#this is the last thing you see before you die

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Mama, I’m in love with a criminal 4

Tags: Sukuna x fem!Reader, prisoner!Sukuna, modern au, no curse au, dead dove, vivid descriptions of violence including murder and sexual assault, dark romance trope, angst, read at your own discretion

Synopsis: Sukuna is in prison because of you. He's ordered to undergo weekly counseling sessions. Talking to his counselor about you, it's apparent that his obsession with you is quite concerning.

An: Reminder, this story is dark. Take care of your mental health first. Sexual assault will be briefly mentioned, but it will not be written about in detail. Sukuna is diagnosed with borderline personality disorder at the end of this session. I want to make it clear that it is not my intention to offend anyone with this diagnosis or demonize this diagnosis. It is used to make him feel more real, and it furthers the plot. Hope you guys enjoy… only one last part after this one <3.

Session one. | Session two. | Session three. | Session four.

The counselor hadn't had time to do any more digging into Sukuna's case files this week. It was the end of the year — holidays were coming up, and that meant that annual paperwork on all of his patients were due.

His caseload was becoming too much to manage all on his own. He was thankful that the jail was finally consulting him about hiring a social worker to help out with the workload.

Checking Sukuna's chart briefly, the counselor inhaled sharply. It was finally time to talk about the crime that landed him in prison. Sure, the counselor could drag this out. He could talk about every petty theft or assault case Sukuna had been charged with, but those were pointless to talk about in the grand scheme of things.

As if on cue, a large buzzer sounded, and Sukuna was shoved into the room with the counselor before promptly being locked inside. He was shackled as always, but his demeanor was different today.

He didn't have that calloused grin or careless attitude. He sat down on the couch with a small grunt before immediately laying his head back against the piece of furniture. His throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly.

It was as if Sukuna knew what the counselor was going to bring up today.

"How are you holding up this week, Sukuna?" The counselor asked. Normally, they'd skip pleasantries, but the counselor sensed that Sukuna needed some priming before he got to talking.

"How am I holding up?" Sukuna echoed with a humorless laugh before shaking his head. "Don't ask stupid fucking questions. This is a prison not a 10 hour shift at a fucking factory."

Well, so much for priming.

"You don't want to talk about her today?" The counselor asked, tapping his pen against his paper. "Or is there something you're not wanting to relive."

"I can talk about her until my lungs give out." Sukuna muttered in a pained tone. He rubbed his face with his hands, cuffs clinking around in the process. He groaned as he put his hands down. "Tell me what you think I don't want to relive." He finally demanded, turning the tables on the counselor.

The counselor widened his eyes as he was put on the spot. He immediately avoided Sukuna's lifeless glare. He was definitely testing him right now — seeing if he kept up on his homework.

"You're not afraid of reliving your own pain. You don't want to relive mouse's pain." The counselor finally muttered out, using his knowledge of Sukuna to help guide him through his analysis.

Sukuna grunted in response, and the counselor took it as approval to keep going. "You weren't there to protect her. You feel like it's a failure on your end that what happened to her happened."

Sukuna's fists clenched, and his jaw tightened, but this didn't feel like his typical anger. It wasn't directed at anyone else besides himself.

"You got there a little too late. You saw what was happening to her, and you went into a blind rage. Your normal brutal, methodical, unique style to killing your victims went out the window. He needed to die right then, didn't he?" The counselor pressed on. He kept his hands on his lap to defend himself in case he said anything that teetered the line. Though, there really was no defending himself against Sukuna's hulking figure.

"He didn't deserve to live." Sukuna's voice was a low growl. His heart was pounding against his ribcage as he was reminded of his last moments with you before he incarceration.

The prisoner suddenly reached out, and the counselor flinched far back into his seat upon reflex, but Sukuna was faster. He grabbed the counselor by his dress shirt, and he patted around on his body. "I know you record these sessions, doc. I want this next part to be off the record." He demanded as he continually searched for a recording device.

The counselor tried fighting him off, but Sukuna was still stronger while he was handcuffed. "Fine-! Here! All you had to do was ask for this part to be off the record." The counselor shouted before he threw his pen over to Sukuna.

His pen had a secret recording device hidden inside, and it was promptly cut off when Sukuna snapped the pen in half without a second thought. He then threw it at the wall, ensuring that nothing would be listening in on what he was about to say.

Sitting back in his seat, he let out another stressed sigh. His twin brother's murder was a well kept secret thanks to his skills of covering up evidence, but this was his best kept secret. It physically pained him to say the words out loud.

"Mouse wanted a normal... domestic life, and I wanted to give her whatever she asked for. I started an apprenticeship at a tattoo shop, and I worked at a bike shop on the side so she could focus on figuring out what she wanted to do with life." He started off slowly. The counselor was still rattled from their physical altercation, but he was already enthralled by Sukuna's story telling abilities.

"I didn't care what I did as long as I got to be in her life. Coming home after sixteen hour shifts felt like paradise when I got to slide into bed next to her. She was the only piece of heaven that I'll ever see." Sukuna went on. His eyes were aimed at the broken pen in the corner, fully reliving what it was like to just be yours.

"Your tattoos... those came from your apprenticeship?" The counselor asked, finally taking the time to ask about the markings that covered Sukuna's body and face.

The prisoner looked at his arms and shook his head. "No, these came from over the years." He said as he slowly rose from the chair. He unbuttoned the jumpsuit and shoved it down around his waist to reveal a white undershirt that covered his broad, muscular torso.

Sukuna clearly had nothing else better to do other than work out while he was incarcerated.

The marking covered his neck, shoulders, arms, back, and chest. The counselor marveled at them for a minute, wondering how long Sukuna had to sit in a chair for all of them to be completed.

"As a gift for finishing my apprenticeship, Mouse and I got tattoos together." Sukuna explained before he raised his undershirt up. Right there on his right ribcage — a detailed portrait style tattoo of just your eyes stared back at the counselor.

Your eyes alone could tell a million words. They were gates directly to your soul. The counselor didn't know what you looked like. Your face had been scrubbed from every news outlet that reported on Sukuna's case, and the counselor couldn't remember if he saw your face in court or not.

"Does she have your eyes tattooed as well?" The counselor asked. It was the safer option because he was sure that Sukuna would probably kill him if he complimented your eyes.

"She had this-" he gestured to the tattoo that was placed on his forehead directly between his eyes, "tattooed on her back, and I tattooed my name across her ribcage in the same place I have her eyes tattooed." Sukuna explained before he redressed himself and sat back down.

"She also has a tiny mouse tattooed behind her ear. All of her work is done by me." He explained.

"Wait- You didn't come up with mouse on the spot?" The counselor asked. "That nickname actually has any meaning?"

Sukuna snickered from the counselor's assumptions. "Nah. When we were little and she wasn't talking to me yet, I use to tease her and say she was as quiet as a church mouse."

The counselor gave a small laugh, and he allowed for the silence to fill the room once more, signaling that Sukuna should get back on topic.

"I was working late most nights, and I told her it'd be worth it once I started making some real money. I just wanted to give her the life she never had. I could've provided her with peace." Sukuna explained, his eyes going back dull as all the fun was sucked right back out of the conversation.

"One night, she wanted to surprise me with my favorite dinner. I always told her not to go out alone at night. She usually waited for me to get off work if she needed to go to the store, but I guess she was worried about burdening me... foolish girl." He muttered as he stared down at his palms.

The counselor swallowed harshly, knowing what was coming next. He normally wasn't so emotionally invested in his client's lives, but Sukuna had a way of drawing him in. He was rooting for you even if he knew the result of what happened that night.

"She wasn't stupid though. Mouse was resourceful. She had a heart of gold, but she wasn't naive. She took one of my blade's with her, and she concealed it in her purse." Sukuna explained as his hands picked at the unhealed scabs on his knuckles once again.

"You don't have to go into detail. I'm honestly not sure if I could stomach that-" The counselor admitted. He knew it was unprofessional. He was supposed to be able to shoulder his clients' trauma, but he just didn't know if he could live with Sukuna's version of what happened to you.

"On her way home, that fucking... coward grabbed her. I don't- I don't know how far he got. She wouldn't tell me. I don't know if it was more for my sake or for hers." A shaky breath left his lips. He was grinding his teeth so hard that the counselor was even cringing.

"She managed to send me her location, and I immediately knew something was wrong. I just left the shop — didn't bother locking up or even telling my client where I was going. By the time I got there, my little mouse's clothes were ripped. She was a mess. He was laid out on the ground. The motherfucker died from a few stab wounds, how fucking pathetic."

"What." The counselor said as his jaw dropped. All this time, he was told that Sukuna was only caught because he killed your assailant in a crime of passion, but that wasn't the truth. He had never been baffled like this for his entire career.

"Mouse isn't some defenseless damsel in distress. You think I'd let her walk around if I hadn't taught her self defense?" Sukuna asked as he looked up at the counselor. His jaw was tight and his gaze was narrow. "I'd be damned if I let her walk around without anyway to defend herself after the shit that went down with her dad and his temper."

The counselor stayed silent. Everything he had thought about Sukuna's final murder had been a lie. He didn't kill the poor bastard out of a crime of passion. You had killed your attacker, and Sukuna took the fall for it.

Everything he had done thus far was to protect you — all of it. It was all for you.

"How did any of this end up pinned on you?" The counselor carefully asked while he was still trying to wrack his brain. A part of him wondered if Sukuna was lying, but there was no way Sukuna would lie and risk you getting into trouble for a crime that he committed.

"I have been involved in the justice system for so long. I know how crooked everything is. The district attorneys and judges aren't trying cases fairly and protecting the balance of the justice system. They're doing whatever they can to appease the politicians who have them in their back pockets. They'll sentence a serial rapist to 25 years in jail, but they'll sentence a woman defending herself from a rapist to life in jail. There's no justice in this system."

"I wasn't going to let that shit happen to mouse. I wasn't going to let her name be ruined because she defended herself and did what she had to do. I wasn't going to let her trauma be drug through court. She has so much ahead of her, and I-" Sukuna paused to take a ragged breath. It had been a long time since he had spewed out words so fast.

This was the first time he had ever been able to talk about this to anyone. Everyone fully believes that Sukuna happened to catch the guy assaulting you, and he killed him right then and there. No one knew that he hadn't been there to protect you. You had to resort to protecting yourself, and he fucking loathed the thought of you having to bear the weight of that sick son of a bitch's death on your shoulders.

For two years, he carried this weight around. It had been two years since he was sentenced. Two years since he last saw you.

He let a tear slip past his cheek. Just one -- he didn't bother to wipe it away. It was gone as soon as it had appeared.

"Take your time." The counselor murmured empathetically. This was a major break through with Sukuna. It was something that proved he wasn't a sociopath.

Sukuna could feel emotions. Perhaps, he felt them more than everyone else did. His anger was immediately rage. He was never just sad. Instead, he'd plummet into an unbeatable depression. His happiness felt like pure euphoria, and when he loved, he loved unconditionally hard.

He used you as an anchor for his tidal waves of emotions, basing them on how you acted — the girl who didn't speak and wore a mask around other people. You two were truly made for each other.

If soulmates existed, you two would be the leading example.

Sukuna took another ragged breath, taking just another second to collect his thoughts. "She has so much ahead of her, and I only had her." He managed to grit out.

"Before she could even think about trying to stop me, I ripped the gloves off that I had been using to tattoo my client. I grabbed the blade from her, and I stabbed him 32 times. I brutalized his body to make sure neither the coroner nor the forensic pathologist would be able to distinguish her stab wounds from my own." He explained solemnly. His eyes were void of any emotion while talking about what he did to your assaulter.

"The police were looking for anything to pin on me anyways. They always had thought I got off easy on my juvenile cases, and they suspected I had something to do with Jin's disappearance. They just couldn't prove anything. So, when this opportunity fell into their lap, they ran with it."

"Why didn't you try to hide the body to get away with it?" The counselor asked. Sukuna's crimes were those of cold calculation, and the fact that he made sure to strip off his gloves to taint the blade with his fingerprints proved that he was still very calculated with this murder as well.

"When he grabbed her-" Sukuna's fists tightened in his lap, "he pulled her into dark alleyway at the end of town. Bastard just thought he was going to assault her and leave her stranded in the alley- There was no way for me to move his body without being seen or caught on camera."

"I didn't try to argue when they came for me the next day. I would've willingly surrendered myself if it kept mouse out of trouble. They booked me into the county jail within hours, and I took a plea deal on my second court appearance." He explained as was back to picking at the scabs on his knuckles. They were likely never going to heal if he kept picking at them, making them bleed.

"Why didn't you go for a trial?" The counselor asked. There were ways for Sukuna to be proven not guilty. He probably would've qualified for at least a lesser charge of second degree murder or even manslaughter.

"I knew they'd try to subpoena mouse to testify. They'd drag up her trauma and make a spectacle of her in court. I wasn't going to let them try to convince her that what happened to her wasn't anything less than assault, and I wasn't going to let them retraumatize her." Sukuna spoke firmly, shaking his head.

The counselor honestly found it admirable of him. Most "Bonnie and Clyde" killers would actually turn on each other to get themselves out of trouble, but Sukuna would bear the weight of your crime on his shoulders, and he'd still find other ways to protect you from any negative consequence that he could.

"So, I took a plea deal. I plead guilty to the murder and was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole with weekly 20-minute counseling sessions. In exchange, the district attorney made sure mouse's name was scrubbed from every court document, social media outlet, and news source. They had to act like she was in the witness protection program." Sukuna explained with a sigh. It was another way to protect you.

The counselor felt strangely empty. Sukuna's and your story was tragic. A boy who fell madly in love with a silent girl and vowed to protect her from anything. Did he belong in prison for this? Does this excuse him killing your dad? Did this excuse him slaughtering his own flesh and blood? How do they move on from here?

"You were a sensation in court... had your own little fanbase and everything." The counselor hollowly mused, remembering the young women that piled into the courtroom to catch a glimpse of Sukuna. They had idolized him for what he had done. Plus... he was handsome in the most sinful way possible.

Sukuna rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue with annoyance. "The same bitches who praised me for what I had done didn't respect what I was trying to protect. They're always trying to find and leak mouse's name to the public. They don't give a fuck about me or her. They just think our story is perfect for some shitty dark romance novel."

The room fell into a tense silence once more. Neither of the two men knew how to move on from this.

The silence was finally broken with a correctional officer's voice booming through the office. "Ryomen! Your time is up!" He shouted as his fist connected against the door multiple times.

The counselor sighed as Sukuna wordlessly rose from his seat. This session had been worse than either of them could've predicted. "Take care, Sukuna. We will not meet again next week due to the holidays, but I'll see you in two weeks."

The prisoner grunted in response while still walking towards the door. The loud buzzer filled the room once more, and he was let out.

It didn't feel right to watch Sukuna walk back to his pod. The justice system had failed you as a woman, but he was willing to shield you from any harm that threatened to come your way.

𝙲𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝'𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚜: 𝚁𝚂

𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎: 𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷��, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟼

𝙿𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚜: 𝟹𝟶𝟷.𝟾𝟹 (𝙵𝟼𝟶.𝟹) 𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 (𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚂𝙼-𝟻)

𝚂𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚜: 𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 [𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳], 𝚟𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜, 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚜, 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕, 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 [𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳]

𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚁𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜: 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙲𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚙𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗.

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[hyunsuloves]

can we get more myung gi/ player 333 oneshots/hcs plsss (if u can)💕💕

boyfriend myung-gi in the games.

warnings … there may be some typos, i apologize

lovely notes … ask & you shall receive ml 🙂‍↕️

꩜ [ 600 words ]

boyfriend myung-gi who cherishes the small moments with you. the moments after games, moments right before lights out, and even the minuscule moments like when he makes direct eye contact with you from across the room.

boyfriend myung-gi who lets you get in line before him because you’re his top priority, always.

boyfriend myung-gi who always gives you a share of his food. he doesn’t care about you saying you “don’t want it”, he insists that you stay more fed than him. he’ll put your well-being before his every time.

boyfriend myung-gi who is wary of all the other contestants, even more with you in the games with him. he doesn’t trust them, nor does he want you to blindly trust them.

boyfriend myung-gi who makes a silent vow to himself to protect you at the start of every game. he puts your welfare before his every time, so he will defend you with his entire life.

boyfriend myung-gi who always has a vice grip on your hand. whether you’re in a game, waiting to vote, or doing something so mundane such as sitting next to one another. he likes to feel you at all times, it anchors him in a way

boyfriend myung-gi who squeezes your hand just a bit tighter when thanos or nam-gyu walks by. they’re the last people he wants to get near either of you, so of course he feels a need to protect you.

boyfriend myung-gi who always moves your head to rest on his shoulder when sitting next to one another. or he places his head to rest on your lap. he just wants to be near you, is all.

boyfriend myung-gi who always wakes up before you. you sleep in his bed, and he can’t help himself but wake up a few hours before you. he enjoys the mere moments when he can have you in his arms without any concerns.

boyfriend myung-gi who’s the first to acknowledge you when you walk into a room. his eyes immediately shift to you when he’s in the same vicinity as you. it was like a magnetic force pulled his eyes to you every time.

boyfriend myung-gi who covers your eyes when other participants die. if possible, he’s going to shield you from the horror that is the reality of the death game you’re in. the last thing he wants you to see is lifeless bodies dropping left and right.

boyfriend myung-gi who randomly says “i love you”. he wants to remind you of his unwavering love all the time, of course.

boyfriend myung-gi who’s only level-minded around you. you’re the only one who can ground him because god knows how unbalanced he’d get without you.

boyfriend myung-gi who’s constantly near you during every game. red light, green light? you’re behind him. six-legged pentathlon? you’re obviously on the same team as him. mingle? you’re in every single group with him. other participants may see it as clinginess, but both of you see it as myung-gi protecting you with his everything.

boyfriend myung-gi who would quite literally fall to his knees if you got injured. he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if you got wounded under his observation.

boyfriend myung-gi who has the most extravagant plans for when the both of you get out of the games. he has dozens of date plans just for when you make it out.

boyfriend myung-gi who sometimes feels like he doesn’t deserve you. you’re the only constant in the cruelty that you both found yourselves in. and he feels so undeserving of you and your tenderness so often.

[rawan-soso]

As the adults struggle to find food and keep a roof over everyone’s heads, the children of northern Gaza also have their own struggles. Their mental health is in a horrible state.

I hesitated to talk about this. I don’t want people to think we have so many donations that we can afford to buy my sister toys. It’s not that we can afford it. It’s just that sometimes we have to skip a meal to buy something for her because the boredom is making her even more depressed. She has severe trauma, she has seen bombs dismember people, she has escaped multiple massacres with us. But now the other kids in the building keep breaking her toys while playing and we can't buy a new one immediately, because there are more urgent things. The cheapest thing in northern Gaza right now is makeup, because no one needs it, so I bought some. I apply it on myself and Soso to make her happy, but I don’t always have the energy or time to play with her. I’m exhausted, sick and malnourished, and I still have to do chores and spend hours at the market looking for the most affordable food, clothes, and hopefully medicine.

We have many expenses that we don’t talk about because people won’t see them as vital. Phone chargers (only used ones that die fast, because new ones are insanely expensive). A fee for the neighbors who have the internet router. Phone bills and data. Toys for the children. School books and private tutors for students.

You’re right, it wouldn’t be vital if the war had only lasted for a week. But it’s been more than a year. Our children’s mental health is destroyed, especially children as young as Soso who is only 4 years old and whose brain is developing in a genocide. Students can’t just stop studying for all this time. My other sister missed her entire last year of high school, but she wants to take university entrance exams. Dropping out of university because of the war has killed everything in me. I can’t let her experience the same kind of loss, so I pay for her books, for paper and printing, for private tutoring classes.

I had to buy three phone chargers in a month. The first one was $70. Days later, it was $100. Two days ago, a neighbor fried the second charger, and the new one was $200. I cried that day, because it wasn't even my fault. The prices of everything keep going up and I feel like I’m going insane. Even our landlord tried to increase the rent. It’s okay if I sacrifice meals. I’m used to hunger. But I have three younger siblings and I can’t watch them lose even more than they already have. I want them to study and play. I want them to eat and stay warm.

Please help me. When all of this is over, I’ll get my degree, find a good job, and I’ll never ask for anything again. But as long as the war keeps going, I need your help. I promise your donations don’t go to waste. Food and rent will always be the priority. Soso and my grandmother are the first beneficiaries. We always think carefully before buying anything. I hope we can reach the final goal soon, and that it will cover all expenses until the war ends, because I’m so tired of relying on strangers. I hate asking for money. I’m eternally grateful to anyone who helps, but the guilt won’t fade, because I wanted to be an independent girl and help my family myself. I'm exhausted and depressed.

My campaign is vetted! ✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #347 )✅️

Forgive me, you shared before and it helped a lot so I ask you to please share again @kerosene-saint @andnowanowl @omegasmileyface @4c-aperture @bahrmp3 @dhmiss55-blog @woodesnake @original-character-chaos @revalentinee @rapogirl13 @gorillawithautism @xerxestexastoast @kyoukainokanata @rabiesrabiesdog @rainyrebloggin @ok1237 @isummonedadragon @pro-pin-prinny @boxheadpaint @rukafais @butcklinkle @earlysunsetting @ceeberoni @strangeauthor @the–pony-box @blurrycow @nabulsi @90-ghost

[taelophone]

Luigi M; A Look ⋆˙⟡ — A Luigi Mangione Analysis ⋆⭒˚｡⋆. A/N: I am not claiming to know or understand him as a person lol. I simply wanna do a lil surface dive on him as a person to try and shed some light on what I think he's like!

Please note; All links are tweets Luigi himself has reposted, or are things from his mouth that he has typed. VIA Reddit, twitter, etc etc. All retweets will be marked with *

⟡ Luigi as a person (good, and bad)

⋆ After many many hours of scouring this man’s socials and any sort of archive of him I can find, I’ve gathered a handful of interpretations and ideas as to what Luigi was like prior to his surgery. And I say that last part specifically because he showed a v drastic change directly after his surgery, and literally went M.I.A.

Luigi is a very empathetic and intelligent man, this is a surface level fact that we can all agree on. He’s been shown to go out of his way for other people even when he doesn’t have to. But please don’t let that fool you this man is a KEYBOARD. WARRIOR.

⋆ He LIVES for the debate. In fact, he fucking loves debating. I wouldn’t go as far as saying he loves arguing, but if there’s a point being made and he feels strongly about it, he will type pages upon pages of text explaining in great detail exactly why you are wrong.

He’s said time and time before in a retweeted post that freethinking* is a very important part of life, and here’s where I say he’s…a bit of a hypocrite. His love for debate kind of keeps him from seeing another person’s POV, which makes for a hell of a storm when disagreeing with him. In short, he’s stubborn. A very stubborn man, but he is open to hearing the other person out versus not listening to them at all.

And I have a strong feeling his stubborn demeanor coincides with the fact that he knows he’s smart. Don’t get me wrong, he seems like he usually knows what he’s talking about, but that’s the problem. If you tell him about something that’s been bothering you or going wrong in your life, he will spit out 99 solutions for you. He’s the kind of guy where he will probably resort to both comfort AND unsolicited advice, although its likely he got better at the latter later down the line.

⋆ Shying away from him being stubborn, there’s another key part of this man that I DONT SEE BEING TALKED ABOUT ENOUGHHH OMG. SASSY MAN. SASSY SASSY SAASSSSYY MAN.

You can expect shade, eye rolls, silent treatment, head shakes, and possibly even a snarky comment from him. He’s all about becoming a better person and stuck on self betterment, but he is not afraid to show his visible disdain for something. He has very dry and unexpected humor, but he doesn’t realize it. He’s funny in a way where he doesn’t mean to be.

But when he’s trying to make a joke? Oh god help me he’s so so so cheesy and so corny that it makes you just wanna curl up and die (but no seriously, he’s so corny that it’s funny). His sense of humor is so cheesy, think old vine and 2018 humor.

⋆ Another key part about him is his love for travel, and being a “geek” by nature! This man loooooovesss his Pokemon, let me tell you. Was in a whole subreddit dedicated to Pokemon go, word committed for half a page about backpacking essentials, and was almost always posted up somewhere that wasn’t his house. I can’t say he’s the type for spontaneous trips, as the only time he has been known to take was during the beginning of his breakdown.

Because of this, I feel like he’s more likely to be a marvel and MCU fan. He also read a couple of the Harry Potter books, and we can assume that he liked the series enough to rate them 5/5s lol

⟡ My takeaways. Deeper analysis

⋆ Luigi gives me massive INTJ vibes. Contrary to popular belief, I feel he’s more introverted rather than extroverted. He’s expressed clear comfort in solitude, and aligns perfectly with the personality category.

INTJ description;

“INNOVATIVE,INDEPENDENT, STRATEGIC, LOGICAL, RESERVED, INSIGHTFUL. DRIVEN BY THEIR OWN ORIGINAL IDEAS TO ACHIEVE IMPROVEMENTS.”

However, I could see him being an ISTP, who are characterized as

“ACTION-ORIENTED, LOGICAL, ANALYTICAL, SPONTNEOUS, RESERVED, INDEPENDENT. ENJOY ADVENTURE, SKILLED AT UNDERSTANDING THINGS.”

⋆ He’s a very big geek! More than likely has a soft spot for nostalgia content or things that remind him of childhood. We can expect him to be into things like Ben10, Cartoon Network, old Nickelodeon, and other shows such as The Office, Law & Order, true crime, and philosophy content!

⋆ Expect him to be a giving lover. Would absolutely love words of affirmation, quality time, and acts of service. He’d be more than willing to give you gifts and shower you in lavishes, but it’s not his main love language as he believes love goes beyond materialism and who can spend the most on who. Handmade gifts are a go! Expect 3D printed trinkets, pictures, cards, etc etc.

⋆ Absolute communication god. He’s stubborn, but he’s not stubborn enough to not tell you when something is wrong. It’s just not his speed and he thinks it’s pointless to not tell someone, especially your partner, when he’s upset or what’s got him in a bad mood. He also expects this same behavior from you as well. The whole “I don’t wanna tell you what’s wrong” shindig would annoy the FUCK out of him. FAST.

⋆ He doesn’t give possessive or jealous lover type ngl. Growing up with two sisters and being absolutely showered in female companionship, he understands how that could possibly make you feel and doesn’t even blame you for it. As a result, he’d be extremely understanding if you were friends with men.

⋆ Please don’t ever get in an argument with this man lmfao. That is one battle you cannot and WILL NOT win. If it’s petty and a matter of “I didn’t say so and so,” he WILL show up with receipts. Would very much start busting out his big boy words just to confuse you. Catch him throwing old English into the mix. But if it’s a legitimate argument, and you have a reason to be upset, he will apologize before it can even get off track.

⟡ Luigi’s Brain

⋆ Alright kids here’s where we get a little controversial. What’s going on in Luigi’s mind?

I just wanna start this section off by saying I am not a licensed psychologist, nor do I major in psychology. I have no ties to this topic whatsoever, and am just speaking from what I’ve seen in myself, and what I’ve seen in him.

Neurodivergence. Luigi has a habit of exuding very neurodiverse behavioral patterns that I could tie to one of two things. Autism, or OCD.

⋆ Luigi openly expressed a lot about his wills and wants on his various social media platforms, and one thing I’ve noticed is his strong need or drive for self-improvement. Please don’t get me wrong, it is incredibly important to want to improve yourself and that is a perfectly healthy goal to have. However, Luigi’s drive for self-improvement and ‘getting better’ had a direct impact on his relationships, lifestyle, and more. This is likely what influenced his 6 month period of self-isolation and cutting off his family members.

Perfectionism “type” OCD is a branch of the umbrella term of OCD in which can be identified by repetitive behaviors, such as excessive exercise, something he continued to engage in even with a bad back, insistence on specific routines or ways to do things to achieve perfection, and occasionally rigid and inflexible thinking patterns, as I described him being likely to have above.

not everyone experiences OCD the same way, and me and Luigi are obviously going to experience it differently considering we are two completely different individuals. As someone with perfectionism OCD, I am just calling what I see in my eyes.

⋆ I saw someone make the argument a while back that Luigi could possibly be a narcissist, and while I don't necessarily deny that he can come off as pompous in some of his tweets, I do not think this is the case.

For Luigi to be a narcissist means that he wouldn't be able to make meaningful connections with people around him. Every person that has met or come into contact with Luigi only had good things to say, but I'd like to focus on his...straightforward or out-of-touch* tweets.

Luigi is a no-nonsense man. He's very left-brained and thinks as such, literally. He demonstrates a tendency to solve and think and plow through anything he registers as a problem. Have you ever asked "well, why can't we just print more money?" when told about the cash crisis? That's exactly whats going on in this tweet.

His first instinct when faced with the topic of Japan's birth rate is to try and solve it. Luigi may be hyperfixated on stats and data, which would clarify why he allegedly word-vomited to the hoes about birth rate data. He's not trying to come off as rude or ignorant, and frankly, I don't really think his tweet is that crazy either, he just might not know that this isn't something considered a social topic.

I feel like we're ignoring a lot of his more out-of-touch* (re)tweets, though. Scrolling through Luigi's page, I can understand what he's trying to get at, though lol. He's made it very clear that he's an intense supporter of complete equality*, he doesn't want anybody to be undermined in their contributions to society. Regardless of gender, sexual identity, race, etc. But again, he's thinking so literally and has trouble effectively communicating that in a way that is "neurotypical." This paired with the way he word vomits, and just his overall typing style and cadence, It just feels like he may be on the spectrum!

I do not have a link for this as his Reddit account was fucking obliterated, BUT, I do remember it being rumored that Luigi was apart of several neurodivergent support groups and subreddits!

I hope I helped humanize him a bit more for you guys! Lmk what you think of this little summary as it’s my first time doing something like this EVER lmfao😭

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Davrin (and also Grey Wardens and griffons) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: the list isn't 100% exhaustive. I may have missed something or didn't write something down because I had heard about it before or considered it common knowledge. If you think there's something that can be added to the post, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from)

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Harding, Lucanis, the rest to be added later this week

About Davrin

Family and past:

When he was a kid, Davrin broke his arm when his aravel sailed off a ridge 

Davrin stlll considers himself Dalish and thinks that will never change

Davrin hasn’t seen his clan since he left the forest. He misses the clan (‘it comes and goes’), Dalish food – especially halla milk and butter — and the sense of a common purpose. The last is why he joined the Wardens

Eldrin lives on his own, not together with Davrin’s clan

Just like Bellara, when Davrin was little, he wondered what it was like to his own house, shop at the market and make friends with outsiders

Davrin isn’t bothered by the idea of fighting the Elven gods because he never really believed in them, but he is worried about how the events of the Veilguard will impact the reputation of the elves

General:

Davrin drinks beer and wine

Davrin hums to himself :)

Davrin can speak some Dwarven 

Davrin doesn’t get the Fade - it’s just too many things at once (the place where spirits live, origin of creation etc.). He has difficulties believing it because it’s something he can’t touch or see 

Davrin would’ve left D’meta’s Crossing’s mayor to die

Davrin dumps griffon waste right into the Fade. No reservations about it whatsoever

Life with the Wardens:

Davrin says he never got used to hearing/sensing darkspawn after joining the Wardens

Davrin knows Ramish (protagonist of the Horrors of Hormkar)

The first group of Wardens Davrin fought with had a special system for fighting ogres. One of them would be “Cheese” (bait), drawing the ogre's attention while the others shot it with arrows (so Davrin can either use a bow or was always the Cheese) 

Monster hunting: 

Davrin can't take most books about monsters seriously, as they are not up to his standards

Fighting monsters is all about the thrill of the chase and tracking a target down rather than the victory

Davrin prefers to fight flesh-and-blood monsters rather than demons

Davrin takes full payment upfront when he hunts monsters for coin

Davrin has many monster trophies (Harding finds them disturbing)

Davrin does taxidermy 

Relationships with other companions: 

(In conversations with Bellara and Neve) Davrin genuinely believes Lucanis/Spite can kill them all 

(In conversation with Harding) Davrin proudly says Lucanis couldn’t take him 

Davrin made a little statue with a skull for a face as a gift for Emmrich’s colleague at his request

(If Emmrich becomes a lich) Davrin offers Emmrich to become a monster-hunting team (“Warden and lich. From darkspawn to demons, we've got you covered.”), thinking they could score a lot of coin

Davrin also offers Neve to set up shop together. “Minrathous Monsters and Murders. If it's claws and fangs stirring up trouble, we've got it covered.” Neve suggests Emmrich (and Manfred, if he's alive) joins them

Davrin and Neve met before the events of the Veilagurd on what Neve calls “The Vol Dorma Job”

About Assan and griffons:

Griffons like shiny things. Assan even once stole one of Bellara’s crystals (but later brought it back) 

(If Sent to Arlathan Forest) Griffons seem to 'remember' patrolling the forest, like it's a genetic thing

(If sent to the Wardens) Griffons listen to Evka

There’s no definite age for when a griffon is ready to carry a rider. It’s more about size and discipline 

(If Rook is in romance with Davrin) Assan gets a little moody/jealous after Davrin and Rook get together

Fade spooks Assan, so he doesn’t fly too far away from the Lighthouse 

Assan eats pastries from the kitchen

Assan doesn't like eating vegetables, but Davrin got him to eat carrots after Taash pointed out he needed more fibre in his diet

Assan misses Manfred when he dies

Assan can dive underwater and eat fish

Assan is curious about Neve’s wisps

About Wardens/misc:

Wardens slip Worry Weed into each other’s ale for kicks (it causes paranoia)

There is no definite timeline of how long a blighted person can survive without the Joining. It all depends on the person

Evka is good at telling spooky stories

Weisshaupt has a world-class library with books over a thousand years old

Wooden carvings can become haunted if blood gets on them

Wardens usually eat cold gruel for meals. Nobody knows what's inside it

[sirxlla]

Revival

--------------‐-------------------------------------

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Prompt: Being reunited with Jason after his death.

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

It had be over a year since Jason passed and every second was pure anguish, Bruce and Alfred had allowed you to take over Jason's room after he died, Bruce did especially since he was so distraught over Jason as well, he blamed every bit of what happened on himself.

Unfortunately, Bruce wasnt the only one blaming themself, you were as well. You'd ran through the events that led to Jason's death over and over and somehow blamed yourself everytime even though Jason decided to go after Joker alone.

His room was kept the same, you slept in his bed everynight, sprayed his cologne on his pillow as you cuddled it, a piss poor replacement for the love of your life. His clothes became the only thing you'd wear, another way to keep his memory alive.

Days passed like eons without him, he'd died and every bit of light vanished within the moment those words left Bruce's mouth. You couldnt believe it and didnt for a few days until it all sank in then his bed became the hole you hid in.

Alfred would often coax you out to help him in the garden and Dick would try to keep you active by getting you to train again like you would with Jason. You werent going to tell Dick but he was just training you to enact your revenge and that was all that fueled and motivated you to get up everyday.

They thought you were getting better but in reality you wanted vengence and Joker to pay for what he did. He wasnt gonna hirt anyone again, you werent gonna let Bruce throw him in prison again just for him to break out again. Joker was gonna die for the better of Gotham and you'd make sure of it.

"You think this Red Hood guy is still Joker like before?" Dick asked Bruce quietly, neither of them new you were hiding on the other side of the door.

You waited until everyone was on patrol to put on your black bodysuit on, pocketting Jason's lucky coin in the inner pocket of your boot. He had the coin ever since the two of you were homeless together on the streets as kids. Jason said he found it but you knew that he stole it from the arcade when they wouldnt let him in.

Bruce didnt want you hurting yourself so after Jason died, he had taken all your weapons away but lucky for you... Dick left his extra set of escrima stcks and Jason's baton were both left in the Batcave. They were easily fitted onto your suit, the escrima sticks were sheathed behind your back and the baton was so compact it fit on your thigh ready to be extended if needed.

You did some quick searches on the Batcomputer about this Red Hood guy, your fingers clacked against the glass keyboard and the projected letters onto it.

Red Hood

Name: Unknown (Suspect: Joker)

Height: Approx 6 ft

Eye Color: Unknown

Hair Color: Unknown

Shoe Size: 10 ½

Possible Hideout/Last Known Location: Gotham Plaza

* EXTREMELY DANGEROUS, DO NOT APPROACH, REPORT BACK TO BASE. *

You scoffed, Bruce said that about everyone but he never called for backup. This guy was probably cake...maybe not thought if he took down Jason but your anger flared it didnt matter, retribution is all that mattered even if it killed you.

You pulled on your domino mask and headed out to avenge your lover. The trip to Gotham Plaza when you're filled with a bloolust fot the person who separated you from your man by 6 feet of dirt and a hard wodden coffin.

You snuck around sneaky as a spider. The man spoke with a deep mechanical, clearly a voice changer but you couldn't see him yet. Stealthy as you crouched so nobody saw you you got closer.

A hand touched your shoulder as this Red Hood guy came into view, Dick put a finger to his lips and he pointed to Bruce. Your eyes scanned the area until you saw their plan, a plan to trap this Red Hood guy.

You heart stammered in worry fornsome reason as you glanced back at this Red Hood guy and before you knew it you were bolting at the man.

Small combat boots tapped against the tile which prompted this guy to turn around and start shooting, you didn't care. Why didn't you care? Why am I doing this?! Whilst dodging bullets all these questions went through your head but before you knew it you had jumped into his arms, his hands found your ass. (Side note: Imagine Bruce and Dick seeing this like "huh? wtf is going on?")

This is Jason, its gotta be Jason. He always held your back before moving a hand under your ass. The smell of him was overwhelming, you starred into the white eyes of that emotionless red helmet as his gun clinked onto the ground.

Tears fell down your face as you hugged him deeply, Jason's arms tightened around you. Your hands found the button on the bakc of his helmet which caused him to stiffen up. He was worried to face you, for you to see him. Did you blame him? Were you angry? Fuck...It didnt matter, I'd just like to see her with my own eyes and not through white mesh.

As you notice his hesitance calm, you pulled the mask off and saw your sweet man...the 'J' scar on his cheek and the little tuft of white hair he now had. Jason's eyes shown with a ton of storys, a thousand apologies and endless unsaid words.

Tears poured down the both of yours faces, life breathed into you both due to the warmth of one another. He didnt wanna think about putting you down cause then he'd have to let you go.

"My Baby..." Your voice cracked and you sucked in a breath as you sobbed and hugged him which only caused him to hold you tighter, one hand rubbing your back. He was speechless, no words and so many were coming at the same time.

You breathed him in, he now smelt like gunpowder, cigarettes and leather...it was older, more refined but still fit him to a tee.

Of course you smelled like his cologne from sleeping in his bed, practically bathing in it which of course the smell brought a smile to his face. Any last thought that you didn't love him vanished with that whiff of cologne that mixed so sweetly into your skin.

He finally set you down and smirked even more as he caught a glimpse of his initals tattooed on your collarbone. You were stroking his ego without knowing it. He had a hard time hating himself when you were around...his little cheerleader.

Bruce knew his son was back, that Jason's mind was much more stable. He knew Red Hood's reign of terror would more than likely be over. Your heart would be whole again with Jason back regardless of the condition he was in. Literally you'd take Jason even if he was a sea anemone if it meant he was happy and alive.

->Masterlist <-

[wheels-of-despair]

Me Without You Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie's got another weird question for Evil Woman. Contains: A random question, a non-answer, a little panic, fluff. Words: 600ish

"What would you do if I died?"

"Avenge you," you answer, flipping a page in your magazine. You're lying on your stomach on Eddie's bed, and he's playing guitar in his chair. Just another average Wednesday evening. Alone. Unsupervised. In various states of undress. Doing different things on opposite sides of the room. Just happy to be near each other.

"No, seriously."

You look up to see that Eddie, half-lying in his chair with his bare feet propped up on the mess he calls a desk, is staring at you and waiting for his answer. He's not even looking at his guitar anymore, but he doesn't miss a note in a song that sounds vaguely Iron Maiden-y.

You think about the question for half a second before responding: "Pass."

"You can't pass," he argues, finally setting his other sweetheart aside. "Answer me."

"Nope," you make sure to pop the P as you turn to another glossy page of the magazine you're not really reading anymore.

"I wanna know!"

"Too bad."

"What would you do if I died, dammit?"

You toss the magazine aside, no longer able to focus on whatever the hell it was you found fascinating a few minutes ago.

"Why, are you planning on doing something stupid?"

"No."

"You already have a backup picked out and you want me to justify your choice of skank?"

"No."

"Then why are you obsessing over something so sad?"

"I'm just curious," he shrugs.

"Then you can keep on being curious," you sigh, crossing your arms on the bed and resting your cheek on them. You close your eyes. "Because I refuse to acknowledge a world without you in it."

Silence.

You hear the chair creak as he gets up. You freeze. Why do you feel tense all of a sudden? Your heart feels like it's beating faster and slower at the same time. You feel him approach. The mattress moves. He's put a knee on the bed beside your hip. And then the other. He's going to crawl over you.

No, he's going to lie on top of you.

He eases himself down a little bit at a time. You stay still, welcoming his body heat and oddly comforting weight.

"You can't just say shit like that to me," he mumbles, his lips grazing your ear.

"Why not?" you argue. "It's true."

Eddie kisses your neck, sighs, and rolls to the side. He lands beside you. You turn your head toward him. Your faces are just inches apart.

"You'd be fine without me," he says.

"I wouldn't be me without you," you whisper.

Something sad flashes through Eddie's eyes, and you feel it tug at your heart. He reaches for your hand, then brings it to his lips for a kiss.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispers.

"You better not," you breathe. "If you die, I die."

Your words hang in the air, heavy between you. You stare at each other in silence. It feels as though the world has stopped entirely. And then Eddie leans forward. His lips meet yours for a kiss so soft, it barely feels real. When he pulls back, your brain screams at you to chase his touch. You can't let him go. Not yet.

"Then we get to haunt the shit out of people, right?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You laugh quietly, relief flooding through you. The spell has been broken, the air has been cleared, the world has started to spin again. You've got him. He's got you. Things are just the way they should be.

"We don't have to wait 'til we're dead for that," you grin. "Wanna know what I've been doing to Gareth every night for the last week?"

[gyaruhana]

Can u please write wlw smut for my glorious queen se-mi player 380

Se-mi/Player 380 - hatefucking

Synopsis: You and Se-mi can't stand each other so what better way to deal with that issue then fight for dominance?

A/N: i did combine this with another request for hatesex bc they both were wuh luh wuh so.. hope you don't mind!!

Warnings: smut content, choking, degradation, slight fight for dominance, fingering, it's hatesex..

If there was one thing you avoided, it was arguments. You preferred to avoid making enemies because; what was the point? It was far better to make friends than enemies who’d plot your death on the daily. Friends would be there to make you happy and comfort you when you're sad. Enemies would just laugh at you and pull you further down into the depths of sadness. That's why you always opted for only making friends and allies.

The only exception to this little rule was her. Se-mi.

Se-mi had been getting on your nerves from the moment you had both spared a glance at each other. There was something about her that reeked of over-confidence and judgement. The way she would look at you with that smirk on her face as if she thought she was better than you. It pisses you the fuck off and all you wanted to do was punch her face in so she could never smirk or scoff at you again.

Whether it was for good or bad, Se-mi felt the same way. You were always so nice to everyone, even to those who didn't deserve kindness whatsoever. It pissed her off that you'd try to be friends with everyone. Were you naive or just plain stupid? Whatever it was, she didn't like it. You were so happy-go-lucky as if you weren't trapped in this hell hole where people are being killed left and right. She didn't trust you at all because you seemed like the type who'd willingly stab someone in the back sooner or later.

In short, the feeling of hate was mutual between you two and, everytime you were near each other, there was a silent tension of unspoken dislike. Neither of you had actually communicated your dislike through speech, it was all just glares from across the room and the purposeful avoidance of each other.

Today, you unfortunately didn't have the opportunity to avoid each other like you two usually opted to do.

It was the third game and it was called ‘Mingle’. It wasn't a difficult game as long as you weren't one to crack under the pressure of a short time limit. All you had to do was form a group of whatever number was called out and then run into a room with them. The first four rounds went well for you since you were friends with practically everyone here and could always find a group to join.

When the fifth round came, the number two was called and chaos broke out quite quickly as people realized not everyone will be fortunate enough to get a room. As chaos broke out and lights flashed, you found it rather difficult to see who was on their lonesome and needed a pair. Luckily for you, you managed to spot the tall silhouette of someone who was on their own so you ran towards them and grabbed a hold of their wrist, dragging them into one of the last free rooms. You quickly shut it behind you as you let out a relieved sigh - glad you managed to find someone before it was too late.  

When you turned around, you were met with the unimpressed face of Se-mi. You almost let out a groan of annoyance at the sight of her. Maybe you should go back out there and just get shot. At least then she'd die as well and you could rest peacefully knowing she'd never plague anyone with her ugly personality again. 

“I'm not happy to see you either,” she says as she folds her arms across her chest and leans against the wall behind her. You let out a scoff of annoyance as the doors finally locked indicating the timer was up. Considering you'd probably be trapped in this room for a while until they clear out the bodies, maybe now would be a good time to confront her about her behavior.

“What's your problem? You're always such an asshole to me,” you say as you step closer to her. Your words may have been slightly aggressive but you couldn't help it when she was around. She just naturally got on every nerve in your body. In response to your words, she pushes off the wall and uncrosses her arms to step closer to you.

“My problem? You're the one with the problem,” Se-mi spoke as she looked at you with annoyance. The audacity you had to call her a bitch as if you were any better. Seeing you like this made her believe all your kindness really was an act for your own personal gain. That only fueled her hatred for you.

“You're the one who's been glaring at me since day one. You're a total fucking dickhead with your arrogant attitude,” you speak as you point an accusatory finger in her face. You were sick of how she'd act and the way she'd judge everyone silently. She needed a wake up call or something so she'd stop standing on her high horse. After all, she glared at you first. What were you supposed to do? Let her treat you like that? Hell no. You might be all for making friends but that doesn't mean you'll back down when someone chooses to be your enemy.

Then suddenly, out of the blue - her hand wrapped around your throat and she pushed you onto the wall. “I'd watch your mouth when you speak to me,” she says with anger bubbling inside her. Calling her arrogant? Who did you think you were? Someone needed to put you in your place.

You were taken aback by the sudden violence before grabbing her wrist tightly and glaring at her. “Or what? What are you going to do about it? Kill me?” you spoke sarcastically. You didn't fear her at all or the hand around your throat. It's not like she'd kill you. She couldn't have the guts to murder someone. You knew her type. Assholes on the outside, total pussies on the inside. They all just made enemies with people they assumed were weak so they could act tough.

She was quiet for a moment as she thought about your words. She couldn't kill you, no. You wouldn't learn anything that way (and she might get in trouble for that). She'd have to take a different approach if she wanted to make you learn a lesson about your bitchy behavior and, thankfully, she knew just how to make someone learn a lesson. She smirked for a moment before nodding her head.

“I won't kill you, no. I'll teach you a lesson,” she spoke before suddenly pressing her lips to yours. Her hand stayed wrapped around your throat, lightly squeezing to serve as a warning. You didn't expect her to kiss you of all things. It left you frozen in shock. Her kiss wasn't gentle either. It was rough as if its purpose was to silence you. There was nothing loving about it and, strangely enough, you found yourself actually being turned on by it. You didn't have feelings for her, no. You hated her but you were stuck in a place like this with no guarantee of a tomorrow so maybe a little hatefuck wouldn't be a terrible idea.

“Fuck, you're a shitty kisser,” you speak when she pulls away. She lets out a bitter chuckle at your words and shakes her head. “Thought I told you to watch your mouth?” She said as her free hand trailed down to the waistband of your pants. Oh, Se-mi was going to make sure you submit and watch your attitude towards her from now on.  “You think I'll listen to you?” You respond snarkily. 

“Oh, you will,” she says, her hand making it to your underwear as she gently traces the fabric of it. She moves her hand beneath the fabric and gently feels your entrance. “You're wet. You're just a whore, huh?” she spoke with a mocking smirk. She found it amusing that you were turned on by something like this. 

You were about to make a quick comment in response when she quickly slid her index finger into you making you let out a moan. God, you didn't expect her to do that so suddenly. She was full of surprises today. You quickly recovered from the initial shock as you noticed the smug look on her face. It drove you insane. If she thought she was teaching you a lesson like this, you'd have to teach her one too.

“Don't think you're in control,” you speak before grabbing the back of her head and pressing your lips to hers. Se-mi would be lying if she said she wasn't a little taken aback by the sudden kiss. She had assumed you'd fold immediately but apparently you were much more of a challenge. She smirked into the kiss before pulling her finger out slowly and then teasingly thrusting it back in. You let out a muffled moan at the feeling as you bring your free hand to the hem of her shirt. You lift it up slightly before putting your hand underneath and slowly trailing it upwards. 

“Might want to try harder to please me. You do a poor job at fingering a girl,” you speak after breaking from the kiss. She shakes her head with the smirk not leaving her face as she starts to thrust her fingers in and out of you quicker. “Oh really? Your body says otherwise,” she says, her hand tightening around your throat once more to serve as a silent warning. 

“I'm not even close to getting to cum. Can't you do any better?” You say as your hand that had earlier slipped under her shirt pinched her nipple. She tensed for a moment as her breath hitched, making you laugh. “What? That sensitive?” You tease and she sends a glare at you. She could try to dominate you as much as she wants but you weren't one to submit so easily.

She suddenly presses her thumb to your clit and starts to rub it roughly. The sensation makes you lean your head back against the wall as you moan. “Seems like you're the sensitive one,” she says as she watches your reactions carefully. As much as you wouldn't ever admit it, she was actually quite good with her fingers. She knew exactly how to move them and get someone to cum quite quickly. 

“if we weren't stuck here, I'd show you how good I could really fuck you,” you speak with a smirk as you look back at her again. “sure you could,” she responds sarcastically as she continues to thrust her fingers at a quick pace. She could tell you were close now as she felt you clench around her fingers.

“You're close, huh?” she says, clearly mocking you. You laugh breathlessly as you shake your head and look to the side. God, she was still such a cocky bitch. You looked at her before pulling on her hair and glaring at her. “When I cum, I'll make you lick your fingers clean, yeah?” you speak and the smirk on her face seems to grow bigger. Fuck, she really didn't think you'd still be acting so dominant. It was actually turning her on more - getting to fight for dominance like this.

With a few more thrusts of her fingers you came undone with a quiet moan. She slowly pulls her fingers out of you and you don't waste a second to grab her hand and pull it out of your pants. “C’mon, suck,” you say as you bring her hand to her mouth, her fingers wet with your cum. She looks at you for a moment before slowly putting her fingers into her mouth and sucking them clean of your cum. She pulls them out of her mouth after a few seconds and, as if on cue, the door unlocked meaning the guards had finished cleaning.

You both looked at the door before looking at each other again. “If you make it out alive of this place, I'll have to fuck you on my dildo next time,” she speaks as she steps back from you. “Looking forward to it- seeing you embarrass yourself, i mean,” you respond before walking out without another word and leaving her alone in the room. She watched you walk out before scoffing.

“She better make it out alive,”

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales

Summary: A Princess!Reader x Gladiator!Bat Boys fic that's been swimming around in my head for weeks after watching Gladiator I and II

Content Warnings: Blood and Gore, Mentions of Torture, Slavery, and Assault

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“So good of you to finally join us, cousin.” The din of the crowd nearly drowns out the words, the feverish cheers echoing off the massive stone pillars that hold the auditorium seats up and away from the stench of death and decay that permeates from the mud soaked pit beneath the plush outdoor auditorium. There are rows of decadent booths along the pit's edge, each box set with plush chases and golden edged pillows. Slaves with palm fronds fan ornately dressed royals, their faces obscured by gold lined veils. The auditorium oozes wealth and luxury, offers decadent food and drink and deep enough betting pools to make the strictest penny pinchers among the elite crawl out of their caves to try their luck.

The altar for the Mother gleams golden in the afternoon sunlight, the carved statue standing with arms and feathered wings outstretched in welcome. Beckoning those to come and offer a bit of blood in hopes of trading it for some luck. Luck for the gamblers, of course, never the males, and sometimes females, who fight and die in the muddy pit far beneath the first row of booths. My father says they made the Games to punish our enemies, and to reward our soldiers, but both fight and die as equals all the same. 

I frown first at the statue, how could our most beloved Goddess reward this kind of brutality? Then at my cousin, who I remember, is still waiting for me to speak. Dagdan sports his military regalia, the glittering medals across his chest all pinned there by my father for his service to our great empire. Service he never actually participated in. Dagdan can wield a sword because of the patience of his tutors, he’s never raised it in battle, despite the stories he tells at every possible turn. 

“Father said the Games would be impressive this year,” I reply, trying to keep the bite out of my tone. Mother raised me to be demure, to keep my chin up, to never let an enemy see what I was feeling. She had been good at that, too good, perhaps that was why she had been publicly executed. For all her poise, she had not been able to outmatch my Father’s paranoia.

Beside him, Dagdan’s twin sister Brannagh grins, her pearly white teeth a harsh contrast to her otherwise impassive face. It’s like watching a shark try to grin. “The Uprising in the Courts made for a lot of candidates this year.”

My stomach turns. The Empire is vast, spreading across continents and oceans. The Courts in Prythian were the last of the fae to fall in line before Father turned his attention to the Human Lands. Each year, more and more slaves and captives are carted in through the iron gates far beneath the smooth stones we stand on, all tossed into the mud to fight each other for a slim possibility of survival. Some come willingly, chasing fortune and gold; some are sponsors of Father’s Inner Circle, their armor always pristine, their weapons always sharp. But most of the gladiators are slaves, crammed into dingy cells in the catacombs beneath the arena. Despite the decadence of the auditorium, one visit down into the bowels of this awful place was enough to scar me for life. As Father intended, I’m sure. Our esteemed Emperor had not been shy about his disdain for not being able to produce a son and his paranoia often convinced him that I would one day find a husband crafty enough to steal his Throne before he found a match he thought suitable, he often dragged me to these things to remind me the brutality he was capable of if I stepped out of line. No doubt it was why he’d insisted I come out today. I had not been out in public in some time, not after the grief of losing my mother had so thoroughly consumed me. My grief had shamed him; had made some in his Inner Circle suspect I was also plotting against him. My presence here was as much a check into my loyalties as it was to remind me of what fate could befall me if I kept on wallowing away in the dark.

I smooth my hands over my skirts, putting thoughts of my Mother aside. It always feels like a gaping wound in my chest, nerve and sinew exposed and open for every onlooker to see. I must reign it in. For the sake of my future. 

“We’ll see a lot of Fae, then?” There were a lot of elves last year and shifters the year before that. There is no prejudice in the games. Race and gender matter little in a battle of survival. 

The twins follow me as I find my way through the bustling crowd to our booth, where I know Father will already be waiting. 

“Some humans for the first round,” Dagdan spits like he’s tasted something vile. 

“Some half-breeds and mutts for the second,” Brannagh finishes with far more delight than her brother. Their eagerness from blood is one of the few reasons Father didn’t name their heir in my place. Brutality is necessary, but bloodlust turns a well rounded Empire on its head. Father placates them by giving them titles, parading them around like their important so they remain loyal, but he will never truly give them the power they seek. They’re simply not smart enough to see it.

“But the final round will be entertaining,” Dagdan says, gray eyes twinkling as the wall of guards at attention in Father’s booth part for us. 

Our esteemed emperor sits on a throne made entirely of gold, a goblet of wine already in his hands. A circlet of gold leaf perches on top of his salt and pepper hair, the sharp edges reflecting the light along the crimson curtains that help keep out the summer heat. We all bow to him as we enter, and Father reaches out a hand for mine without ever looking at us. 

“It is good to see you outside again, daughter,” he says, chapped lips brushing over my knuckles in a brief display of affection. 

“I’m sorry it has been so long, Father,” I keep my voice even, unbothered. I will not let any of them see how much I hate all of this. 

He guides me to sit on the couch beside the throne, where I have ample view of the uneven floor below. Yesterday’s rain has filled the giant pit with mud. Mud that could have easily been covered and smoothed out to make the playing field fair for all, but that is not how these Games work. Bones still litter the uneven ground, a rib cage protruding from a mound of dirt, a crumbling arrow still caught inside it. There’s the skull of an animal turned upside down, a stream of muddy water running out the eye sockets like some sort of twisted water fountain. Old weapons lay scattered around the arena floor; a wagon weaves around boulders and mounds of loose earth to scatter more. 

“I trust you’re feeling better?” The question is pointed, for the sake of my cousins. He has been telling people the shock of my Mother’s supposed betrayal had been too much on my health and I’d been bed ridden. It’s not entirely far from the truth. 

“Yes, Father. The sunlight does me good.” Not far from the truth either. It is nice to be away from the palace and all the chaos that comes with it. 

Brannagh sits beside me, a slave scurrying behind her with a fan, a second not far behind with some wine. She stretches her long legs out in front of her with a sigh, the sunlight drifting through the curtains making her pale skin look translucent. “Do you have a favorite to win today, Uncle?”

My Father sips from his goblet, a bit of wine caught in his graying beard. “Just a favorite to lose,” he chuckles. Though he is getting older, the gleam in his slate gray eyes is still sharp and youthful. Even with his bouts of paranoia, his mind is still sharp and calculating. 

“Do tell, before it’s too late for me to change my bets,” Dagdan quips. Though I doubt it is all in jest, my cousin is far more in debt than he realizes. 

Horns blare from the upper rings of the arena, signalling those still milling about placing bets and finding food to get to their seats. The Games will start soon. My stomach twists itself into a new knot. There is no shortage of ways my Father will have found to torment the poor souls who find themselves in the pit today, I am not eager to see what they are. 

“There was some… trouble in the mountain regions of the Courts,” he says carefully. 

I force myself not to turn and look at him. Trouble for my father usually means rebellion, or outright war, anything else is too insignificant to mention. In my seclusion, I had not even caught wind of it. 

“We have a few insurrectionists I’d like to see fall today.”

Few are foolish enough to raise a hand against the Empire. It usually means their provinces go without food and aid in the harsher months of the year. I am curious to see who would be foolish enough to risk the lives of their people. 

“Those great wings of theirs would make an excellent trophy on my wall,” Father finishes. 

A shiver runs down my spine. It would not be the first gruesome trophy of his, but still, the outright admittance to such cruelty still makes me tremble. My unease is only heightened by the arrival of my Father’s General, who enters the booth followed by a handful of male slaves, all barely dressed.

“Amarantha!” It is no secret that my Father has always wished I shared the temperament and constitution of his beloved General. If he had to be cursed with a female for an heir, he wanted ruthlessness, cunning, and a smile that could peel paint. All things the red headed fae oozed in abundance. 

All things my Father was convinced I lacked. I’d take it. His disdain was better than being exactly like her. I can’t help the way my nose crinkles at the sight of her. Brannagh moves closer to the edge of the couch, in hopes of ending up in her line of vision, eager to swap stories before the Games officially start. Brannagh wants to be just like her, the gaggle of pleasure slaves included. The two of them would unleash hell on the world if my Father ever put the two of them together. 

“Your Highness,” Amarantha bows, the loose fabric of her nearly sheer gown spilling to give my Father ample view of her cleavage. I stopped allowing myself to question the nature of their relationship long ago; my stomach turns thinking about it. 

“It is a good day for betting, don’t you think?” She asks. Her voice is like gravel, fitting since its the color of her eyes. A finger bone dangles from her neck, an eye encased in glass sitting atop her finger; though she is lean, she is stronger and more deadly than most people assume at first glance. Everything about her is dangerously sharp. 

“I was just telling Dagdan the same thing,” my Father says.

Those dark eyes flick briefly to my cousin, who puffs up his chest, but she ignores him entirely as her gaze settles on me. “Princess! I didn’t know you’d be joining us today. What a monumental occasion!”

“I thought the fresh air would do me some good,” I say simply. What else is there to say to Evil Incarnate? Perhaps I should put more energy into being clever, I know that if Amarantha saw a benefit to cleaving my head from my shoulders, she’d take it--power is all she cares about, so far we haven’t faced each other because she doesn’t think I have enough to steal--but I cannot summon the energy. Ever since the incident with my Mother, I have not managed to find much in me at all. Especially not for Amarantha and her social climbing. 

“Nothing like a little blood sport to invigorate the mind,” she purrs as she lowers herself into the seat at my Father’s right hand. One of her slaves perches on the arm of her chair, bare chest glinting with oils in the harsh sunlight. Another sits at her feet, and her nails, sharpened to points, drift harshly through his thick curls. 

I watch my cousin run her tongue over her lips at the sight. 

“Did you place any bets, Princess?” Amarantha continues as someone brings her a goblet of wine. She sniffs suspiciously at it before instructing one of her slaves to test it first. Perhaps poison would be a mercy. 

Never admit weakness. Never admit that my solitude has kept me out of the loop and left me ill prepared for whatever is about to happen in the Pit beneath us. Instead, I say, “We have several days of entertainment, I prefer to observe on the first day.”

To his credit, my Father does reach over and pat my shoulder in approval. 

“Clever,” she says, but there’s enough bite in it to not make it a compliment. 

“My money is on your Attor, as always, General,” Brannagh says with the eagerness of a child with a crush. 

Amarantha huffs in annoyance, as if my cousin is a fly buzzing around her ear, “He’s too good, its almost boring at this point.”

Brannagh deflates, but before she can come up with something witty in response, the final warning horn blows from the rafters. The Games will begin. 

I turn my attention away from my company, watching brightly dressed royals rush to their booths. There are all sorts of creatures here to watch: Elves and Fae and Fawn, a few Goblins and Giants, observing from a standing platform opposite us. There is room for most, save for humans, within the Empire, as long as they prove their usefulness. That is my Father’s crowning achievement, the Hybern Empire has room for all, if you play your cards right and never step out of line. 

The groaning of the gates draws my attention away from the spectators and down into the Pit beneath us, where a whole cart of humans appears from the gloom of one of the entrances. They look small; mud and blood splattered as several Praetorian guards usher them out of the cart with spears bigger than most of their heads. The guards do not remove their shackles, leaving all twelve of them tethered together in the center of the Pit.

The cart rolls away, the guards with it, only once their out does another gate open to let out the challenger: Amarantha’s hulking Attor. The creature is battle scarred, lines criss-crossing over its leathery skin. Its giant wings flutter on the breeze behind it as it stalks into the center, Amarantha’s crest painted in blood red over its chest. 

The crowd goes wild as it enters the pit, clawed hands swinging wildly around its hulking body. “ATTOR! ATTOR! ATTOR!” The monster has always been the crowd favorite.

Amarantha yawns. She’ll make thousands off the creature, but that is nothing to her. Money is trivial, unless it can buy her the power she craves. 

I glance at my Father as the Games Maker starts addressing the crowd and explaining the match up. “Would it not be more entertaining to unchain them?” They’re all going to die anyway, surely this gives them a fighting chance to die with some honor. “We all know the Attor will win, why make it easy for it?”

Amarantha nearly spits out her wine, a gurgling sound coming out of her as she tries to maintain her composure. 

I do not let myself grin at the victory.

Father runs a hand over his graying beard in thought. “Perhaps your solitude did you some good, Daughter.”

I do not shutter. I cannot save any of them, as pitiful and helpless as they look alongside the Attor. It will give them all gruesome deaths purely for the fun of it. But perhaps the Mother will take pity; may the chance to die fighting grant them peace in the afterlife. 

Father stands and motions for the Game Maker to quiet. “Let the humans be unchained!”

The crowd erupts into varying shouts of surprise and approval. 

“Let us test the skill of the Attor!”

This pleases the crowd, but it makes Amarantha’s cheeks flush crimson. She hides a grimace behind her wine as my Father returns to his seat. 

A single guard returns with keys, and the crowd falls into a hushed silence, waiting for chaos to ensue. I force myself not to look away; to face what I have done. One of the humans cranes its head to look up at our box and flashes us his middle finger.

Dagdan bristles in his seat next to his sister. “He should pay for that!”

They will. There will be no rescue. There is none to be found. The Empire comes for all of us eventually, best that we can do is go into it with our heads up. I am trying to accept my fate in this, what other choice do I have, lest I end up dead or locked away. 

Once the guard is clear, the horns once again blow, telling the Attor he can start his hunt. Those great wings at his back kick up loose dirt as he launches into the air with a roar that makes the arena tremble. 

The crowd cheers, leaning forward in their seats to watch as the monster swoops down and gets its great jaws around the head of the first human. Brannagh giggles at the splatter of blood that erupts from the poor creature’s neck. 

I clench my hands in my lap. 

The second human tries to run, scrambling for purchase in the thick mud. It doesn’t help that they’re all barefoot. The Attor’s claws tear through the human’s back like butter, the poor thing going down with a wail that makes my heart lurch painfully in my chest.

The third manages to find a sword, the blade rusted from the rain; the man gets a good swipe in, nicking the inside of the Attor’s palm before it gets shredded to pieces.

Each human tries a little harder than the last, getting further each time. One manages to weave around the debris and avoid being swooped down on like the first, but the uneven terrain catches her ankle, sending her sprawling down with a shout as her leg is left twisted and broken. Another manages to get an arrow into the Attor’s back, but not deep enough to do damage. They all go down fighting, and each new one has me saying a mental prayer to the Mother on their behalf, but none survive. Much to the crowd’s glee.

“Wonderful!” Brannagh says, clapping as the Attor roars in victory. 

Amarantha shrugs. “Boring.”

The Attor exits the Pit, ever the victor. The bodies it left aren’t even carted away. No one comes to pick up the pieces. No one will bury them. Their bones will rot and decay into the Pit floor.

I ask one of my Father’s servants for some wine to try and settle the nausea that rolls in my stomach, but even the smoothest of wine does not dull it. 

My Father watches me carefully, calculating every move. I do my best to keep my features neutral. 

“What did you think, Daughter?”

I take another sip of wine before speaking, giving myself time to collect my thoughts. “Humans don’t make very good gladiators.”

He laughs at that and my cousins join in, as if it was the funniest thing ever. 

“Humans don’t make good anything,” Dagdan says.

“Except for a snack,” Brannagh adds.

“Worms,” Amarantha spits.

Father raises his cup in salute to me. “May the next match be more exciting for you.”

I ignore my revulsion and return the gesture. I cannot wait for this to be over. I shall retire back into my gloomy quarters with the curtains drawn and try to scrub the gory images from my brain. Perhaps my solitude would be more comforting than this.

The horns blow announcing the next match and the Games Maker drones on and on about where these next gladiators hail from. One side are all sponsored by royal families, all males trying to make a name for themselves and some coin to feed their families. They’re all well trained and well equipped for the task. They’re a filler spot, to give the rest of the Game Makers time to prepare the next victims of the Empire’s wrath. Beneath the Pit floor, in the dark of the catacombs, the next round of war captives are likely being hauled out of their cells and prepped. I can’t help but wonder if they can hear the roaring of the Bogges and Gladiator’s alike from down there. Do they understand what is about to happen? Are they saying their final prayers to the Mother?

I can’t help but glance at Her altar. What kind of world is this that we live in? Brutal and cruel and blood splattered. If we are so favored, how could our lives look like this? It is thoughts like these that have kept me sequestered in my room. I do not know what I am supposed to live for, or who I am supposed to be any more. My life feels like it is stretching out before me, and someone else is pulling on the strings, making me a puppet that moves at their will. I no longer have the protection of my Mother. Father will soon throw me to the wolves if I am not smart or careful or cunning. The world is different and dark and I have utterly lost my way.

I am so wrapped up in my thoughts I barely register the fight. One of the males gets eaten by the terrifying Bogge, his screams echoing off the great walls. The crowd eats it up, cheering and screaming and jumping from their seats. The more blood that flows the louder they yell and cheer. These are my people? These are who I am to rule one day? What does that make me?

Dagdan huffs about his losses as the gladiators exit the arena, the Bogge all dead. He drowns his sorrows in his cup as if the solution to his terrible gambling habit might lie in the bottom. 

“Finally, now we can get to the part I’ve been waiting for!” Amarantha declares. 

Father grins. “I take it they gave you trouble on the way here?”

She spits again, a nasty habit that doesn’t bother anybody but me, apparently. “Damned Illyrians! Had to use faebane on them the whole way, otherwise they tore through the damn chains!”

Father shakes his head. “I have to admit they surprised me-” certainly a feat few have ever accomplished in his lifetime “-usually their kind throw themselves on their swords before they get caught. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

I’ll chalk that up to his paranoia talking, but I have to admit, I am intrigued by the conversation. Anyone who can surprise my Father must be very skilled. Despite my disdain for these Games, I find myself leaning forward to get a better look into the arena when I hear the grates open for the third time. 

“What is there to be surprised about?” Amarantha counters, but her words feel farther away as I catch sight of movement from the dark tunnel behind the entrance of the arena. “They’re rebels, their deaths will make martyrs out of them. They want a public execution.”

The world feels as if it has narrowed into this moment. The din of the crowd starts to fade in and out of focus. I am suddenly very aware of the roaring of my heartbeat in my own ears.

The first male steps out of the tunnel, stripped to the waist, his bronze chest smattered with cuts and scrapes and bruises so dark they’re nearly black. Dark twisting tattoos trace their way up his broad chest and over his shoulders and back, until they meet great, leathery wings like that of a bat’s. Long, dark hair, matted with mud and what might be blood, clings to his face, but despite the disheveled state, his hazel eyes remain clear and bright. 

The crowd boos when they see him. A few people hurl food at him. 

“Cassian,” Amarantha scoffs. “The rebels call him their General.”

Father frowns. “As foolish as their militia was, do not forget how many of our soldiers he killed.” 

I cannot take my eyes off him. He’s taller than the guard that leads him by his bound wrists into the Pit. Larger too. Those broad shoulders and defined abs speak volumes about how skilled in swordplay he must be.

“Will you keep his wings when he dies, Uncle?” Brannagh asks.

The wine threatens to come up at the thought of having to see such beautiful wings pinned to a wall in Father’s study. The male clearly cares for them. When the guard gets too close he flicks them out of reach. While there are some nicks in the leathery membrane, the wings are the least scarred part of him. He has to take good care of them for someone so battle hardened to keep them looking like that.

“Happily,” Father says.

Even if I wanted to look at him, I couldn’t, not as the second male enters the arena. He’s a little shorter than the first, his hair shorter, the dark onyx locks curling gently around his forehead. Blood still drips from an open gash across his temple, staining his cheek and neck crimson. Like the first, his chest is bare and marked with the same swirling tattoos, but unlike the first, his great wings hang limp behind him. One drags along the mud like a cape, the leathery membrane ripped open and bleeding, the other is twisted at an angle sharp enough to make me wince at the sight. The urge to run down to him is overwhelming. My hands drift down to the seat cushion and hold tight to keep myself still.

The crowd continues to boo and throw things as he tries to keep his head up and meet the other male in the center of the Pit. 

“Azriel,” Father says to Amarantha, “ was quite a challenge for you, I hear?”

His beloved General frowns. “The shadow wielder managed to get a few good blows in, I’ll admit. But surprise only gets you so far.”

My eyes drift from his broken wings to his hands, covered entirely in scars, like someone burned him. The thought makes my chest heavy. 

I don’t know what’s happening to me. I have never been so obviously shaken by the Games, not since the first time I’d come. Father had made me sit through weeks of slaughter, watching as gladiator after gladiator fell prey to a magic storm and a slew of magic beasts. Even then I had managed to hold it together until I’d made it home to vomit, but now I feel as if I cannot keep my body in its seat!

The magic that lives caged beneath my, usually, pristine facade cracks through, a bit of dark mist seeping out from between my fingers. I unfurl my fists and take my hands carefully into my lap, using a bit of my skirts to hide the errant flow of power. I’ve been neglecting my studies, have not given myself an outlet, this is a terrible time for a flare up! I try to focus on my breathing, the pounding of my heart isn’t helping. I need to remain calm. I need to remain in control. 

A feat that feels utterly impossible as the third and final male exits the tunnel. Time comes to a grinding halt, every footfall against the Pit floor a drumming, haunting echo in my ears. I have utterly forgotten how to breathe; how to think. The male is by far the most beautiful male I’ve ever seen, violet eyes twinkling with a thousand glittering stars. He sports the same tattoos as the others, the same bronze skin and battle hardened muscle, but it is the expression on his face that gets me. He is as battered and bloody as the second male, cheek split open, a slash mark clean down the middle of his chest; most of his body is a bruise, but he doesn’t wince at all. He keeps his chin high, high enough to look Father right in the eyes with every step he takes into the Pit. There’s a clear challenge there, unhindered by the chains around his neck and wrists. Those gorsian stone chains don’t often make an appearance, unless the person attached to them is exceptionally skilled with magic. 

“Rhysand,” this time Amarantha’s voice is an excited purr and the power trying to escape through my fingers slips faster from my palms. I dig my nails so tight into my palms they bleed. 

“I do admit, it’s a shame you have to kill him,” she continues. “He’d make such a pretty addition to my collection.” 

It is all I can do to not turn and hurl a blast of dark, obsidian power at her. I keep my gaze on the Pit instead, as the final rebel joins the others in the center. Its only once he’s there that something clicks into place in my mind. If Amarantha still speaks I can’t hear her. Time freezes again, the only signal of its passing the pounding of my heart in my ears.

They’re my mates!

And I’m about to watch them die. 

[sweetcherriexs]

die; b.e.

Ever feel like you’ve done absolutely nothing right in your life? Like anything you did, said or thought was wrong. You couldn't ever do anything right. Like you were never meant to feel okay. Like every single thing you’ve ever accomplished was… out of pure pity from God? 

It’s the worst fucking feeling.

You can’t be dead because that’s unfair to people who love you. You can’t be dead because you’d seem pathetic. You can’t be dead because you’re a fucking coward. 

But you can’t exactly be alive either because why the fuck did you exist? Like genuinely… why on earth were you born? If only to suffer and suffer until you finally break down and crumble.

You’re too selfless for your own good but you’re also the most selfish person on earth. You don’t deserve the love you receive. You don’t deserve anything good because the moment you have it, it’s right in your hands and then your drop it, scrambling to catch it but you’re too late and now it’s broken and you’ve lost it.

No one believes you when you tell them you’re a bad person. No… how could they? You’re so sweet, aren’t you? So loving and sweet and kind, huh?

But nobody sees or hears the thoughts in your head. God you’re a horrible person. You fuck up everything, every good thing coming your way because you too damn desperate to be loved. But you don’t get it, do you? Nobody will ever love you. You’ll always doubt every ‘I love you’ said to you. You’ll never feel the love that is given to you and it rips you apart from the inside out but there is nothing you can do.

You’ve given up. There is no escape. Only acceptance that you’re broken. And you can’t be fixed. But do you even want to be fixed? Do you want to be okay? Will anyone care when you’re finally okay? Will you be able to love as hard when you’re okay?

Will you want to live? Will you be able to confidently admit that you don’t want to take your last breath? You don’t know and it scared you.

Maybe you’re getting worse and worse on purpose. You’re doing this to yourself so you get attention from people that are just trying to survive. God, why can’t they just hate you? Hate you so you don’t have to explain the mess that is in your head. It’s such a dark place and most of the time you just wanna take a gun and pull the trigger. God, it would feel so good. To you…

But what about the people you’ve fooled? What about them? How will they know your true self? Who you really are and what’s really going through your mind every second of the day.

There were so many times you’ve thought you’re getting better, but, no, it was just another person your heart longed for that you've fooled because they cared…. They loved you and-

“Hey, babe” 

Your head shot up from staring at the ground, your fingers stopping their fidgeting on your lap as you’re met with your girlfriend’s eyes staring at you. 

“You okay?” 

You stayed silent for another second before breathing out. “Yeah uh… I’m fine” 

Billie swallowed harshly at your vague answer and pursed her lips. “Mrs. Harris called” She mumbled, sitting beside you on the sofa with a sigh. “Said you haven’t been going to your sessions” 

You took in a sharp breath then looked at her. “Yeah… I don’t need them” 

She looked at you with soft eyes and you wanted to puke. PLEASE PLEASE DONT FUCKING PITY ME. Your throat closed up and you looked away from her, squeezing your hands into fists. 

“Baby…” Billie starts but you cut her off.

“I can’t be fixed, Billie. I’m past fucking repair” You muttered harshly “honestly I don’t even know why you care!” 

Billie straightened up at your words with a frown on her face. “The fuck? I care because I love you!” You let out a loud scoff at her words and shook your head. “What? What now?” Billie grumbled.

“You don’t love me! You say you do because you want me to be okay but I’m never gonna be okay! I don’t want to be okay!”

Billie froze, staring at you with disbelief etched on her face.

“Just go! Leave me before I rope you into my endless hurt and suffering!”

“Baby, I’m not gonna-” 

“I said fucking go!” You shouted, bringing your knees up to your chest and curling into a ball and you screwed your eyes shut.

Billie pressed her lips together as she looked at you. She felt her chest tighten and her eyes watered. She moved closer to you. “Don’t do this…. You’re gonna be okay, okay? I’m here, my love” She placed a head on your back and your whole being broke at the soft touch, sobs rocking your body. “Sh sh sh” She shushes you gently, grabbing your shoulders and bringing you to face her.

“I know, baby, I know. It hurts I know, don’t listen to those thoughts, okay? Just feel my love for you” She murmured, bringing you to her chest as she stroked your back. You sobbed and gripped her shirt in your hands.

“I–.. d-don’t-.... deserve—..” 

Billie soothed you once more, pressing her lips to the crown of your head as her own tears fell on your hair. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that” She whispered, her voice breaking as she held your shaking body in her arms. “I love you, I love you so much” She lets out.

And though she said it… you couldn’t believe her. You wanted to. Oh if only anyone knew how bad you wanted to but you just couldn’t. It hurt your chest and you couldn't breathe.  

She doesn’t care

She doesn’t love you

She hates you

God she hates you so much

She wants you gone

You're a burden to her

A broken thing she has to take care of

You should just kill yourself

You shouldn’t be alive

You don’t deserve this beautiful life

You don’t deserve her care

You don’t deserve her love

Why can’t you just die?

[artstennisracket]

Can you do something for Artrick on NYE? Maybe some feminization?

well yes! this was so much fun to write, I hope I did it justice.

tw: nsfw(18+), forced feminization, drunk sex

Art and Patrick ended up at a frat party on nye because old habits die hard. It was actually a party that Art suggested so that they didn’t spend New Year’s Eve in his dorm room like losers. Patrick was visiting for the next two weeks and Tashi was home for winter break so Patrick was crashing with Art.

Further in the night, many many shots later, Art can’t find Patrick. He could’ve sworn that Patrick was right next to him two seconds ago, encouraging him to do even more shots. He’s stumbling through the frat house and doesn’t see Patrick anywhere. Not in the living room, the kitchen, or the pool room. He decides to check upstairs. It takes a second but he gets up there and starts checking rooms.

He checks the bathroom and sees a girl with her head in the toilet yikes. He checks one bedroom, empty. The next bedroom had two couples going at it. Unexpected but not the worst thing he’s ever seen. The last bedroom he stumbles into before he can register the mix of moans coming from the room.

There he finds Patrick making out with a girl on the bed. They’re both topless but Patrick has his hand down her pants.

“oh I’m- that’s- m’sorry” Art slurs his words half because he’s drunk and half because he’s feeling embarrassed but also weirdly turned on?

“oh my gosh were you just gonna stand there? creep.” the girl says as she gets up grabbing her shirt. She storms out of the room shoving past Art.

Patrick sits up on the bed and sighs running his hand through his hair. “I didn’t think my wingman would be the one cockblocking me.”

“m’sorry i- i- didn’t meant to, i couldn’t find you, thought you left me.” Art hiccups walking over to sit down next to Patrick.

“awe it’s okay sweetheart, you know i’d never leave you. you can make it up to me though.” Patrick smirks as he pushes Art’s hair back out of face.

“how?” Art responds leaning into Patrick’s touch.

“your gonna be my girl for the night, okay?” Patrick leans in and starts kissing Art’s neck.

“wh-oh ah-“ Art moans letting his eyes slip closed.

Patrick moves his hand down to cup Art’s chest. “fuck babe, love your tits.”

“patrick I don’t-“ Art starts but once Patrick moves to start playing with Art’s nipples, Art groans.

“shhh, I just wanna play with you baby.” Patrick says as he pulls Art’s shirt off and then lowers Art down onto his back. He pulls down Art’s shorts only to find a wet spot on his briefs where his cock is straining against them. “you’re already so wet for me and I’ve barely touched you.”

Patrick pulls Art’s briefs off and grabs some lube. He scoots down and spreads Art’s legs coming face to face with Art’s hole. With no warning Patrick flattens his tongue against Art’s hole, licking up. Art feels a shiver run through his entire body, both of his hand flying to grip Patrick’s curls. “oh fuck” Art moans.

“you have such a pretty pussy baby. can I finger you?” Patrick asks pressing his thumb very lightly against Art’s tightness.

Art nods quickly, biting his lip. His mind is feeling a little cloudy, he’s never been this hard before.

Patrick makes quick work lubing his fingers before he presses one finger inside Art.

Art is squirming around trying to fuck himself back on Patrick’s finger while simultaneously trying to get relief on his cock. His body jerks upwards against nothing looking for any kind of friction. Patrick worked his way up to three fingers before. He’s watching Art struggle with a smirk in his face.

“do you want me to touch you? play with your clit?” Patrick asks, working his fingers in and out of Art.

Art nods but that’s not good enough for Patrick.

“say it.” Patrick presses.

Art whines, “can you please touch me?”

“what do you want me to touch baby?”

“can you please play with my clit?”

“good girl.” Patrick smirks.

Almost immediately Patrick moves to start jerking Art off, occasionally swiping his thumb over the tip.

Art is really keening now, between Patrick’s fingers pumping in and out of him and Patrick jerking him off, Art never stood a chance. He cums all over Patrick’s fist.

“did I say you could cum yet?” Patrick questions, moving his hands off Art.

Art shakes his head no. “no m’sorry, I didn’t mean to, it was just alot”

“i know baby i know, but I’m still gonna fuck you okay?” Patrick wipes his hands off on the sheets. Then Patrick covers both Art’s hole and his own dick in lube.

Patrick lines up with Art’s entrance and presses in slowly. “oh fuck baby- your pussy is so tight, fuck”

“fuck patrick your fucking stretching me out right now, feel so good- uh-ah”

“yeah baby? you like when I stretch your tight little hole? bet no one’s fucked you like this before huh?”

Art shakes his head no. He’s put a few fingers up there but he’s never been fucked like this before.

“say it” Patrick insists.

Art obliges, he’s already too fucked out, “no- no- one’s fucked me like this before”

“yeah? where has no one fucked you before?”

“my- my pussy”

“good girl, that’s why your so fucking tight huh,” Patrick says as he picks up the speed of his thrusts. He knows he won’t last long.

“yes, fuck, fuck me please”

Patrick presses his hand on Art’s lower pelvis so he can feel his cock going in and out of Art.

“fuck baby can I cum inside of you? wanna empty my balls inside of you, get you fucking pregnant.” Patrick pleas as he feels his climax approach.

Art nods, eyes glossing over. He didn’t even realize he had gotten hard again so fast. Or how loud he was moaning. Or that he was also close to finishing.

“yes please cum inside me, cum inside my pussy please-“ Art chokes out between moans

Patrick moves his hand to start jerking Art off again to match the rhythm of his strokes. “i want to you squirt for me baby, squirt all over my cock fuck-“

Art almost blacks out at how hard he cums. He feels Patrick cum inside him, filling him up.

Patrick pulls out and watches as his seed leaks out of Art’s now abused hole.

Art is recovering his breathing as he looks down to see Patrick once again eye level with his hole. Patrick uses his fingers to push his cum back into Art’s hole.

“fuck, your so pretty baby.” Patrick smirks making his way back up the bed laying down next to Art.

Art smiles. He feels sticky, covered in his own cum and full of Patrick’s. But he still hasn’t fully recovered because what the actual fuck just happened? He’s definitely sobered up at this point.

Art looks over at Patrick but before he can ask what just happened, Patrick checks his phone to see the time.

“lemme clean you up and then we can head downstairs, if we hurry we can make it before the countdown starts.” Patrick says as he scoots off the bed going to check the bathroom.

He finds a rag and makes it damp using the sink before he returns to clean up Art and himself.

Once they’re both clean and dressed Patrick takes Art’s hand, dragging him downstairs.

10

9

8

They can hear the mass chants from the crowd as they make their way downstairs.

7

6

Patrick lead them to a spot within the crowd that gives them a good view of the TV broadcasting the New Year’s Eve countdown.

5

4

Art is still not fully there yet. His mind is still a little foggy and he can’t stop thinking about what they just did.

3

Patrick is his best friend and he always knew that him and Patrick were closer than regular best friends. Art has always had feelings for Patrick, but then Patrick chose Tashi. Art couldn’t really blame him because he also wanted Tashi.

2

Art wonders what this means for them now or maybe it didn’t mean anything to Patrick.

1

Patrick grabs Art’s face, making them face each other, before he leans in and kisses Art. Right there, in front of everyone. At midnight. On New Year’s.

And maybe Art was just overthinking too much. He really did enjoy his start to the New Year.

[forest-hashira]

First Impressions

finished this last night but am finally deciding to post it lol. pls be nice to me + my first fic of the year.

read on ao3 | wc: ~1.3k | cw: gn reader, established/implied stsg, reader is implied to have bipolar disorder & a cursed technique, reader almost gets wrecked, bilingual reader & stsg, gojo is oblivious/flippant & it pisses reader off, meet ugly, extremely selfship coded

“Oh, fuck!” 

You barely managed to jump out of the way before a piece of concrete the size of a car flew through the air, smashing into the wall behind where you’d been standing a moment before. You could feel your heartbeat everywhere – your ears, the tips of your fingers, even the soles of your feet – and you fought to get it under control.

This cursed spirit was more than you could handle on your own, and not by a small margin either; you couldn’t remember the last time you’d struggled so much to exorcise a curse on your own. You’d exorcised curses nearly this strong before, sure, but you’d been working with other sorcerers on those missions. 

Being sent on this mission alone felt like a jab from the higher ups: you’d demonstrated on a few occasions when you were manic that you were capable of huge surges of cursed energy output – almost on par with Special Grade sorcerers, or so you’d been told – and that you could take on curses above your official rank as a Grade Two sorcerer, but everyone knew you had no control of when that happened or how long it would last. With that in mind, you could only assume the higher ups were trying to trigger a surge of cursed energy from you, with apparently no concern about whether you died in the process.

You found that you were quite pissed off by that idea. Holding onto that anger quickly dropped down your list of priorities when more concrete started to fly through the air; it landed somewhere after survive, get the fuck out of there, and maybe exorcise the curse. 

No matter where you scrambled off to, no matter where you hid, the curse seemed to know exactly where you were, throwing huge chunks of debris in your direction and barely leaving you the time to draw a breath, let alone try to launch a counterattack. Eventually, there was a few moments of still silence. Whether the curse had run out of things to throw, had tired itself out, or something else entirely, you weren’t sure, but you knew it was your now or never moment.

Taking a steadying breath, you stood from your hiding spot, expecting to finally see the spirit again. Instead, you were met with the sight of a manhole cover flying straight at your head. 

Everything after that was a blur. Instead of your head being turned into strawberry jelly by a giant metal frisbee, something tackled you out of the way, and you watched someone step up to the curse. You fully expected the person to be instantly killed, but much to your shock, the curse seemed to collapse in on itself, crinkling and buckling and growing smaller and smaller until it burst into a cloud of ash.

“Are you okay?”

The voice was gentle and filled with concern, and when you tipped your head back to look at the speaker, you were a bit surprised by what you found.

Hovering over you was Geto Suguru, Special Grade Jujutsu Sorcerer, and all you could think was What is he doing in Kyoto?

When he didn’t get a response, Geto asked you again if you were okay, though this time he asked in English, rather than Japanese. Part of you found that sweet, while another, smaller part of you was annoyed, even if you knew it was fair for him to assume you may not speak Japanese.

“I’m fine,” you replied after a moment, making a point to answer in Japanese, even if it was a little harder with all adrenaline flooding your system and scrambling your thoughts. “Thank you for saving me.”

“You’re welcome,” he said easily, offering you a small smile and helping you to your feet once again. “Can’t let a good sorcerer die if I can help it.”

“How do you know I’m a good sorcerer?” you asked, somewhat teasingly.

He smiled a bit wider at your words. “Because you didn’t run away, even though you were outmatched.”

“Does that make me good at my job, or just stupid?”

Before Geto could reply, Gojo appeared behind him, a huge grin on his lips. “Good thing we were here to step in,” he said, in English, which only served to irritate you all over again. “You would’ve been toast without us!”

Despite the fact that you had never met Gojo Satoru, Special Grade and Strongest Living Jujutsu Sorcerer, before this moment, his reputation preceded him, and so far, he was living up to the image of the smug, snarky, self-absorbed ass that existed in your head, thanks in no small part to everything you’d heard Iori-sensei say about him while you were under her tutelage.

“I would’ve figured it out,” you groused, pointedly not looking at him as you began to brush the dust off of yourself.

“With your brains splattered on the bricks of an abandoned building?” he laughed, “I highly doubt that.”

“Satoru,” Geto reprimanded, but the other just ignored him.

“Nothin’ wrong with needing help, y’know,” Gojo continued. “Everyone needs help sometimes. Not us, on missions anyways, but. Plenty of sorcerers need backup on almost all their missions! It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

That pissed you off, and you shot him the most venomous glare you could. “I’m not helpless, and despite how young I know I look, I’m not a child, and I don’t appreciate being spoken to like one. I am a capable Grade Two sorcerer, who the higher ups apparently decided to either test or kill, with no care about what the outcome was. I can take care of myself. I would have figured it out, very much.”

He cocked his head as you spoke, and when you finished, he shrugged. “If you say so. Looked to me like you were about to become a stain on the ground.”

“Satoru!” Geto sounded properly scandalized then, and though he turned to you, presumably to apologize, you cut him off. Gojo’s words snapped something inside of you, and you let him have it.

“And what if I was? Sorcerers die every single day in our line of work! It’s great that you just get to see this as some sort of game and have fun with it, but the rest of us aren’t that lucky! The rest of us lowly, regular sorcerers have to be intensely aware of every second we’re on a mission, of every injury we sustain; we have to be aware that every time we’re sent on a mission, there’s a chance we’ll never make it home, that we’ll never get to say goodbye to the people we care about. So make all the jokes you want, asshole, and take credit for this mission, since you’re so eager to emphasize that you’re the reason I’m walking away from this. But you need to get a grip and realize that this isn’t a game for everyone else like it is for you. If we run into each other on a mission again in the future, don’t step in unless you’re asked. Nobody’s going to take me seriously if I can’t even complete my own missions.”

As soon as you finished speaking, you turned on your heel and stalked off. Your voice hurt from screaming at him the way you had, and you knew it wasn’t exactly the most mature thing to do, but you couldn’t take the words back. 

Whatever, you thought to yourself, pulling out your phone to call the supervisor to come and pick you up now that the curse had been exorcised. He’s Gojo Satoru. Why would he care whether I like him or not?

divider by cafekitsune

taglist: @mitsuristoleme @redlikerozez @oceaneyesinla @pixelcafe-network @peachsukii 

@lemonloaves @lu-dao-writes @roselleviennesstuff @alt--er--love @witchbybirth

@dr-runs-with-scissors @benkeibear @teddybeartoji @sugurei @sootspritestar 

join my taglist!

[sissylittlefeather]

A House That Has Everything: Chapter 3

A/N: I'M BACK AND I'M BRINGING THIS ONE BACK WITH ME. I'm sorry it's been so long since I posted one of these, but here is chapter 3! This one came to me when I saw these amazing AI photos on Instagram made by @blackvelvetep and @_chiara975ep. (Be sure to check out their pages on Instagram!) My fic brain went crazy and this storyline was born.

Summary: Set in Regency England, Mr. Presley is the gentleman who owns and resides in Graceland Manor. Annabelle Martin is his newest maid after her parents have died and left her an orphan. Can he resist his affection for her, despite the difference in their social class?

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, masturbation (female & male), and some very sexy thoughts

Word count: ~2.5k

He doesn't even know her name.

******

It's still dark when Mr. Presley wakes from a light and fitful sleep. His dreams were filled with images of the maid, but he could never see her face. No matter how many times he turned her around, her face never appeared to him. His nightshirt is soaked in sweat and his hair is stuck to his forehead. He tries to go back to sleep, but is haunted by the same image again, so he decides to get out of bed. It's too early to wake his valet to dress him, so he pulls on some trousers and an unbuttoned shirt with a jacket. Running his fingers through his hair, he checks his reflection in the small glass. Inappropriate for a gentleman, but he doesn't have plans to see anyone.

He heads for the stables. Time spent with the horses usually relaxes him, but on his way he passes the library. Suddenly, he has an overwhelming need to go in and wait for the maid. She should be coming around to make the fire soon. Maybe he could apologize for his behavior yesterday. He wants to apologize for last night, too, but he would sooner die than admit to what he did. Completely forgetting how disheveled he is, he walks into the library to settle in one of the chairs with a book.

*****

Annabelle wakes at her normal time and dresses sleepily. Yawning, she collects the things she needs to tend the fires and starts on her daily routine. She thinks nothing of going into the library and does so without caution, like she's done every day since she's been there. Again, she's met with a surprise.

Mr. Presley sits in one of the large armchairs with his chin on his hand and a book in his lap. When she sees him, she gasps quietly and tries to turn and walk from the room.

“Wait, please, miss.” His voice is soft and kind, a startling contrast to yesterday morning when he yelled at her.

“Mr. Presley?” She cautiously walks towards him a little. He's an absolute vision sitting there in his unbuttoned shirt, his chest hair visible in the opening. For a second, she gets lost in thinking about touching him, but she quickly corrects herself.

“Come here.” He gestures for her to walk closer to him. She sets down her fire-tending supplies and walks over to him in the chair. In the time it takes her to get there, he stands up, his 6 foot frame towering over her 5 foot one. “What's your name?”

Her mouth drops open a little, both with the nature of his question and his tone of voice when he asks. He's gentle and sincere and it catches her off guard.

“Annabelle. Annabelle Martin, sir.” Before he can stop it, a small smile spreads across his face and he whispers.

“Annabelle.” She nods a little and he clears his throat, trying to regain his composure.

“I need to tend the fire, sir.”

“Oh, of course.” He gestures to the fireplace and she walks over to settle herself in front of it. She's keenly aware of his eyes on her as she works, but she can't figure out why he would want to watch her. It's quite distracting, him just standing there, and she slips and drops a piece of wood. She catches it, but she also feels a splinter dig into her finger and gives a small yelp. He drops to his knee beside her quickly.

“Are you alright?” She nods and looks up into his face. His eyebrows are pulled together in concern and he's so close that she can see his individual eyelashes. He really is beautiful and it kind of takes her breath away.

“It's just a splinter.” She holds her hand out and without thinking, he takes it in his softly. Her heart jumps with the subtle contact, but he seems to be focused on her injury. He leans down to look at the splinter.

“I think I can get it. May I try?” Their eyes meet again and this time it's his heart that skips.

“Yes, sir.” She whispers and they stare at each other for a beat before he looks back down at her pretty little hand and carefully extracts the small piece of wood. It takes him a couple of tries to get it fully, but eventually he does. He has an overwhelming desire to press his lips against her skin, but he holds back.

“There. Is that better?”

“Much. Thank you, sir.” He notices that her eyes are dark blue like the sky just before the sun disappears entirely.

“You can call me Elvis.” His voice is soft and kind and she feels like someone has poured warm honey inside her. But she shakes her head vehemently.

“Oh no, sir, I could never.” His heart sinks a little and he nods. She's right to refuse that lack of decorum between them. Still, he's overcome with a deep bitterness about the position he was born with. The money and status have their advantages, but he'd trade it all for the freedom to engage with people differently, especially now that he's met her. What would he give to be a simple farm boy right now?

“Right.” He stands up, turning away, and she finishes with the fire and then stands as well. His mood has darkened and she hopes it's not something she's done. She stands for a bit to see if he'll say anything, but he doesn't, so she turns to leave. Before she gets to the door she stops and looks back at him.

“I'm sorry if I offended you, sir.” He hangs his head and then turns to her.

“No. Sometimes I just wish… it's just…” He's not sure whether he should tell her the truth, but looking into her eyes makes it impossible to lie. “I'm quite lonely. And I forget that I'm not a person to you.”

Her heart breaks for him, all alone in this big house. There are people everywhere, but no one he can truly connect with. In this way, they have much in common.

“You are a person to me…” She pauses and then whispers. “...Elvis.”

He's shocked for a moment and then his face breaks into a smile that lights up her whole universe.

“Thank you, Annabelle.” She nods and then walks from the room. As soon as she's safely on the other side of the door, she leans back against the wall and closes her eyes, sighing deeply. Her heart is pounding and her hands are shaking. This cannot happen.

******

Annabelle goes about her daily business trying desperately to avoid running into Mr. Presley. She can't stop thinking about him, though. His soft eyes and smooth voice are constantly in her mind and she's started having dreams about him pulling her into his arms, propriety be damned. Several times she's woken up with such an aching between her thighs that she feels like she might explode. This is not how she needs to think about the man responsible for her livelihood.

Elvis spends his days doing his normal things, but he spends his nights whispering Annabelle's name into the darkness like a prayer. She consumes every open thought he has and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't trying to come up with another reason to talk to her.

One afternoon, he comes in from a meeting in town and is walking to his room to change when he hears something coming from one of the bedrooms. He quiets his steps and moves stealthily toward the door. Someone is singing a folk song in a beautiful soprano. The other maids don't sing while they work, so he knows it has to be Annabelle. He stands outside the door with his hand on his heart listening for a while. She sounds like a bird, hitting all the notes perfectly, her voice clear and strong. When she gets back to the chorus, he opens his mouth and adds the harmony.

Annabelle always sings while she works, so she doesn't think anything of it as she makes the bed. She barely even notices when another voice joins her song, but eventually she realizes it's a male voice, deep and smooth, and she freezes. When the sheet that she'd thrown out settles, she sees him standing in the doorway.

“You don't have to stop on my account.” He gives her a small and playful smile and there's a familiar heat between her legs. She swallows hard and tries to dispel the image of him throwing her on the half-made bed.

“I'm sorry to have disturbed you, sir.” She stands with her eyes wide like a bunny’s.

“You didn't. I was enjoying your song. This house needs some music.” He notices how nervous she seems and it crushes him a little. He'd been dreaming of the hint of familiarity she’d shown when he’d seen her last, hoping it might continue or even deepen. He walks a little further into the room and speaks softly. “Please don't call me ‘sir’.”

The quiet longing in his voice brings her out of her own head and back to a place of empathy. His wellbeing matters more to her than her own self-imposed discomfort. Still, she's not sure what to say next. What she really wants is to go to him and throw her arms around his shoulders, but that would be inappropriate on a level that even he would find shocking.

“Are you afraid of me?” He asks quietly, his voice edged with bitterness again.

“No, I'm not afraid of you, Elvis.” She whispers in return. And it's true. She's not afraid of him in the least. She's afraid of herself and her own desires.

“Good. I would like us to be…” He hesitates. Lovers? That's what he wants to be, but he could never say it. “...friends.”

She nods, not sure how she'll manage to control herself, but wanting to give him whatever he needs.

“We can be. I'd like that too.” He smiles again and she stifles a whimper. They stand there in silence for a few more seconds before he takes another step towards her and speaks.

“It is fitting that your name is what it is.” She looks at him curiously.

“Why is that?” He takes a deep breath and another step and continues.

“Bella means beautiful. And you are.” She tries to cover her sharp inhale by blinking, but he picks up on both and cocks his head to the side a little. Is he having the same effect on her that she has on him?

“Thank you… Elvis.” He decides to take a chance and walks directly to her, leaning inappropriately close to her ear.

“You're welcome, Bella.” As he pulls back to look her in the eye, the urge to kiss her is so overpowering that he has to turn away. He walks quickly to the door and disappears through it with such haste that she's left wondering if it actually happened. But the feeling in her stomach is undeniable.

He stops outside the door to steady himself, running his hand through his hair. Another second and he would've given in and had her right there on the freshly changed sheets. His head and his heart are both reeling as he tries to gather his composure.

Annabelle sinks onto the bed, her knees shaky and weak.

******

The small clock in her room reads 2:26am when Annabelle wakes with a whimper. Every time she closes her eyes, she's flooded with images of Elvis: his hands, his mouth, him ripping open her corset and pressing those perfect lips to places on her body that have never been seen by men. This time when she opens her eyes, her chest is heaving and the aching feeling between her legs is so strong that it's almost painful. Without thinking, she puts her hand there, holding herself and whimpering.

She's never been with a man in any way, having only kissed a few boys in the village, so the ways of pleasure are completely unknown to her. Still, her body seems to know what to do on its own as her hips begin to rock against her hand. A soft moan escapes her lips, but she needs more, more pressure or something. She looks around the small room, but of course there's no one there to see her. Her hand trembles, but she slowly slides it up her inner thigh under her nightgown. She's heard of women who experienced the delights of sin, but she never imagined herself to be one of them. Still, the ache is so strong that she almost can't stop herself.

As her fingers reach her center, the thought that Elvis could touch her like this explodes in her brain and her hips begin to rock again, her fingers slipping easily through the wet folds of her sex. If only his big hand was where hers is now, touching and teasing. She doesn't even realize that she's slipped a finger inside herself until she moans and adds a second one.

“Elvis…” She whispers in the darkness, her other hand clutching her breast, pinching her hardened nipple lightly. The image of his mouth on her drives her to pinch a little harder, pretending that it's his lips and teeth. She keeps her fingers pumping in and out as she rocks her hips and the other hand slides down her belly towards her center. And then she imagines his lips, his tongue, making their way down her body to this place that burns with need for him. She fumbles a bit, but it doesn't take her long to find a spot that makes her moan out loud and rub her fingertips over it with fervor. If only it were his tongue on this intimate place. The thought makes her clench around her own fingers as she rubs harder and faster.

“Oh God, Elvis!” She whisper-screams as the pleasure builds deep in her belly. And then she sees him on top of her. She knows from the other girls in the village what it means to make love and until now she never thought it sounded very pleasant. But right now, in this moment, she needs his cock inside her with a fire she didn't know was possible. Her mind is all lips and tongues and him moving his body against her, sliding in so deep, and before she knows it there's an explosion in her center and she bites her lip to keep from making too much noise. But she arches her back and bucks her hips and writhes as the pleasure overwhelms her and she pulses on her fingers and slows her other hand as the hardened bud softens.

“Elvis… yes…” She whimpers as she starts to come down from her high, sweating and panting. When she finally finishes, she lays in bed staring at the ceiling. Whatever that was, she needs to feel it with him.

Across the house, Elvis pumps his cock as the cum shoots out all over his hand and he moans.

“Bella…”

But it isn't enough.

******

Now what?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ahundredlifetime @ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy

[anidiotonloose]

You can NOT convince me that the only thing in Till’s mind during R6 was Mizi and her missing status

Ive seen so many posts and reels saying how he was “so depressed during the 6th round because of Mizi and was ready to die without her in his life”.

WRONG

You’re telling me he’s ready to give up his life solely for the reason that his idol and his friend is most probably dead while the closest person in his life is put in a death game against himself in which only one can live?

Till was concerned about Mizi, very much too if I say so myself, but Ivan was also one of those concerns.

When Mizi lost the round against Luka, you could see the way Till looks at her - he was heartbroken. And then she went missing and who knows what happened to her. He was horrified, of course he was, she was his light, his sun, his idol, his hope, his everything. That doesn’t mean she was his only source of misery.

At the end of the all-in animation, we see Till punching the screen where his image is shown to compete against Ivan. He hated the fact that he would have to compete against Ivan, his best friend, the closest person to him in all of Anakt garden. Even though their relationship has been tumultuous, Ivan was still his closest link. Heck, when they were not fighting or bickering Till genuinely seemed to enjoy Ivan’s presence.

At the end of round 3 as Ivan is close to finishing his singing (and i must confess i saw this in a reel on instagram) we can see Till is conscious - with a serene expression too - and his collar has a very clear green light - indicating his mood is, well, good.

That light had NO reason to glow green considering Till was bleeding a lot.

But it was.

The only reason i can come up with is that Till was comforted by/liked Ivan’s voice, so much so that the pain of the wounds on his head was overshadowed by Ivan. Till did care.

and then he finds out he’s supposed to go against Ivan in round 6. What a joke. His idol was gone and they wanted to take away his (his what? Friend? Best friend? Enemy? Universe? Wait what-) too?

He weighed his options and decided his life was just not worth it without Mizi and Ivan in them. Both Mizi. And. Ivan. If Mizi was his sun then Ivan was his moon.

that was the plan anyway before Ivan said nope and sacrificed himself. Now that rekindled a fire in Till, a fire that had gone missing with Mizi and was supposed to die with him before Ivan thwarted his plans, a fire to give his best and to live, for Ivan. Not Mizi, Ivan, because Ivan gave his life for Till and oh Till could now see everything Ivan was in his life (his god, his universe—), Ivan who could have won against Luka at any given time, Ivan who showed him freedom and at last, Ivan who was his everything.

ahem. Point is y’all stop saying Till never cared about Ivan he loved him just as dearly as Mizi its just neither of them knew how to express their emotions in a healthy way and didn’t realise their true feelings since they never experienced normal and healthy human interaction

[ehh-is-the-name]

Back from the depths I rise to scream about OH MY FUCKING GOD THEY'RE DOING IT AGAIN- OF COURSE THEY ARE.

Back at it again with the killing, I see. Anyway,

As per the last rant, and all of TPOT 10, we know that BH's afraid of everyone fucking dying. He obviously doesn't want to be the source of their deaths, but everyone dying in general is pretty distressing. He's already had one freakout, seeing himself slowly commit his worst nightmare this season, but at least that was a dream. In this ep, he was just watching the whole world crumble around him, and he couldn't even help fix it. The most he could do was panic as the rift became bigger.

Honestly though, really- This ep being his very not good, terrible rotten day, is not an overstatement.

LITERALLY WHAT DO YOU DO IN THIS SITUATION???

There's a reason the bfb 1 motif plays in the back as everyone hugs each other. It's a mirror of the first time the contestants were almost eradicated. A viewing into what would've been BH's biggest regret.

They literally can't give my guy a fucking break. They make him start killing people for the competition (which as I said before was fair but still), then they hit him with the "lol Black Hole's going loco- Marker was always green" unintentional gaslight, then the "wow we're all gonna fucking die" end of the world climax that could—yet again—only be fixed via algebralian magic. Do I gotta say it again?? DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE GRAVITY OF THE SITUATION???

Literally, and I mean literally, he was told to get over his deep seeded fear for the competition, he worked to improve on it, then was faced with the mirror of the mistake that's been haunting him from... 2017. Jeez, didn't realise bfb was that long ago, but yeah something that's been haunting him for about 7 years. Image you were going though the healing process and life just said "how about we remind you of the worst thing you did, but make it actually happen?" Sounds fun right? AAAAHHHHHH- CAN YOU SEE WHY I'M GOING INSANE-

This is so much less cohesive than the og one- but fuck me man, EVERYONE COULD'VE DIED!! GIMME SOME SLACK!

And don't even get me started on the fact DEATH Pact Yet Again is UFE- And of course they were the main ones who fixed shit and are getting the boot because of it- god I hate this show (lying).

TPOT 10 spoilers 'cause BH makes me insane

I mean, c'mon. You can't see this thumbnail and think things are gonna be ok for you mentally if you like blackhole. Like you know what's coming to you.

First things first, let me just scream into the void for a second-

HIS NIGHTMARE IS KILLING PEOPLE AND LETTING THAT CONSUME HIM?????!!?!?

AAAAAAAAAGUH MY HEART??!!???!?

Man- I love Blackhole and this episode just drove the stake into my heart. The fact that he, himself, is a being who causes death by getting too close to people made me writhe in BFB. But actively showing the extent of how it affects him—ack! He knows he causes death, which is why it's so important for him not to kill people, and why he's so strict about the pact rules!!

It makes so much sense... BFB 1 had it all laid out, and TPOT 10 sewed it together.

From the way he was hesitant about helping Flower!!! We know- he knows he's gonna end the world by getting closer, but he gives into it anyway. Instead of putting his foot down to Flower, he gives in to his feeling of wanting to be closer to people—from the way he's so happy about being shrunk���and more later. Then we get that whole thing with everyone about to die.

We know if Four never came, everyone would've died. Blackhole knows that too, from the end of his nightmare. More specific to this clip though, from the scene with Pie and LIY, since he literally just gave in to the urge to get closer and he wants that to never happen again. As a singularity in space, he could appreciate the planet, and life on it, more than other objects. He could see them all interact but never actually interact with them (besides talking), so at this chance of being beckoned, it makes sense that he'd just go "eh, fuck it, alright" then IMMEDIATELY regret his actions. Although his nightmare was about being afraid he'll "give into murderous urges", it can also be interpreted as him being afraid to let go. Something clearly stated in the last scene of his nightmare...

Queue TPOT 10 scene from clip above (I'm so mad that it's only 1 video per post on here)

Over the season we've seen him go from preventing death to just not killing people. It's morphed into his own cut-throat rule for the pact, which, in this context, is fair to see why. He joined the game via him not caring about the consequences, and it's stuck with him, so seeing everyone over and over get away with things made him HAVE to re-enforce to himself that he wasn't allowed. Death PACT doesn't kill people. HE doesn't kill people. He can't allow himself to let go of that regiment.

Obviously, this causes problems in the team- we see the clip. The thing that gets me the most is that this is bona fide trauma we're working with—Fanny telling him to #get-over-it kinda rubbed me the wrong way. And OK! I know- I know that's not exactly what she's saying but that's how it felt, and I know she has every right to be upset 'cause he was fuckin' over his team, but again that's just me! (The fact they got on the same page was enough for me anyway.) I digress, his "obsessive nature" was essentially just a response to everything that's happened to him—it's what makes him feel in control of himself. Poor BH's got trauma bad :(

I think what really twists that knife for me is that... the guy really just wants to connect with his peers normally- He wants everything to go back to normal, and that's one of the reasons he compromises with Fanny. On some level, he knows he's gone too far, but he's just afraid. Even at the end, he can't bring himself to kill Tree, even though he knows it'd be better with the new "focusing on life" angle. Did you hear that shakey exhale? Man's going through the wringer. Obviously, he won't overcome his trauma in an episode, but it's a good step to just playing and enjoying the game.

Anyway... There is probably a shitton of fans that are looking at this like "Yeah no shit Sherlock" but hey! Be nice. Some of us are slower than the others, and by some of us, I mean me. I needed this punch in the face to really see how death was impacting Blackhole's mental state and now I've word vomited my thoughts out.

[firequeenofficial]

So, I was inspired by Evil Anvil's incredible Limited Life song and the angst demons took a hold of my body. Enjoy!

He wasn't supposed to remember.

This was the first thing Martyn Littlewood realised as he spawned into Last Life. He wasn't supposed to remember. No one else did. Ren certainly didn't. The others had all forgotten.

All except Grian, he noticed, who still looked at Scar with a mix of pain and longing and anger.

And Jimmy, who looked at Scott like the sight hurt him.

The winner and the loser. They were the ones who were supposed to remember. They were the ones meant to be blessed - or cursed - with their memories of Last Life.

Not him. The Hand. The Listener. Sixth. It wasn't even a number worthy of remembering.

But he remembered.

As laughed with Jimmy and Grian and Mumbo and Impulse, Martyn made a vow. He couldn't get his King to first place last time. This time, he would not fail.

He got his king to final four. Final three. Final two. If he'd been better, if he hadn't fallen in that hole, if he hadn't been swarmed by mobs and killed alone, maybe he would have succeeded.

-

He definitely was not meant to remember. When he spawned into Double Life, only Scott and Jimmy and Grian remembered. He could see it in their eyes.

Martyn wondered whether Grian remembered because he'd won Third Life. He wondered if Scott would remember Double Life after winning Last Life.

Only time would tell.

This time, he decided, as Scott and Cleo walked away, and he pushed Pearl away for no reason other than he couldn't bear to give his heart to another. This time, his King would win.

He couldn't tell him. Ren didn't remember Third Life - he pretended that didn't hurt like callouses from a diamond axe - and he couldn't risk Them finding out he remembered and wiping the memories.

He brought Pearl into his and Ren's fold because she was a powerful ally, but even that wasn't enough.

Grian. Of course it was Grian who killed his King. Of course, of course, it was actually BigB who died, forcing Ren to die as well, like twisting in the knife that Ren wasn't actually his, not anymore, probably never again.

Except, sometimes, when Martyn was half looking the other way, he thought he saw... something in Ren's gaze. Not quite memory, more recognition. Like Ren realised there was something, or had once been, and couldn't put his finger on it.

Then he'd turn fully and meet his King's gaze and it was gone.

The Hand pretended it didn't hurt.

He made it to the final four once again, but this time, Ren wasn't with him.

-

The first thing he noticed in Limited Life wasn't the remembering - though that was a close second. No, as soon as he spawned, he saw, felt, the absence.

Ren wasn't there.

Except.

Except that he was. Martyn still fought to win, unable to hold himself back, but in the midst of it all, Ren was still there, guiding his every decision. The Hand still swung his sword at his King's command. The Listener still looked up at the Wolf's howl. The banner of Dogwarts still hung from his seaweed belt.

He fought, and he fought, and he fought. Until, finally, he made it to the end. It was him and Scott and Impulse. The final three.

Throughout the hours he felt he'd wasted, he'd found himself drawn inexplicably to Scott. He understood Jimmy and Pearl and Cleo now. He understood why they'd followed him so readily. If he didn't have his King's voice in his ear, he may have done the same.

"No armour, no shields," Impulse was saying.

He heard Scott chuckle humourlessly. "So we're just going to fistfight. Like our forefathers, Scar and Grian."

The words echoed in his head, pulling him back before he could stop it, straight to the Game that had held his head and his heart for three thereafter.

Suddenly, he was standing in the desert with his King, staring up at Scar and Grian's desert stronghold.

"Filthy desert hippies," Ren scoffed scornfully.

"What would you have me do, my lord?" They both knew Martyn wasn't talking about the men living up on the sandy hill.

Ren turned to him, his face hard with determination. "Those who have wronged us, Hand."

Martyn thought of their banner burning in Scott's base. He thought of walking on to a battlefield with Impulse on the wrong side, at Cleo's shoulder. He knew what his next orders would be.

"They will pay the ultimate price."

"I don't wanna play this silly game!"

Back in Limited Life, he was moving. He got rid of Scott first, his biggest threat. If Scott opened his mouth, Martyn knew he'd struggle to do what needed to be done. So he tossed lava on him and let him be, burning to ash in seconds.

"I wanna do it this way, I wanna do it exactly this way!"

Then he turned to Impulse, who was shouting. This wasn't the plan, what was he doing, he had to stop.

But there was no stopping the Hand. Not when he had orders. Not when he had revenge to deal out. Not when Ren was calling, "On with it, me laddie!" in his ear.

"Doesn't matter if you're a Mean Gill or a Bad Boy or a Neighbour or a Clocker!"

Impulse was dead.

He was alone.

"None of these niceties!" he announced to no one and everything. "This is a death match for a reason!"

He turned to glare up at the sun. He pointed a bloodstained sword up at it. At his shoulder, his King smiled.

-

Martyn blinked.

Ren wasn't there. He still wasn't there.

And Martyn still remembered.

But this time, he'd already won. This time, there was nothing ot fight for. He found he didn't care anymore.

When Scar died, Martyn didn't feel a thing.

-

And then Ren was there.

His presence upon spawn was so strong, it hit Martyn like an arrow to the chest.

Ren was there.

Suddenly, he cared again.

He gave up on beating about the bush. He grabbed Ren from the moment they swam or sailed away from the starter island and he held him tight the entire game.

He got Ren to the end. Martyn wasn't there, but he'd gotten Ren there. The final six. Five. Four.

And then Pearl.

It felt like a punishment, like a punch to the gut. No matter what he seemed to do, it was never enough. Ren couldn't win.

As he sat in the void and watched Joel drive over to the rest of them, Martyn Littlewood, Hand to the Red King, made a vow.

Next time.

Next time, Ren would win.