#this probably had an effect on my psyche

[ladycatashtrophe]

Thinking of when I was little and I kept having these feelings like I was floating above my bed while sleeping (not the falling dream - I distinctly remember floating above my bed for a solid few seconds before I came to and landed back on the mattress) and my ultra-religious family thought I was possessed or "disturbed" but I was a Percy Jackson kid so one night when it happened I jokingly banged my fist on the floor and told Hades to knock it off (thinking it would do nothing) and then that feeling never happened again.

[burstingsunrise]

out of the euphoria, glass man, rollacoaster, fault and dscene magazine, which one is your favorite luke magazine feature?

what an incredible opportunity to monologue about luke hemmings! so the thing is - and this probably isn't surprising to anyone - when you think everything luke hemmings does is perfect, it's very, very difficult to choose a "favorite" anything.

all of these features have incredible photoshoots and really lovely quotes, so i've actually put together more of a selection of favorite pics/snippets from each feature instead of actually answering your question, because i am insufferable. <3

[mutalune]

really wish there was a tag that separated “I’m having Big Angry and/or Angsty Opinions about Star Wars” from “I’m goofing off with Star Wars I’m playing in the sandbox none of this is real so yes I will make my blorbo and this random glub shitto go on an adventure that makes no logical sense” posts because there’s too much of the former and not enough of the latter for my current mental state

[gynoidgearhead]

[image caption: two books, one very thick and one very thin. the first is "the plot of mass effect 1" and the second is "the plot of mass effect 1 if the n7 armour had a helmetcam". end caption]

my mass effect hot take ((fuck the council))

[alittleworldlywise]

The joy of growing up and moving from an extreme weather risk zone to a risk zone for a completely different type of extreme weather.

[umbrellahat07]

Oh yeah, except the ending, this is the original story from the book. All kinds of other fucked up stuff happened too iirc. Most people are more familiar with the lighthearted newer versions of the story, but the original was pretty disturbing.

If the "correct" movie is not listed, please add in tags

[ebon-blu]

Anyone else remember DyE - Fantasy? It still bops to this day.

[hannieehaee]

BED CHEM (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: when chan's friends decided to start a betting pool on how long it'd take him to lose his virginity at the start of college, none of them expected him to remain a virgin all the way to senior year. desperate to prove them wrong, chan goes to his best friend in hopes you'll take him out of his misery (and maybe fall for him in the process) OR when chan uses a stupid bet as an excuse to get his pretty bestie in his bed.

content: virgin!chan, f2l!chan, sub!chan, mutual pining, college au, chan is characterized as a fucking loser but what else is new, some will they wont they, the rest of svt bully chan, afab reader, smut, dry humping, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 1.1k (teaser); 11k (full fic)

RELEASE DATE: november 18th

or you can check it out on my patreon today by subscribing!

a/n: yet another loser!svt fic on the way. sorry<3

masterlist | patreon

"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not a virgin!"

— lied Chan for the nth time.

"It's been years and it's still not believable. Plus, Vernon told us you were whining about it at Soonie's party last Friday," responded Jeonghan nonchalantly.

"Vernon!", Chan turned to him, betrayal in his eyes.

His whines were only met with chuckles from all the other men surrounding him, most of which were nursing some different variant of an alcoholic beverage as they lounged around uselessly.

Most weekends were spent like this.

Chan had the misfortune of being the youngest in his large thirteen member friend group, one which was also well known throughout school due to a few of his friends' reputations. Chan, however, did not live up to that idea.

Unlike all his other friends, — well known to be either heartthrobs, or at least, you know, not virgins — Chan found himself as an outlier.

On the outside, he may have easily emulated that same popular and charismatic persona all his friends held and lived by, but he truly had no idea what he was doing. Sure, he knew himself to be likable and attractive (at least he liked to think so), but his sexual prowess was still very much below average (is anything lower than zero?).

Luckily for him, this was not known by anyone outside of his friend group. To everyone else, Chan was as pursued as his older friends such as Mingyu and Wonwoo, except it was all a lie.

Hell, even you, being his best friend since middle school, were blissfully unaware of his virginal state. And to be quite honest, this was something he wanted to keep that way.

You see, Chan had hopes of airing out his not-so-discreet crush on you one day ('maybe not today, but someday!', he'd tell himself). And the knowledge of him being a loser virgin would probably not help matters when that day came.

His virginity was such a hot topic among his friends that a running bet had tormented him since his first weekend at university. With all his friends being merely one year older, he was the victim of constant teasing as they watched him crash and burn any time a girl showed interest in him, only for him to psyche himself out of actually getting down to anything.

His constant failures only prompted more teasing throughout the years, especially in the form of Jeonghan and Seungkwan berating him about losing his virginity and confessing his pathetic crush on you. Sometimes Dokyeom and Mingyu would join in, insisting he could kill two birds with one stone if he'd only play his cards right.

The mere thought never failed to make Chan blush. To think of you in that context always had a physical effect on him. His palms would become clammy, his face would redden, and sadly, his hardness would make an appearance.

But he'd be lying if he hadn't wanted to will the thought into existence.

The two of you never really spoke about such things, but he was still painfully aware of how opposite of him you were in that aspect. It was no secret to him that your virginity was long gone. To his knowledge, you'd spent your freshman and sophomore years basking in all the attention you received, landing in a few beds in the process. You had this charisma that Chan envied (and was simultaneously extremely attracted to). In your junior year, however, you'd calmed down a bit, spending your Fridays nights cuddled up with Chan in the corner of one of his friends' frat parties rather than out on your own.

"Okay, so are you giving up? You're losing the bet?," Jeonghan piled on, calling Chan's attention away from his internal monologue.

"Giving up on what! I never participated on that bet. You guys came up with it to bully me!," he responded, exasperated.

Joshua rounded the couch to take a seat on the arm of it, patting Chan's shoulder condescendingly as he sipped at his beer with a chuckle.

"We could set you up with someone, you know?", he suggested, knowing Chan would deny his suggestion but trying anyways.

"N-no. I don't want someone to fuck me out of pity," Chan grumbled.

"And that'd be cheating. We're not supposed to help him," added Vernon.

"You guys made up rules?!"

"Shh. The adults are talking," tsk'd Seungkwan.

"You're still a junior. You have time to lose it before graduating still," aided Wonwoo from his side of the room.

"We decided against that. It has to be before we graduate or else it doesn't count," said one of the many seniors in the room.

"Okay, maybe queue me in on the rules if I'm going to be the main character of this bet, guys," grumbled Chan, giving up.

"That's still four months til graduation, Channie. C'mon, it'll be good for you. Maybe you can find a girlfriend and then you won't be all alone after we graduate."

"Yeah, man. Why do you have no friends your own age?" poked Mingyu, chuckling along with the rest of the seniors currently picking at a defeated Chan.

"It looks like I have no friends at all."

Vernon laughed, getting up to sit next to a slumped-back Chan, completely defeated on the couch. He patted his back, though unlike Joshua, he seemed to do it in solidarity.

"Listen, man. Just ask Y/N out. She likes you. We all see it. Just be a man and ask her out. We've told you before — two birds, one stone," encouraged Vernon.

Chan sat back up at the mention of your name, now having you back in his mind.

Should he?

Should he throw all caution to the wind and go on a limb? He'd sensed some more-than-friends vibes from you before, but he'd never been sure enough to actually try and go after you.

Annoyed and confused, Chan stood up with a huff, heading for the door before turning around to grumble at his friends.

"You all suck!," he began his tipsy rant, "I'm going to go out there and prove you all wrong. I'm going to lose my virginity ten times harder than any of you ever did," he declared, his intoxicated brain not realizing he wasn't making much sense, "And then you'll all owe me that stupid betting pool. You'll see," he went to point at Jeonghan, "Specially you!"

Jeonghan gaped at him in amusement, which only provoked further laughter from all the drunk men who had already been laughing at a pent-up Chan. Chan made his exit with this last statement, annoyed enough to disavow his friends for the rest of the night.

Still tipsy and with frustration charging through his veins, Chan made his decision. He knew his next destination for the night and marched there decisively.

...

you can check it out today on my patreon by subscribing!

reply if you'd like to be tagged upon its release on tumblr!

[sharkboywrites]

My perspective on Curly as a victim of abuse

Tw for abuse (physical and sexual)

Hey mouthwashing fandom, so this is kind of a hard topic for me to tackle, but recently with seeing people’s opinions in the fandom on Curly as a character, I want to put in my own two cents as a victim of abuse.

I want to clarify before I start that I am not a victim of sexual abuse specifically. The abuse I faced was physical that bordered on sexual, but I was never sexually assaulted. That’s why this analysis isn’t about the sexual assault aspects of Anya’s abuse, like her relationship with Jimmy, but rather on the aftermath of the abuse on how the people she trusted (specifically Curly) interact with Jimmy after they know.

For context so people can understand my situation: I was in a very physically abusive friendship that bordered on sexual abuse in my freshman year of high school. Now, through my sophomore to senior year, I was forced to be in the same school as this person. In the same classes, in the same clubs, in the same events, and the same friend group as my abuser.

This is why I relate to Anya so heavily. I understand being forced to stay in situations with the person who abused you and being around people who either don’t know or do know and haven’t done anything/hold them accountable.

Now onto the main topic of my rant: Curly. So far from what I’ve seen, Curly is a hot topic for debate on the morality of his character. Anya confided to Curly about the abuse, and Curly, as far as we can see, didn’t do much. This makes it really easy for people to point fingers at Curly and call him an awful person and say that he is just as bad as Jimmy.

This is where I disagree. I don’t think Curly is a bad person.

Again, I understand the pain of having people do nothing. I have watched people I confided in about the abuse I face completely ignore what I have said and continue to be friends with them. I have had people say that I was lying. I have had people defend them right to my face because “They look like they’re getting better” or “But they seem like such a good partner to their (current) girlfriend!”

I get how frustrating that is. I understand the level of hurt that brings and how unsafe that can make someone feel. But once again, this is something the fandom immediately jumps on Curly for without really looking any further into it.

The thing is, these are people I know at school. These are people who can actively control their situations. These people can stop talking to them, stop giving them rides, etc. to stop interacting with them.

This is not the case for Curly and Jimmy. The most obvious thing being: they’re literally on a ship in space. They are all in a confined space and forced to be together for months on end. On top of that, Jimmy is a very unstable person, and Curly probably knows that. A lot of people like to characterize Curly as the “Oh, but he’s my friend, he wouldn’t do that” guy, but that’s not what happened. He listened to Anya, and while he definitely been more empathetic and done a bit more, he still didn’t deny it.

I personally feel like Curly specifically not denying it means he knows that Jimmy did it, and that he knows Jimmy is a bad person.

All of these are faults of Curly’s. He let someone he knew onto was dangerous onto the ship, and when he did something bad, he didn’t do enough to help despite being the captain.

But one thing we do know is that Jimmy is a manipulator. He will manipulate or threaten anyone to get what he wants. First off, we don’t know if Jimmy manipulated Curly to give him the job in the first place, which could have very much happened. Second, he was seen manipulating Curly AGAIN in the psych evaluation scene, the birthday party scene, and near the end of the game when Curly confronts him after talking with Anya.

Every single thing Curly falls short on is a direct effect of Jimmy’s manipulation in the first place. Yes, he absolutely could have done more in both situations, but Jimmy manipulated into him into letting him off easy.

On top of being manipulated by Jimmy, there wasn’t much Curly could do. He can’t just throw Jimmy out into space and he couldn’t let Anya have the gun because he can’t have his crew killing each other obviously (even if Jimmy is a threat).

The only critique I have of Curly at this point is doing more to protect Anya. He could have made a better effort to keep Anya safe from Jimmy and really put his foot down when confronting him.

Although again with all of this, it just boils down to Jimmy. If manipulation doesn’t work with Jimmy, then he uses threats or brute force. Curly probably knows that Jimmy is unstable, and probably didn’t know what he would do if he had been firm with him or done literally anything that could be seen as against him, evidence being the birthday scene. Everything that happened and everything Curly fell flat on was becuase of Jimmy’s manipulation and unpredictability tendencies, so really, it’s not 100% his fault.

Tldr; While Curly could have done a little more and should be critiqued, all of the stuff he falls flat on is because of Jimmy just like everything else in the story, so people should stop treating him like he’s a bad person or could keep Jimmy in control because he was a victim too.

[floral-hex]

Short story, then longer vent after the cut:

Psych keeps scheduling me for telehealth. Psych changed my meds with little consultation. Psych did this on a Friday and didn’t respond to email or calls (while their office was still open for the day), so I spent the weekend grumpy and stressed about meds. Today I set up an appointment with a different psych (for tomorrow, even! Wow, what god did I please to pull off an appointment that soon?).

Still grumpy. Still stressed.

Anyway, had ANOTHER telehealth appointment with my psych on Friday. I hate telehealth. He kept saying we’d eventually do an in person, but then the session would end and I’d get an email confirmation saying the next one was telehealth. Dumb. My counselor/therapist works in the same office and told me the psych basically just works telehealth from home and sits on his laptop scrolling Fox News. Not a very personable guy, made me feel like I was in the principal’s office in our first meeting, but I’m a pushover and just went along with it.

ANYWAY (another anyway), telehealth appointment, only it’s actually just a phone call bc he can’t get his telehealth to work (second time he hasn’t gotten it to work in two months!). So me with my hearing impaired ass had to suffer through a 20 minute phone call where he was, I can only assume, on speakerphone deep in a cave somewhere. He switched around my meds, one to a dose I didn’t want to be on and another brand new that he DID NOT go over with me. Really, no explanations, just “lemme try to prescribe this new med for you. It’s called brbrbrbr and if I can’t get the pharmacy to approve it, I’ll call you back,” and that was IT. No more details. No going over interactions or side effects. Then he was rushing, saying he was late for another appointment. So we hang up, I start researching the new med and there’s lots of red flags. I email an alternative idea. No response. I call back the office and am told he’s gone and his medical assistant is gone. So… fuck it. Called today and asked to see a new psych. No problemo. New guy is at least recommended by my therapist, so I’m a bit more hopeful. No one needs to or should read this, but I wanted to vent a little.

angery. grumpery, even.

[into-the-grey]

~Tightrope~

Noah x F!Reader Fic

Summary: I got sick, and he left me here. Am I really too broken to be loved?

W.C: 4.7k

Taglist: @anything-more-than-human @blend-in-with-the-madness @rumoured-whispers @thisbicc

Warnings: sadness, angst, disability, medical topics, possibly incorrect medical info, depiction of cardiac emergency, talk of overdose.

PLEASE UNDERSTAND, I'm not glorifying disability. I'm venting. The disability depicted in the story is my own, and it pisses me off to no end some days, so I wanted to write a lil about it and make something cathartic.

Masterlist

I'd watched him countless times on that stage. I'd watched him psych himself up, getting ready to give the performance of his life every single time. I couldn't help it, he was magnetic. Something about the mysterious person he became when he stepped out into the eyes of the people, it's like he became this untouchable being, the king in his castle.

I'd watched him despair when he couldn't do it. Whether he'd blown his voice out, or he burned himself out trying to do everything all at once. His house of cards had come tumbling more than once, but never enough to bring everything to an end. Every time, I watched him build it back up, meticulous in his method.

I watched him learn, grow, and evolve. And every step he took, I took with him. I wanted to be there, supporting him like a good friend does.

And then I got sick. And then I fell apart. 

I didn't get cancer, or some kind of terminal disease, it wasn't that dramatic. It was simple, yet so frustratingly limiting. My body wouldn't agree with me, forcing me to stand still when I wanted to run with him on his ever upward trajectory. All because of one small malfunction in my hardware.

My heart. Literally. A tiny piece of scar tissue, likely caused by a dumb choice I'd made when I was younger involving some Lexapro and an ex-boyfriend's snide comment, had begun to generate its own electric current. Because, in case you didn't know, that's how your heart works if you dumb it down. Little electric currents run across it and stimulate the different chambers, starting at the top and ending at the bottom. Humans create our own electricity, and that's what keeps us alive. Neat, huh?

When it works the way it should, sure. 

But mine didn't anymore. This stupid piece of scar tissue was generating its own current, and it made my heart beat out of sync. It was scary as hell when we first found it. I couldn't breathe, and my heart was pounding in my chest. I tried so hard to play it off as anxiety, I didn't want anything to be wrong with me. But Noah...

He called the ambulance; he held my hand through the scans and the blood tests and the ECGs. He stayed with me in that hospital for four days while the doctors decided how bad it was and what to do with me. He held my hand when they told me the prognosis. He celebrated with me when they told me I wasn't in immediate danger, and he kept me calm when they told me the risks.

Yeah. Apparently, it's not meant to be dangerous, and it's an easy fix. Mine didn't want to be easy. Mine was infuriating, because while it was only a minor problem and an easy fix, the wait for the surgery was never ending. I had to live with it, and the medication, and the anxiety, every single day. I hated every moment of it.

Feeling defective isn't easy. You feel like everyone is looking at you like you're about to break. It makes you think you might, that you're this fragile thing, one breath might knock you down. And the side effects of your body not working...

You lose muscle tone, you gain weight because you can't go to the gym anymore, your skin gets aggravated from lying on pillows all the time...

You spiral, because the world goes on without you while you're waiting to be fixed. You want to run with them, but you can't. You want to be a part of it, but any odd feeling in your chest scares you. You spend so much time in hospital because doctors always say "It's probably nothing, but just to be sure..."

And then when you see the people you care about, you're not you anymore. You're different. You feel ugly, you feel like a freak. Like this broken doll, cast aside and waiting until someone comes along with a needle and thread to fix you.

Noah had to keep living though. He went on tour, he ruled his kingdom, and when he came home from his tour, I swear he looked at me with pity. It broke me. I was his friend, and suddenly it was like he didn't know how to talk to me anymore. It was like he was worried that almost every topic would upset me, or trigger me, and nothing I said could change it.

If I could have gotten drunk over it, I would have. Stupid fucking medications.

We didn't speak for a while. I felt so alone. Sometimes I caught the three dots in our conversations. He'd type something, think better of it, and delete it. It hurt more every time.

He was the one person who I never thought would see me as something broken. I wondered if maybe the weight I'd gained had embarrassed him, even though it wasn't much. I wondered if maybe I just wasn't the person he wanted to be seen with anymore. 

I just wasn't enough, I guess. Maybe I never had been.

Swallowing the crush I'd had on him when we were teens was hard enough, but this? I couldn't swallow losing him like this. Not over something so fucking stupid.

So, I texted him, asking if he was busy. And thus, the ball rolled.

Hey, are you doing anything? - Y/N

Not at the moment, what's up? - Noah

I was hoping I could talk to you about something. Can I call? - Y/N

Of course, is everything okay? - Noah

Not really... - Y/N

Should I come over? - Noah

Your call, I'm fine either way - Y/N

I'm on my way, be there in 15 - Noah

A part of me rejoiced, seeing that he could still read me. 'Your call' was once a distress signal for the two of us. A sign that we were sinking alone, and we needed a friend. He'd been the one to start it, and it stuck.

So, he did, I waited in my apartment for Noah's truck to pull up in the visitor's spot outside. While I waited, I ran through everything I wanted to say to him. I tried to figure out how to say it to him. Part of me wanted to beg him just to see me how I once was, to look at me without the pity in his eyes. Another part of me was tempted to tell him that if he couldn't, he could go fuck himself.

I couldn't do that though. I'd miss him too much.

I wrapped myself in my knitted blanket, curled up on the couch with a pillow in my lap. The Great British Bake Off played on my TV, filling the room with a warm hum of sound. To an outsider, the room full of plush pillows and soft blankets seemed welcoming. The pictures on the walls were cozy, and the black suede couch begged to be reclined on in luxury.

To me, it was home. In the same vein, it was hell. 

This apartment had become my prison. I had nowhere to go anymore, nothing to do. Normally when I wasn't at work I would bounce back and forth between the studio and Noah's house, or I'd be out on adventures with him and the band. Since getting sick, I'd been stuck here. I worked from home because my boss was too afraid something might happen to me in the office. He framed it as a generous offer, trying to be kind and thoughtful, but I knew he just didn't want to deal with the insurance paperwork if something did happen.

I had spent months in this solitude. I had nothing to break up the monotony of my days. I thought being disabled was bad enough, the depression that came with the isolation only made things unbearably worse. All I saw every day were the same four walls, the same programs, the same rooms. I was getting cabin fever and there was nothing I could do about it. The most I ever left home for was groceries and doctor’s appointments. Not exactly a thrilling existence.

So, when I saw the headlights illuminate my curtains, a part of me lit up. It was sick how excited I got at the idea of a visitor. I was like a puppy hearing their owner come to the door, practically unable to hide the vibrating eagerness in my chest.

Noah's truck rolled smoothly through the parking lot and into the visitor parking on the other side of my living room wall. The joys of ground floor living, I saw everything that happened in the complex.

The truck door slammed, and his footsteps trudged along the stamped concrete, making his way to the buzzer at the security door. The steps seemed slow, almost unwilling to be there. For a moment I wondered if I should tell him to go home, that it was nothing and he didn't need to worry about it.

Instead, I stood up and shuffled my way over to the intercom by my front door. The panel lit up with a video feed as the bell chimed. I saw Noah standing by the door, his feet shuffling awkwardly in his sneakers while he kept his hands jammed in the pocket of his hoodie. His head hung, staring at the concrete while he waited for me to let him in.

I could have lifted the receiver and said something. A long time ago, I would have made a joke, I might have said something vaguely pervy like "ooh, you look better when you're awake," and he would have laughed. Instead, I silently pushed the button to unlock the door. He reached for the handle, yanking it open. I heard the click in the hallway as the video feed shut off, and I opened the front door to my side.

His oversized form dawdled toward me, his head still down and watching his shoes. Everything about his stance screamed that he wanted to turn around and go home. It had my stomach sinking as he grew closer.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were ringed with purple bags. He looked exhausted. He looked at me with a tired smile, nodding at me. 

'Hey,' he said quietly. 

'Hey,' I said, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders and smiling weakly. I stepped to the side, letting him step into the apartment. He slunk past me and headed straight to the couch, plopping down and patting the cushion, inviting me to sit beside him.

The front door swung closed, and I twisted the lock before joining him on the couch. Turning the TV off, I shifted to face him, choosing to rip the Band-Aid off. Seeing his hollow eyes made it harder, but I was determined.

I swallowed, balling my hands into fists beneath the blanket and hanging my head. 

'You've been avoiding me,' I said flatly. 

Noah froze, leaning back and shifting his position. He turned, one leg bent on the couch and the other foot on the floor while his hands hung in his hoodie pocket. I watched him open and close his mouth a few times, clearly caught off guard by my words.

'I...' he stammered out, unable to finish his sentence. He was going to say he hadn't been, but he couldn't lie to me like that. He'd never been able to.

'I wish I could say it's okay, but I can't help wondering why,' I said, chewing on my lip as I looked at him. It was out in the open now, and I felt the weight in my stomach. My heart pumped hard in my chest, the sensation making me nervous as I monitored the beats. 

'I didn't mean to,' he said quietly. 'We were busy, and things slipped, and I didn't know how to come back.'

I shook my head. 'Noah, I know you. Distance has never been an issue for us, and it's not like I'm across the country this time. I'm right here, and you haven't come to see me. You won't even text me back. It's like you don't want to be around me-'

'I do, I swear,' he cut me off, his hands tensing in his pocket. 'I just...'

'You just what?' I probed, trying to keep my voice steady. My throat tightened, and my voice threatened to crack. 'You don't want to be seen with me anymore? I gained weight and I got boring-'

'No!' he said, shaking his head and freeing his hands from his pockets. 'God no! I don't care about any of that, you know I don't! Why would you ever think that?'

'Because I feel like that?' I shot back. 'I feel like this damaged thing, and no one knows what to do with me. You backed off when I got diagnosed. It makes sense that this stupid thing is the reason. So, what, you're scared I'm gonna drop dead? You think I'm broken? You think it's too much to handle? To gross to look at?'

The words spewed fast, and Noah's face fell as I spoke. He watched as my breath came quick and I stumbled over my tongue. He reached for my hands, fishing for them in the blanket and taking them in his, holding them tightly.

'I just feel like this burden that no one wants to bear. People treat me like I'm made of glass, and they're too scared to handle me. Or like I'm not me anymore. It's fucking lonely, Noah. You were meant to be my best friend, and you fucking disappeared on me. Tour is one thing, but no calls? No texts? It's like you think I died.'

Noah shook his head, shuffling closer.

'I didn't mean to; I swear to you-'

'So why?' I coughed. All too aware of my own body, my chest ached, and my stomach turned. The defective organ screamed at me, and my brain begged for calm. The odd palpitation in my chest rang alarm bells in my mind, scaring me worse. Had I worked myself up into another hospital visit? That was the last thing I wanted. I needed answers, not more pity.

'Because I was scared. I still am. But not for the reasons you think,' Noah finally admitted, hanging his head in shame. His thumbs ran over my knuckles, my skin pale compared to his inky works of art. His hair hung like a thin curtain in front of his eyes, hiding his expression from me.

'Why, Noah?' I begged. 'Because if this is forever, I need to know. I need to be able to stop hoping we'll go back to how it was.'

'It's not forever,' he told me, his voice low. 'It wasn't even meant to be this long. I got scared because when I saw you that way, I didn't know what to do. For the first time ever, it was something I couldn't handle.'

'There's been a lot of things you can't handle,' I said, squeezing his fingers in mine. 'I don't expect you to be able to handle everything.'

He nodded, lifting his head and shaking his hair from his eyes. 'I know, but I couldn't fix this. I can't fix this. That scares the hell out of me. The idea that at any moment, you could go blue again and your heart might fuck up in a way that I don't understand... I was so sure I was about to lose you, Y/N...'

'So, you pushed me away instead?'

He nodded again; his lips tight as his eyes glassed over. 'I know, it doesn't make sense.'

'It does, but it still hurt. Out of sight, out of mind, right?'

'I guess,' he said. His shoulders slumped. 'God, I'm such an asshole. I made this all about me, and you're the one in danger.'

I rolled my eyes. 'That's the thing, Noah. I'm really not. Sure, I have to be a little more careful and I can't have caffeine anymore, but I'm still me. I'm not dying, I'm not going anywhere, I'm just waiting until they can fix me so I can do the things I used to do.'

'I wish I could get that through my head,' he sighed. 'I wish I could stop seeing it. That night...'

That night. The night it all went wrong.

I didn't think anything of it. I'd been messing around with the guys, throwing things and playing keep-away with Noah's phone. We'd been joking about some girl he'd been texting, making kissy faces at him and pretending to text her back.

Noah tackled me onto a beanbag, taking me down with a hard thump as the beanbag slid across the floorboards and up against the wall.

His arms were around me, grappling for his phone. I let him have it, lying breathless and curled up against him. We laid together, everyone laughing and joking as Noah pretended to be mad at us.

He got his breath back quickly, but mine didn't come. It wasn't until five minutes later that we realised I was still panting. 

'Are you okay?' Noah asked jokingly, rolling to his back and pulling me into his lap. He leaned to look up at my face, his hand on my back.

'I think so, I just don't have super strong singer's lungs like you,' I joked. Looking back at him, that was when I saw the nerves. The panic in his eyes would haunt me forever.

His hand flattened on my back, the guys freezing as they looked on.

'What's going on?' Ruffilo asked, furrowing his brow.

'Noah...' I said slowly, getting nervous. The pounding in my chest felt heavier now, like I was being punched from inside my chest, but its rhythm was off. It felt like fluttering, and the longer I sat up, the worse it felt.

'She's going pale dude, get her on the floor,' Ruffilo blurted. 

Noah moved fast, lifting me from his lap and laying me down on the floorboards. He knelt by my side, taking my hand and holding it tight. His eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open while he silently pressed his hand to my chest.

'Something isn't right,' he said, fishing his phone from his pocket and lifting it to his ear.

'Noah, what are you doing?' I coughed, my chest heaving. 

'Just try to stay calm, okay?' he said, his body language completely going against his words. 'Something's wrong, I'm calling an ambulance.'

I didn't argue with him. I didn't dare. If Noah said something was wrong, then something was clearly wrong. 

The phone didn't ring for long, and he asked for an ambulance with a hitch in his voice. He rattled off my name, my age, and the address to the dispatcher, all the while holding my hand for dear life.

'She's breathing really heavily,' he told them, ‘And her heartbeat feels wrong. I had my hand on her back, and it felt like it was skipping.'

I laid still, a chill seeping through my body at his words. Something was wrong, and it was with my heart. The organ that's meant to keep you alive. The most important part of a human body, and mine was malfunctioning.

I barely noticed my breathing speed up, I felt like I was going to be sick. The cold feeling prickled my skin, a cold sweat breaking out on my face while I screwed my eyes up. My ears began to ring, Noah's voice suddenly sounding far away. 

The urge to throw myself into a sitting position was almost impossible to ignore, but I knew Noah would only pin me down. He wasn't about to let me go anywhere.

'Noah,' I whimpered, trying to hold onto whatever composure I had left. My grip on his hand was iron clad, holding it for dear life.

'Y/N?' he called to me. Footsteps began to rush around the room, but they sounded like they were underwater.

My vision darkened, and I strained to look at Noah. It hurt to look, but I was determined to keep my eyes on him.

'I can't...' I tried to say, but my whole body had started to shut down on me. 

'Y/N,' Noah called again, squeezing my fingers tightly, 'come on, Y/N, stay awake, stay with me.'

I wanted to. I wanted so badly to stay with him. But my body had other ideas. 

I felt my fingers loosen in his, the strength fading. I felt him grip tighter. I heard his panicked cries as they distorted into static. I saw him scream. I saw the world close in around his wide eyes. I felt the heavy footsteps rattling the floorboards beneath me.

And then, nothing.

That night.

'That night was my anxiety getting the better of me, Noah,' I said softly, the familiar flush of shame in my cheeks. I had thought about it a lot too. I hated the idea that Noah saw me like that. I hated the idea that he had to watch my brain shut me down because I was too scared. It was mortifying.

'It was more than that, Y/N,' he argued. 'I was sure you were gone. I thought that I'd...' he stopped himself. I knew the look. His eyes flitted between his hands and the carpet, pursing his lips tightly. Whatever he was going to say, he'd never said it out loud before.

My eyes stung. Seeing him like this, it broke me. He'd been holding on to something, dealing with all of this alone. Just like me. 'Talk to me, Noah, please,' I begged.

He drew in a deep, shaky breath, his teeth sinking into his lower lip while he debated if he should admit it. 

'I thought I'd killed you. I thought maybe we'd been roughhousing too hard, and that maybe tackling you was what caused all of this,' he finally said. 'I haven't been avoiding you, I've been avoiding the guilt, because every time I look at you, I see you on the floor again. I see you barely breathing, and it feels like it was my fucking fault-'

I threw myself at him, pulling him close in a crushing hug. My blanket fell from my shoulders as his arms wrapped around me, hesitant to squeeze back.

'Noah, for fucks sake, hug me, I won't break,' I demanded, feeling the way he trembled. As if waiting for permission, his arms tightened, holding me in a way I hadn't realised I'd missed so much.

'I'm so fucking sorry,' he said, burying his face in my hair. 'I'm so sorry.'

'This isn't your fault, Noah, you know that,' I soothed, inching closer to him. 'We know why this happened, and I did it to myself, remember? I was an idiot.'

'I know, but I fucking left you when you needed someone. You needed me and I wasn't here, just like last time-'

'You are not blaming yourself for that, are you?' I asked, pulling back and looking at his face. His bloodshot eyes met mine, his lips pursed shut in a tight pout. 'Noah,' I said, 'do you really blame yourself for me being a fucking idiot?'

'I didn't answer the phone,' he said. 'If I had, maybe you wouldn't have done it.'

'Fuck, Noah, no,' I shook my head, my whole body sinking. 'It wasn't your fault. None of this is your fault. I overdosed because of Josh. He's the one to blame here, not you. He played me like a damn violin, and I walked straight into it. Thats why this happened. I did the damage, and it came back to bite me.'

'But Josh wouldn't have even been a problem if I'd said something,' he said weakly.

'Are you gonna have a rebuttal for everything?' I asked, a sad smile on my face as I reached up, brushing away a tear that fell down his cheek. 'I'll debunk it all, man. Come on, what would you have said?'

Noah smirked at me. I was glad to see my pathetic attempt at bravado could ease his pain a little. It made my heart settle somewhat. His eyes seemed to sparkle, and I finally saw the familiar face of my best friend looking back at me instead of a gloomy stranger.

I chuckled pathetically, tears running down my own face. 'Come on, what would you have said?' I repeated, stressing the words. 'That he was a jerk? That I could do better?' I goaded, 'or maybe that he was only using me to get to you, you big headed egomaniac-'

'I would have told you that I loved you.'

It was my turn to freeze. His face turned to stone, betraying no emotion. He watched as I processed what he had said, his gaze lowering to my chest as if he could see my heart through the skin.

My blanket pooled around my hips, and I felt exposed without it around my shoulders. Despite the shiver that ran through me, I didn't move to cover myself.

'You could have said that,' I said timidly, 'but would you have meant it? Or would you only have said it because you knew I had a crush on you? like using my feelings against me to protect me?'

Noah moved slowly, his hand running up my spine and letting my reactions guide him. His face drew nearer to mine, and another cool chill ran through me. This time, it was pleasant. My breath stuttered as he closed in on me.

'I can't lie to you about something like that, remember?'

'So why didn't you say anything?'

'Because I didn't think you saw me that way. You looked at everyone but me.'

A nervous gasp hit my throat as his eyes bored into mine. I had dreamed of this for years, swallowing every feeling and living in shame for so long.

'And you looked at everyone but me.'

'Not true,' he contested. 'When you weren't looking at me, I was always looking at you. You were all I saw. You've always been what I want. That's why it broke me to think I was losing you; to think I'd done this to you. I thought you deserved better.'

My breath caught in my throat, my fingers tracing down his cheek and resting on his neck. My heart thundered in my chest, and for once I was okay with it.

'And what do you think now?' I breathed.

'I think that I want to be the man you deserve,' his low voice whispered, our faces so close I could almost taste him. 

'You always have been.'

I leaned closer, gently pulling him closer to me. His lips met mine tenderly, barely touching.

'Don't be scared,' I breathed, 'I won't break.'

He huffed a soft laugh. 'You're sure?' 

I nodded, thumbing over his jaw. He grinned, kissing me properly. His lips pressed against mine and his hand nestled into the nape of my neck, holding me to him in desperation. I smiled into the kiss, my body alight with sensation as he ran his fingers into my hair.

I twisted my fingers into his hoodie, needing to feel him against me. He gladly took the hint, propping himself onto his knees and turning to lay me down on the couch. Our lips only parted long enough for him to find his place over me and settle me against the cushions. 

His body laid over mine, the pressure welcome against my lonely skin. His fingers glided over me, running from my hips to my jaw while I tried to commit his lips to memory.

'Noah,' I breathed between kisses. 

'Sorry,' Noah stopped, hovering just over my face and eyeing me with concern. 'Too much?'

'God no,' I shook my head with a giggle, 'I'm okay, but I wanted to tell you something.'

'Oh?'

'I missed you.'

He smirked at me, pecking my lips again. 'I missed you too.'

'I'm glad you came over tonight.'

'So am I.'

[bokutos-biddys]

-I’ve Got A Race To Win-

Xaiver Thorpe X Reader

Part Two

Make out session. And you can very easily tell how down bad I am for this man with how many times I have the reader ‘let out a shaky breath’ Nothing specified about the reader except the fact that you’re shorter than Xavier (which shouldn’t be hard considering he’s 6’2) and that you’re a fast runner. Also I hate that this is what gets me out of my writing funk but oh well

Please tell me if there are any spelling mistakes.

This is about Xaiver and NOT Percy Hynes-White

____ ____

You were going to win. You had to. Everything was in place for you to win. All you had to do was get the flag, run back to the canoe, and win. And even with Xavier being your best friend you were not going to let him beat you.

So why despite all your determination was Xavier standing in the forest with both your flags above his head where you couldn’t reach.

“Looking for something?” He asks, a smug smirk on his face.

“This is a stupid game Xavier. Just drop my flag and run back with yours.” You say walking up to him, hands on your hips.

“I could, but as I hate to admit, you’re faster than me and would make it back to your canoe before I could get halfway.” He replies, moving to put both flags in one hand, dropping the other to his side.

“So we’re at an impasse, what do you suppose we do? Play rock paper scissors?” You quip back impatiently, crossing your arms.

“Hmm, I might have a better idea.” He says, leaning down so your faces are mere inches apart. Which has more of an effect on you than you would like to admit.

You let out a shaky breath before replying “Oh yeah, what’s that?” You ask, leaning in closer to him, hoping to psych him out.

He stares at you, no, your lips, are you imagining that? You can’t really tell considering how nervous you are. Xaiver has never given you any hints, least not any you picked up. Was he giving you hints? You try to think back throughout your friendship for anything that might show the potential of him having romantic feelings for you. None, you presume, but whatever games he’s playing with you now is a very large hint and your honestly pretty confused about it and wow your costume was getting hot.

You bite your lip and he very noticeably notices. This, you realize, might be your chance. With the both of you starting to lean in you can’t help but think about the two flags in his hands.

It’s obvious what he’s trying to do, distract you, then run off with his flag, hoping to throw you off enough that he makes it to the shore first. Well, two can play at that game.

But as soon as his lips are on yours you realize two might not be able to play at that game. Your hands are in his hair in an instant, has it always been this soft? You really don’t know. All you can focus on is him.

You’re practically done for when he grabs your waist with his free hand. He nips at your bottom lip and you let out probably the hundredth shaky breath in the span of five minutes. But who could blame you when he drops the flags and moves his hand to tangle in your hair like that.

You're both pulling, pushing, biting, honestly whatever that could bring the both of you closer. He almost makes you whimper with how he’s placing short kissing on your jaw then drawing longer one from your lips. You’re positively entangled with one another.

He groans when you tug on his hair to pull him away, moving to nip at his neck. But before he can get a strong grip on you you push him to the ground, dashing to grab your flag.

He looks completely undone, with a hickey forming on his neck and an exasperated look on his face, it’s honestly one of the hottest things you’ve seen and it takes everything in you to not pounce on him and continue your impromptu make-out session.

“Sorry to cut this short, but I have a race to win.” You say, and admittedly your voice quivers a little bit that’s besides the point.

You only hear his squawks of indignation as you're running away, trying to wipe at the remnants of his makeup on your own face.

Thankfully the others don’t mention your flustered state, only asking what took you so long.

You win, of course, you knew you would, but something about the look on Xavier’s face as he watches you receive the trophy tells you, you’ll probably be paying for your little stunt later.

[runabout-river]

Thoughts on JJK chapter 268 (spoilers)

So many thoughts. So many...

Sukuna and Megumi finally come face to face and talk with each other but as far as emotional connections and resolutions between them are concerned there isn't much and I will have to say that in that point Gege fumbled the story telling.

He should've put the spotlight on Sukuna and Megumi at multiple points in the story after the possession but he chose to put Megumi to the side which makes his appearance here at this moment less impactfull

But more on that later...

What's really interesting about Sukuna in these first two pages, is him appearing calm and collected in his first panel but then his game is up and we see that through Megumi talking to him

It's really good imagery. Sukuna the shapeless monster that devours everything but then gets reduced to nothing inside the domain between him and Megumi.

I'm certain that Megumi's new will to live actively pushed Sukuna into that state where Yuji was able to punch those two apart.

Again for emphasis:

Megumi pushing Sukuna away is visualized by his words shrinking Sukuna's black soul. If Megumi had completely lost his will to live instead of wanting to fight on for Yuji, Sukuna would've most likely eaten and sank Megumi's soul completely into darkness at that point, leaving Yuji's last soul punch without effect.

Without Megumi fighting back, Yuji wouldn't have been able to separate Sukuna from Megumi's body.

The double page spread was breathtaking and invoked the horror part of this story again.

Sukuna's... remaining form lying on the ground, first looking forward to Megumi and then looking up at Yuji... So striking

Yuji then still talking to Sukuna because he wants to save him after he realized that they had similar beginnings but Sukuna didn't have a grandpa to help turns this moment quite sad

Sukuna backstory when??

And finally Sukuna calls Yuji by his full name while he rejects his offer again, fading into nothing. But he says that he should'n't be underestimated because he's a curse and I made an entire post once about Sukuna ascending into one.

Right now though we have a huge question that needs to be answered: from what did Sukuna die right now? Because when the answer isn't from a CE attack, then he will return as a proper curse.

Uraume meanwhile dies in panels that are strategically placed to not completely answer the question of her (their) gender.

Megumi wakes up and he's scarred. Those scars are not from the battles though. The ones over his right side are from Sukuna's mask and the one under his left eye is from his second eye. Symbolism.

Those are physical representations of the torture he went through under Sukuna's presence and the mark he left on him. Only the torture that was shown... has less impact than I had hoped. Gojo's attack on Megumi e.g. left him suffering UV effect for 1700 years and that's not a factor in any of this apparently.

Megumi has the physical scars but the story behind it is lacking because we didn't see Sukuna and Megumi interacting.

Megumi and Yuji just go back to how things were and that leaves the emotional impact hanging again. Yes, we can explain their psyches on that but in storytelling some things are just more impactfull than others.

Nobara and Yuji wanting to prank Megumi was peak and the last letters from Gojo were also funny but again the emotions surrounding that were a little funky imo

Look at the three they're all scarred now.

Something else I would probably criticize Gege's story structure for is that Nobara's scars have barely any relation to Mahito and that Megumi's scars have no impact from his underdeveloped relationship with Sukuna.

Yuji carries the emotional and structural beats of the manga and that's okay, he's the protagonist after all but that makes the scars on the others look more like paint... Again, in my opinion.

The last panels are about Yuta and whatever he has going on with Gojo's body. We'll see in the last three chapters...

And that brings me to a point I can't stop thinking about.

Is this the actual end of JJK, or is there a Part 2?

Because there are so many different plot points left, things that could easily make an entire 200 chapter story arc. And then comes Gege and adds another new plot in the point of Nobara's mother to the mix.

We have not seen Megumi's completed domain expansion.

There are things missing in the story that deserve their own post and some complaints I have might actually be dismissed when the manga in a new Part continues. And with every new chapter that gets released until we come to the end that gets more and more likely...

[paingoes]

Destroyer

Medical Conference

hi guys um. i cant stop writing destroyer. i swear ill figure out a system to organize these “bonus” chapters soon i promise i promise

delta is eighteen in this but the chapter delves into abuse he experienced when he was a child so cw for that

(Content: living weapon whumpee, lab whump, medical whump, put on display, dehumanization, conditioning, noncon drugging, needles, non-consensual/nonsexual nudity, noncon touching, physical abuse, emotional whump, angst, child abuse, child death mention, parental whump?)

~

“I forgot, sir,” Delta tried weakly. He knew as soon as he said it that he should’ve just kept quiet.

“No, you didn’t. You’re going to lie about it as well?” Dr.Martino shut down the attempt, focusing his attention back to the device.

Delta laid down unmoving against the steel table as the scanner searched over him. It gave him mild electric shocks each time it passed. Of course, he hadn’t been looking forward to the diagnostic tests. But he hadn’t been trying to get out of it entirely. That wouldn’t have worked. He only wanted more time to psych himself up for it. Too long, apparently. He’d had to be collected for it. It’d been a bad note to start on.

The rest of the exam went on in silence, without anymore mention of his avoidance. As Delta redressed, he thought he might’ve been off the hook for it. Dr.Martino was fumbling though his desk drawers like he’d already left. 

He produced two unopened packs of pencils from inside the desk. Delta deflated a little bit. 

Delta took the pencils and arranged them in two rows along the floor, lined up flush against one another. Gingerly, he kneeled down on top of them.

“Hands behind your back,” the doctor said, leaning back in his chair.

Already there. He knew the drill. He lowered his head, silently counting. No longer than twenty minutes, usually. No fewer than ten.

When he looked up again, Martino was leaning back against the table, flipping through a folder.

“The ISCEM conference is coming up in a month,” he said offhandedly, as if this would mean something to him.

“Okay?” Delta answered, more in confusion than anything else. He hadn’t meant for it to be disrespectful. 

Nevertheless, Dr.Martino’s shoe pressed down against his calf, driving the pencils further into his skin. 

“Yes, sir,” he quickly corrected himself. The pressure disappeared. The pain stayed where it was.

“You were probably too young to remember the last one, weren’t you?” Dr.Martino sighed.

“Yes, sir.” He didn’t really think about it. He was pretty distracted by the numbness traveling down his legs.

“Well, put it on your calendar. Don’t want you forgetting again.”

“Yes, sir.” 

He didn’t have a calendar.

~

“Mention the steady-state thing we discussed. I have files on it, I - is it too late to make a copy? I will. And if you could just please pass along a message for me, I would be ever so grateful,” Simon went on, fumbling through his own briefcase, trying to give what he could. Dr.Martino took the reports from him, flipping them around to see the equations he’d scribbled onto the back.

“You’re not coming? Sir?” Delta added the “sir” on as an afterthought, conscious of the doctor’s presence. Simon himself rarely demanded such formalities.

“Don’t interrupt,” Dr.Martino snapped, more tense than usual. But Simon obliged him, stepping a little closer.

“Not my scene.” Simon patted his head. It was soft, but Delta reflexively flinched away from any hands that drew too near to his face. 

Something on the desk beeped. The transit had rafted up. 

Delta held his wrists up easily as Martino presented the cuffs. They were psychic tech, meant to restrict his powers more than the collar already did. Presumably some kind of safety measure. He felt his world going flat as they clicked into place, all his spatial awareness reduced to a single field of view. The effect was extremely disorienting. He nearly fell over getting off of the table.

~

He’d mostly evened out by the time they’d gotten to the hotel. He sat idly against the chair he’d been placed in, watching the doctor unpack. Everything in the room was the same shade of beige. 

It seemed like they should’ve been able to go. Martino abruptly produce a vial from the bag. Delta recognized it as a sedative. He inserted the syringe into it, drawing it back up.

“I’ll behave, sir,” Delta offered. He eyed the needle warily; he’d usually have been given something in the way of warning.

Martino shook his head. He took a firm grip of Delta’s arm.

“Believe me, this is for your own good.”

Delta tensed his arm up, holding still as the needle entered him. Something cold shot into his veins. It took a long time for the chamber to empty. 

~

It hit him before they even reached the elevator. He clung to Martino’s arm, needing something to brace himself against, however briefly. Martino assured him he wouldn’t have to stand for long. They moved backstage at the panel. Delta nearly collapsed into the fold-up chair.

The cuffs were briefly removed as he was given the medical gown to wear. His hands moved slower than he would’ve liked, but he was able to put it on. It tied along the front, leaving much of his chest exposed.

Dr.Martino took a minute to make sure it was fitted correctly. He cursed, noticing for the first time the visible boot print against the side of Delta’s ribs. 

“Great. They’re going to think I beat you.”

You do beat me, Delta thought. Not as much as he used to. Not as much as Paris. But Martino still hit him. 

The doctor felt over the bruise with his hand, reigniting the pain. Delta winced. It was recent — still tender. The sedative helped a bit. All his thoughts were coming to him in a haze.

There was nothing that could be done to cover it, so apparently they were just going to ignore it. The cuffs came back on around his wrists. He led Delta out onto the platform regardless, sitting him up against the stool. It was had a back to it, luckily. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay upright without it. He’d been trained enough not to slouch or to look so outwardly high, but it was definitely a struggle to maintain neutrality. He kept his head down. It was the safest, the easiest to maintain for a long period. People gradually filed in. Though he was used to being put on display, the sterility and lack of decorum in this new space made the whole thing feel all the more jarring. It all felt far away, though.

His eyes closed without meaning to. When he tuned back in, Dr.Martino was droning on. He recognized some of the words. He would’ve recognized more if he wasn’t drugged. It was a talk about internal power generation. Conduits. There was a hand on his shoulder. Delta stood up from the chair. The gown was pulled down a bit from his shoulders.

Martino pressed the multimeter to his collarbones, watching the number climb until it broke. He pulled it away before it could burn up completely. He pressed a thin disk up against Delta’s chest, where it held there. It was some kind of controller. A thin arc of electricity emerged from it without any conscious intention on his part. More appeared, each of them branching away from his body like a plasma ball. The effect was immediate; that familiar fear crept into the eyes of the audience. 

It cut all at once. The disk was removed. Delta sat back down on the chair, pulling the gown back up over himself. 

The lights darkened. Behind him, a clip show began to play. He didn’t need to look back. He’d seen it plenty of times. Different explosions, annihilations, destructions. All his own work. He could recount each of them to the second. It played for a long time.

For some reason, they clapped when it was over.

~

“Sorry — do you mind if I look at it?” 

Delta opened his eyes again, sensing the it in question. He tensed up. 

He hated being touched. The moderator stripped the gown back again. He felt the electric pulse still going about Delta’s clavicle. His hands traveled around the collar. 

“I’m biomedical by trade,” the man explained, tapping at the gold, “This is custom, yes? When was it made?”

“The model’s about five years old. It gets updated about once a year.”

“Incredible. I see some scarring, though.”

Delta shivered as the fingers traced the burn scars by his neck, a bit on his trapezius. They were in the shape of a Lichtenberg figure.

“That seems non-optimal?”

“Those actually predate the collar. They’re a natural result of it overextending itself during an exercise. The restrictor works as a stopgap to prevent that kind of burnout.”

Though he’d expected it, it still jarred Delta just how easily Martino slipped back into calling him it.

Another scientist approached. She slid up to Martino, shaking his hand eagerly.

“Oh, darling.” He embraced her. She grinned, readjusting her jacket as they pulled away.

“Danny, it’s been ages. How are the girls?” Her nails clicked together.

Danny. The girls. Martino actually had a family. Not that he ever saw them. He had daughters. They’d been kids, the one and only time Delta had ever met them. They had to be in their twenties by now. 

“Brats, the lot of them. They’re smart, though. Smarter than I was at their age.”

“Well, that’s not saying much.”

Delta was not surprised when her hands traveled onto him. He barely flinched this time. But he hadn’t expected her to speak to him.

“Oh, and look at you. You’re all grown up now, huh?” 

She gripped his chin in between her fingers, studying his face. The touch wasn’t harsh, nor was it gentle.

“You probably don’t remember me.”

That was correct. Her face was vaguely familiar, but he could find no memories to attach to it.

“He’s a bit distant at the moment. You’ll have to forgive him,” Martino answered for him.

She released her grip, turning her attention back to the doctor. Even in his current state, it didn’t take him long to put it together. She’d been one of the teachers at the Institute. He wondered how many of them were wandering around out there now. Most of them. Dr.Martino had been the only one to retain some semblance of his position. All the other administrators had been cast away just the same as the students.

He had forgotten nearly every one of their names.

~

Martino packed up the last of the day’s display materials, arranging all of it back into the suitcase. It’d been a success, as far as these things go. He’d revealed all he could without breaching the terms of his contract. All the real science was under a strict NDA. It was nice to catch up with some colleagues, though. It was healthy to be off of a spaceship every once in a while.

He tugged Delta’s sleeve, pulling him up from the plastic chair. He took a minute to undo the cuffs; he’d thought they were an excessive measure to begin with and they had prevented any real show of power. Delta rubbed idly at the marks they had left there.

They made their way back up to the hotel room. The drug had not yet worn off; Delta still stumbled a bit when he walked. He’d redressed himself in a thick hoodie, trying to keep out the chill from the overactive AC or perhaps just trying to hide. 

The door opened. Martino dropped his suitcase onto the bed. Presumably out of habit, Delta lowered himself to the floor, kneeling there. Waiting for instructions, as if he could have followed them. Martino scoffed. 

“You can sit on the bed. I booked a double room for a reason.”

He watched the whole minute it took for his words to sink in. The way it took even longer for Delta to actually rise, blearily climbing up onto the mattress. His hands gripped searchingly across the blanket, pulling up the edges like he needed something to hold onto.

Martino ignored him. He moved to the far side of the room and opened the door to the balcony. The city skyline was clearly visible just down the road. The lights from it shone brighter than the stars from space. Martino produced one of the foreign cigarettes from its packet. The ember burned in the dark night. It was all quiet.

“What was I like when I was little?”

He turned to look at Delta. The kid was drugged out of his mind. He might’ve given him too much.

Dr.Martino took a long drag. He rarely smoked, so used to the endless sterility that he would not so much as dirty the air. But tonight was a rare night.

“What were you like?” He ashed the cigarette, turning back to look at the night skyline. “I don’t remember.”

Delta looked down, disappointed. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself. Martino sighed, losing the battle.

“…You were quiet. Same as you are now. You mostly kept to yourself.”

He gave no visible reaction.

“You didn’t get along so well with the other kids,” Martino admitted, some disdain entering his voice. 

Delta looked up. His expression was totally blank.

“Why do you hate me?” he asked.

It was manipulative, and self-pitying in a way that did not flatter him. Martino put the cigarette out. He stepped back into the room.

Delta shrank back a bit. The doctor looked him over. His eyes had dimmed some, no doubt due to the sedative. His hands were unbloodied. Just looking at him, no one would have know what he’d done. Martino remembered the sound of bones snapping and the bodies out in the yard. He remembered the expression Delta had worn the first time he’d killed — as blank and unfeeling as the one he wore now. He did hate him, he supposed. He’d never been his favorite. All his favorites had been buried a long time ago.

He didn’t say that. He remembered his lines — and he cursed himself for ever diverging from them, even for a second. He would correct it now.

“There is no you.”

Delta opened his mouth as if to object, then thought better of it. Good.

“No more talking tonight,” Martino said.

Delta nodded, laying down onto the mattress. He fell asleep with all the lights on.

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @pigeonwhumps

[flowerandblood]

The Man and the Golden Gift

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, smut, angst, violence, trauma, mourning, description of murder and wounds ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, verydark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Mouth | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He was unable to explain to Criston what he felt as he pulled the mask from his face in front of the King and saw the realisation in his eyes that justice has finally reached him.

He was sure he was smiling broadly when, before he could get anything out of him, his dagger slashed his throat, ruby thick blood beginning to flow from his wound onto his blue, gold embroidered robe.

He clutched at the place of the cut, got up from the table and fell over, choking, probably trying to call out to his guards, but all that came out of his mouth was a grunt. He stood over him and watched him die, his pupils slowly became empty as the life drained out of him.

He wanted to wait another week until the troops they were waiting for arrived near the city, but after what his future wife had done, he could not wait.

He was furious because she reacted to the sight of his face, of his scar just as he had feared, because he desired her, because he needed her, and she now abhorred him, could not even look at him.

He knew this would happen, but he felt pain and disappointment anyway.

He thought that what she felt at the sight of him didn't matter − he had already decided that their marriage would not only be purely physical but also political, and although he hadn't shared his plans with his lords, even if he wanted to he wouldn't be able to bear the presence of another woman beside him.

He had united with her through death, grief and blood.

They had long been one.

The nuptials were a mere formality.

Having performed his miraculous act of revenge, he put his mask back on and left the chamber as if nothing had happened, knowing he had little time. He found the ghosts who were involved in his plan and instructed them to spread the word that it had begun.

Criston at the head of his army appeared at the walls of his city within hours, at the same time panic had set in in the fortress − the guards knew that one of the ghosts had killed the King, but they did not know which one because they all looked almost identical.

The first battles began, bloody and brutal − his men, his befriended servants, the ghosts and the guards murdering anyone who fell into their hands.

He did, however, instruct them not to enter Lord Walford's daughter's chamber and to lock up his son.

They succeeded in accomplishing what he had done eight years before, which was to have the effect of surprise; no one was prepared for the King to be betrayed by his own ghost − they no longer knew whom to trust, and the royal guard and army were looking for guilty parties among themselves, unable to put up any real resistance to them.

Long hours passed like minutes, and when at last he stepped into the chamber where his father had deliberated with his advisors years ago, the lords and his allies were already waiting for him.

The fortress had been conquered, their armies were taking over the city.

It was done.

He took off his mask and threw it on the table, feeling free, feeling relieved, feeling satisfied. All those present bowed before him and called him their King, he, however, was thinking of only one thing.

"Bring the daughter of this traitor here."

As she entered the room, led by Criston, he was struck by the fact that her hair was loose, on her body apart from a thin nightgown only a robe tied at her waist. He felt his heart beat harder in excitement as she looked up at his face, fearless, emotionless, confident.

He knew that she was not afraid of death.

That if he decided to end her life, she would accept it with peace of mind.

She was a walking dignity.

"How dare you look straight into the face of your King, traitor!" Shouted one of the lords loyal to him, snapping him out of his reverie as he tried to grab her arm − he furrowed his brow, seeing this, feeling discomfort.

She was his.

"Don't touch her." He said coolly, warningly, with no intention of repeating himself. The man froze, looking at him over his shoulder in disbelief, pointing his finger at her.

"She should be searched immediately, Your Grace. She may be hiding a dagger in her sleeves, we do not know what she will do." He said with certainty in his voice, his gaze directed at her again, her face expressing absolutely nothing.

"Leave us alone. Immediately."

"But, my King…" He heard Ser Criston's voice, but he glanced at him with such a look that he only swallowed. He nodded, leaving first, followed by the other men, who walked hesitantly behind him, looking at Walford's daughter with distrust and displeasure.

The door closed behind them at last and they were left alone.

They stared at each other in silence − his lips pressed together at the thought that he no longer saw the fire and tenderness in her gaze that he had seen over the past few weeks, that he now disgusted her.

What she thought of him didn't matter, however, he still felt a humiliating sense of disappointment.

What had he expected?

He hummed after a moment, deciding he would get to the point, running his fingers along the table top, not wanting to waste either his or her time.

"I understand your disappointment and your grief. In truth, I have procrastinated too long, but I did it with our future in mind. I wanted the takeover of the throne to proceed without…unnecessary disruption and, as if to put it, dramatism." He said calmly, wanting to briefly explain the whole situation to her.

He expected questions from her, but she said nothing; she stood on the other side of the table with her hands folded in front of her, upright and proud, looking at him calmly. He licked his lips in irritation, wondering if she was trying to get him off balance.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Is he dead?"

He blinked and snorted under his breath, amused to hear how indifferent and soft her voice was, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the thought that, as he had suspected, her father's death had not particularly bothered her.

"I killed him a few minutes after I left your chamber." He said lightly, cocking his head to the side as he watched her reaction, however her face remained equally calm, as if this information had made no impression on her.

"How?" She asked with emphasis, as if she expected him to do the right thing and he licked his lips at the thought.

"I cut his throat." He hummed with delight, recalling the scene, that wonderful, sweet feeling of achieving the revenge he had so dreamed of. She lowered her gaze, as if musing for a moment, and then raised her eyes to him again, her brow furrowed slightly.

"Good. What about my brother?" She asked firmly, a note of threat in her voice from which he tightened his lips.

"He's in a safe place."

"I want to see him."

His lips twitched in a dangerous grin and he squinted, looking at her watchfully.

If she thought she was going to put conditions on him, she was wrong.

"You'll see him once we get everything settled."

Her look changed, her eyes got bigger − he could see the surprise in her gaze, as if she had no idea what he meant.

He felt irritation at the thought that she had already forgotten what she herself had asked him to do, and what he had promised her.

"We need to discuss the details of our nuptials and coronation in the coming days. They should take place as soon as possible." He said dryly, looking away from her towards the flames, feeling his heart pounding fast, unable to bear the humiliation if her reaction was as he feared.

"I don't expect your pity. I will not tell anyone about what has happened between us, I will spare myself this humiliation. Send me back to the monastery or wherever you see fit." She said with a kind of weariness from which he felt a tightness in his throat − he looked at her shocked, not believing what he had heard.

Send me back to the monastery or wherever you see fit.

She did not want to be his wife.

She didn't want to be his queen.

She didn't want to be his.

"Are you that disgusted with me?" He asked furiously, clenching his hand into a fist, feeling a squeeze in his heart and discomfort in his stomach, unable to contain the terrible, hot feeling of disappointment that shook his muscles.

She looked at him in disbelief, her lips parted in surprise and suddenly she laughed pearly − he felt his lower lip tremble at the thought that she was mocking him.

"With you? I'm disgusted with myself." She said touching her hand to her chest.

"I believed you like a naive little child. Aren't you tired of lying?" She asked with a pain, sadness and regret that made him breathe loudly, looking at her with wide eyes.

He stood up suddenly, roused by some brutal, sharp feeling that surged through his body, and after a moment he was in front of her, his large, rough hand clamped down on her slender, soft neck − she drew in air loudly, looking at him helplessly, grabbing his wrist, however, not trying to defend herself.

"Lying?" He hissed furiously, aggressively lifting the material of her robe and chemise in a swift motion, his free hand pressing between her thighs, he heard her squirm in terror and surprise.

He sighed quietly in relief as he felt her sticky moisture under his fingers, teasing her pearl with slow movements, his hand rising from her neck to her cheeks and cupping it, forcing her to look at him.

"That's what you call a lie? Hm?" He growled enraged, his fingertips rubbing her with an increasingly loud, wet click of her juices − she mewled helplessly, surprised as he slid two fingers deep into her tight, fleshy insides, his manhood throbbed hard in his breeches as he felt her clench around him.

"Don't you want this? Do you want me to stop? Come on, fucking get it out of you." He hissed, grabbing her hair, pressing his forehead against hers, looking directly into her eyes, wanting to read anything from them − her pupils were dilated, her gaze clouded, her cheeks flushed with exertion and emotion, her wonderfully plump and shiny lips slightly parted.

He sped up, sliding his fingers in and out of her faster and faster, pressing and kneading intensely on the spot inside her from which quiet, helpless whimpers erupted from her throat.

"− ask your husband, tell him what you want − come on, you know I'll give you fucking everything −" He growled almost in despair, wanting nothing more than for her to tell him that she still wanted him, that she wasn't disgusted by him, that she still believed, as he did, that they were the same, that they were made for each other by the gods, that they were one.

He felt her hands tighten on his tunic, her hips begin to respond to his treatments.

"− please, husband − please, tell me you didn't plan this −" She mumbled out with a pain from which he felt his throat tighten − he chuckled involuntarily, clenching his eyes, wondering if she even realised what she had done to him.

"− planned? − good gods −" He murmured lowly, massaging her insides with intense, sure motions, her tight walls clenching against him greedily, his hand all sticky from her moisture. "− I almost lost everything − because of you − for you − do you understand? − say you understand −"

She nodded quickly, looking at him in disbelief − he drew in the air loudly and felt a powerful shudder pass through him as her small, soft hand touched his cheek, running her fingertips over his scar in a tender, light movement. He moaned weakly, feeling his cock pulsate hard, and thought with pain that this was what he needed, that he wanted more.

He leaned forward and dared to brush his lips against hers, feeling her warm breath on his skin, her lips wonderfully moist and soft. He rubbed them again and again, her lips beginning to respond to him tentatively, until finally they clung to each other, embracing tightly in each other's arms, his tongue forced its way deep into her throat.

He heard her sigh in relief, her hand running suddenly over the bulge in his breeches − he suppressed a groan, feeling a strong shudder pass through him.

"− please, husband −" She babbled pleadingly. He sighed with satisfaction and relief at the thought that her distance, her trepidation, her coldness was only due to the fact that she was as afraid of trusting him as he was of trusting her, that living with a perpetual sense of betrayal made it seem to her, for certain, only a matter of time before it came from him.

He assured her with the deep, sure thrusts of his hips into her tight core of the permanence of his feelings, panting along with her − he rooted into her with ease, her moisture running down her buttocks making their bodies slap against each other loudly, her hands stroking his hair and cheeks, their lips dancing and rubbing against each other between their ragged, heavy breaths.

"− you're fucking leaking − that's what you call lying? −" He hissed into her mouth, speeding up, her walls clenching around him greedily, making the heat flow through his entire body − he lost the sharpness of mind, focused only on the natural instinct to root deep into her.

"− you're mine −" He muttered, only to come deep inside her after a few desperate thrusts, filling her at last with his seed, her body arched in pleasure and trembled in his arms, her fingers clenched in his hair.

He looked at her, strangely calm and assured, seeing in her eyes what he craved, the same warmth and devotion, the promise of tenderness and security. He licked his lower lip feeling her fingers run over his scar again, thinking about how he wasn't going to make her look at it.

"− I'm going to wear an eye patch every day −" He said indifferently, but she shook her head, furrowing her brow, startling him completely.

"− not in front of me − not in front of your wife − my husband will never hide his face from me again −" She whispered and just hugged him embracing his waist.

He felt a tightness in his throat at her words, some kind of hot emotion, clenched his eyes and cuddled his face into her neck, thinking only of the fact that without her it all would be pointless.

"I have a wedding gift for you."

The sight of them walking down the corridor together caused consternation among his lords, but they dared not say a word when he led her into the chamber that belonged to his mother.

The woman who had saved his life that day was standing facing the window. She turned towards them when she heard the sound of the door opening, looking healthier and more confident than when he had last seen her − her hair was combed into an elaborate bun, her long, dark blue gown with sleeves reaching down to the ground emphasising her slender waist.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his future wife and saw that she stood still with her mouth wide open, trembling all over as if she had really seen a ghost, her eyes big and filled with tears. She pressed her hand to her face in a gesture of disbelief, a sort of mumble came from her throat, and then she threw herself with a sob into the arms of her mother, who embraced her tightly.

He looked at them and thought only of how all his life he had dreamed of such a miracle for himself, of how one day someone would lead him to a room where it would be his mother waiting for him.

He swallowed loudly, realising with a clenched throat that it would never happen, but he had no regrets about sparing this suffering to the woman he had chosen to be his queen.

He wanted her to know that he could also be merciful.

That although cold and cruel, he was not heartless.

He decided to leave them alone and give them some privacy.

That same night he came to her, to her chamber − she raised herself on her arm when she caught sight of him, something in her eyes that made him hot.

"− my King −" She whispered softly, warmly, with longing, desire and promise − he felt the way she said those words in his cock, which throbbed hard in his breeches.

He approached her without a sound and parted his lips in a sigh of delight as she immediately rose up on her knees, her hands without question reached for the clasp of his tunic, undoing it with ease, untying his breeches.

A low, surprised moan escaped his lips as her hand immediately grasped his manhood and squeezed it − it throbbed hard in her grasp, his hand involuntarily reaching for her cheek, his thumb running over her soft, warm skin.

He pressed his lips together and let the air out loudly, holding back the groan that wanted to escape his throat when her head bent down, slipping the fat, pink tip of his cock into her warm mouth.

"− fuck −" He growled in pleasure, feeling a powerful shudder run through him as her tongue began to tease and lick him, his fingers moved up and tightened in her hair − he stared at her in disbelief, feeling his heart pounding fast.

"− do you wish to show gratitude to your King? − hm? −" He exhaled and she nodded, breathing rapidly, her eyes closed. He sighed loudly as she slid his hard, swollen manhood deeper between her lips and began to suck it, squeezing the part she couldn't fit in with her fingers − he tilted his head back, horrified at how much it aroused him, how hard he pulsed in her throat.

"− gods, fuck, slow down −" He mumbled, despite his words involuntarily starting to rock his hips inside her mouth, slapping the head of his cock against the back of her throat.

She moaned with the effort of feeling it, refusing to stop − the sight of her sweet lips clenched around him, her innocent face between his thighs was something he couldn't deny himself despite wanting so badly to come deep inside her.

"− thirsty for my seed, hm? − do you want to taste it so badly? −" He muttered between desperate thrusts, clamping both hands in her hair, his swollen length rooting into her mouth with a loud, lewd click of her saliva.

He groaned low as her hand began to squeeze him more intensely, soaking his cock between her lips − she nodded, bringing him to the brink of fulfilment.

"− very well − swallow it, swallow it all − oh, gods, fuck-fuck-fuck −" He breathed out, feeling the pleasure shake through him as his spend finally spilled deep down her throat − he heard her struggle to take in what was flowing out of him, not letting even a drop go to waste.

He stroked her head, looking at her with pride, affection and tenderness, rocking his hips in her mouth for a while longer, listening to the wonderful sound of swallowing.

"− you will make a fine Queen −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[bonbonshideout]

Who I think the crp would target pt.1

Ticci Toby:

Personally, I feel he would mostly target abusive parents, but if he's out and just bored out of his mind, he'll kill whoever he stumbled across. When ut comes to abusive parents, I feel he would be a bit stalkerish, he'll find a parent or an adult, stalk them for a few days, see how they handle life and treat their families, if he sees any forms of abusive in any manner, he'll go for their ass, at night, in broad daylight, he doesn't give a fuck.

Ben Drowned:

He wouldn't really kill people, but instead, electronics; he would be one of those viruses that you'd find on social media. Once he gets ahold of your device, it'll go haywire to start. Suddenly it'll reset and seem like nothing happened, however Ben would 100% love to mess with the person, opening random apps, turning on/off any alarms they might have, call random people in the contact list, etc. He would end up causing the person to go insane— be it or not his intention— to the point they probably kill themselves.

Jeff The Killer

Like Kuchisake-onna, I feel Jeff would wear a mask of some sort, go up to people, and ask if they think he's pretty, not matter what they say, he'll carve a smile into their face anyways. He just likes to do it. If ya run into him, group or alone, you'll most likely be found dead later on anyways. He likes to kill everyone he runs into

Eyeless Jack

Steming from my headcanons for EJ — linked here — He would kill whoever he finds on the Appalachian trail. He would definitely stalk them throughout their hikes and find a moment where their guard is down and can make one swift motion. He prefers a clean and quick murder. He would probably use his voice to trick people into getting closer - like that of a skinwalker or wendigo - and get them that way. Usually leaving the trails unbothered and a way to keep people coming without much worry.

Clockwork

Doctors, or psychward doctors. Just anyone in the medical field; they're what pretty much why she's kinda what she is now, she holds some sort of grudge, even if it wasn't entirely their fault. She especially hates those that work at psych wards because patients usually end up worse than they were when first arrival. She wants them all to feel what she felt and just understand the suffering they inflict on many people.

Jane The Killer

I feel she wouldn't really kill anyone, she's mostly going after Jeff so she's trying to mostly keep people safe, if that makes sense? But if she were to kill, it would probably be security. As bad as she may feel for doing so, it tends to happen that they get in her way to find and properly locate Jeff.

Nina The Killer

She just does it for fun. She kills whoever she wants to. She does prefer killing other serial killers, though, usually gives her a bit of a challenge, and she's always up for that.

X-Virus

He doesn't have a preference, he'll see a passer by and spike their drink with some crazy concoction he's created and watch as they slowly start dying whilst taking notes of the effects of said poison.

Sally

She goes for pedophiles and rapists. She tries to help kids when it comes to situations that she had gone through while she was alive, having two forms - which I detail more in my hc, linked here - she l9ves to terrorize these people and make them for crazy, though she doesn't like to get her hands dirty, she prefers making them believe they're hallucinating, which she probably can do. Usually driving the individual to commit suicide in probably the worst ways possible, as she likes to cause more damage when there's a higher chance of them committing.