. The trek over isn’t that long, and once you’re within a few feet you slowly approach the door, tiptoeing your way over. Creeping up to the doorframe, you hold your breath as you peek into the crack of the room. There’s not much to see, just a steady fire and its continuous cracking. Until you hear a moan and your eyes dart to the location of the sound. 

There, you spot Jisung sprawled out on the chaise, half of his limbs hanging off as Minho straddles over him. Attached to his neck, Minho wastes most of his meal, letting blood slip from his mouth and drip down Jisung’s neck. You gasp, fully taken aback by the action you are witnessing. The townspeople were right to warn you—the Count is a monster. Or maybe something worse. 

After the accidental announcement of your arrival, Jisung locks eyes with you. Your gaze, however, is stolen by Minho once he turns around, peering up from his feeding position. He’s wide-eyed with blackness covering the entirety of his eyes, lips and chin stained red with blood. Once Minho realizes it’s you who interrupted his feed, he gives you a wide, bloody smile—showing off the two sets of fangs at the top row of his teeth, the outer fangs just slightly bigger than the inner fangs. For a moment, time seems to slow down; you watch as a small droplet of blood drips from one of Minho’s fangs, and before it fully releases, Minho swipes it with his tongue, licking over his fangs for extra blood. 

Before you can turn back and run, Minho is already behind you in the blink of an eye. 

“Unfortunately, my dear, running is useless,” The Count grabs you by the collar of your pajamas and forcefully drags you into the room. You fight him off but your hits do nothing to him. Letting go of you, Minho pushes you onto the ground. “Stay.”

Jisung stands up from his position laying across the chaise, dipping a rag into a bowl of water sitting on the side table. You watch Jisung with inquisitive eyes as he wrings out the rag, carefully cleaning up the marks and the blood stained to his neck. Minho, meanwhile, is facing the fireplace with his arms crossed and one finger pressed to his lips. Jisung finishes cleaning himself up, and begins moving around to avoid eye contact with you. In horror, you watch as Jisung takes a tarantula out of its cage and places it into his mouth, chewing as he turns to walk out of the room—leaving you alone and helpless in the clutches of Count Minho. 

Minho tsks once, then once more. A hand on his hip as he shakes his head. He extends his arm, quickly swiping away all of the candles and books the rest atop the fireplace as a loud, angry cry escapes from his chest.  

“I thought that maybe,” Minho begins. “Just maybe. I’d have an extra night or two before having to do this to you. You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” 

Minho turns to you. An insincere smile on his face, fangs hidden away but some of Jisung’s blood still covers his face. You spring to your feet, not wanting to stay on the ground when it’s clear that Minho has the advantage. Backing away from him slowly, eyes searching for anything to use as a weapon, though Minho can tell your every move. 

“Did you..did you do that to Seungmin?” You’re near tears. They don’t fall, only brimming along your tear ducts. 

Minho’s jaw clenches at the mention of Seungmin. “You really do care about him, huh? Seungmin this and Seungmin that. I fear your admiration for your lover has made you blind. You have played right into the palm of my hand, little lamb.”

“You want to know where Seungmin is? He’s dead.” Minho laughs. A deep belly laugh. “Though, it wasn’t me who did it.”

“Years ago, I showed Sir Kim something that I thought he could handle, only to find out otherwise. I promised him knowledge, the freedom to view the extensive, valuable, book collection within my library, at any time he chooses; and most importantly, the opportunity to discover something otherworldly—new to him, although very old to me. Something that could provide him everything he’s ever wanted. At least, that’s what this power did for me. Seungmin wanted to become a new man, and I was the only one who could offer that opportunity.”

“Then, two months ago, Seungmin showed up at the door. Exclaiming that while he wasn’t ready in the past, this time he’s ready to surrender his soul. Turns out, it was a ploy to kill me. I should’ve known better, truthfully. Seungmin is smart, almost as cunning as I, and well, he very nearly gave me a run for my money. But let’s just say, how should I put this, I have someone who is willing to do anything I say. Including kill.”

You shake your head in disgust, backing up from Minho; but he pursues.“What are you?”

“I once referred to myself as a God. However, over the years, I realized that I am God. I have seen men with beast-like abilities and looks, men with the ability to rise from the dead, but the simple power of those imbeciles doesn’t even come close to mine. It’s something entirely different.”

“I mean, you read that book didn’t you? A dull-looking half-dead creature with fangs? You’re quite different from Seungmin, but you’re still special. You might not have understood the text, but perhaps, you used context clues?” Minho continues, “You might not have known it, but your fiancé was a part of a very dark world, angel. You see, he was actually the one that wrote the book. And he left you blind to it all, not knowing of his inevitable future. And now, yours.”

Minho winks and moves closer to you with each word, though you take steps back, not wanting to be too close to him. Eventually your back hits the wall and Minho almost pressed against you. His sharp nails come up to your neck, tracing over until he finds exactly what he was looking for, inhaling deeply. 

“Are you going to kill me, too?”

“There,” He taps the tip of his finger against your neck, just above your collarbone. The sharpness of the nail presses into your skin, breaking the initial layer, not deep enough to cause bleeding. “If I put my mouth right here, I could drain all of you in less than six seconds. Kill you? Heavens no, I actually believe that you’re pretty valuable to me.”

Minho looks into your eyes, passing along discomfort in the form of a stare. Then he pouts at you, mockingly. 

“No need to be scared. I mean, it’s not like you can ever leave me, at this point, so it’s best you put your fear aside.” Minho smirks once more. “From the night you’ve arrived, you’ve been drinking my blood. I’m already inside of you. I know every little thought in that pretty little mind of yours, I’m in all of your dreams. And guess what? You will never, ever be able to get rid of me.”

“Now tell me, has Seungmin ever touched you like this?” Minho asks, the tips of his fingers tracing against your neck, palm cupping around your throat, he stands firm behind you. There’s dense heat against Minho’s fingertips and a slight burning sensation from the sharpness of his nails; it’s such an intense feeling, unlike any you’ve experienced before. As electrifying as the feeling of his touch is, it’s also revolting, horrendous. There was a spark whenever Seungmin touched you, but Minho’s touch is different; it burns in all of the right ways. 

“I could give you things Seungmin would have never even dreamt about,” Minho’s voice is soft, silky. The heat of his breath against your skin tickles, but ignites a particular burning of desire. Minho is something similar to the devil and still, despite it all, there’s a familiar heat that creeps up within you. “I could open doors for you that were previously closed. Anything you want, could be yours. All you have to do is accept all of me.”

The hand that had previously been resting against the softness of your belly, is held out for you to accept. You stare down at his hand, biting your lip at the temptation. Minho plants his lips against your neck to give you one small kiss after another. 

For the sake of Seungmin, you want to turn away. If this had been just a few days ago, you would have likely fought in honor of Seungmin. The entire reason you’re even here, in the Count’s castle, is because of Seungmin. And still, in spite of all of that, as much as it makes you feel physically ill, stomach turning at the thought, every single fiber of your being craves Minho. You can feel the heat of your bodies meshed together every time you imagine what it’s like to have him between your legs. When he looks into your eyes, it’s familiar—like home. 

Every alarm is firing off and still, you put your hand in Minho’s—accepting his offer. Minho’s hand interlocks with yours, and you can feel him smile in between his tiny butterfly kisses. His hand holds yours tightly, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. Plump lips dragging against your skin, until he stops momentarily—taking a deep breath. Minho lets out a sharp, rich groan; knees throbbing as he bucks into you. And it’s at that moment you can feel Minho’s cock pressed heavily against your ass. Minho holds you against him, hips moving against your ass slightly, as he breathes in your scent. 

The moment is broken once you feel four razor sharp punctures in your neck. Minho’s low, guttural moans vibrate against your skin as his teeth penetrate layers of skin. The feeling is strange—it stings and burns, but also has a light cooling sensation. 

With the more blood Minho takes, the more his eyes fade into black until the whites are no longer exposed. Minho is absolutely captivated by the taste of your blood. It’s absolutely bewitching. He can taste every memory, every inch of trauma and pain, all of your love and most importantly, Minho can taste a bit of your soul—completely unguarded and vulnerable; ready for him to take and do as he pleases with. 

Minho continues draining you of your blood. It’s around this time that your vision becomes blurry, the room grows disorienting, tipping from side to side with each blink. You’re clutching Minho’s hand as tight as you possibly can be, jaw slacking and freely giving away soft moans. Even though he’s drinking from you, Minho never stops the movement of his hips. Hand clutching your own, pressing your arm against your stomach firmly. His other hand is tight on your hip, holding you in place. Somehow, your body feels both light and heavy, like you’re nailed to your spot but also elevated, floating in space. Your eyelids are getting heavier, a milky white film covering your eyes as Minho continues to take and take from you.

By the time you feel like your legs are going to give out, Minho gives up on drinking from you. “I can’t believe you’ve been hidden from me all this time, my little lamb.”

Minho whispers into your ear, voice equal parts soft and sweet. The way he can easily slip between calm and composed and dominant and overbearing is scary. 

“Let’s make this official, what do you say, love?” It’s less of a statement and more of a demand. Minho bites into his wrist, pushing it towards your mouth. But you refuse, attempting to turn away, though Minho does not allow it. Forcing your mouth open with his other hand, fingers dipping into your mouth, watching with a smirk on his face as droplets of his blood drip into your mouth one by one. 

There’s not really any significant taste to Minho’s blood. Indeed, his blood is thicker than water—but also very smooth going down. Minho spins you around, lips fast against yours. This kiss is full of iron and spit, completely messy, tongues fighting against each other. You, surprisingly to Minho, are the one who deepens the kiss further, pressing your body against his. Hands running all over his body, tugging against his clothes. 

You can feel yourself changing rapidly. Inside of you is a particular burning passion that you haven’t felt in years. It’s amplified when Minho’s fingers trickle up and down your sides. When the kiss parts, you and Minho lock eyes. Your chest rises, breathing in deeply because the room has gotten a hell of a lot hotter—or is the oxygen leaving your lungs? 

Minho takes the lead this time, pushing you atop of the sofa. He stands over you almost menacingly, clouds of lust like darkness clouding his eyes. He takes the chest of his shirt and tears it in half with two hands, as easily as it takes one to blink. He lets the shirt fall from his body, pulling his arms from the sleeves. Unbuttoning his pants just slightly before he kneels on the couch beside you. His lips on yours once again, though briefly. Minho takes the fabric of your clothing and tears it in two, just as he did his own shirt. You’re completely exposed to him, completely naked beneath his stare. You put your arms up to shield your indecency, but Minho doesn’t allow it. Taking your wrists in his hands and pinning you to the comfort of the sofa. 

Holding your wrists with one hand, Minho holds your jaw in his other hand. “Wish you could see how heavenly you look right now.” 

At this moment, Minho decides that you’re the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. So does he worship this embodiment of a higher place? Or does he further defile it? Should he ravish you? Perhaps he should take his claim over a body and soul that is now his forever. The worship may come a little later. He looks down at you, a frenzied little fledgling overtaken by uncontainable lust. A near mirroring reflection of sin itself. You pupils are completely blown and the whites of your eyes grow into a red color. He stands tall above you, like a God. Eyes of lust looking back at you, so deeply into the crevices of what’s left in your soul. 

You claw up at Minho, wanting to feel him. Wanting to be comforted by the glory that is Minho. The Ultimate Being—your master. 

“Imagine if Seungmin were to see you like this, intoxicated with such lust—and none of it towards him,” Minho kissed over the spot where he bit you, planting more kisses against your neck. “Would he be pathetic? A coward who cums in his pants at the sight of another man touching you?”

Minho’s lips move from your collarbone to your chest, displaying a range of kisses against your skin. “Or would he demean you for disgracing him in such a way? Would he call you a whore at the sight of you, turning his face in disgust?” 

Minho continues talking in between kisses against your skin. Lips kissing down the valley of your breast as his left hand creeps up to fondle your left breast. You moan at his touch, the coolness of his skin against the heat of yours. Minho looks up at you. “My precious little lamb isn’t a whore, are you?”

You shake your head vigorously at Minho’s statement. He can only laugh at you. He doesn’t believe it and deep inside, you don’t believe yourself either. 

“Your whole purpose of being here was to find your fiancé, and instead, you’re beneath me and dripping onto the chaise. That doesn’t sound like something someone who’s not a whore would do, does it, little lamb?” 

You shake your head in denial. Reaching up to him, dragging the tips of your fingers down his chest. With each exhale, with each minute that goes by, it becomes harder and harder to fight your cravings. Thrusting your hips up, gyrating in the air, trying to entice Minho into touching you. Unable to sort the words in your head to form a coherent sentence. 

“But you’re fine with being a whore aren’t you?” Minho nods, pouting just slightly. When you’re not nodding along with him, he grabs you by your hair, forcing you to nod along with him. “What a good little lamb. From here on out, you’ll only be a whore for me, ok?”

Minho releases your hair from his clutches. Licking his palm, he drags it down from your navel to your cunt, pausing a moment to bury his fingers within the hair on your mound, slightly tugging at it. He teases you for the moment; fingertips feathering lighting against the skin of your inner thighs. He brings his fingers back to your cunt, dragging down your slit, teasing into your wetness. Minho circles over your clit with two fingers, watching your face as you bite your lip. Two of his fingers slowly slip inside of you soon after, thick, already knuckle deep inside of you. 

Minho’s free hand finds a new position, tightening around your neck. The roughness of his hands is missed when he slides his hand down your chest, cupping your breast. He leans down, sucking your nipple into his mouth, coating it with saliva, teeth slightly grazing against it. He continues scissoring his fingers into you, thumb pressing down flat against your clit. Minho moves his thumb in tender circles, still applying pressure. Swollen lips leave a mess of spit on your breast, dripping onto his hand. 

He lifts his head from his original position, eyes covering every inch of you. Once his eyes land on your cunt, Minho kneels—a quick kiss planted at your clit before he attaches his mouth to it, sucking you in. Warm, wet mouth slurping and licking, voice vibrating against your cunt. You moan into your hand, but Minho snatches it away; a quick, stern look up at you. The more he hears your moans, the sluttier and messier that Minho gets; moving away slightly to spit against your cunt, watching as it drips down to his fingers. All before he’s back at it, slurping and moaning against your cunt. 

“Fucking cum,” Minho talks into your cunt. He speaks his demand into you. The climax hits you hard, cum spraying all over Minho’s face, even drenching a bit of his hair. It takes Minho and yourself by surprise, and you’re almost ready to cover your face in your hands, but Minho flashes the most gorgeous smile to you. Face soaked, licking his lips to taste more of you. 

If he wasn’t firm about his desire to devour and conquer you, he was now. Minho fully undresses himself, cock hard and heavy, leaking and aching to be buried inside of you. It’s like your minds come together. Just with a touch you know the things that Minho wants to do to you. Your desires are equal and because of it, you’re a step ahead of him. Your eyes land on him, completely sucking into the visual of his cock. Large but not too veiny, a shade or two darker than the rest of his skin and it’s absolutely glorious. He’s thick, the tip of his cock heavy and shining with precum. It’s hard to keep your appetite for lust contained, and for a moment, you wonder why you’re even holding back—you’ve seen just a glimpse of freedom, is it too much to indulge and savor the taste of what you’re becoming? 

Your movements are faster than what the logical part of your brain can comprehend. One moment you’re spread open and the next, you’re straddling Minho, hand caressing his face. Minho looks at you with such an insatiable gaze. He hadn’t read it in the cards that you could possibly take control of the situation, and it enthralls him—what a wonder you are. You grind against his cock, sliding your slick cunt across his shaft. Pressing your hands to his chest for balance, adjusting the speed of your grinding until you’ve finally found the spot that sets off the fireworks within your brain. Unfortunately, it’s not enough for Minho, grabbing your hips and pressing you onto his cock, controlling your movements. Other than the added pressure, Minho guides your hips just a tad bit faster. 

Sliding up, you reach behind to hold Minho’s cock into your hand. It has a bit of weight to it and is slick with your juices. You tap the head of his cock against your cunt a time or two, then slowly sink down, engulfing him into your cunt. The thickness of his cock gives you a fervent sensation, cunt fluttering to take more of him, inch by inch. 

You throw your head back as you continue riding Minho. There's a brief, but slight sting of pain when you open your mouth to moan. When you look towards Minho, mouth agape, he looks back at you with such adoration and awe—the first time you felt his genuineness for something other than rage.  Minho helps you continue to ride him, his hands on your hips to guide you up and down his cock. You bring your tongue up to lick your lips when you finally notice the feeling of the fangs protruding from your gums. 

The feeling of exhilaration encompasses your whole being. You can’t help but let out a laugh at the current situation. You feel elated. You feel powerful. Pure and utter bliss slowly peeking out beneath the many layers of lust. 

“Bite me, my dear, go ahead.” Minho reassures you, a hand soothingly rubbing against your thigh. 

You indulge in the opportunity. Sinking completely down on Minho’s cock, crying out at the sensation of being filled by him. You press your nose against his neck, breathing in Minho’s scent before you sink your fangs into his skin. You can feel the shift in your eyes when you drink from him. His blood tastes immaculate like this. What divine nectar he carries within. It’s insanely sweet—not exactly in a tart or sugary way; he tastes similar to fresh fruit. 

You continue to drink from him, tongue licking haphazardly, unwilling to let any of Minho’s blood go to waste. 

From his blood to his cock, Minho is all around you. You feel so full of him, and you are in every sense of the word. His arms wrap around you, caging you in as you take your time feeding from him. He moves a hand between the two of your bodies, thumb pressed against your clit to rub in circles. You gentle rock against him, slowly increasing the speed of your hips once you realize you’re fairly latched onto him. Unwilling to free him from your hold, you would die like this if needed. 

Your climax hits you and transforms you into such a state of pure ecstasy. Every nerve in your body is electrified, and the blood of Minho amplifies that. Minho has you under a spell: blood coursing through your veins, cock pinned deep, spilling his cum inside of you. He’s so cold to touch, but you’re both on fire. It’s way too much yet you’re still captivated by him. Sent into overdrive, your body gets heavier—it's hard to control and you continue to take and take from Minho. It’s no problem to him, though; hand on your back to soothe as your body becomes stiff atop of him.

You awake in Minho’s arms, not completely sure of where you exactly are. The second you open your eyes, you’re not nearly ready for how extraordinarily bright the lights in the room are. You groan in response, but Minho is alert to soothe you. 

“Be still, my little flower.” Minho is whispering, purposefully; he knows first-hand how troubling it can be to be reawakened like this. But still, his voice rings around your head. 

How strange. You can hear every little sound a lot clearer, a lot louder. The initially faint crackling of the fireplace now louder than before despite the distance. The heat of the fire reaches you as well, blazing, although it does not stick. The ticking of the clock is a doomful reminder of the passage of time. Then you look at Minho, and you can hear how hollow he is. There’s an absence within him, a huge, dark, cavernous hole. He is nothing more than a host for whatever this disease is that he has given you. A man without a soul. 

And still. He holds the entire world in his hands. 

“There’s so much I have to teach you,” Minho expresses this with great excitement. He presses a chalice of blood to your lips and just a whiff of the smell puts you in a daze; salivating and feigning to taste. “Now here, drink up.”

© PLANETDREAM 2024

[jessicalprice]

christian universalism strikes again

(Reposted from Twitter)

So a rabbi I know came back from LA pretty jazzed about a Jewish addiction treatment facility there called Beit T'shuvah and so we talked about their approach and that got me curious about non-AA approaches to dealing with addiction which, my friends, was fascinating.

I’ll admit that almost everything I know about AA is more or less from The West Wing. I'm fortunate in that no one in my immediate family has dealt with substance abuse issues, and as far as I know, none of my close friends are alcoholics. My knowledge is pop culture knowledge.

But hearing about Beit T’shuvah was very interesting to me because:

I'd heard that a lot of people who aren't Christian have a hard time with AA because it's so Christian.

The difference in philosophy was subtle at first glance but actually paralleled a lot of the differences between Judaism and Christianity if you dug into it.

Anyway, I got curious about whether success rates were different for Christians vs. non-Christians and started googling. I didn't find much in the way of the data I was looking for, but I did find something a lot more disturbing, which is that the whole 12-step thing is not science-based. At all. For example:

The National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse compared the current current state of addiction treatment to medicine in the early 1900s, when there weren't a lot of standards for who could practice medicine. In order to be a substance abuse counselor in many states, you don't need much more than a GED or high school diploma.

A 2006 survey found "no experimental studies unequivocally demonstrated the effectiveness of AA or TSF approaches for reducing alcohol dependence or problems."

And I want to make clear here that I'm not saying AA is bad--clearly it's helped people. The problem is that it's touted as a universal approach, which is a problem when it's not based on any sort of actual science. 

AA claims that its success rates for people who "really try" are 75%. (And boy does that mirror gaslighting diet language.) But the most precise study out there that's NOT coming from AA (https://amazon.com/dp/B00FIMWI1O) put actual success rates at 5-8%. One of the major textbooks on treating addiction ranks it at 38th out of 48 on its list of effective treatments.

So just like most fad diets, it fails for almost everyone who tries it, and then blames the individual for its failure.

A glaring issue is that the 12 steps don't really acknowledge--or provide any guidance or structure for dealing with--other mental/emotional health issues. That’s a giant problem when people with substance abuse issues have higher than average rates of those issues. (Take a moment to consider how the victim-blaming approach of “if you didn’t succeed, it’s because you didn’t try hard enough” is going to intersect with someone’s major depression.)

Now, if 12-step programs were just one available treatment approach out of many, this wouldn’t be that big of an issue.

But 12% of AA members are there because of court orders. Our legal system is requiring people to undergo treatment that is: 

Christian-based

Not scientifically supported

A failure for the vast majority of people

I mean, here's a pretty comprehensive breakdown that talks about the lack of scientific support for it, alternative treatments (like those in Finland, and naltrexone), and the fundamentalist origins of AA. 

The founder was a member of the Oxford Group, an evangelical organization that taught that all human problems stemmed from fear and selfishness, and could be solved by turning your life over to divine providence, basically. Sound familiar? He based AA on those principles, and given that the only alternative was "drying out" in a sanatorium, and that AA members would show up at bedsides there and invite inpatients to meetings, it must have looked really enlightened to people. In 2022, it bears a queasy resemblance to evangelizing to people in prison, literally a captive audience. 

To be fair--to their credit--they were some of the first people out there saying alcoholism was a disease, and not a moral failing. But they didn’t treat it like a disease when it came to testing treatment options:

Mann also collaborated with a physiologist named E. M. Jellinek. Mann was eager to bolster the scientific claims behind AA, and Jellinek wanted to make a name for himself in the growing field of alcohol research. In 1946, Jellinek published the results of a survey mailed to 1,600 AA members. Only 158 were returned. Jellinek and Mann jettisoned 45 that had been improperly completed and another 15 filled out by women, whose responses were so unlike the men’s that they risked complicating the results. From this small sample—98 men—Jellinek drew sweeping conclusions about the “phases of alcoholism,” which included an unavoidable succession of binges that led to blackouts, “indefinable fears,” and hitting bottom. Though the paper was filled with caveats about its lack of scientific rigor, it became AA gospel.

And then Senator Harold Hughes, who was an AA member, got Congress to establish the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism, which promoted AA's beliefs, and sometimes suppressed research that conflicted with them:

In 1976, for instance, the Rand Corporation released a study of more than 2,000 men who had been patients at 44 different NIAAA-funded treatment centers. The report noted that 18 months after treatment, 22 percent of the men were drinking moderately. The authors concluded that it was possible for some alcohol-dependent men to return to controlled drinking. Researchers at the National Council on Alcoholism charged that the news would lead alcoholics to falsely believe they could drink safely. The NIAAA, which had funded the research, repudiated it. Rand repeated the study, this time looking over a four-year period. The results were similar.

The standard 28-day rehab stay, prescribed and insured:

Marvin D. Seppala, the chief medical officer at the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation in Minnesota, one of the oldest inpatient rehab facilities in the country, described for me how 28 days became the norm: “In 1949, the founders found that it took about a week to get detoxed, another week to come around so [the patients] knew what they were up to, and after a couple of weeks they were doing well, and stable. That’s how it turned out to be 28 days. There’s no magic in it.”

The last sentence here (bolded for emphasis) is especially chilling. 

That may be heartening, but it’s not science. As the rehab industry began expanding in the 1970s, its profit motives dovetailed nicely with AA’s view that counseling could be delivered by people who had themselves struggled with addiction, rather than by highly trained (and highly paid) doctors and mental-health professionals. No other area of medicine or counseling makes such allowances.

There is no mandatory national certification exam for addiction counselors. The 2012 Columbia University report on addiction medicine found that only six states required alcohol- and substance-abuse counselors to have at least a bachelor’s degree and that only one state, Vermont, required a master’s degree. Fourteen states had no license requirements whatsoever—not even a GED or an introductory training course was necessary—and yet counselors are often called on by the judicial system and medical boards to give expert opinions on their clients’ prospects for recovery.

And, again, the idea that this is the One True And Only Way to deal with alcohol abuse leads to medical professionals ignoring research and treatment options that could be helping people. They are, in essence, taking all this completely on faith. 

There has been some progress: the Hazelden center began prescribing naltrexone and acamprosate to patients in 2003. But this makes Hazelden a pioneer among rehab centers. “Everyone has a bias,” Marvin Seppala, the chief medical officer, told me. “I honestly thought AA was the only way anyone could ever get sober, but I learned that I was wrong.”

Stephanie O’Malley, a clinical researcher in psychiatry at Yale who has studied the use of naltrexone and other drugs for alcohol-use disorder for more than two decades, says naltrexone’s limited use is “baffling.”

“There was never any campaign for this medication that said, ‘Ask your doctor,’ ” she says. “There was never any attempt to reach consumers.” Few doctors accepted that it was possible to treat alcohol-use disorder with a pill. And now that naltrexone is available in an inexpensive generic form, pharmaceutical companies have little incentive to promote it.

I'm not saying that AA is bad. I'm saying its hegemony is bad. It clearly is effective for some people--a minority of people. But it's not for the majority of people, and that's a problem when it's being prescribed by courts (and doctors) as if it's a one-size-fits-all approach.

It’s not an accident that a Christian approach to treating addiction presents itself as the One True Way For All Humankind, insists that courts and doctors privilege it, demands that people take its effectiveness on faith, and blames anyone for whom it doesn’t work for not believing/trying hard enough.

Hegemony is a problem. 

(Photo credit: Pixabay)

[deliciousbasementtrash]

Playing Nurse for the Batfam

Summary: you are a nurse working for Gotham General Hospital. On your way home from work, you encounter an injured superhero. You have seen his secret identity. Now what will he do about it?

Pairing: Slowburn Jason Todd x reader, (maybe a why choose with Dick Grayson as well?? Idk tell me what you guys want)

Warning: Adult language, verbal abuse, parental abuse, severe injuries

Word Count: 1.5k

Note: These characters are not my own they belong to DC. The only character that is 'mine' is the reader. I am going to be as nondescript as possible for the reader as well for physical attributes. This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be. Also for some reason, my replies to comments are not showing up. I’m not ignoring your comments Tumblr won’t let me respond :( But please, please comment I live for it 

Part One: Is that Trash or a Man?

There is calm chaos when working in the emergency room. You get used to the cacophony of beeps and alarms. Of moans, crying, screaming, and arguing. You get used to being on your feet all day and moving from task to task, from patient to patient. You get used to it because there is no other option. People need care and they need it now. You either step the fuck up or switch to a different unit. Or move to a calmer, cleaner, less crime-filled city. Calm wasn’t really my vibe. Maybe externally that’s what I portrayed, but internally my mind craves the chaos of the ER. It craves the chaos of Gotham. And the Gotham ER was an entirely different beast.

I finished nursing school about a year ago. A lot of my peers used it as an out. They went to more stable cities in New Jersey that had better funding and less chance of getting knifed in the staff parking lot. I was one of the only ones that stayed. I definitely was the only one that worked in the hospital. I couldn’t deny the demand for nurses was high, and the paychecks were even higher at Gotham General Hospital. And maybe some small pathetic part of my brain wanted to make the world a better place. I wanted Gotham to be a better place. Every day I worked. I convinced myself that how matter how shitty it got; I was making a difference. Even if it was only a handful of people in the grand scheme of things. 

I could convince myself that I mattered. That everyone mattered. That these people deserve more. They deserve better; they deserve a second, third, fourth, fifth chance. If I stopped trying to convince myself of that I know I would give up entirely. Seeing gunshot wounds, stabbings, overdoses, mutilations, burns, crushings, poisonings, beatings, day after day is a lot like erosion of the soul. Little by little it wears you down. You become jaded and jagged with time. Empathy becomes blame. Hope becomes desolate. Love becomes anger. The only thing you can do is gaslight yourself into thinking you’re making a big enough difference. That you’re helping enough people. After all, the brain can’t tell the difference between truth and irony. You tell yourself so many lies, you can start to believe them, right? 

Gotham City: 16 Years Ago 

“Dad, when is mom coming home?” My small voice asked. I was scared to make Dad yell at me again. I didn’t like it when I made him yell.

“She’s got stage four fucking cancer she is coming out of the hospital in a body bag, y/n.” 

I fought the tears that burned behind my eyes. Dad would get even angrier if he saw them. It was stupid of me to even ask. 

I felt him turn to me. His eyes bored into my skull. Quickly, I looked down at his feet. 

“Have you tried again?” He asked. His tone clipped. I knew he expected a timely answer.

Involuntarily, my fingers ruthlessly picked the skin around my nails. The sting was grounding in a way. 

“No, sir. Well yes, I have tried, but I… I failed,” the last word felt like a hot poker being placed through my throat. 

“Look at me.” Breathing became difficult, but I looked up at my father. He leaned his face close to mine. I could smell Jack wafting off him. “What good are you? What good is having healing powers if you can’t heal your sick mother?”

The simple hangnail became a chunk of missing skin. I lowered my head. Fighting back tears. 

“Sir,” my traitorous voice wobbled as I tried not to cry, “I keep trying but… I don’t think my power is that strong. I can close cuts, fix broken bones, but tumors are… hard.”

My father tilted his head back and laughed. Hard. He grabbed my wrist as quickly as a viper, “If I could put your mother’s cancer in you I would. You’re about as useful as a wet match in a dark cave.” 

I couldn’t help the tears that fell down my cheek. It felt like I was involuntarily waving a white flag.

Gotham City: Present Day

I had to be stealthy with my gift. I couldn’t heal every one of the patients to full health right away. That would lead to suspicion. But if I could help it I could stop the major damage. I would heal internal organs. Replenish blood. Reduce ten fractures to two or one. It all depended on timing and if people were watching me. 

I was walking home from the hospital. I only lived about three blocks away. I got off shift at around 20:49. I didn’t start my next stretch for another three days. And I was milking my walk home. Stopping to smell the roses or whatever. That is normally not a very smart thing to do in Gotham at night, especially as a woman. But part of me didn’t care. 

Earlier, I looked at my phone and frowned when I realized the date. 

Thursday, May 19th. 

My mom died 16 years ago today. Waves of emotion flooded my senses. Anger at myself for not remembering. Sadness that she had been gone more of my life than she had been in it. Restlessness for what my father might do or say. Some years he likes to reach out. Others he doesn’t. But most of all I was feeling reckless. Like I wanted someone to give me a reason. Obviously, I would only hurt someone to defend myself or others. But there was so much anger living in my body, part of me hoped some idiot would try something with me tonight. 

So, I walked home. Slowly. 

Normally, you keep your head down and you keep moving. You don’t look or gawk. You listen out of necessity. I was listening just because I could. It was the normal stuff. Men smoking cigarettes and catcalling. Women were offering their nightly services. Random people either praising or damning superheroes. Drug deals. Graffiti artists. Fights. And of course, people who simply were walking home from work. Gotham had range and was never boring that’s for sure. 

But something picked up on the very edge of my senses. Despite my better logic, I turned toward the very quiet sound. It could have just been rats, but it sounded so familiar. It sounded like a death rattle. The thing you hear just before shit hits the fan and the patient codes. 

Without thinking I ran down the alley toward the sound. At first, it was nothing. Just trash and rats. But then I saw it. He almost blended perfectly in with the shiny black garbage bags. His cape was the same color but reflected the light less. 

“Sir? Sir, are you alright?” I walked hesitantly forward, grabbing my pepper spray just in case.

The man did not answer, he only garbled and coughed. My work brain took over my fear. Instantly I rolled the man over and began assessing him. I suppressed a gasp when I rolled him over and a familiar cowl mask came into view. It was cracked down the middle. His face was bleeding from an unknown location. His breathing was labored and staggered. 

Calmly, I closed my eyes and pressed my hands against his chest. 

Oh yeah. Batman was dying. He had several broken ribs. A pneumothorax. A bruised liver, kidney, and pancreas. His cardiac output was a joke. The man had no perfusion. 

I didn’t think. I didn’t hold back like I do at the hospital. I just healed. And healed. And healed. I healed him down to his bone-on-bone knees, sprained ankle, and fractured wrist. 

God, this guy had a lot of injuries. 

I was close to passing out by the time I was done. I had done too much, ate, and slept too little. My powers were demanding when it came to energy. If I didn’t eat or sleep within 30 minutes I was about to pass out next to bat boy himself.

I gave him one last assessment. After double-checking that he would live and that I didn’t miss anything I finally looked at his face again. 

This time I gasped. Batman was the billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne? I shook my head like I was clearing cobwebs. I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Much like Batman, I didn’t want people to know what I could do. The last time people knew…

Just as I turned and took a few steps I rolled my eyes at my nagging thoughts. 

What if someone sees him before he wakes up?

Reaching into my tote bag I pulled out a black medical mask. I not so gracefully MacGyvered it across his exposed face so that it was covered. And with that, I made my way home.

My cat, Hashbrown, eagerly greeted me at the door. I nearly fell asleep locking it. I bent down to pick her up and gave her a kiss on her perfect little cat head. I ripped my gross work scrubs off, threw them in the wash, and crashed on the couch in my underwear before my brain could process what happened.

I healed Batman. 

I healed… Bruce Wayne?

Part Two, Part Three

[famemonsterrr]

Astrology observations part 11;

(Don’t copy my work pliz and these aren’t facts but what I have seen and experienced in my life. If you can’t relate to any of these. It okay we are all different)

-Pisces are really good gaslighters like they argue and they know they losing and then boom…you are the one who is crazy. (Girly pops how about stop it)

- speaking of Pisces…maybe I’m saying it from personal experience but I can’t keep an aesthetic and even when I have find a aesthetic Im changing again. It’s endless circle…I hope another Pisces can relate with me:)

- i have seen an Aquarius women being so quick minded and have unique takes but also I have seen Aquarius women being really shy and slow to talk. There is no between with them.

- y’all think that Taurus are the lazy and don’t like to work out but they are so active and most of them love sports or gym.

- the second best venus is cancer…soooo giving soooo sweet and lovinggggg 🥰

- Aries placements show PASSION in any planet/house they are placed . Like if you have Aries moon you will be really vocal about ur emotions. If you have mercury then you will be passionate about ur opinions ect.

- Taurus and libra are the type of people who are seductive and flirty so naturally but if doesn’t work out they will be so pissed.

- Pisces are insane when they getting obsessed with something they like. They will make sure everyone in their group will know what new show/book/character ect. they started liking.

- Aquarius placements are the type of people who love anything that has to do with universe,planets ect. (Some of them people I know they follow on Instagram space accounts or nasa)

- Capricorn mars are workaholic…they always do things right to get where they want. (A placement that I kinda wish i had) "money money money must be funny in the rich man’s world"

- It’s from my personal observation but we tend to connect mostly with singers that have the same moon sign as we do. Maybe I’m the only one but from day 1 I loved they way Ariana grande was expressing her emotions through music and then I released we both have libra moon. So next time check the moon sign of ur fave artist 🤌🏻 (it’s my showing that I’m a big Ariana girly)

- Scorpio Venus people are my favourite cause they like you a lot and they know it but you don’t know it. They will not let you go and if they do they will return back to you no matter what. They will know everything about you and ask a lot about you. They will care about your opinions (when they really don’t care about others). They will share the darkest secrets with you,they personal/family traumas. They are consumed by your existence. (if they have Sagittarius placements maybe they will pretend not care at the same time so you might think u are just friends)

- speaking of Venus…if you are a Scorpio pliz find a Pisces Venus for you. Like insane connection. Soulmate energy and both consumed by each other. (My personal fave duo)

- Gemini Venus need to be studied cause they rush into love and at the same time they can’t settle. (Girly pops maybe decide for once but men are the worst)

- cancer mercury is more dramatic than a Leo but they don’t show it that easily.

- they say don’t date someone who has the same moon sign as you…but I disagree. You will be the same page and react the same way. Understanding from both sides. ( my ex bestie has libra moon and we understood each other so well). Maybe date or hang out with people that have the same moon as you.

- Sagittarius mercury/Venus flirts for joke but they do it so well that you fall for them and then they have to run away from you.

That’s all💙

Here is my masterlist

Thank you for reading my blog so far. Really grateful about that 🫶🏻 and sorry if I do spelling mistakes but I’m not Native American speaker so I try my best. Stay hydrated and healthy 💙

[mothmanssweetsucculentass]

What are your head cannons for characters in different factions within Zenless being friends? (Example: Lucy and Corin being friends because they have the shared experience of not great parents based on what the game reveals).

Ooooooh I hadn’t thought about this til now—

I’m gonna try and include as many characters as possible in this!!

So first off, everyone in the Cunning Hares gets along with everyone in The Sons of Calydon. Considering Billy used to be a former member of the gang, I’d say the two work pretty closely/know each other fairly well. For specifics, I think Anby and Caesar have the same mindset when it comes to combat, and Nekomata and Burnice bond over being chaos gremlins. Nekomata would also love Piper, nap taking gang go Brrrr. I think the only ones who wouldn’t like each other would be Nicole and Lucy, and they tend to just hate each other in secret/behind everyone else’s back’s cause they care about their own groups too much.

Similarly, I think Belobog also has similar ties to Victoria Housekeeping. Lycaon and Corin both like Ben, but for different reasons. Lycaon likes Ben due to thiren solidarity, and Lycaon also thinks he’s a pretty decent guy who’s chill and all that. If Belobog ever needs a commission from Victoria, or vice versa, the transactions are made between those two.

Corin likes him cause of how gentle and understanding he is. She sees a lot of her new father figure Lycaon in him.

As much as it pains me to say it, I don’t really think anyone in Victoria Housekeeping would like the company of the more criminally aligned factions (so far being the Cunning Hares and Sons of Calydon). Sure, Victoria Housekeeping may not have the greatest moral compass, but they do have a reputation to uphold.

The only one I think does make sense is Corin and Nekomata considering their actions in canon. Maaaaaybeee if you squint, I can see Anby and Ellen getting along, too

Seth being the himbo that he is would definitely befriend Rina on accident. Like, she would just be doing the mind manipulation stuff and being super condescending and shit, and he’d be none the wiser and think her insults to be genuine compliments.

And obviously because of that, I think Rina and Jane would also be besties. Gaslight gatekeep girlboss solidarity.

Lycaon and Qingyi I think would also get along at least somewhat well, considering both are very peepaw coded characters. Lycaon also deems it good to have at least one cop friend for emergencies.

Soldier 11 often works with NEPS, but hasn’t been able to form a close bond with anyone outside of Phaethon due to how insanely busy she always is. She’d definitely like Qingyi the most if given the time to actually hang out with the NEPS faction.

Seth, if ever given the chance, would also probably like Anton’s company. The two have similar moral compasses and even more similar himbo mindsets.

Anton would also love Billy for the same reasons. He has to keep their friendship somewhat hidden though, lest Grace finds out Billy exists and tries to cut him open to see how he works.

Piper seems to be the mechanic of the Sons of Calydon group, so I think she’d get along with at least Koleda and Anton from Belobog. Solidarity in working with big machinery and all that y’know?

Soukaku would definitely be friends with Burnice, no explanation needed. Chaos gremlin x chaos gremlin.

Harumasa and Seth probably have a history together the same way Zhu Yuan and Miyabi do.

Until they reveal more about her, I don’t really know what to say about Yanagi, but I think she’d probably get along with people like Lycaon and Qingyi

I ran into Lighter once in Lumina square and he had dialogue about being kinda shy so y’know what, fuck it, anxious mf solidarity between him and Corin. Let the tall scary looking biker guy have social anxiety and let it be the most normal thing ever please Hoyo I beg do not make him like fucking Mika from genshin

I really hope they officially reveal the idol/livestreamer faction, as well as the vampire guy in Lycaon’s story quest soon, cause I’d love to see how their personalities are, and how they’d fit in with the rest of the cast

[stari-hun]

The Foundation vs Manus Vindictae

This idea was inspired by @ihaveforgortoomany ‘s post here!

It’s so fun that the story makes sure we know and see that the difference between The Foundation and Manus is the head start the Foundation has on being an established organization, and whether they pretend to be good. This is also like you said, a big part of why the Foundation wants to restore time. They had a massive advantage in being a long time establish organization. In Regulus’ time, it was implied from her reaction the Foundation had full authority to approach Arcanists and register them, or at least strongly convince them to join. Manus tries to have a persona of salvation over pure goodness but this is maintained moreso because they can’t actively gaslight people.

If you look into The Three Doors and see how people were affected by the incomplete version of the Artificial Somnambulism. They were going insane because it was never a good machine with good intent. It was made to use frequencies to manipulate the mind of an arcanist. While Laplace employees use the machine in order soothe injured arcanists or panicking ones, that doesn’t mean they’re not brainwashing members. They bend reality for these people to comfort them but that comfort is built on dependence and complete trust of the Foundation. Which is why on of my theories is that the AS is a reason Arcanists have mental breaks so frequently in the Foundation, the Manus has breakdowns within their ranks however that’s from exposure to the Manus Masks carrying The Storm chemical within them. Name Day in Getian’s character story event even has a mention that the AS is very dangerous for the way it gets into someone’s head, and Getian breaks into it because he had experienced something similar. He’s then able to have them see what he wishes. Taking what Jessica saw in [The Old One Flew Over the House], the AS is also used as a training tool for arcanists and a way to get true test answers out of them. Why would she need to take her exam in the AS when she could simply answer Foundation staff 1-1?? There’s no point of it besides getting into Arcanist’s subconscious. The reason this doesn’t work on Vertin anymore is because she holds zero trust for The Foundation anymore.

I think Arcanists in general tend to take a lot more mental stress from contradictions in their heads, for instance people create false memories if they have a gap in their memory because the brain doesn’t like having gaps there. We’d rather lie to ourselves or create a false reality than deal with pure unknown, but with The Storm no one knows what anything will be next.

After the events of Book 3, Vertin no longer places her trust in the Foundation because she knows what Constantine did. Madam Z wasn’t able to find out in time to save them, so Vertin watched her classmates disappear in front of her because Constantine wanted to unlock the potential in her. She then went on her own journey to record the eras directly, without being able to save anyone. Vertin won’t ever leave The Foundation because their goals align, but she might one day near the end of the story work with Madam Z to overturn the current system. Sonetto on the other hand has an imminent fate of her loyalty breaking towards the Foundation. She already suspects them of being morally corrupt at least to her standards, and she’s torn between choosing them and Vertin. From how we see her trust Vertin in [A Nightmare at Greenlake] + how she doesn’t make any comment on following the rules when Horropedia is blatantly breaking them, I think her loyalty switches to Vertin at some point.

Also a big theme is that Manus and Foundation both very much consider people expendable. The Manus treats weaker arcanists and humans blatantly as canon fodder, but Constantine sacrificed a group of children because they were defectors (Horropedia makes a note about how their actions had the entire school talking to the point they ran out of space to discipline them) and it might push Vertin to want to go out into The Storm to find a cure in the Name of Peace.

[yanderederee]

Collateral

yandere!mitsuya takashi x crush!reader

tw: stalking, obsession, threatening remarks, cursing, gaslighting, your normal yan things♡

I’ m not too proud of this piece, but I can’t bring myself to discard. So, here it is if you like it.I also planned to add more friction and more stalking bits but :( I thought it ended on a cute note and didn’t have the heart to keep going. Enjoy what you can♡

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You had been on Mitsuya’s radar for a long long time now.

Ever since grade school, you both ran with different crowds, so it was hard to get close to you. For years, Takashi has watched you from afar. He knows more about you than anyone, he would bet.

He knew what foods you prefer, which foods you hated, and how you like them seasoned. He knew your favorite shows, he watched them all. Which character troupes you fall for (even knew that ‘Big brother type” guys were your thing), your love language, and how you choose to spend that love. he even keeps track of your monthlies … He knew your size in clothing, down to the specific measurements. Don’t ask how. He knew the shampoo you used, how often you showered—- but still, it was never the right chance to actually talk to you.

Mitsuya Takashi was a fool.

He told himself this every, single, day. He was a fool for not befriending you sooner, before you grew into a relationship with some idiot. It made his blood absolutely Boil.

Mitsuya Takashi fucking hated your boyfriend.

Mitsuya Takashi hated your boyfriend more than absolutely anything. At first, he assumes is was a little crush. A fling even, between you two. I mean, he was an obvious dope. No good qualities about him and it was obvious that as time went on, you wanted less and less involvement with the relationship.

It was also obvious you were scared to leave.

He was furious when he would see the two of you holding hands when you’d walk to school, or go on a date. He wasn’t mad at you, you only craved attention. And it was only fair that you should be admired. But he would damn anyone who dared to take you away from him.

It took time, but Mitsuya found a way to control his rage when we witnessed the two of you together. He had been patient for so long, he could wait for this stupid fling to pass.

It was weird though. Mitsuya really did know everything about you. He could tell when you grew bored of a subject in class, he could tell when you lose interest in a series after it became mundane, he knew when you would start to wander. And he could see it, clear as day on your face.

You were becoming more and more impatient, the longer your relationship went on. Of corse he didn’t know all the details, but he did know that you weren’t into it anymore. He knew you were strong enough to break up with the fool anytime you wanted. So why didn’t you?

That thought kept tripping Takashi up for a few days. He too was growing impatient. What was taking you so long to drop the sack of shit?

He simply couldn’t understand. Until one day, you came in with a look he had never. Not once. Seen on your face before.

Fear.

Alarms start to blast in his ears. What did you need to be scared of? Why were you looking over your shoulder like you were avoiding someone? Like you were trying to avoid someone. Like someone was following you.

You’d never caught Takashi stalking you, even an after all these years. He was good at what he did. So this was all the more concerning to him.

By now, you two were older and it was easier to talk to people outside of your group troupe. But he still couldn’t tell if now was the best time to try threading himself into your life. He weighed the options over and over.

There’s nothing to lose, he concluded. Worst case scenario you ignored his friendly advances. Sure, it was better for you to not even know who he was than for you to consider him a creeper, but he was determined.

Mitsuya took note of the times you were and weren’t around the parasitic form that loomed over you, and decided during lunch would be the best opportunity.

“Ah.. um, y/n, right?” Takashi called out to you, gently. You turned, full attention to his lilac gaze. “Yeah.. um… Mitsuba, right?” You asked with a kind smile. A tinge of pain hit him, but he recovered with a playful laugh. “Close, Mitsuya. Mitsuya Takashi.” He introduced himself with a casual bow. You did the same, and waited for him to continue his inquiry.

“Say… you like Tokyo Mew Mew, right?” He asked. He knew you were into it, you had a cute little Pudding* figure dangling from your school bag. It was basically public knowledge. You blushed at his question. It was a bit childish, and being into anime at this time was target enough for bullying. And Mitsuya Takashi looked like a bully.

“I guess…” you muttered, looking away. “Hm.. my little sisters are really into it, you see…” he mentioned, taking in your figure this close nearly made his heart beat out of his chest. He could actually smell you. Touch you, if he was so daring.

“Well, I mean, they really want to see the new movie that’s coming out. I don’t really know anything about it,” he lied. “They said they’re too embarrassed to go with me, and my mom’s too busy with work to take them..” he rubbed the back of his head as though he was about to ask something of you.

Unsure of how to respond to this complete stranger, you shift your gaze between your fiddling hands and his chin, unable to meet his eye.

You knew better than to do that.

“So I figured since you like it, yo-“ before he could fulfill his master plan, you paused him from talking further by placing your hand up gently.

“I’m sorry… I have to go…” you bow, your gaze shifting between something else entirely, and your fiddling fingers.

He could read your face as clear as glass: you were uncomfortable.

Scared.

Mitsuya narrowed his eyes, testing to see if he could tell where your gaze was wondering to. He couldn’t possibly scare you that much, could he?

“Oh, right… um, well, here,” he said sheepishly. “You can still have the ticket, I don’t think I’ll see it on my own. Consider it an apology for taking up your time.” He gave his best charming smile, pushing the movie ticket into your hands before you could refuse. Oh god, he almost gasped at the feel of your soft hands…

Your hands were warm, from all their fiddling. A little clammy, given your nerves. But so soft. Your hands were so soft and he didn’t want to let go. This was definitely a test of his willpower. But the touch lasted less than two seconds, before he traced his finger tips against the back of your nail beds to release you.

Immediately though, as though his touch was painful, your eyes widened like saucers. That same scared look took over, and your gaze again drifted. He pretended not to notice, instead turning on his heal to follow your gaze. “See ya,”

Making his exit, he followed your gaze to a sickening figure that shadowed the hall. The bastard himself; your boyfriend. Mitsuya knew how to read the way he was looking at you. The way he was glaring at you. At you, Mitsuya seethed. He’d expected to see the son of a bitch’s glare directed at him, if anyone.

That glare.

Takashi had to physically take a breath to hold back the blooming hate in his chest.

How Dare he look at you like that?

Mitsuya reminded himself of his surroundings after someone called his name, and suddenly everything was back to full motion. He hadn’t realized how blinded he was just a moment ago.

Still. The gears in his head were processing full throttle. What was he glaring so disgusted about? Why did you force a smile and apologize so sincerely to him? When you had done nothing wrong, what was he obviously blaming you for? And why was it that in one of the hottest days the week forecasted, you had on your long sleeve uniform top? You almost stood out amongst the school of sweaty teenagers.

Slowly each hint lined up perfectly, but still no evidence. There needed to be proof. He couldn’t just kill someone without good reason—-

well, he could, and he Definitely Would.

In fact, he might.

That look he gave you was reason enough.

.

Despite what one might think, Mitsuya Takashi was a gentleman. He truly loved you. Fully and unconditionally. He’d walked you home from school practically every day. Every day he could, revolving around his sisters and gang, of course.

He could mostly only check on you when you were sleeping, and would leave just after. He never spied on you while changing. Takashi wanted to wait for that.

His heart couldn’t take it, he decided a long time ago. But that was a long time ago.

A lot was taking up his attention these days, though. Toman’s been having a lot more challengers, and Luna was just starting to get into harder mathematics. And Takashi was nothing short of a team player. The best big brother. He had lots of responsibilities, yet he couldn’t help fussing over you too.

Now look, Mitsuya really did want to walk you home everyday. He used to, in fact. But there was just too much he was forcibly needing to attend to. His family always came first. And once the time was right, you would become part of that family. And until then, he had to keep up appearances, responsibilities, and the gang.

Today, Mitsuya decided he had the time to walk you home, too. You walked home with the parasite, but he did like the idea of finding out where he lived, pay a visit perhaps. Unfinished business, and all. He walked a distance, and made sure to keep unseen, until the walk home became a detour to a crowd less street.

That was the only explanation for how he didn’t know about all of this until .. now? Right fucking now?

“Are you trying to hurt me that badly? Really?” your boyfriend sighed, angry and teary eyed.

“No, it isn’t like that,” you tried to explain. “He didn’t mean anything by it. Just a friendly gesture-“

But he cut you off by yelling at you.

“Friendly my ass, he’s been drooling over you for years y/n!”

You rolled your eyes.

“You’re just making that up… I’ve never spoke to him once before today.”

Yet it wasn’t convincing enough. “No, I get it. You told him something you shouldn’t have, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t tell him anything, I …. I haven’t told anyone, I promise.” You seemed to look away.

Mitsuya could see the both of you from his hiding spot, see both of your expressions as you both fought. Finally, you guys actually might break up, and by his unintentional influence? What a dream come true.

Excited, Takashi listened in further, hoping to hear your magic words.

“Really? I think you’re lying.” Your boyfriend nabbed out short.

You gasped sharply when he grabbed you by the root of your hair and tilted your eyes up to face his pissed off look.

“I think you’re trying to leave me behind. You want to leave me so bad. You hate me so much. Wish I would drop dead, even though I’m the one who looks out for you,” he scoffed.

“You would be a target without me. I hear the way the girls gossip about you. How you can’t put together an outfit to save your life. How clumsy you are.”

Your boyfriend gives you a pitiful smile, rolling his thumbs over your cheeks.

“No one talks badly about my baby though. I protect you, I always do.” His expression darkened as he frowned. “But you can’t stand being with me. You just won’t get that stupid idea about breaking up out of your stupid fucking head.”

The whiplash that snapped its way through Takashi’s system was unreal. The wind knocked right through him when he finally caught back up to reality.

Red lights were blaring in Mitsuya’s vision, yet on the outside, aside a hitched breath and a glare that could kill, Takashi was composed and poise. Out on a mission to kill, and he had his prey, and prize both locked in sight.

“Ooi, Y/n-chan,” Mitsuya casually yawned in a greeting to break the muggy tension of the empty school yard.

Your boyfriend visibly rose to full height, which was somewhat taller than Mitsuya. It’s fine. If Mikey has taught anyone anything, it’s to not determine dominance on size.

Takashi Mitsuya was going to rock this guys shit.

“Thought I’d come around to ask if you’d reconsider ‘bout that movie tonight.“ he lied with a sickly sweet smile your direction.

Like your boyfriend simply did not exist in his line of sight.

“Asshole. You got a lot of nerve.” Your boyfriend spoke down to Mitsuya, completely blocking you out of his way.

A nuisance. An obstacle.

—-One that commonly makes your life harder. The same guy who belittled you and kept you complacent. With his threatening words and god knows what else.

“You’re talking to My Girlfriend, I think you’ve forgot.”

“Don’t give a shit who you are,” Takashi whipped back, a look of murder flares his expression red.

“Not’a very respectful way to talk to your partner, someone aught’a teach you some fucking manners.”

Takashi grinned in your boyfriends confused face, the crazed feeling of hate swirled in Mitsuya’s chest, he reminisced in how much he hated the son of a bitch in front of him.

Just before Mitsuya’s instincts took the better of him, and began what would have been a series of combination martial art memoirs. He realized you were still wide eyed and stressed by the conflict before you. He could see you were about to jump in, to try and divert the friction.

Takashi Mitsuya knew what kind of person you were, and loved you for it. Almost instantly, Takashi found himself composed from that wild instinct to kill, from fit in his sheep’s clothing. To be the guy who you needed when things were dicey. Someone reliable to depend on because no one else in this world has ever looked out for you before. Before him.

A fake, kind smile spread on Mitsuya’s expression when he stepped-in uncomfortably close with your boyfriend.

And he whispered.

“You’re going to pay for the shit you’ve done to y/n. She’s not about to see any of that though, you got that you piece of shit?” Takashi’s voice seethed with poison.

“Get the fuck out of here before I dislocate your fucking femur. I swear to god, I can make it look like you just passed out while you lay here winded and unable to call for help while you can’t feel anything below your fucking-“

“M-Mitsuya…” you called out, feigning confidence.

He loved that look.

Mitsuya patted on your boyfriend’s shoulder, soon to bask in the look of primal fear sweating through his shirt. “What.. the fuck is wrong with you? Fu-fucking psycho…” your boyfriend sighed, fumbling to make a few feet distance between him and Mitsuya.

“Please… no more tonight, seriously!” You spoke up, taking a belittled stance closer to your boyfriend.

But Mitsuya gently took your free hand, halting you further.

“Y/n… he’s ready to back off, you don’t have to keep hiding behind him.” He spilled out, his words catching on to your boyfriend as he high tailed his way out from your sights. “I don’t have to be anything to you, but I can’t sit quietly while I know you’re hurting like this. I won’t. So please, let me look out for you, unconditionally.”

“I meant it when I said my little sisters were into Tokyo Mew Mew,” Mitsuya chuckled to ease the awkward tension, pulling out his extra tickets. “Only part I lied ‘bout was not knowing much about it. Binged it the other week, ‘n I’m actually caught up and pretty stoked to see this movie, too.”

“We can still make it, if you’re up for it.”

[sideeve]

﹙dating Light Yagami (Pre!Death Note) )

— ★ his man has a god complex. he sees no one above him. and if he sees a threat to his over achieving ability, he will taken them out immediately.

— ★ now let’s give a plot. your school had given the opportunity for 5 students to experience education in different countries for an experiment to see with countries have better education.

— ★ you had gotten Japan. you weren’t too psyched about it but it was a new scene for you to see. you were quickly accepted into Daikoku Private Academy. your grades and test score defended your intelligence beautifully. you exceeded have the academy in their eyes. and that ticked Light off.

— ★ he was supposed to be the golden student; not some random exchange student! Light didn’t appreciate being lesser than another.

— ★ he quickly came up with a plan. Japan talks. any rumors in a city spreads like wildfire. he would make you an outcast, forcing you to leave Japan and giving him back the title of a golden student.

— ★ but your aura couldn’t make him damage you in anyway. you were fiesty, humorous, and too intelligent for any harm to be done to you. there was an invisible gravitational pull between you two that was getting heavier on his end.

— ★ but his opportunist way had gotten the best of him. he saw you as leverage to better his reputation. you were popular. he was popular. popular + popular = power. he craved power.

— ★ “hey, you’re [ name ], right?” Light stands in front of you, hands in his pocket with a warm smile on his face. “i’m Light Yag—” you interrupt him, “Light Yagami. the school’s over achiever.” ‘who does this girl think she is?’ Light takes a breath, gathering his sweet boy persona back. “i heard that you’re the exchange student from [ your country ]. i’ve never been there. is it nice?”

— ★ he’s a sociopath. he craves validation from people. he’d say anything under the sun to have someone like him. just for them to be an asset for his path of success.

— ★ months after talking to you, he grew fond of your presence. you were the only person that had the courage to speak to him first. the both of you shared a lot on interests. his fondness turned into love. he finally looked past his pride and courted you.

𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀

— ★ getting the plot out of the way, let’s list the way he treats you.

— ★ if you think he treats you differently than he did Misa…you’re somewhat right. he’s more considerate with you. he has problems or making big deals of one of your small mistakes, making you feel like shit after he’s had his fill on chastising you.

— ★ whenever you have those “i don’t like when you do this” moments, he somehow turns it on you. “you’re the problem.” “you’re too sensitive and you need to get over it.” “if you loved me, you wouldn’t ask me to change my ways.” the king of gaslighting.

— ★ if you want lighthearted headcanons, he rushes to get you to meet his family. his family is a huge part in his life though he may not show it. now that you’ve taken another piece in his life, it’s only right to have you meet them.

— ★ before he courted you, he used to daydream his future with you. little children running around your house. the wedding the both of you would have. it helped him sleep better at night.

— ★ he planned your first date to perfection. and, his reputation to the public was a big deal to him. having a bad date on his account wasn’t something he wanted. if you were someone random, he wouldn’t go this far. he had paid the waiter extra to not even look at you for too long. he reserved a secluded table from the rest of the restaurant with a beautiful scenery of the night in Japan.

𝗡𝗦𝗙𝗪 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀

— ★ if you didn’t know by now, he’d a dom. won’t never be submissive. he hates being emasculated by any means. but you aren’t complaining.

— ★ he knows what he’s doing. though he was a virgin when you two had met, he was naturally gifted in sex.

— ★ he’s skilled with his fingers. if you were needy while he was studying, he would sit you on his lap, hands stuffed in your pants and would make you release on his fingers until you would pass out. and to get you closer to the edge, he would kiss behind you ear, whispering sweet nothings to you.

— ★ missionary or doggy strictly. i picture him as a boobs man. in missionary, he would pinch your nipples, or bend down to flick his tongue on your sensitive bud.

— ★ in doggy, i feel like he would start on all four then turn to your bare back on his cheek, his large hands kneading your breasts.

— ★ the moment you’ve been waiting for (just me), he is a munch. his sex drive isn’t that high due to the fact that his main focus is his studies. but some days, he would love to be smothered in your thigh, his lower face glistening in your juices.

taglist ;; @worldsgreatestsinner

[froggywritesstuff]

pros and cons | rise!donatello

ship/pairing: rise!Donatello x male!reader

fandom: rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles

warnings: fluff, cuddling, mentions of a.i., not proofread

word count: 796

A/N: idk man. 18+ people DNI

There are a lot of cons to dating a mutant turtle who lives in the sewers. One, being the fact that he lives in the sewers, and you have a sense of smell. Among others was your friends constantly nagging you to introduce them to him, or to at least show them a picture of your boyfriend that they were getting more convinced everyday that he was an a.i. bot.

Although the list of cons might have looked like an extremely long list to anyone else, you focused on the pros. In your eyes, the cons were but a small hill compared to the mountain of pros. To name a few, having a really smart boyfriend meant never having to go to a phone repair shop. Considering how many times you’ve dropped your phone in the lair, this was a very big pro. And with a mutant turtle boyfriend apparently came three mutant turtle brothers that you had become fast friends with.

Being friends with them, there wasn't much difference between your friendship with them and your friendships with non-mutant people. Aside from the secrecy, the sewers, and all the weird places they'd take you and/or tell you about. You did have sleepovers though. They were always fun. It’s just less fun when you're sleeping in your super smart boyfriend's bed and he's suddenly super busy super late at night with some super smart and super loud project.

Now you could cover your ears with your pillow and count a million sheep while you will yourself to sleep, ignoring the sounds from Donnie's lab and trying to gaslight yourself into thinking it wasn't that loud. However, leaving the lonely bed to sit with and annoy him sounded much more fun. After little contemplation, you slide out of bed, trudging over toward where Donnie sat in his chair. With no explanation, you flopped into his lap, readjusting to make the both of you comfortable. Donnie paused what he was doing, pulling his goggles over his head and staring down at you.

”…Hello.”

He felt you smile into the crook of his neck, followed by the vibrations of your muffled voice, “Hi.”

”What are you doing?” He asked, idly continuing his work but still giving you his attention.

You stay quiet, answering with a simple shrug.

”Are you gonna go back to sleep?”

"That's what I'm tryna do."

"Then go back to the bed?" He suggested as if it were obvious, to which you scoffed at.

”Uh, rude.”

Donnie rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t deny the smile tugging on his lips as he talked with you, “Y/N, I doubt that my lap is a better place to sleep than the bed, in fact, I’m almost certain of it.”

A frown formed on your lips, and you shook your head, “Keyword; almost. So no, I will not be leaving. I just got comfortable. And you’re nice and cool.”

"I assume I don't have to warn you of this, but it's gonna be loud."

"I know," you said, "It's still loud when I sleep in bed." Donnie's shoulders sagged at the realisation that he had woken you up. You felt the subtle movement, and looked up at him to meet his eyes, "If you like, actually want me to, I can go."

"No," he shook his head, "You can stay."

"Are you sure? You're not just saying that?"

"I'm sure Y/N." he smiled at you.

A sigh of relief left your lips at the confirmation that your physical touch wasn't making him uncomfortable, and you let your head rest against his plastron, "Nice, I'm super tired and I don't wanna walk all the way to bed."

"I understand, that sounds so hard." Donnie drawled, a rare occurrence of him using sarcasm.

"Right? Can I sleep like this every time I sleep over? Wait, don't answer that, I've made up my mind and I wanna."

"Sigh," Donnie sighed, but you could still see the slight smile on his lips, “Get a boyfriend they said. It’ll be fun, they said.”

"I heard that." 

"Good, it was intended for you to hear." he pulled his goggles down, and handed you a pair of noise cancelling headphones. Thanking him, you placed them over your ears, yawning as you readjusted to a more comfortable position.

You fell asleep shortly after that, and woke up in bed, cuddled up to Donnie. He was still sleeping soundly, and judging by the bags under his eyes, you assumed you got a better night's sleep than him. You smiled, cuddling closer to him as you let yourself sleep some more. There was truly no better feeling than waking up next to him. The pros definitely outweigh the cons when it comes to dating Donnie.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Errand of Mercy

Summary: Y/N is miserable from head to toe. Can the boys coddle her back to good health?

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Nothing really. All fluff.

Pairings: No romantic pairing. Jensen Ackles x teen!reader, Jared Padalecki x teen!reader

Word Count: 1,467

A/N: I got a request from the dear @kayyay1219

...my request is another J2 x teen!reader where the reader doesn’t show up one day for work and Jensen and Jared are worried and they go to her apartment and see that she’s really sick. So they take care of her because she has a high fever and they try everything to get her fever down, like an ice bath or something. They call her cute nicknames are just being so sweet.

I said I could do it but it might be a while. Then the poor thing sent me this message this evening:

Hey I know you said it will take a while to get to my request, but I had a bad day and got diagnosed with Covid and really need a J2xteen!reader. It doesn’t have to have the reader diagnosed with Covid just J2 taking care of the reader, getting her fever down and calling her sweet nicknames. Thank you!��️

So, needless to say, I got my butt in gear to try and give her some Jensen and Jared comfort. I hope this helps sweetie! Feel better soon! 😘

A/N 2: As always, this story is about a Jensen and Jared from a different part of the multiverse and doesn't reflect anything to do with their real life. This is a complete and utter work of fiction. 😊

Y/N wandered through her apartment door, exhausted beyond belief. Her body ached, she was sweaty and hot while also shivering. She was bundled up in a scarf and jacket even though the sun shone brightly and the breeze was light and warm. Her whole body ached from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. 

Even her hair ached.

The day had been miserable from the first minute she'd been forced to crawl out of bed and go to work. She'd had every intention of staying tucked up in bed and had called in to say she couldn’t make it. But her boss had insisted. They were already short staffed, and they couldn't manage without her. At least that had been the gaslighting, guilt trip her boss had gone with. 

And since technically she was an adult now, she figured forcing herself into work when she felt like death, just came with the territory. Though the way she saw it, if the word "teen" was still part of her age she shouldn’t have to be a grown up yet.

But she'd gone in. However, she was pretty sure the only thing she'd accomplished during her four hours at work was making all of her coworkers sick and spreading her plague throughout the population like she was Typhoid Mary. Between her coughing and shivering, she'd been useless and eventually her boss had very reluctantly sent her home. 

So now she was back in her tiny apartment and ready to go pass out. She knew she should make herself eat something, and probably have a shower just to wash the ick away. But she just didn't have the energy.

As she stumbled her way to the bedroom, there was a knock at her door. She moaned pathetically and slowly hauled herself back there. She didn't bother to look and see who it was; maybe it would be someone there to shoot her and put her out of her misery.

But it was so much better.

Standing on the other side of the door were her two favorite people in the world. Her adopted big brothers, Jensen and Jared. Her aunt had worked in the props department for Supernatural from the very first season, and Y/N used to visit her there all the time. 

She grew up hanging around the boys, who treated her like a little sister from day one, and that hadn’t changed just because the show ended. They teased and tormented her from time to time, sure, but they were also fiercely protective, the way big brothers should be. 

When Y/N's boyfriend had broken up with her a week and before prom, she was heartbroken and had planned on just staying home. But Jared and Jensen wouldn't hear of it. Instead they arranged a limo for her and three of her closest friends and escorted the whole group of them to the dance. 

While she and her friends had danced the night away, having an amazing time, the boys stood on the sidelines with most of the other adults all night, acting as incredible celebrity chaperones. Needless to say, Y/N was a big hit.

So, considering their track record for being there when she desperately needed them to be, it wasn't that surprising to see them standing outside her door with a bag full of snacks, delicious chicken soup from her favorite restaurant, and a bag full of medicine.

God, they’re amazing, she thought, as relief coursed through her. 

Despite her protests that she was going to make them sick, they tramped into her tiny apartment, looking too big for the space as usual. Within minutes they had her out of her jacket and scarf and were pushing her into the bathroom.

Jared pulled a small Eucalyptus plant out of one of the bags and hung it in the shower, turning the taps on super hot, so that steam was rolling through the bathroom. 

"Climb in, kiddo. And stay in there for at least 20 minutes. Sit down on the shower floor if you need to." He told her as a billow of steam followed him out the door.

She did what he said and twenty minutes later she was feeling a little better. Her chest didn't feel as constricted and heavy and her nose was a little less plugged. Plus the continuous, intense heat finally got rid of her inside chill.

When she went into her bedroom she saw that one of the boys had laid her comfiest, and fluffiest pair of pajamas on her bed and she pulled them on gratefully.

She went out to the living room and immediately sighed when she saw what they’d done. The glaring overhead light was off and her soft lamps and just a few candles lit up the room. They had peppermint tea sitting on the coffee table for her and a bevy of snacks were lined up beside it. They jumped to their feet as soon as she came in, and ushered her over to the couch. 

Jensen pulled her down beside him, tucking her under his arm. He kissed the top of her head while Jared laid out the assortment of medicines they'd brought. She described all her symptoms and he picked out the ones he thought would work best and handed them out to her like her own private nurse. A very giant, very hairy, incredibly sweet, private nurse.

After she was medicated, Jensen picked up her remote and clicked on the tv before passing it to her.

“You get to pick, sweetheart.” He held up a finger. “But just remember that you love us and we’re here on an errand of mercy. So…maybe we can forgo Bridgerton?”

Y/N chuckled. “How about a space opera?” 

Jensen raised a questioning eyebrow, but Jared clapped his hands together “Yes, bring on Luke, Leia and Han!”

So they slipped into a galaxy far, far away and Y/N watched for a while before falling into an exhausted doze. She roused a few times, coughing a little, but quickly fell back to sleep when her subconscious reminded her she was cozy and safe.

When the boys were halfway through The Empire Strikes Back, Y/N woke up for real. The boys paused the movie and brought her some of the warmed up chicken soup and another cup of peppermint tea. She sipped at the warm, steamy liquids and listened to the boys arguing over the best movie of the original trilogy. Jensen said Return of the Jedi, Jared said Empire Strikes Back, and she told them they were both wrong, and nothing beat the original. The debate was on.

But as they agreed to disagree and get back to the movie, she set down her tea and began to feel the shivery achy feeling return. Jensen noticed and pulled her up against him again, covering her with the fleecy blanket from the back of her couch.

Jared put his big hand on her forehead and frowned. “You’re really warm again.” 

He pulled out the thermometer and put it under her tongue. When he checked it, his frown deepened. “A hundred and two. Shit.”

He gave her two Tylenols and then got a pile of cloths and a basin of cool water. He put a wet cloth on each of her wrists and then handed one to Jensen, taking yet another to begin bathing the bottom of her feet. Jensen had her lay her head in his lap and then slowly ran the cloth across her forehead and cheeks, as well as along the back of her neck. 

For nearly a half an hour they continued, just soothingly running the cloths across her feverish skin and murmuring words of comfort. As the fever fell and her shaking stopped, she found herself dozing once again.

She woke as Jensen was carrying her to her bedroom. She opened her eyes and he smiled down at her.

“It’s okay, baby. We’re just gonna tuck you in. Your fever is under control now, but we’re gonna crash on the couch and keep checking on you through the night.”

Y/N just nodded as she saw Jared pulling back her covers. Jensen laid her down gently and smoothed back her hair from her forehead, before kissing her there. He held up her phone and then tucked it under her pillow. 

“You text us immediately if you need anything and we’ll be here in a jiffy to get it for you, okay?”

Jared bent to kiss her forehead too and then scrunched up his nose. “Unless you gotta pee, in which case, there’s really nothing we can do to help.”

She laughed softly at his silliness. 

“Thank you both, so much” She said as she yawned wide enough to swallow her own head.

The boys blew her a kiss and waved from her bedroom doorway. 

“Just get better.” They said in unison.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

@lyarr24

@lacilou

@deans-spinster-witch

@globetrotter28

@suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused

@evznackles

@jackles010378

@impala67rollingthroughtown

@krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731

@envyaurora95

@spnwoman

@deans-baby-momma

@luvr4miya

@arcannaa

@viviwatchestv

@winharry

@ladysparkles78

@waywardcheshire

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

@kazsrm67

@slut-for-evans-stan

@sexyvixen7

@nancymcl

@hobby27

Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

@k-slla

@leigh70

@eevvvaa

@kickingitwithkirk

@foxyjwls007

@notinthislife50

@roseblue373

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@avanatural

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@deangirl96

@stoneyggirl2

[dailymothanon]

I’m back 🐶 thank you for being patient, things are relatively back to normal! Anyways I got some drawings… it’s the actual D&D au now! I’ve got plenty of ideas, but for now this is Alaska and Maine! Alaska is a Druid, circle of stars though his race is unknown (I also don’t have any general cloth ideas for him). It is noted he is very bird-like tho, no wings because he can just have a wild shape/starry form with a pair. Maine is a half human half beast, he’s quite prickly because unfortunately even in this au he still has to deal with the northeast 😒 (long rants of ideas below)

I also have other ideas for other states, but I haven’t drawn them yet. For New Jersey I’m thinking like Nevada he is a fae folk but of a bee; and he was born with deformed and torn wings that resemble the Jersey devil’s. But due to his deformity his “hive” decided to just toss him out because they wanted a big strong community with no one holding them back 😒 so maybe Jersey had to barely survive out there on his own, and in later years NY could’ve found him (I like to think he is a human knight, merely because instead of his bat he can have a sword) and took him in 😌 (and they were roommates)

Another idea I’ve got is for Texas! I would like to think he is a mostly human gunslinger who is legally blind (not totally blind, tho still very blind) but sees thru heat & taste, much like a snake does. Maybe he collects bounties, I haven’t really thought much for his lore yet 🤔 but he is one of the best gunslingers out there despite his disability!

Cali is also one I’ve thought up, I think he could be a dragon rider. A funny idea is that he has a scam where he and his dragon makes this whole act where he pretends to be a princess damsel in distress, being held captive by the big bag dragon and people who come and try to “save” him but it just ends up with Cali robbing them 😒 (love me a big flawed character)

As for Alaska, he’s as stated, a Druid of the circle of stars! He comes from an unknown island (just imagine irl state of Alaska except disconnected to any continent tbh) that’s gatekeeped gaslighted girlbossed because they don’t want no colonizers or anything ofc. But Alaska grew up hearing all about the other outside lands and he wanted to go see it! So one day he ventured into the continents (the one that contains all the other states except for Hawaii) and yaddy yadda; and Alaska is actually very curious and friendly in this au because he doesn’t have the trauma of outsiders 😌 he has a pet(s?) dog with three heads (ofc, Balto Togo and Fido) to accompany him! I haven’t designed his starry forms yet btw. And also he doesn’t really know how his Druid magic works somehow 🧎 it’s mostly innate and learned behaviors and habits and traditions. It just comes naturally to him! This is the biggest difference between him and Mass with magic, think of Alaska’s Druid magic as traditional and natural, meanwhile Mass’s sorcery as artificial and learned and studied magic. So it’s hard to say who between the two is better at magic

Maine is a half-human-half-beast, he faces discrimination because of it and there aren’t much others like him in at home land. He mostly doesn’t care but the occasional person really gets to him. Not really sure why he is half beast yet tho I don’t have the lore for that. Mass keeps trying to pester Maine about learning magic, as Mass is one of the best magic users in his region (and he’s quite boastful/egotistical because of it) so he believes Maine might be really good too, and Mass wants him to be able to know it when in times of need, but Maine doesn’t really listen 🙄 though he is nimble and quite good at sneaking!

My last minor ideas is that Ginny is a great swordsman (race undecided), Mass is probably a human sorcerer, Nevada is a fae folk, Ny is a human knight, and Hawaii 🤔 some sorta sea/ocean critter maybe? Dunno yet. Anyways I hope these ideas are cool and that you guys like them! I also want to mention I probably wont post daily still, I wanna do what’s comfortable for me.

[hiskillingjar]

Strade with an autistic mc?

One of my characters has low functioning autism. She’s really sensitive to bright, noisy light and cold air. (It could trigger a meltdown). Her special interests are stuffed animals, especially if they’re big and cuddly, and apple slices.

She’s not really great at verbal communication especially when she scared or nervous. She’s good at physical communication tho? Expressions?

Also she’s part tanuki soooo do whatever you want with that.

autism gang rise up

i'm gonna make this a headcanon post cus i've written something adjacent to this for strade before (cw for. strade lol)

ren 🦊

suddenly he is the sweetest boy in the world

like so kind, so patient, so sweet

you're out in public and get triggered by bright lights, loud noises, you have a meltdown? ren is literally dragging you out and making sure you're okay

he's speaking to you so sweetly, so gently, he won't touch you if you don't want him to

he's just so patient with you

kind of like...he's the only person who really understands you? the world is so cruel and mean to people like you...and you're so sweet and gentle, you shouldn't be out there...you should be with me, you should let me take care of you...nobody else will

manipulating king. gaslighting king

to be fair he does win your affection with stuffed animals and like. good sensory stuff. blankets, pillows. got a whole autism nest goin

he'll replace all the lights in the house too

doesn't mind when you stim by touching his tail or ears. it just makes him curl into you that much more <3

and like obviously he's doing this cus he's a horny monster that wants you to depend on him

but he does genuinely just want someone to care for

like even if you can't make eye contact all the time, or if you don't understand what he says or tells you sometimes, he'd still be so patient

he knows you struggle with that stuff, and you're doing your best. that's all he asks for <3

law 🥀

autism 4 autism

law is so autistic, are you kidding.

granted their autism manifests kind of differently though. they got the liveleaks autism, the monotone drawl autism, the twin peaks autism (me too)

but like. providing that you survived the first night (cus they might not be able to stop themselves from just watching you wilt)

they'd be reasonably patient and gentle with you

i mean there's like no prolonged eye contact between you

but you'd communicate remarkably well (with what little you did actually talk)

they know how it feels to be misunderstood after all...and you're so delicate and need to be cared for

they wouldn't. totally understand your special interests (cus they like bones and taxidermy and roadkill) but they wouldn't be able to stop themselves from buying a few soft toys

you just look so sweet and comfortable when they leave you for work, why would they deprive you of that?

they might panic if you started having a meltdown, but they'd eventually clue in and. get you settled down (give them a break, they have meltdowns too)

and like. autism 4 autism...you know there's some sadomasochism happening. good for you! good for you...

strade 🔨

i mean. i've written it so. lol

strade would be such an asshole i'm so sorry

like come on you've come preloaded with triggers and buttons he could push to make you panic and freak out. he couldn't NOT fuck around with you

he might get a little overwhelmed himself by how much he likes fucking around with you. it's just so easy

keep a few bright lights on, play some music too loud, put on the air conditioning, that's all it takes? buddy you are NOT surviving this one

but okay okay. on the concept that you DO survive past the first night (lol)

strade would still be pretty shitty about everything

like he wouldn't yell or be mad at you for meltdowns but he would not understand in the slightest (and you know his ass is not looking anything up to make it easier)

it would kind of be on ren to make adjustments (changing lights, reminding him about your sensitivities) and like. maybe then he'd pay attention to some shit

he's better with your special interests and sensory needs tbh. he might even think it's kind of cute that you infodump when you're excited or curl up with blankets and soft toys

that doesn't mean he's not gonna fuck with you though lol.

also. full german stare at all times. will trigger your conversation sensitivity at all time. he loves it.

[dinarosie]

Still, to appease the more radical purebloods and future death eaters, Snape must have internalized some of that anti muggleborn propaganda that Voldemort was spewing and the hatred his Slytherin friends were spreading. Although I'm aware that majority of the wizarding society held some superiority over muggles and I even believe many of the so called good purebloods (like the Potters) were condecensing to muggleborns sometimes, tho unknowingly, there is a difference between quiet prejudice with no ill intent and the radical bigoted beliefs that some of the wizards held. The death eaters clearly believed that muggles were human sickness and muggleborns were no better and Snape was around that rhetoric every day and later became part of its circle. I always just saw Snape as a selfish person who tried to gain more power and a sense of belonging and he was insecure enough to believe many of the bigoted beliefs that was part of Voldemort propaganda or just the overall hardcore prejudice. He called muggleborns mudbloods even when he was Lily's friend. I always imagine him as someone who would dismiss Lily's feelings about slytherins and even gaslight her about Voldemort's propaganda and her worry behind anti muggleborns rhetoric. Like he downplayed it while participating in it at the same time. We can see this with any real life prejudice existing in our world. Many people who are homophobic try to create reasons for disliking gay people and when gay people complain about their hatred, they just downplay it, make it seem like its not that big of a deal or just continue with their excuses. I can see Snape being like that. And even if his reason for joining death eaters had nothing to do with violence and hatred, he became part of it anyway and being part of something like that influences the way you think especially if you wanted to be part of it. He also became part of it during the time the violence was already known and that certainly did not stop him so he must have had some prejudices or highly ignorant beliefs towards muggleborns.

It seems like you're very determined to apply a strictly logical, real-world mindset to a fictional, fantasy world. I get that imagining a Severus Snape with deeply ingrained, extremist, anti-Muggle biases would make more sense in a real-world context and may feel more "realistic". But that wasn’t the point of Snape’s character. This is a story, and not everything needs to follow real-world logic exactly. Even in reality, not everything unfolds as expected. Snape’s character is, in many ways, an exception—he surprises audiences frequently and makes choices that don’t always align with his past actions or logical expectations. Some of these contradictions seem deliberate; Snape has to exist in this gray area for the story to hold its depth and ambiguity.

So, while Snape does associate with future Death Eaters and, at times, seems to justify their actions, that doesn’t mean he fully internalized all of their views or intended to act exactly like them. Lily did a similar thing, in a way: she mentions that she often tried to excuse Snape’s behavior or overlook his mistakes. But we wouldn’t conclude that Lily agreed with or had adopted Snape’s beliefs. Another example is Peter Pettigrew, who is almost Snape’s opposite. Peter was sorted into Gryffindor, the very house that upholds Dumbledore’s ideals and values. He surrounded himself with people destined to be future Order members, yet look at what he became. Peter didn’t just reject his friends’ beliefs; he betrayed them completely and was loyal to Voldemort for years, even plotting his friends' deaths and stayed loyal to Voldemort for years afterward, to the point of risking Harry’s life for Voldemort's return.

I don’t deny that Snape held biases and some prejudiced views, whether as a teenager or a young Death Eater. But, as I mentioned in my previous post, there’s no solid evidence that he was an extreme racist, a torturer of Muggle-borns, or someone who delighted in the idea of “cleansing” the wizarding world.

As a personal opinion, I also feel that comparing real-world homophobia to anti-Muggle sentiment in the wizarding world isn’t quite the same. Muggles and wizards have a long, tumultuous history, and at one point, Muggles persecuted wizards to the extent that they had to hide their world to ensure safety and survival. This isn’t a distant past—Hagrid even mentions in Philosopher’s Stone that Muggles would likely exploit wizards if they discovered their powers. So, while homophobia is irrational and baseless, anti-Muggle sentiments in the wizarding world, however wrong, are somewhat rooted in historical fear and survival. It’s no surprise, then, that the wizarding society hasn’t fully let go of its anti-Muggle biases, even after the wars.