#cause a lot of my memory gets mixed up and made up and lost and everything else its really so difficult to deal with

[sonicunleash]

I'm such a forgetful person because im memory problems 9000 but i do hope the people i care about appreciate the things I do remember, even if theyre weirdly specific and not as seemingly important as things i forget...

[universefcb]

hey! Can you make one which just showed how reader is being friendly and fitting into Pedri's family perfectly (if it's possible a long one, thanks!)

↬❥ Welcome to the Family

Pedri Gonzalez x Reader!fem

Synopsis: You meeting his family and getting to know him.

a/n: I found this request so cute🥺

REQUESTED

warnings: no

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

The González López house had a unique way of making anyone feel at home. It was as if the vibrant energy of the family was present in every corner—in the picture frames filled with memories, in the delicious smell coming from the kitchen, and in the laughter that echoed through the rooms. You had heard Pedri talk a lot about his family, but now, being there for real, you felt like you were part of something special.

“So, we finally get to meet you!” Rosy exclaimed excitedly, pulling you into a tight hug as soon as you walked through the door.

You barely had time to respond before Fernando, Pedri's father, extended his hand with a welcoming smile.

“Welcome! Pedri talks a lot about you.”

Fer, the older brother, looked you up and down and smiled sideways.

“Let’s see if you can survive a family lunch.”

The joke made everyone laugh, and you felt the initial tension dissipate. The house was cozy, with decor that mixed memories of the Canary Islands and an undeniable love for football.

“Want something to drink?” Pedri asked, gently pulling you into the kitchen.

“Just water, for now,” you replied, still taking in everything around you.

“Relax,” he said softly. “I can see they like you.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest. You wanted to reciprocate that warm welcome.

The table was full of typical Canarian dishes, and the aroma was mouth-watering. Rosy insisted that you try a little of everything, and you didn't have the heart to refuse—especially since everything looked delicious.

“Did you like it?” she asked, watching his reaction expectantly.

“It’s amazing!” you replied sincerely.

That was enough to make her smile with satisfaction and put even more food on her plate.

The conversation around the table flowed animatedly. Fernando told some stories about Pedri's childhood, and Fer didn't miss the opportunity to make fun of his brother.

“Remember when you cried because you lost a match to me?”

Pedri rolled his eyes.

“I was six years old!”

You laughed along with everyone. Little by little, you started to feel more comfortable, joining in the jokes and sharing stories of your own. It was amazing how his family made you feel included.

At one point, Rosy looked at you fondly.

“You have a good manner. I can see that you care about Pedri.”

The comment made Pedri blush slightly, but he just smiled and held her hand discreetly under the table.

After lunch came the most anticipated moment of the day: family games.

“Get ready,” Fer warned. “We are extremely competitive.”

“But we always play fair,” Fernando added, before giving Rosy a wink.

“That’s a lie!” Rosy protested, causing everyone to laugh.

The games started with cards, then moved on to charades and even an improvised table football championship. You and Pedri formed a duo, and even though he was skilled on the field, at table football he didn't seem to have the same luck.

“You have to improve that, Pedri,” Fer teased, laughing as he scored another point.

“You’re a professional gamer, please,” you joked, patting his shoulder.

In the end, your team lost, but the fun was guaranteed. Even in defeat, you felt like you were fitting in perfectly in that environment full of energy and affection.

After so much laughter and competition, the house finally began to calm down. You and Pedri walked out onto the balcony, where the starry sky of the Canary Islands stretched out above you.

“They really liked you,” Pedri said, looking at you with a calm smile.

“I really liked them too,” you replied, feeling a wave of gratitude.

The silence between you was comfortable. The light breeze brought a pleasant coolness, and in that moment, you realized how much this day meant.

“You know…” Pedri continued. “My family is the most important part of my life. Having you here and seeing that you got along with them… It means a lot to me.”

Your heart warmed. You already knew that Pedri valued his family greatly, but hearing him say it so openly made you realize the depth of that feeling.

“Then I guess I’m on the right track,” you said, smiling.

He laced his fingers through hers and nodded.

“Definitely.”

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @p4uul0vr @nngkay @meganesanchez @bymerinott @htpssgavi @luvvpedri

[fvsm4x]

𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 - 𝟓

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. ex! gojo s. x fem. reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. Your boyfriend, who you loved more than anything, who was your will to live, broke up with you.

𝐜𝐰. angst / happy ending for reader but not gojo / wc. 4.1k / last chapter / kinda rushed

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

But it wouldn‘t hurt to give him a second chance, right.?

But as much as you wanted to believe that a second chance could heal the wounds between you, doubt gnawed at the edges of your resolve. The pain he had caused was not something easily forgotten, and the memories of the betrayal still stung like fresh wounds. You had to consider what giving him another chance would mean—not just for your relationship with him, but for your own self-worth, your own sense of dignity.

"Gojo," you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside, "you say you want another chance, but can you honestly tell me why? Is it because you've realized what you lost, or because you're afraid of being alone now that she's gone?"

His eyes widened, as if the question had struck a chord deep within him. He struggled to find the right words, his expression a mix of desperation and confusion. "I... I just know that I don't want to lose you. I made a mistake, I see that now. I was stupid, selfish, but I swear, I’ve changed."

"You’ve changed?" you echoed, the skepticism clear in your tone. "How can I trust that? Last time, you promised me the world, only to break me apart when it suited you. How do I know this time won’t be the same?"

Gojo remained silent for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between his desire to make things right and the reality of the pain he had caused.

"I don’t know how to prove it to you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I want to try. I want to be the person you deserve, the one who won’t hurt you again."

You let out a soft sigh, the tension in your chest making it hard to breathe. His sincerity tugged at your heart, but the scars he had left made it difficult to simply accept his words at face value. You had to think about what was best for you, not just what he wanted.

"Gojo," you said slowly, choosing your words carefully, "I need to understand something. What would be different this time? How do you expect me to believe that you're not just saying these things because you're hurt and vulnerable right now? That you won't just fall back into old habits the moment things get tough?"

He looked down, his hands trembling slightly as they gripped yours tighter. "I’ve learned from my mistakes," he said, his voice laced with determination. "I know I hurt you, and I regret it more than anything. I took you for granted, and I was wrong. I can’t take back what I did, but I want to show you that I can be better—that I can love you the way you deserve to be loved."

The sincerity in his voice was almost enough to break down your defenses. Almost. But the reality of the situation loomed large in your mind. You had been here before, heard these promises before, only to be left shattered in the end.

"Do you really understand what you're asking of me?" you asked, your voice soft but firm. "You're asking me to put my heart on the line again, to risk everything for the chance that you might actually change this time. But what if you don't? What if I let you back in, only to find myself back in this same place a few months from now?"

Gojo's expression faltered, the weight of your words sinking in. He knew you were right—he was asking for a lot, maybe too much. But still, he refused to give up.

"I can't promise that everything will be perfect," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "But I can promise that I’ll fight for us, that I won’t make the same mistakes again. I’ll prove to you that I’m serious this time. Just... please, give me a chance to show you."

Your heart ached at the sight of him, so vulnerable and desperate for your forgiveness. You wanted to believe him, to believe that he could change, that he could become the man you needed him to be. But the fear of getting hurt again was a powerful force, one that you couldn't simply ignore.

"I don't know if I can do this, Gojo," you said, your voice trembling with the weight of the decision before you. "I don't know if I can put myself through this again, not after everything that's happened."

He looked at you with a mix of hope and despair, as if he knew he was teetering on the edge of losing you forever. "Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Just one more chance. Let me show you that I can be better."

You closed your eyes, the tears finally spilling over as the emotions you had been holding back crashed over you like a tidal wave. The love you had for him was still there, buried beneath the pain and betrayal, but it was overshadowed by the fear of being hurt again.

Finally, you opened your eyes and met his gaze, your heart heavy with the weight of your decision. "Gojo, I need time," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can't just jump back into this like nothing happened. I need time to think, to figure out what's best for me."

His face fell, but he nodded, understanding that this was as much as you could give him right now. "I’ll wait," he said, his voice filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "I’ll wait as long as it takes."

With that, you slowly pulled your hand away from his, the warmth of his touch lingering even as you stepped back. The distance between you felt like a chasm, one that might never be bridged again. But for now, it was what you needed—to find your own path, to heal in your own time.

As you turned to walk away, leaving him kneeling there in the cold, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had made the right choice. The future was uncertain, the path ahead filled with doubts and unanswered questions. But one thing was clear: you had to choose yourself this time, even if it meant walking away from the man you once loved.

As you walked away, the echoes of your footsteps reverberating through the quiet night, the weight of your decision settled heavily on your shoulders. Each step felt like an eternity, as if the very air around you was thick with the tension of what had just transpired. The distance between you and Gojo grew, but the connection, the history, and the unresolved emotions hung in the air, clinging to you like a shadow.

You couldn’t help but replay his words over and over in your mind. The desperation in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes—were they enough? Could a person truly change, or was it just wishful thinking? The memories of your time together flooded your mind, both the good and the bad, each moment tinged with the bittersweetness of what once was and what might never be again.

But as you walked further, a different voice began to whisper in the back of your mind, a voice that questioned your own choices, your own feelings. You had been hurt, yes, but was there a part of you that still longed for the love you once shared? Was there still a flicker of hope that things could be different this time, that the man you had loved was still in there, waiting to be rediscovered?

You stopped walking, standing there in the dim light of the streetlamp, your breath visible in the cold night air. The silence was deafening, your thoughts swirling like a storm inside your head. You had asked for time, but the truth was, you didn’t know how much time you would need. The wound was still fresh, the trust still shattered, and yet, beneath all that pain, there was a part of you that wanted to believe in second chances.

What if you were being too harsh? What if, in pushing him away, you were closing the door on something that could be beautiful again? The questions gnawed at you, each one more persistent than the last. Could you really walk away from him, from everything you had built together, without giving him the chance to prove himself? Was it fair to judge him solely on his past mistakes, without considering the possibility that he had learned from them?

As you stood there, lost in thought, the memories of the love you once shared began to resurface. The way he used to look at you, the way his laughter would fill the room, the warmth of his embrace on a cold night—it all felt so distant now, yet so painfully close. You remembered the moments of joy, the times when it felt like nothing in the world could come between you. Those memories were precious, and they weren’t so easily erased by the pain he had caused.

But then, there were the darker memories, the ones that cut deep into your soul. The lies, the betrayal, the feeling of being second best—those wounds were still raw, still bleeding, and the thought of reopening them was terrifying. You had worked so hard to rebuild yourself, to find strength in your own company, to remember who you were without him. Letting him back in meant risking all of that, risking everything you had fought so hard to regain.

A small voice inside you, however, urged you to reconsider. People could change, couldn’t they? Life wasn’t black and white, and relationships were messy, complicated. What if Gojo truly had realized the error of his ways? What if he was genuinely remorseful, ready to make amends and to be the partner you needed him to be?

You shook your head, trying to clear the confusion. You had to be sure, had to know that whatever decision you made, it was the right one for you. Turning around, you saw Gojo still kneeling where you had left him, his form barely visible in the distance. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t given up, even though you had walked away.

Was it really fair to expect him to change? Could you risk your heart again on the mere possibility that things might be different this time?

The truth was, you weren’t ready to forgive him. Not yet, and maybe not ever. The wounds were still too fresh, the scars too deep. Giving him another chance felt like inviting more pain into your life, a pain you weren’t sure you could endure again.

You took a deep breath and forced your feet to move, each step taking you further away from the man you once loved. The night was silent, the only sound was the soft crunch of gravel under your shoes as you walked down the empty street. The distance between you and Gojo grew, but so did the clarity in your mind. You deserved more than empty promises and second chances. You deserved someone who wouldn’t make you question your worth, someone who wouldn’t break your heart over and over again.

.

Gojo remained on his knees long after you had walked away, the chill of the night air seeping into his bones. He stared at the spot where you had stood just moments ago, as if by sheer force of will he could bring you back. But the empty space before him was a harsh reminder that you were gone, that he had lost you once again.

A dull ache settled in his chest, spreading through his entire body as he tried to process what had just happened. He had begged, pleaded, laid his heart bare before you, and yet it hadn’t been enough. You had looked at him with such pain in your eyes, a pain he knew he had caused, and that knowledge cut deeper than any rejection.

He slowly rose to his feet, his legs unsteady beneath him as he tried to regain his composure. The night felt colder now, the darkness more oppressive as he realized how truly alone he was. He had gambled everything on the hope that you might still care, that you might still see the man he was trying to become, but the truth was undeniable—you were done with him. And maybe you were right to be.

As he started walking, his mind replayed every word you had said, every look you had given him. Your voice, so full of hurt and doubt, echoed in his ears, a constant reminder of the mistakes he had made. He had taken you for granted, convinced himself that you would always be there, waiting for him to get his act together. But now, standing in the aftermath of his own selfishness, he realized just how badly he had miscalculated.

Gojo’s footsteps were heavy as he walked back to his own place, the streets eerily quiet. For the first time, he felt the full weight of his actions, the depth of the hurt he had caused not only to you but to himself. He had ruined something beautiful, something that might never be repaired, and the regret was almost too much to bear.

He reached his apartment and fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking slightly as he unlocked the door. The silence inside was deafening, the emptiness of the space mirroring the emptiness he felt within. He collapsed onto the couch, burying his face in his hands as the reality of the situation washed over him.

He had wanted so desperately to make things right, to prove to you that he had changed, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t that simple. Change wasn’t just about saying the right words or making promises—it was about action, about becoming a better person, and that was something he hadn’t truly grasped until now. He had hurt you, deeply, and no amount of pleading could erase that.

The truth settled heavily on his shoulders: he had lost you, maybe for good this time. And the worst part was, he had no one to blame but himself. He had played with your heart, made you question your worth, and now he was paying the price. The realization that he might never have another chance with you, that you might move on and find someone who would treat you the way you deserved, was almost too painful to bear.

But as he sat there in the darkness, Gojo knew that this was his moment of reckoning. He could no longer hide from the consequences of his actions. If he truly wanted to change, it had to start now—with or without you. He had to learn to be a better person, not just for you, but for himself. And if that meant letting you go, if that meant accepting that you might never forgive him, then so be it.

.

Weeks had passed since that night, but for Gojo, it felt like a lifetime. The days blurred together, a monotonous cycle of work, training, and sleepless nights. He threw himself into his duties, trying to drown out the memories of you, but nothing seemed to work. Every quiet moment was filled with thoughts of you—your laughter, your smile, the way your eyes had softened when you looked at him, before everything had fallen apart.

He hadn’t tried to contact you since that night. He knew better than to push, to force himself back into your life when you had made it clear that you needed space. Instead, he focused on himself, trying to understand where he had gone wrong, trying to become the man he had promised he would be. But no matter how much he tried to move forward, the emptiness where you used to be haunted him.

One chilly afternoon, Gojo found himself wandering aimlessly through the city streets, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he watched the world go by. It was one of those rare days when he had no obligations, no missions or responsibilities to distract him from his thoughts. The city was bustling with life, people rushing past him with purpose, but he felt disconnected from it all, as if he were watching from a distance.

As he walked, he turned a corner and stopped in his tracks. There you were, just a few steps ahead, standing at the entrance of a cozy little café. For a moment, his heart leapt at the sight of you, his mind racing with the possibility of speaking to you, of seeing how you were doing after all this time. But before he could take a step, he noticed that you weren’t alone.

Standing beside you was a man—tall, with dark hair and a warm smile that reached his eyes. He was holding your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles as you both laughed at something he had said. The sound of your laughter, so light and carefree, pierced through Gojo’s chest like a dagger. It was the same laugh he had fallen in love with, the one he had thought he might never hear again.

Gojo’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the two of you. There was an ease between you and the man, a comfort that spoke of familiarity, of something more than just a passing connection. The man leaned in closer, and you responded with a soft smile, one that Gojo knew all too well. It was the kind of smile that came from genuine happiness, from feeling safe and cherished.

He felt his heart constrict, a mix of emotions swirling inside him—regret, jealousy, sadness. But most of all, there was a deep, aching sense of loss. He had known this day might come, that you would eventually move on and find someone who could give you the love and security you deserved. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things, and the reality of it hit him harder than he had expected.

Gojo stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away from you. He knew he should leave, walk away before you noticed him, but something kept him there, some part of him that needed to see this, to accept that you were no longer his.

As you and the man turned to enter the café, Gojo’s eyes met yours for the briefest of moments. Time seemed to freeze as recognition flickered in your gaze. There was a flash of surprise, quickly followed by something else—something softer, perhaps understanding or even sympathy. But you didn’t stop, didn’t call out to him. You simply gave him a small, polite nod before turning away,

As the door of the café closed behind you, Gojo hesitated for a moment, debating whether to follow you inside. He knew he should just walk away, let you enjoy your time with the man who clearly made you happy. But something stronger than reason pushed him forward. The unresolved tension between you gnawed at him, a silent torment that demanded closure.

With a deep breath, Gojo pushed open the door to the café, the small bell above it chiming softly as he stepped inside. The warm scent of coffee and baked goods filled the air, and the soft hum of conversation surrounded him. He quickly scanned the room, spotting you at a table near the window, the man still by your side.

You noticed him immediately, your eyes widening slightly in surprise as he approached. The man beside you looked up, clearly sensing the change in your demeanor, but remained silent, his expression polite but questioning.

Gojo stopped a few feet from your table, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he struggled to find the right words. He felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the significance of what he was about to say looming large in his mind.

"Can we talk for a minute?" he asked, his voice low and tentative, trying not to intrude too much on your moment with the other man.

You hesitated, glancing at the man beside you. He gave you a small, understanding nod, standing up to give you space. "I'll be right over there," he said softly, before stepping away to another part of the café.

Once he was out of earshot, you turned your attention back to Gojo, your expression guarded but not unkind. "Gojo, what do you want?" you asked quietly, your tone not accusatory but rather cautious, as if you were bracing yourself for whatever he might say.

He took a deep breath, struggling to meet your eyes. "I just... I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything. For the way I treated you, for the way I made you feel. I know I can’t undo the past, but I need you to know that I regret it all, deeply."

You looked at him, your expression softening slightly at his words, but there was still a distance in your gaze, a wall that hadn’t been there before. "Gojo," you began, your voice gentle but firm, "I appreciate you saying that. I really do. But what’s done is done. We can’t go back and change what happened. We both know that."

He nodded, swallowing hard against the lump forming in his throat. "I know," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I just… I wish things could have been different. That I could’ve been better for you."

A small, sad smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Maybe in another life," you said softly, your words like a bittersweet melody that hung in the air between you. "Maybe in another life, we were meant to be. But in this one…"

You trailed off, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The unspoken truth between you was palpable—no matter how much either of you wished it could be different, the damage had been done. The love you once shared was irreparably broken, and no amount of apologies could fix it.

Gojo felt a sharp pain in his chest, the finality of your words cutting through him like a blade. He had known, deep down, that this was how it would end, but hearing it from you made it all the more real.

"I understand," he murmured, his voice barely audible as he looked down at the floor. "I just… I hope you find the happiness you deserve."

You reached out then, gently touching his arm, the gesture both comforting and heartbreaking. "I hope you do too, Gojo," you whispered, your voice filled with a kind of tenderness that he hadn’t heard from you in a long time. "Take care of yourself."

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and acceptance. He knew this was goodbye—not just for now, but for the life you might have had together. It was the kind of parting that left an indelible mark on his soul, a reminder of what could have been.

With a heavy heart, Gojo nodded, turning to leave the café. As he walked away, he didn’t look back, knowing that doing so would only make it harder to let go. The door closed behind him, the cool air outside hitting him like a wake-up call. He stood there for a moment, trying to steady his breathing, trying to process the finality of what had just happened.

Inside, you watched him leave, your heart heavy but resolute. There was a part of you that would always care for Gojo, that would always wonder what might have been. But you knew, deep down, that you had made the right choice. Sometimes, love wasn’t enough to bridge the gap that had grown between two people. Sometimes, the kindest thing you could do was let go.

As you turned back to your table, the man who had been with you returned, concern etched on his face. He didn’t ask what had happened—he didn’t need to. He simply took your hand in his, offering silent support as you both sat down together.

Gojo walked down the street, the sun beginning to set, casting long shadows on the pavement. The ache in his chest was still there, but so was a strange sense of peace. You had found your path, and now, he had to find his own. And maybe, just maybe, in another life, things would have been different. But in this one, it was time to move on.

End

© fvsm4x 2023/4 : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

taglist: @3zae-zae3 @sexeyess @silkija @dancinhhillary @musicarose @vanevafu @labelt-san @cl16void @feellaaya @animechick555 @nanmiik @ichikanu @cupidszvlvr @pinksaiyans @phoenix666stuff @coffeeluvr96 @alpha-mommy69 @isaacdaholi @xx-rfg-xx @certainduckanchor @ambalikadubeyy-blog @r0ckst4rjk @xxemmarldxx @starrylibras @lady-cryptstone @sparklydhokla @hoeforchoso @sweetlilhoshi @getou0309 @n8mareee @integers @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @skittleabyss @softnorth @maliakealoha @avalordream @dazaisfavgf @thebacksack @darkphoenix3432 @mwtsxri @nothisispatrick300 @andioopsworld @sup-hoes-its-me @yihona-san06 @s3r-en-d1p-ity @mandysfanfics @adanfore @rainydayssmokescreens @luvvmae @aquamarine001 @chilichopsticks @tinyjeo @adoretaylor @girlsvvish @misfits1a

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR STICKING WITH THIS STORY\(^ヮ^)/ new gojo series soon<33

[xylianasblog]

miles Quaritch smut story please heheh

The scent of you.

Pairings: Quaritch x FemHuman Reader

Summary: They say the senses are the gateway to the memory.

Warnings: MDNI, aged gap, Young reader/older reader, human Quaritch/avatar Quaritch, p in v, time skip, size difference, tummy bulge, dirty talk, if I missed anything I’m sorry.

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦❀✿❀꒦꒷❀꒷꒦MDNI꒦꒷❀꒷꒦❀✿❀꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

Quaritch groaned as he buried himself balls deep into the tight cunt he was fucking into. For such an old man he still knew how to use his body to a woman’s liking, it didn’t matter that said woman was 30 years younger than him.

You had become his favorite fuck, so lively and young you made him feel things he wasn’t supposed to feel. Yet the one thing that drew him in was the smell of you.

He enjoyed burying his face into your neck as he breathed in your scent, the soft hint of vanilla brought him a sense of comfort. The overwhelming smell of the fresh dew drops on the leaves in the morning as the sun begins to rise made him incredibly horny.

The soft hints of vanilla mixed nicely with the heady musky scent of your arousal. Calling to him reminding him of what it was like to be young.

He lost himself in the feel of your wet cunt gripping onto his cock, his mind focused on the smell of you surrounding him. Invading all of his senses, “Fuck sweetheart, this tight little cunt of yours takes me too fucking well.” He praises your cunt as he continues with his deep yet hard thrust. “Taking me like it was made for me.”

He groans loudly against your neck, his hands gripping onto your thighs as he pushes them apart more. “Who knew such a pretty little bitch would make the perfect slut for my cock.”

He enjoyed the way his treatment on your body and the words he slurred in a pleasurable haze caused your body to respond in magnificent ways. Needy you were, compliant, most importantly in these moments you were only his. He’d never outright say that though, telling himself he just enjoyed the way your pussy clung greedily to his cock.

“You look pathetic, taking this old man’s cock like this.” He grunted loudly through clenched teeth, hold on your thighs grew tighter as he felt his release closing in. “But you take it so well.. my perfect little cocksleeve.” He declared as he released deep inside of you, forcing your own orgasm as ropes of his seed coated your insides.

After a moment he laid there simply breathing in your scent, surrounding himself in the comfort your body provided. He’d be off soon, in 2 hours exact, to go off and fight Jake sully. He wasn’t sure if he’d be back, wasn’t even sure if he’d live but one thing for sure was that if he did die his last moments of life wanted to be basking in the feeling of you, even if it is fleeting.

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

The fight has begun, his soldiers dying, falling left and right. There’s not much one can do when you’re a measly human in a world that wasn’t meant for you.

Fighting with Jake has been a little easy for Quaritch, granted the amp suit helped a lot, but when someone brings arrows to a knife fight you’re bound to die.

Quaritch knew the saying all too well “Your life flashes before your eyes.” He just never thought he himself would ever get to experience it. All the fucked up things he’s done in his life whether by his own free will or orders from his life as a marine he probably deserved this painful death. The difficulty of breathing stung his very lungs with each shallow breath he could breathe. His blood felt like it was on fire tiny, little needles digging into every inch of his skin. Gathering as much air into his body as he could Quaritch was forced to watch as his life played bit by bit but his favorite was finding comfort in all things that you offered him.

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

Dying to the hands of an ex marine and his blue cat woman was one thing. Being brought back as the very thing you detest is another.

New senses, conflicting feelings. What more was there to being a stranger in a body that was never meant for to be yours? Quaritch struggled making sense of it all. His now blue skin, stronger build, so many sounds, so many new tastes. For fucks sake the irritation he felt from his tail alone.

Endless training in a foreign body, but at least he could freely breathe the out when he went out.

The orders were simple, scope out the area, find Sully and his home. Kill them all. Yet once again things don’t go as planned.

Having hostages weren’t about of the plan, having one that was his human son and another that was his lover definitely wasn’t apart of any known plan.

The boys limp body in his corporals arms and your tense body, eyes trained on Quaritch. He could feel your stare, the way it burned into his very soul. His eyes found yours as he watched the way your body heaved with each breath you took. Your small body struggling to break free of the restraints as you fight to get to the teenage boy. Quaritch could hear the way your breath hitched as he pinned you with his stare, how you pressed your thighs together in such a subtle way that he would have missed it had he not been staring you down.

The moment you were on the scorpion you rushed over to an unconscious spider, holding his body tight against yours protectively, yet Quaritch said nothing as he watched. His heart feeling the familiar ache. Family, his family.

When Quaritch finally stepped into your holding room he was overcome with the smell of you, every inch of the room was coated in your scent. His ears perked up, tail going rigid just as the corners of his lip twitched. Quaritch stared down at your small frame, everything looked exactly the same except you were older. Much older than he is in this new body.

Quaritch watched the way you eyed his body, your own fingers fiddling around. You were nervous that much was sure but was it because you were wet at the sight of his new body? He was different now, younger, stronger, blue, and he was no stranger to your fascination with the Na’vi and now that he was like them; as close to being like them as he could be he understood your interest was peaked.

Crouching down before you he let his eyes roam over your body, thick and full, plump just as your features had aged gracefully every part of you seemed to age well. He closed his eyes as his mind was overwhelmed with memories of you, so many memories.

Your scent once again clouding his senses, overwhelming him with every bit of you. He reached forward grabbing ahold of your chin between his big fingers, his hold gentle but firm, with that your body reacted on its own, a shudder racking through you despite doing your best to hold it back. “Well well if it isn’t that sweet young thing i use ta fuck.” He continued to inspect you, noticing everything about you.

You had finally seemed to be doing the same, eyeing him. Observing him for this moment, your brows furrowed and your lips turned up into a frown until you heard him speak. “Ya ain’t aged a bit, and ya still smell the same like fresh dew drops in the summer,” he leaned forward burying his face into your neck. “The same soft hints of vanilla…” he let a purr rumble deep within him.

You let out a soft hum as you felt his nose rubbing along your neck, Quaritch taking in deep inhales of your scent. Your body reacted to having him so close, this new him to be exact. His large hands maneuvering your body to his will. At your new position in his lap you can feel his cock tightening in his pants as the memories danced around him, he grunted moving you down as he continued to rock slowly, his length now grinding against your cloth covered ass. “Fuck… there’s no way I got hard like some high schooler who’s just got his dick wet.” The sound of your soft laugh had Quaritch groaning slightly. “Mmm fuck, how badly I need this pussy.”

He could tell by the way your breathing changed and the heightened smell of your arousal that you missed this, you miss him fucking away at your tight cunt. He took note of how you didn’t fight back, never even tried to push him away.

You both eyed on one another as he undressed your body, his hands touching and kneading at the your breast. Large hands pinching and rubbing your perky nipples, soft moans falling from your lips as he continued to touch you. As his hands slide down your stomach, touching and feeling every inch of you in a new light. Quaritch seemed to be mesmerized nothing could prepare him for the overwhelming smell of you the moment he pulled your panties off.

Everything that was concealed was now revealed to him, his cock grew tighter in his restraints, precum leaking through the fabric. He needed to be inside you and he needed it soon, but he held back. You quirked around, whimpering as he slide one of his thick fingers inside your sopping wet entrance. Your body reacting as if he was never dead, as if this wasn’t a new version of himself before you. His fingers working their magic as they stretched you out, working your pussy in his own favor. He knew how to force those orgasms from your body.

As he pulled his drenched fingers from your cunt you whimpered, watching as he licked your juices off his fingers. Your brows pinched together as you watched him undo his pants finally freeing himself from his confines, his cock springing free. The tip slick with precum that dribbled from slit, such a mouthwatering sight for you just as it always had been. His thick girthy cock ready to fuck away at your human cunt.

As he aligned himself with your entranced he slowly worked his way inside. He watched as he eased inch by inch inside, the sight of your pussy swallowing him. His hands on your thighs as he held your legs open, your hands grabbing at his fingers as you tried to steady yourself.

Since his death you’ve never been with another not even after the birth of your son, Spider. Quaritch was the only man you’ve given yourself too and now was no different. Your body was already pushed over the limit of orgasms but this wasn’t like anything else, the burn of the stretch he was putting your pussy through.

“Fuck.. you’re so tight..” he forced out a grunt as he eased himself further into your heat. Once he was all the way inside, he ran his fingers over the bulge, seeing just how snug his cock was inside you. “Shit… you did so good.. taking all of me in this tiny body of yours.” Quaritch tilted his head as his ears turned up, eyes clouded with lust as he held back. “Mother of my son and this damn cunt is still s’tight.”

His words had your body shuddering, pussy clamping down tighter. “This body of yours.. is new to sex… your young virgin dick won’t last.” The unsuspected squeezing had Quaritch bucking forward just as your words were left grating his nerves. “Oh!” You cried out, the sensation overwhelming in every sense of the word. “Fuck me..” you choked out.

His grip on your thighs tightened as he pulled back only to push back in, each thrust insight your tight heat had his mind going numb. Your words played in his head, he wouldn’t last long. You felt so good wrapped around him, just as good as you felt back when he was human. “Fuck.. I don’t think I can let you go again.” Despite your cries of pleasure his words struck a nerve, Quaritch was far too gone.

Lost in the scent of you, his favorite smell, his Ike favorite memory.

He leaned forward, his body shielding yours from the word as he nuzzled his face back into your neck. Breathing in deeply, now that his sense of smell was better he got to smell every scent you had. Now mixed in with the woodsy tones of Pandora.

He couldn’t help the small grunt as he tipped over the edge of his orgasm, it left his body shuddering. Your tiny frame shook underneath him as he finished inside you the overflowing seed seeped from your cunt. Dribbling around the floor beneath you. “Still my favorite cunt to fuck.”

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

Taglist: @xstarsdiary @etherial-moon-blog @neteyamyawne @torukmaktoskxawng @quicktosimp @anemonelovesfiction @erenjaegerwifee @cardi-bre91 @maniisplxnet @pandoraslxna @rivatar @thepeonysbackup @tallulah477 @eywaite @luvv4j4ybe11

[sorceresssundries]

Dark Desires

A smutty one-shot based on a prompt from this list. I'll tell you the prompt after.

Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav/Durge

Summary: Tav (Durge) is tired of Gale veiling his darker desires and limiting his potential.

Warnings: SMUT. SMUT SMUT SMUT. Dark(er) Gale.

Word Count: 3.1k

The day had not gone well.

They were all tired, bruised, and sweat-soaked from hours of scouring the abandoned adamantine forge. Exhaustion weighed them down and was pressing heavily on already delicate tempers.

They had set up camp in the bowels of the ancient, destroyed temple of Shar. The heat from the lava spluttered below them, the remains of once-worshipped idols now reduced to nothing more than a burning, molten sea. The hisses and pops of the lava echoed out into cavernous depths, its glow casting eerie, dancing shadows on the cracked stone walls, painting the temple crimson and black.

Tav sat outside her tent, head throbbing with a dull, pounding ache, as though her lost memories were closed knuckles trying their best to beat their way to the front of her mind, threatening to burst her skull apart into a white-hot flash of violence. The heat was not helping her mood. It made it tough to think clearly. The stifling warmth clotted the atmosphere, making each breath feel sticky as it was dragged into her lungs. She craved clean air. A clean mind.

“Might I have a word?” Gale’s posture was stiff, his tone formal as he approached her. They were the only two in camp, the others had headed out in search of much needed supplies, and Tav had hoped she would be able to spend a few hours in peace. She had no real desire to speak to him right now. She was tired and aching, the battle earlier had taken a lot out of her. 

They had scraped a win by the skin of their teeth, and only because her magic had bloomed outwards in a rage of fire, lashing whip-cracks of flame in all directions, injuring Lae’zel and Wyll in the process. She hadn't done it intentionally; the power fizzing through her veins sometimes had a mind of its own. That raw, uncontrollable magic combined with the pressing urges that haunted her made for a dangerous mix. It had gotten them out of numerous sticky situations but had also caused significant damage along the way. 

In the moments that followed, where the air still crackled with her magic and danced over her skin, she had locked eyes with Gale, and the desire in his gaze could have pulled a city from the sky. 

He stood before her now and cleared his throat, as though to dislodge his words.

“I once read a book that explained in some detail…”

“I don’t need one of your lessons right now, wizard” she sighed, standing, rubbing her temples with weary, calloused fingers. She glared at him, and noticed his expression shift from awkward to angry. The heat was clearly getting to him too.

“Well, maybe if you applied some basic discipline to that inert, crude magic of yours, sorcerer, we would be less likely to encounter the problems we faced today.” His tone was scolding, condescending. She hated when he spoke to her like this, it enraged her. 

“We survived, didn’t we? If it wasn’t for my crude magic then you’d be nothing more than a crater and a cloud of red mist. Not even the weave would have been able to stitch you back together.”

Gale's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Survival isn’t the only metric of success, Tav. The reckless use of power comes at a cost. Lae’zel and Wyll bear the scars of your uncontrolled outburst. We need to find a balance, a way to harness your strength without endangering the group.”

Tav’s frustration bubbled beneath the surface, her head pounding even harder. She knew Gale had a point, but the constant pressure to control something that felt as wild and untamed as a storm was suffocating. 

“And what would you have me do? My magic isn’t like yours. It doesn’t follow rules or commands. It’s a part of me, and sometimes it reacts without my say.” He was about to come back with a cut from that bladed tongue of his, so Tav kept going before he spent the next half an hour admonishing her.  “And maybe if you were a bit more reckless and free from your harness, you could cast magic without having to think about your dusty books and your precious ex-lover first. Might make you a little quicker off the mark.”

“Mystra is the source of all magic, including yours I might add!”

“My magic is my own.” Tav said steadily. 

“By Mystra’s grace.” Gale muttered under his breath. Tav was getting tired of his immovable, relentless devotion. It was becoming tiring.

“The weave may be hers, but our mastery of it is not.” Tav took a step towards him, she could smell the day’s musk clinging to him, mixing with the thick heat in the air. She could practically taste the scent of him on her tongue. There was a bead of sweat which slid down from his brow in a slow trickle. “You should let go a little, see what happens if you’re a bit more… primitive. There is life outside of Mystra’s palm, you know.” 

She was standing so close she could lean forward and run her tongue along his collarbone. She ached to do so. This man needed undoing. 

She had seen the way he looked at her, when the darkness called and her lips flashed from smile to sneer. When the bloodthirsty whispers poured promises of power into the whorl of her ear and she felt suddenly unstoppable. Her muscles would tighten and breath run ragged, and she would catch his eyes - a pretty creep of darkness stirring there to match her own. He hungered for her. He just wouldn’t admit it. 

She would have to make him. 

Tav met those dark eyes now, where lust for power and lust for her swirled together into a potent pool she wished to drown in. 

“I could help you let go, show you what real, mortal pleasure looks like. I could make you forget your Goddess for a little while. Perhaps even forever.” Tav’s voice was a siren’s song in a ceaseless ocean, and he was rock-strewn and desperate.

He swallowed thickly.

Gale liked to play the hero, but Tav saw through his façade, the veneer that masked a core of ambition and hunger. He cloaked himself in ideals, but beneath the surface, there was a darker drive that mirrored her own. Gale's ambition, though veiled in scholarly pursuits and noble causes, resonated with the raw, unbridled power that surged through her veins. They were kindred spirits, both dancing on the edge of control, both forged in the same fire.

They could be unstoppable, the two of them. There was enough power there to crumble the Absolute into dust. Not just the Absolute - anyone who stood before them. They could be more than gods; they could be whatever they wanted.

His fingers moved to trace featherlight over the sharpness of her jaw. His mouth was parted slightly and she could see the flash of his teeth, the curve of his tongue which she wanted to taste with her own. 

“Tempting” his voice was lower now, rougher. “But i’m afraid with my condition as volatile as it is, any undue… excitement… could tip it over the edge.” 

“I don’t believe that.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, I don’t believe it. Look at you now. Face flushed, chest heaving, provoked, heated. And you’re fine. I’ve seen you, mid-fight, full of adrenaline, when you make fire rain and lighting strike and the flash of light makes your smug little smile dance. You like it. And that level of excitement hasn’t destroyed you.” 

She reached out to trace the lines of the orb on his chest, exposed by his low-cut, loose robes, a necessity in the heat. Her fingers felt the indentations in his skin, the shallow, bruise-coloured carvings where his sweat gathered. She brought her damp, salty finger to her mouth, tasting the mingling of sweat and magic.

“I think you could handle it.”

His breathing was laboured, the hotness of it combining with the stifling air of the forge. “You would risk blowing us all to pieces, for what? Some mortal indulgence?”

“Wouldn’t you?” 

The silence burned between them, and Gale was caught between desires. He wanted her, but there was a voice telling him it would be a mistake. With his heart pumping so furiously and his head buzzing with the thought of Tav’s skin against his tongue, he did not know if that voice was his own - or that of his Goddess.

“Did she ever fuck you?” Tav’s voice was mocking, desire scorching the corners of her words until they smoked. 

“What Mystra and I shared was beyond fucking, I can assure you. You wouldn’t be able to understand the depth and intricacy of out…”

“So.. no?”

Her words were a lilt, a song, an invitation. She reached out her fingers to brush against the glint of silver nestled in the sweat-damp curls of his hair. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game. Meddling in things you know very little about.” He was speaking so softly now that each word was almost a whisper.

“Oh? I’d say I understand you better than you think. You tried to win a clever game against a God, and were surprised when she outplayed you. You wanted to match her power, and she cast you aside, seeing you for what you truly are. Another Karsus. An ambitious fool with an ego big enough to think he deserved to equal her power. That darkness in you had to cling to something Gale, It’s just feeding off what was already there.”

Something which was pulled tight, snapped.

“Go fuck yourself.” He purred, gaze glowering. There it was. That beautiful dark flash she loved so much. Tav had never heard him so blunt, so lacking in his usual verbosity. He hid behind his carefully constructed sentences like they were city walls, and now there was naught but crushed bricks and spite. 

He walked away, finished with her. But Tav was not finished with him.

“Fuck me yourself, you coward.” 

Coward.

The word ignited him. A second of final uncertainty was banished forever as he strode back to her wordlessly, blazing. He grabbed her waist, clutching her almost painfully as he kissed her the way he had fantasised about every time he saw her bursts of unbound, fiercely beautiful power. She was crimson in a world where he had only known soft violet.

There was no romance or tenderness, no promises of endless devotion or nights of a thousand pleasures. They didn't dance together in the sea of night, letting the weave morph them into ethereal, matterless energies. There was sweat and tongue and heat, pain that tasted like pleasure. Gale's moans were cracked and heavy as his teeth grazed Tav's neck. He could feel her heartbeat, hard and lustful under his tongue, pulsing all her mortal blood around the body he craved so desperately. Her hand was ungraceful as it tore apart the laces of his trousers, pushing down to find him unabashedly hard and wanting.

Tav smirked against his lips. "If you want something, you should just take it."

He grasped her hair hard in one hand, pulling her head back to look at him. Her pupils were lust-blown, her lips swollen from their bruising kiss.

"I intend to."

He tore the flimsy camp shirt from her, and Gale wasted no time in palming her bare breasts. He groaned at the feel of them, slick with her sweat, their weight and warmth driving him to the edge. He pushed them both to the ground ungracefully, his mouth moving down her body with such force and fervor that his lips and tongue left bruises. He wanted to fuck her recklessly and relentlessly, but first, he wanted to undo her completely.

He unceremoniously pulled down her trousers and underwear, feeling his cock twitch harder at the silken sight of her. The second his tongue tasted her cunt, she growled. He paused to look at her, writhing and helpless beneath him. Finally.

“Look who’s suddenly out of clever little words.” He murmured, breathing hard through his nose, her scent caught there. “Nothing to say to me now, hmm?”

“Gale,” was all she could manage, her sharp edges dulled. The plea in her softened voice made him drive his tongue back into her even harder. He was the one taking her.

Tav's hands clawed at the ground, her back arching as he devoured her. Every touch, every flick of his tongue sent shivers of pleasure through her body. She was unravelling, her mind a haze of lust and need. She pulled at his hair, guiding him, urging him on, her moans growing louder, more desperate.

He thought he would burn out from the heat alone. The sticky air clung to him like wet, heavy clothing. He felt so smothered with tacky humidity he could drown in it. They were both soaked, their sweat indistinguishable, their tastes mingling. Gale had once believed that the melding of minds and souls was the closest he could be to someone, but he was wrong. Here and now, with Tav, burning for and with each other, it felt like they were flames from the same ember.

She tasted like nothing else. Like sweat and salt. Like the first meal after a day of starving. She was red meat and bold wine and the ocean and something completely indescribable. She was a meal he wanted to indulge in completely until he was gorged. Tremors began to flicker through her legs, and her hips twitched more forcefully, pushing his nose further into her. He thought he might suffocate—let him, he thought. If he died with her scent in his lungs and her taste on his lips, so be it.

“Come. Now.” He said against her, the low thrum of his voice a vibration. Her hands clenched so tight in his hair her nails dug into his scalp, and he hissed as she came, bucking like an untamed animal as he did his best to keep her hips still while she rode his face into oblivion.

“More,” she gasped as he moved up to kiss her messily, his face soaked with her.

“Like this?” he growled as he finally thrust into her, his fingers digging into the supple flesh of her thighs. He pushed her legs upward, pinning her completely beneath him. He wanted her to feel all of him, to rub against her clit as he slammed into her.

He was tired of her acidity and sharp tongue; he wanted to douse her in pleasure until she was a wrecked woman who couldn’t string a sentence together. He wanted to fill her mouth with his cock just to stop her talking, to see her eyes water from the fullness of him as she gagged on him. And she would love every filthy minute of it, he knew, until he spilled himself down her throat, his hand tight in her hair.

He wanted to taste his own seed on her tongue. He wanted her to taste herself. He wanted to fuck her so deeply, and come inside her so fully that those two tastes became one.

She was intoxicating. Not only could he taste and feel her mortal flesh twitching and pulsing beneath him, he could feel the sensations dancing over his own skin. His cock throbbed, coated in the slick of her arousal. Caused by him. His breath was erratic, his usual reliable words lost in the bonfire of her.

She was infuriating. She was selfish. She was dangerous.

She was his, and he called out her name from the thought.

Her response was a mix of a moan and a cry, her nails raking down his back, her eyes half-closed in pleasure. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in another melting kiss, swallowing her cries as he thrust deeper, harder. His hands roamed her body, memorising every curve, every shiver of pleasure.

He could feel her nearing the edge again, her body tightening around him, every muscle coiling with anticipation. With one hand, he reached between them, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. The sensation sent her spiralling, her climax crashing over her with a force that left her trembling and breathless. Her moans turned to cries of ecstasy, her nails digging into his back as her body shuddered violently.

He watched her face contort with pleasure, her eyes glazed and lips parted, and it spurred him to thrust harder, deeper. His fingers never stopped their relentless motion, drawing out her orgasm until she was a quivering mess beneath him. He could feel her pulsing around his cock and he knew he was close. The sight of her coming undone, the sound of her pleading for more, was enough to push him over the edge

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside her, his own release tearing through him. He groaned her name, his voice thick with passion, as he filled her, their bodies locked together. His fingers continued to work her, drawing out every last tremor, until she was left panting and spent.

He collapsed onto her, their sweat-slicked bodies pressed together, his breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment, they lay there, tangled in each other, the air around them heavy and hot with the scent of sex. Slowly, Gale lifted his head to look at her, his eyes dark and glinting. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle after their ferocity.

“See,” she panted, “I told you you could handle it.”

He rested his head against her neck, wordless. His clever, moral little thoughts had burnt out in the chaos of her, and all that was left was the ambition she had stoked.

“There is so much more to life than what she offers,” Tav breathed. “A whole other, messy, mortal world out there, with more power than your Goddess was willing to give you.” She paused, her voice a whisper against his ear. “But I am. I would give you everything.”

Gale met her gaze, his eyes searching hers. For a fleeting moment, he swore he caught a flash of red within them. They were so close, their faces almost touching, that the same flash of red reflected in his own dark stare.

“Show me”

The prompt was...

"Go fuck yourself"

"Fuck me yourself, you coward."

[daffydilled]

On using the Robins

Alright, I know I'm preaching to the choir here, but DC? We gotta talk about the Robins and how they're used. For a company and comic universe with a truly spectacular willingness to explore every possible avenue of a character, if you want to really get to the point of Batman, we're going to need Robins used consistently across media and we're going to need the right ones used.

Why? TL;DR: the Robin you use tells us a hell of a lot about the Batman you're using. If you're going to keep using Batman in everything, we're going to need Robins. And they need to be the right ones. Using the wrong Robin is destroying live action DC adaptations.

Believe it or not, this whole rant started with me playing Gotham Knights on my PS5. Normally, anything that distinguishes between Robins and puts them interacting with others is pretty damn good to go in my book. It's not exactly common, after all. But I got about 15 hours into it and realized what was bugging me so much: it uses the wrong Robins.

Let me clarify. Nightwing and Red Hood are nearly perfect. They're exactly where they need to be. But if that game let Tim Drake detect in the role filled by Batgirl, let Batgirl be Oracle, and put Damian Wayne into the 'young Robin finding his wings' role that Tim plays, the story would have been far more cohesive. Why? Because I would have bought the final word Bruce tells them far more and I would have bought Talia's involvement as well.

This particular Bruce Wayne is an older Batman, one comfortable removing himself from the cause and passing it on to the rest of his family. The balance of Robins (and the misuse of Batgirl) upsets this. This isn't a team that is ready for that step yet, and Bruce in-game would know that. One can argue that's part of the tragedy of it, but the weight of the dynamic is still lopsided. The game feels unbalanced. If a story is going to rest on proteges and inheritors, I need to buy their ability to take over for Batman, and I don't. (And don't get me started on the misuse of Babs in this game. That woman has her own team, her own struggle!

Batman v Superman pokes me too. It's the lack of a Robin in these, though, that really grind my gears. That is a violent, brutal Batman that has fallen so far into 'The Mission's' ass, I kept expecting to see a suited memorial to a dead kid in his batcave and an extremely stubborn thirteen-year old stopping him from breaking a Kryptonian's face open before the dread "Save Martha" can be said.

That is a Batman that screams I just lost my son. He is so angry and bitter and walks around with an armory for a suit. That's a perfectly acceptable Batman to explore, when paired with the context of Jason Todd. Otherwise, it just reads like they made the movie gritty for the sake of being gritty and missed out on piles of nuance for both the heroes.

Frankly, a Batman grieving Jason Todd and a Superman processing the arrival of a cloned version of him mixed with Luthor's DNA would go miles to explaining the mental states of both these guys, but nobody bothered to do that, so I'm just bitter.

One of the oddest mix-ups of Robins I've ever seen has absolutely nothing to do with Batman. It's from Birds of Prey or The Fabulous Emancipation of Harley Quinn, where somehow Stephanie Brown and Jason Todd pre-pit get fused into one character and named Cassandra Cain. That is. Odd. I don't even really know how to address it, but I'm going to try.

Fact one: Steph would have been a perfect kid for Harley to meet in that movie. She's whip-smart, tough as nails, survived having a supervillain for a dad, and could, in the right light, even look a bit like Harley. There's this great potential there for her to remind Harley of a younger version of herself before the Joker got to her and wouldn't have messed with the vibes Birds of Prey was going for at all.

Fact two: Jason Todd also wouldn't have been too odd of a fit, especially if this was happening in a world where he did manage to jack the tires. He's immediately recognizable to the fans, though, which I do think would have pulled focus from the Birds in that movie.

Fact three: That was not Cassandra Cain and it was frankly a bit of an insult to her character to name that character Cassandra Cain. That's a rant for another time though.

Why mention it now? It's indicative of the greater issue DC has with adapting its characters to screen. Namely the issue to actually adapt the characters at all and not turn them into some weird Frankenstein'd versions of themselves. There's no Batman in Birds of Prey, but the world he'd inhabit is. And that world, based on our poor scrambled egg mess of Robins, is a disaster.

I think it's important for DC to remember they are adapting comics here, and those comics do not shy away from using Robins in them. Even in the most bat-shit (pun not intended) alternate universes where there's Cthulhu Batman or Edwardian Batman or White Knight Batman, the Robins are there.

How they're living and dying in those universes is one of the reliable ways to judge things like tone, narrative priorities, and themes. There's nothing wrong with trying a few different version of Batman, but Batman without Robin doesn't work long-term. It hasn't before and it will continue to fail if DC, in their adaptations, don't get a handle on their universes' scale. After all, the heroes only work if they have people to pass the work onto.

[coalmonger]

LOTR/The Silmarillion time travel fic ideas and prompts

Not all of these are very serious but I would read a 200 thousand+ word story about them in a heartbeat. Who doesn't love crazy concepts?

Maybe I'll try my hand at making one of these but still, if you use any, tag me!

1 Boromir's no good very bad quest

'Boromir dies as he lived, honorably. Despite what he had fallen too. No man expects to come back from it, not truly. '

Boromir wakes up a week away from Rivendell, a week away from the council meeting. This time, he won't let himself fall, no matter what. Even if he has to sacrifice himself to do it.

2 At least we have each other?

'Merry and Pippin go to sleep a year after the war, Boromir dies a year before then. They all wake far, far in the past.. at least Boromir is here'

Just an older brother trying to keep the kids safe, with vague memories of history classes and a will to survive! The Fëanorians aren't ready for rowdy Hobbits and a rather secretive man. At least the man speaks Sindarin.

3 Birds of a feather

(Can you tell I love this one?)

'Elrond wakes up as a bird, in a place very unlike Imladris. Surprisingly this isn't the worst thing to happen that day.'

Elrond wakes up as a strong winged bird on the shores of Losgar. His situation is confusing and not a little disorienting but he understands quickly when he sees a blaze in the near distance. His instincts let him fly in the air, it's his mind that flies towards the flames rather than away.

The ships are ablaze and a memory strikes him... Amrod is saved that day by a rather mystical bird. The Fëanorians think he's one of Manwë's.

He's going to have a rather interesting time. He'll find a way to unbird himself eventually.

You could add more excitement into the mix if Elrond's kids also got birdtified, the flock will find each other again somehow!

4 Memories of affection

'Maglor doesn't notice when it happens, lost in his own mind once again.

His family does though'

Maglor has spent an eternity alone, he can't hide that even when it's made clear when and where he is. All that pain and suffering can't disappear with a flick of the wrist. Especially when the searing burn on his palm still blazes.

Fëanor fears deeply for his son, it seems almost as if he's falling to the same thing his own mother had. He doesn't know what or who caused this but he WILL find out and WILL help his son.

5 Eternally stuck with you, my friend

'How about side by side with a friend?

Always.'

Classic time loop with Legolas and Gimli. Starting off just before the council meeting. If any member of the fellowship dies they start over, yes including Boromir. Aragorn gets told about the loop in a LOT of rounds, even if he's not told, he almost always notices something is off with Legolas.

Legolas and Gimli could have a bromance or a romance, both would be beautiful!

[your-dear-memmy]

I need a Hope's Peak Post-game VR AU where the V3 cast's ultimates are real and they were and STILL ARE classmates.

I want them to exit the simulation and be FLOODED with memories of their friendship with one another that they had forgotten (like trigger happy havoc except they remember their lost memories and nobody actually dies!) and all the implications and complicated feelings that would bring.

Firstly, the context would probably be that they were kidnapped from Makoto's Hope's Peak by some Despair fanatics, which would happen perhaps after the V3 cast had already attended around 2 years at the school or so.

I want them to remember being close friends with their victims and culprits! (and possibly reel at being changed like Korekiyo being turned into a serial killer, Kirumi into the prime minister or possibly even Tsumugi being made into an unwilling mastermind when in truth she's just some girl, but that's the usual VR AU stuff.)

Of course, I'm mostly thinking about the Kokichi implications and the psychological trauma everyone would retain:

The others remembering him as a classmate who in a normal environment was just a good natured prankster who could be mean (he tried to push them all away many times before giving up lol, his trust issues wouldn't be nearly as bad outside of a death game) but not evil nor sadistic, and at the end of the day just strived to make everybody laugh, pre-game. (In-game he strived to save as many people as possible and tbh even if his plan failed Kaito would've died anyway so it did kind of work in the end, but that's not the point✨)

Kokichi's classmates would also remember on some level that his organization is pacifistic, (yes DICE is real and yes Kokichi can't look them in the eye after breaking their rule💪) because I think it's possible for him to purposefully let slip that much to at least some of his classmates, if there was trust between 'em, and it would be a great display of it given how dear DICE is to Kokichi.

Kokichi would still come from a bad background (in-game he says that his is different than Kaito's, who has loving guardians, so that's my assumption) so naturally he wouldn't be fully trusting even without the killing game, but he wouldn't be paranoid (Is it paranoia if they're really out to get you?) to the brink of a mental breakdown.

So, put together the memories of an endearingly mischievious but good natured Kokichi who everyone knows likes to help in roundabout ways VS the Monokuma-esque mask Kokichi put on in the killing game where he disguises his every good intention as sadistic, so much so that his crashout in ch 4-5 is dismissed as a malicious lie.

I'm thinking about how Kokichi and Miu would be great friends outside of the killing game and how remembering that plus the trauma would be an absolute BOMB of mixed, conflicting feelings. They were allies at some point in the killing game, but the betrayal and guilt on both ends would sting so much more if they had actually been close friends before!

I'm also contemplating Kokichi and Gonta's relationship, and how Gonta would know without a doubt that Kokichi's despair before his execution was real (in this AU Kokichi would feel even more guilty for involving Gonta in his bullshit, 'cause how could he EVER doubt that Gonta could be anything but genuinely, truthfully kind? He only realized that when Gonta forgave him just before getting killed, and now they both have memories of being close friends; the difference between Pre-game Kokichi telling Gonta he may be naive but not stupid, and In-game Kokichi hammering in how stupid Gonta is because he's trying to push him away and get him to break, because there's no way someone could ever be that kind, right?) and they would both blame themselves even if everyone turned out alive in the end. (I think in ch4 Kokichi improv'd a LOT and his actions weren't as calculated as he let on, because he was gonna get killed and no one but Gonta would believe him, and we don't really know how Kokichi initially reacted to the secret of the outside world, so any amount of irrationality can be attributed to his fragile mental state, but I digress.)

Kokichi and Kaito would've still been rivals but overtime they would've understood each other and become close friends, so now they have the memories of that gradual relationship of unspoken friendship and comraderie plus the traumabonding of the hangar! Isn't that neat? Taking part in what is basically an assisted suicide and then finding out the guy you killed was really just some kid who liked playing games and pranking people!

A kid who did some fucked up shit and acted like a dick, but it's not like he's alone in that; I want to highlight just how much the Killing game twists people's minds, of how the desperation it creates in everyone's mind makes it so everyone can be capable of heinous actions. Of how it does make sense that someone like Kokichi (whose organization has a don't kill rule) would plan a murder if cornered and threatened to be murdered himself.

That desperation is a bit exaggerated when it comes to characters like Kirumi (though her selfless devotion was selfish after all, in a way. Way to play god, prime minister!) and it's vastly different with Korekiyo, but I feel like it does resonate humanly well in Kaede and Gonta, in separate ways.

Everyone is capable of murder and their past memories remind them that even people who are good at their core can do evil acts, so it's hard to dismiss the culprits (and culprits by proxy like Kokichi) as inherently evil, and yet there are so many conflicting feelings that nobody knows how to even begin to dissect.

Too bad they have at least one more year of Hope's Peak to get through, so there's no running away from their feelings!

[elicathebunny]

HOW TO REDUCE MALADAPTIVE DREAMING.

(suggestion post)

I have actually experienced this since the age of around 9 or 10 years and only managed to reduce and basically almost get rid of it after 5 or 6 years. I am no doctor or professional, so all of this is just by experience mixed with online research.

WHAT IS MALADAPTIVE DAYDREAMING?

Maladaptive daydreaming is a mental health issue that causes a person to lose themselves in complex daydreams. These daydreams are usually a coping mechanism for other mental health conditions or circumstances. It's common — but not required — for people who have this to have a history of childhood trauma or abuse.

SYMPTOMS:

Extensive, sometimes compulsive, absorption in fantasy for several hours a day

Inability to stop daydreaming

Having very detailed fantasies, including plot lines and characters

Having real-life reactions to fantasies, like facial expressions, body movements, or verbalizations

Difficulty concentrating or focusing on other things

Sleep problems (especially falling asleep)

Replacing human interaction

The urge to continue fantasizing when interrupted

In some cases, maladaptive daydreaming can also be characterized by the need for additional stimulation, which can be expressed through extensive book-reading, watching films, or gaming.

TRIGGERS:

some of the triggers may include listening to music on headphones, watching movies, and hearing specific conversation topics.

In addition to processing trauma, other causes of maladaptive daydreaming include:

Wish fulfillment

Entertainment (regulating boredom or isolation)

Regulating distress

MY EXPERIENCE: I would spend hours upon hours with storylines that I have had for years. Those stories gave me comfort and I would get lost in the experience of daydreaming. I would even put on music to put myself deeper in my thoughts and would get irritated if someone ruined my thought process by speaking to me. I realised it was a problem when I began to randomly fall into my daydreams without much control. Simple thinking turned into detailed storylines and I would constantly seem lost in thought and lose track of time. This obviously isn't helpful when you have important things to do when you need to focus. I would try to stop daydreaming but would always catch myself doing it because it become normal to me. All the characters and scenarios in my head represented me parts of me that I wish I was in real life, or even things I wanted to happen in my life. Sometimes the dreams happened so frequently that I couldn't differentiate between my memories and dreams. Before I acknowledged it as a problem I never actually wanted to get rid of it, such a big part of me would be lost. I had been daydreaming for such a long time that I became emotionally attached to the characters I had made.

WHAT HELPED ME:

Doing things that take up a lot of brain power and time: e.g. Doing a workout, Dancing, or Solving a difficult equation.

This gives you 0 time to even think about anything, let alone daydream. Go out with your friends, and force yourself into situations that require you to use your full attention. Because I never really went out much or did anything frequent enough to take up my day, I had too much time to myself and became stuck in my own head. Doing things and picking up extracurriculars, ANYTHING will help.

Because I am no longer at home as much as I used to and interact/learn new skills much more than I did before. I simply do not have time to be in my own head, I forced myself to learn to get out of my head and achieve the things I would daydream about.

I am now engaging in improving myself instead of dreaming about the version of myself/life I wanted so badly. Those dreams and characters were just glamorised versions of deep-rooted emotions I had left without facing them. Uncovering the true meaning of why I daydream and the details of the things I was daydreaming about will help you get out of the daze.

NOTES I'VE FOUND ON QUORA:

ONE:

Open up. Speak about it to others. Express yourself. There is nothing to be ashamed of. You need not share your daydreams, just share that you daydream. It's okay.

Write your daydreams down, or type them out… whatever. Get them out of you to have a better look. They are trying to tell you something about yourself. Have you ever noticed that you can't completely control your daydreams? And when you do try to change something critical in your plot it just doesn't “feel right”?

Boil them down to mere feelings. Strip away all the illusory layers of good looks, grand mansions, heroic acts and so on. The truth lies in key moments where the characters feel something deeply for each other. Find those feelings, and question the difference between you and your characters. Ask what is blocking you from experiencing them for yourself.

Realize that you are the reality, not your characters. If you imagine a nobleman or a beautiful girl, it is your nobility and beauty that you impart to those. All your characters are merely objects animated by the light of your imagination and feelings.

Understand that all your daydreams have nothing to do with others, and everything to do with you, and your relationship with yourself. When you realize this, you stop comparing them with your real-world relationships and start relating them to various aspects of yourself.

Know that when you successfully come out of this, you will actually not lose the ability to daydream or run out of feelings to pour into your imagination. It is just that their purpose will have been served, and you will not resort to daydreaming again out of lack or compulsion. You may at any point daydream again and even use it as a tool to know what your Soul is trying to tell you. Yet, you will realize that a moment of self-awareness is more rewarding than a lifetime of daydreams.

TWO:

Here are some serious tips to avoid them:

First of all, make sure you really want to get rid of this, because a lot of MDers get emotionally attached to their imaginary characters.

Disable /avoid the triggers. Block YouTube if you have to. Those websites you visit. The images saved on your computer - delete them. Plenty of apps for that.

This might be rude, but start avoiding the topics or the friends who keep discussing these topics.

Get busy doing something else - take up a hobby, meet new people. Try to stay in public places or with other people. Plenty to do in life other than dreaming.

Avoid that one music/ song that acts as a trigger.

DO I STILL MD? Yea sometimes, but now It is an okay amount. It doesn't consume my life anymore.

[shatter-song]

Pursuit of Resolve and Perserverance

go go rarepair yuri

does anyone like archie sonic characters like I do

@sonicfemslashweek

oh yeah, this is technically a mix of day 5 and 6 but Ig day 7 works too

“Why did you initially join Eggman?”

Lanolin had let her curiosity get the best of her.

She had heard of Jian through the extended branches of the Restoration. That is, through word from the original headquarters of said organization. Apparently, she and some others had helped Sonic in Chun-nan when the world had split apart. Jian made it no secret that she joined Eggman during the war. She wasn’t the only one of course—a lot of people did.

They wanted to live after all.

Now, Lanolin finds her in the private training room in a spare Restoration housing she and Jewel were sharing with others. Jewel, as the former director, had her own space of course but she had asked that the sheep stayed close to her as well. She was confused at first but soon understood that she wanted someone she knew to be nearby.

What made Lanolin so curious about the white tiger was that she got away. Yes, Eggman lost his memories for a while and was out of commission until Starline showed up (she learned about this through Belle). But Neo Metal Sonic had readily taken the mantle quickly and the unfortunate few that weren't saved from the clutches of the madman scientist weren’t quite so lucky.

It’s interesting that Jian was one of the people who were.

However, Lanolin is not someone considered to be social. Nor smart in that area. So this leads to a peculiar situation where this sheep can say the wrong thing and need to endure the embarrassment from something she caused.

Jian looks at her, surprised at being addressed so suddenly. That immediately has Lanolin backpeddling. 

“Sorry, sorry.” She hisses, flushed. “You don’t have to answer that, I just–.”

“Is it that obvious?”

The sheep’s rambling immediately halts at the sound of her voice. Lanolin looks at her and sees no judgement. Only neutrality. 

“...Your tail gave it away.”

Sighing, Jian nods. “Right.” She regards the end of her tail–where metal shined and a blade was embedded, sheathed–with what Lanolin thinks is disdain.

“Again, I'm sorry.” Lanolin tries to distract herself with some barbells. She was here to in fact train. “You don't have to answer my question if you don't want to. Especially not to a stranger.”

“...Not exactly a stranger per se.”

Lanolin blinks. Then looks at Jian with confusion.

“I saw the Clean Sweepstakes. I saw you. You looked… pretty important up there.” Jian informs.

It's not easy to conceal a wince. After that whole debacle, Lanolin was hoping that if she kept her head down long enough, no one would recognize her. Less out of embarrassment, more out of shame.

Just ask Tangle and Whisper why.

“It seems you've left an impact.” Jian comments.

Lanolin scoffs. “A real bad one.”

“An impact nonetheless.” The tiger fiddles with some sports tape before strapping some on her hands to her wrists. “Maybe you could show me.”

“...Huh?”

“We both came here for a reason, no?” Jian asks, stepping over to the floor mats and gestures to join her. “Let's spar. First one to hit the floor gets her question answered.”

Well, she did have a point. It's also been a while since Lanolin actually practiced with anyone else. Of course, badniks and the like may not come close in terms of similarity but it's not as if badniks will always be what Lanolin fights.

Plus, she has Maggie for badniks. Problem solved.

“What's your question?” Lanolin asks with a raised eyebrow, joining the tiger on the mat.

“You'll find out if I win.”

Jian takes up a fighting stance. Lanolin follows not soon after. 

Once they begin, it's not hard for either of them to realize who was more trained and experienced.

See, Lanolin has more or less been practicing a boxing style in fighting. It just fit her stature more than trying to practice kicks. Sure, she could potentially manage it but let her work on what she feels like she can do.

Jian, on the other hand, makes her feel like she’s fighting her mentor in karate or something. Meaning, she is absolutely kicking Lanolin’s ass right now.

She’s speedy on her feet and like Tangle, apparently, is able to make good use of her tail in combat. Thankfully, her’s isn’t large, long, and fluffy like the lemur’s. It still stings though. Whenever Lanolin thinks she has an opening, Jian just ducks, dodges, or redirects her attack with her tail.

Lanolin has already nearly fallen to the floor like five times now.

That isn’t to say she hasn’t managed to get a few licks in. (Not literally. Punches. She gets a few punches in.)

Every time she does so, Jian seems to stagger for a moment. It seems like she isn’t quite used to taking hits. Or maybe Lanolin is that strong? She’s not sure. Though, the tiger’s body build allows her to take those hits gracefully and bounce back. To be expected of someone who fought in the war.

Actually, they were pretty similar in terms of build, Lanolin notices. They both had equal bits of weight and muscle to them. 

Wait, why am I deliberately noting that – ? Oh shit –

Lanolin ducks under another swinging kick.  Leave those kinds of thoughts for later!

“Whatever you’re thinking—best save it for after, 兵家!”

Jian keeps the onslaught going. Dive kicks, hand jabs, even axe kicks. Damn. Just who has this girl trained with? Why did she train for this?

“Keep focus!”

She peaked her interest right from the start. Some of the tiger’s past was clear. She joined Eggman and then she left. Clearly not evil, if she and her friends were willing to help Sonic during the Dark Gaia crisis which is how Lanolin knew her name. So then why? What drove her to try and stand with the greatest and most powerful?

Just like I tried.

“Do as you’re told!”

Do as you’re told.

Do as you’re told.

Do as you’re told.

Do as you’re told.

Do. As. You’re. Told.

A growl unconsciously rises in the sheep’s throat from those words.

Jian angles her body low enough  floor and attempts to deliver a blow to the face with an upward kick. 

But this time, Lanolin is ready.

She whips her head back but her body doesn’t follow the movement.

Then, she uses her foot to sidestep flick Jian’s foot she was using to keep her body balanced. Normally, this would be enough for Lanolin to receive the win and get her initial question answered.

However, Jian was no normal opponent. 

Her tail moves in tandem, wrapping around her neck and uses whatever force she can to pull herself up.

In response, Lanolin does what she thinks is logical. 

She grabs the feline by her tube top and brings her down with her.

THUMP!

Jian finds herself on top of Lanolin.

…

Well, isn't this quite scandalous? Though they don't seem to know it as they began to argue on who hit the floor first. 

“兵家, you hit the floor first, I'm literally on top of you–.”

“Technically speaking, we're both on the floor–.”

“No, I'm on you, not the floor–!”

Click!

…THAT WAS THE DOOR. They both thought.

“Hey, Lanolin! Sorry if you’re busy, I just had some plans I wanted to go over with you real quick so–.”

Jewel finally looks up away from her papers and takes in the scene. Mhm. Yep. What a completely normal thing to find at a training area in the afternoon.

So. Jewel does what any normal person does when they walk in on two women on top of each other.

She flushes upon discovery, fumbles with the papers in her hands and stutters out, “OHMYGOSHI’MSOSORRYI’LLCOMEBACKLATERBYE!”

Lanolin immediately moves to action, shoving Jian off her—with the feline reacting with what might have been a hissy MROW —and yelling back, “WAIT WE WEREN’T–!”

SLAM!

The beetle has already fled the scene.

…Crap.

“How am I going to explain this…?” Lanolin mutters into her hands.

“By telling the truth.” Jian says, standing up. “Always the best place to start.”

“Yeah but it’s extremely embarrassing…”

“Maybe so. But admitting such will prove something.”

“...” Lanolin turns to her. “What?”

“That you want to extend that olive branch with her.” Jian says. Though, she looks confused. “That is the saying right? I’m not too familiar with most of these sayings from the mainlands.”

“Right, you’re from Chun-nan, one of the continents?”

“Mm.” Jian nods. She readjusts her gloves before turning to her. “Come find me on the roof by sunset. Preferably after your talk with the former director. I’d like to hear about it.”

She gives Lanolin a small smile before casually ushering out the door.

…Who is she?

After a semi-long conversation held with Jewel, one about the future of Emeraldville and what might have transpired back in the training room.

“Look, it's none of my business what you do in your free time–.”

“You're right but you weren't, like, intruding on anything–.”

“Okay, if that’s what you say–.”

“What do you mean by that–?!”

It was pretty humiliating. At least it made for a good story to tell?

Lanolin climbs up a ladder, making her way up the roof. In retrospect of her usual judgement, this was a bad idea. After all, going up somewhere no one can see nor anyone who knows where she is to meet someone she doesn’t know? It’s obviously a bad idea.

Unfortunately, after Mimic, Lanolin is now prone to second guessing and lacking any confidence when it comes to any decision making. It doesn’t help that a really handsome girl was asking her to do this. Ugh. She holds no resistance.

With a grunt, she finally reaches the top of the roof. Sun has set, the time Jian set.

WHOOSH!

Lanolin quickly sidesteps away from the lunge at her. She doesn’t bother trying to attack. She already knows who it is. 

“Was that really necessary?”

Jian allows herself a small smirk. “I prefer to keep those in my company on their toes.”

“Yeah well, quit it. I’m on edge enough as it is.” The sheep growls under her breath.

These words wipe away the smirk on the tiger’s. “Is everything alright?”

Oh, this is a prime opportunity. And maybe Lanolin is feeling a little petty.

“Is that your question?”

The words confuse Jian at first, but it doesn’t take long for her to realize what she’d been asked. “So you’re admitting that I won our spar?”

“Is that your question?” Lanolin, honest to Gaia, smirks.

“...I’ll assume yes.” Jian huffs. She’ll allow that, seeing as how she attempted to scare her acquaintance with a little attempt at an “ambush” just moments earlier. She clears her throat. “I would like to ask it now, if you don’t mind.”

Lanolin drops the act, matching the fighter’s tone. “Shoot.”

“Why do you fight?”

…Huh?

“What do you mean?” The former leader asks. That sounds like she’s asking for everything and nothing about her.

Jian leans against a nearby slanted wall, looking towards the sun. It was beautiful and the time witnessing its descent was something beautiful and to be treasured. “I wasn’t lying when I said you left an impact at the Sweepstakes. Here’s the thing however; you were the only out of everyone of the Restoration or of Sonic’s friends that I did not recognize. That piqued my interest.”

Lanolin regards her with caution. “It did?”

“Mm. Seeing all these famous people race together—I even recognized the Guardian Angel and Tangle of Spiral Hill—and I didn’t know who you were. I thought you were a representative of the Restoration. But then I heard of this call-to-action team. And that you were leading it.”

“...What’s so special about that?”

“I had no idea who you were. It means that, should they try hard enough, anyone can stand with the greatest.”

Lanolin blinks in surprise. Surely it couldn’t be that noteworthy. She couldn’t even get the right guy in the first place.

“So let me ask you again; why do you fight?”

…

It’s a loaded question. Lanolin almost doesn’t know how to answer that. Almost.

“Peace.”

Jian hums, nodding. “A noble goal.”

“It feels like an impossible one too.” The sheep murmurs. She almost flinches then. She hadn’t meant to say that.

She can see Jian turn to her, seemingly about to ask what she means. Lanolin doesn’t want to elaborate. So…

“What do you mean by, ‘anyone could stand with the greatest’? I hardly even qualify for good. You saw the broadcast, I failed.”

Unwillingly, Lanolin feels herself coil up on the floor. The feeling of wanting to bury her face in her pulled up legs? That was great.

“...Maybe. But like I said. You left an impact.” Jian says. “Hardly anyone has seen the hero who saved Sonic during the war. Some say they’re still out there, helping. Some don’t believe they ever existed. But you? Everyone saw you. A nobody trying to help.”

“Wow. Thanks for the compliment.” Lanolin dryly deadpans.

“I’m not finished.” Jian rolls her eyes. “The reason I fight? Strength. I foolishly joined the Egg Clan in Chun-nan, hoping that if I were strong enough, I would live. Instead I paid a price I could never refund. That 坏蛋 ruined my life and I wanted so desperately to live a normal life.”

Lanolin doesn’t say anything. Something tingles in her chest. Deja vu?

“I had no one to fight for but myself. But you? You went out and did what no one else could. You tried to stand with them.”

…

Does it matter? I still failed. I ruined everything. If I had just been better…

Snap, snap!

Now, Lanolin flinches.

“Hey! I know that face you’re making, 兵家. Quit it.” Jian demands. “You may have messed up but you still tried to do good. That means something.”

The sheep scoffs, looking off to the side. “What could it possibly mean when nothing good came of me?”

“Because you tried. You made a mistake, yes, but that only means people know you’re just as much of a person as they are. Believe me, back on the continents, people aren’t that forgiving.”

Jian joins her on the floor. “You’re why I’m here on the islands actually.”

What?

Lanolin looks up, “What?”

“I first heard of you at the Clean Sweepstakes. I was curious as to who you were so I did a bit of digging.” The white tiger reveals. “Someone was putting together a team of people in response to action. I, admittedly, wanted to try to join.” The words make Lanolin wince, something that Jian catches. “Though it would appear that I was late for the auditions.”

“It’s a long story.”

“We have time. I don’t plan on returning to Chun-nan for a while.”

…

“Eggman pretty much ruined my life too.”

An ear of Jian’s flickers. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out how so. Although there does lie the possibility of specific targeting but semantics.

“His badniks destroyed my hometown sometime after the war. And after that , it was disaster after disaster. The Metal Virus, Eggperial City, some zeti destroying my home again. It was getting too much.”

Lanolin has never really said this to anyone. Who could she share this with? Friends? She didn’t have any. Tangle and Whisper? Maybe comrades, but clearly not to a far extent. 

“So, I wanted to do something about it. Hence, the team. It didn’t work out.”

“...Hm.” Jian hums. “It didn’t. But that doesn’t mean it can’t. ”

Jian holds a hand to the sheep.

“Perhaps you just… need to find the right people. I think. I’m… not sure.” Jian grunts. “But you can’t just give up. If you do, 兵家, then Eggman wins. And you can’t let him.”

Lanolin stares at the gloved paw extended to her.

…The Diamond Cutters fell apart because they weren’t united. Was that it? Partially, maybe. 

She doesn’t know Jian. Not really. But… she could. Eventually. Trust is a risk. One worth taking.

Lanolin takes the hand in her own and feels herself being pulled upwards, making her stand. The weight in her chest feels less heavier than ever. She sighs. Not out of exhaustion or contempt. She breathes.

“The team is technically on hold… But I guess that doesn’t mean we can’t do some good.” Lanolin muses. “Welcome, Jian.”

Jian smiles. A true, fitting smile. “Thank you… Oh! I just realized.”

“Huh?”

“I… don’t actually know your name. I’ve just been calling you ‘soldier’.”

“...Pfft. My name is Lanolin. It’s nice to meet you, Jian.”

“Likewise.”

[strigimorphaes]

Hi! I’d love to get the director’s commentary on Like Swans 🥹

Okay I GOT your ask and I was SO HAPPY and then I wrote a lot of notes and then I FORGOT

then I REMEMBERED

This is sort of a pick'n'mix of lines I thought worth commenting on; the first part is more detailed cause that was what I wrote once you sent that ask and then I added a little so I could finally answer you.

Like Swans is something I'm proud of. I do think I won't ever hit my Vision of tadejonas as well as I did back when I wrote one of my very first fics - Here Goes - but I think it's pretty good. It's one of those fics that was a real struggle with like. 7 drafts or something before it started to taste right (it smells like rainwater and tastes like lightly burned caramel btw. Little hint of blueberry muffin and sea-salt seaweed as well.)

Okay so it starts in 2023. Those first segments explaining the last tours are basically me cramming in backstory/setup and doing my best to convince you of my version of tadejonas: there *has* to be animosity in it for me, and the lingering awareness that they are enemies. The information given in that entire section was originally presented as Jonas’ thoughts and spread through the first half of the fic - with the fic opening in medias res as Jonas lies awake in bed in the morning, thinking back on how he got there. But it simply became too clunky and slow-paced for it when I was trying to cover years so in the end I thought fuck it, let's just throw it in as a prelude at the beginning. 

“ The weakness that comes from hours spent in the sun in this dry land mixes with the memory of hands lingering on shoulders “  =  “April is the cruellest month, breeding / Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing / Memory and desire, stirring / Dull roots with spring rain” in The Waste Land, but July is the cruel month for Jonas instead of April. “ As the fire moves through his veins to burn in his chest, Jonas seeks out his enemy in the labyrinth of signs at the finish. “ = later this will be called back to by Jonas thinking that “it’s only labyrinths from here” – so “labyrinth” in this fic is a place you get lost + the experience of losing each other in the mixed zone after races with so many eyes on them + “the labyrinth of signs” with a sign in the semiotical sense, that is, Jonas trying to learn what everything Tadej does might signify for him and their future + Jonas worried that Tadej loves a certain aspect/facet of him (an image/him as a symbol) and not all that he is. If that makes sense. I like Umberto Eco.

Then comes the 2024 section where we get part one of the main problem: Jonas likes Tadej because they are rivals. Jonas’ body might not hold up to that rivalry forever. What then?

“That Tadej tends to wake up early is just one of the many little intimate details Jonas has learned. “ = Sleepyhead Jonas is a fact as attested in the book The Plan, he does like to sleep in. Early riser Tadej is my own invention that I love for the sake of contrast. Another facet of the way that behind his relaxed persona, he must be quite disciplined and focused to achieve what he does.

“ How did it go, that pop song on the radio in the taxi from the airport? Be careful who you give your heart to…” – this is not a reference to a real song, I just needed Jonas having sat in the taxi thinking that this was a bad idea, something to plant a seed of doubt in his mind. After writing that line, I worked my way back through lyrics websites to find that the song could have been https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AvHSL_ZSjOI. I just never intended it as any specific song. If I had written it now, I would’ve found a good line from a Danish band and made it something Jonas chose to listen to.

“Maybe it is because it's with Tadej that Jonas can be most himself, unburdened by the media-pleasing smile he has worn all July, lying next to the person he's been staring down and hurting, held tight anyway.” MY FAVE THING about tadejonas is the fantasy of having someone you vow to destroy and show all your selfishness and callousness in competition and they just love you for it because they like someone challenging them. And they can be each others’ absolute reprieve from thinking about how they are perceived by teammates and media. No masks on.

In an earlier draft, there was an added exchange of: ““What is happening with you?” Tadej finally asks, concerned. “Itzulia.”

But in the end, I didn’t want it to be a fic About Itzulia, just – the specter of it, Jonas being aware of his mortality and fragility in ways Tadej isn’t.

“You know I go to bed late when you are here,” Tadej says, kissing Jonas’ forehead, “but my body still wakes up early. So I’m tired.”" - as as relaxed and joking as Tadej can be, he’s biologically primed to perform.

“Lately, Jonas has been looking at houses online, thinking about whether he should move countries and how many rooms he'll need.” based off of Jonas moving around the time I wrote this, I think? How many rooms is about how many kids...

“Next year, it will happen again - the inevitable turning of the wheel with months of training to prepare for three weeks in France, then twenty-one days where every minute is spent in service of beating one man.” - I kind of love this sentence for the progression from year to month to week to day to minute. Tadej is everything. Also, “turning of the wheel” = bicycle pun.

With regards to Jonas’ thoughts about having a house and a family, it’s actually something I think about a lot – usually whe npeople write no girlfriends/wives au’s, me included, there's not too many changes from real life - but I feel a Jonas who doesn’t have his family yet would have to be a different person, still with that yearning towards the domestic. I don’t always let that be reflected in the things I write, but I do think it. And it’s a fundamental difference between the characters in this fic: Jonas thinking long-term and Tadej living more in the present, a result of their irl approaches to racing with Jonas’ team being branded as having The Plan and Tadej usually being described as going on instinct.

Tadej’s following swan story is the first bit I wrote for this fic – everything before and after came later.

“And then? Does the Tadej-swan want chicks?” / “Animals don’t understand what is impossible.” – “impossible” here being Tadej, as a man, having a biological child with Jonas, but also on another level their lives as pros not being conducive to family life.

Also, “Maybe I am a gay swan” = I don’t think fic!Tadej is the sort of person to care about a label for sexuality. He went “Eh, maybe I’m gay” and that’s as far as he got. He’s got a tour to win instead of obsessing about labels.

“I saw the swans on the Tour broadcast too” - I feel clever for putting that in there. Ha, you thought I was just taking inspiration from that broadcast joke, but it exists in-universe! And *did* Tadej make it up? I don’t think so. Maybe the broadcast joke makes it *more* likely that Tadej actually had that dream because he saw it? I left it ambiguous on purpose because there’s also an argument that making up a story to not ask directly could also be a Tadej thing.

The entire shopping trip was added in the 6th edit, I think. The first complete draft ended with them hugging in the kitchen. But I like giving Tadej a little more time to think, and sending them from bed to kitchen to the real world, letting them *feel* the real world with the rain, getting them moving so the whole fic wasn't just them lying in bed.

“It'd be easier to be a bird, Jonas thinks. Humans are the ones who want things - they take aim with their spears and bows and arrows, or they pick a finish line and race for it. Nature sets in motion things that just are without purpose. “ – this is just something I like to think about, influenced partly by Ursula K. Leguin’s essay on the Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction. We like to think of life as a story with conflict and victory and striving. Sport is like that, too. But there are other ways to think.

“Someday, their rivalry will end, and only the love will be left. And there’s so much of it.” – And Jonas fears being alone with all that love, wanting the family life Tadej perhaps can’t provide.

“ Names written side by side in history books - and Jonas wants it to be Vingegaard in front of Pogačar, always “ – competitive Jonas is important to me……

“He knows the swans cease to exist.” – I’ve said it before, but this line was not my invention. It was a friend coming up with the angle of the dream stopping = swans ceasing to exist, which can be read as a very negative ending or as a positive outlook of the rivalry ceasing so they can just be two people together. I like the openness. But I also felt that achieving that was difficult, since I feel people are primed to expect fluffy tadejonas when that’s the angle the majority of fics take, so I thought that if I wasn’t a bit heavy on the angst, people would read any ending as positive… I want it bittersweet.

I am very fascinated by stuff about… well, when you earn attention and comradeship and rivalry through the things your body can do, how do you face the day your body isn’t good enough anymore? my other fic “In Tignes” looks at it from the jout side of things, captain/teammate, while this looks at it from the rivalry side of things. And the answer in this fic is: Jonas has done enough. They are tangled together now to a point where, as Tadej says, if they don’t have the Tour, they’ll have something else. They matter to each other. And it’s up to you if that’s stupid blind optimism or good idealistic hope.

[champagnehenssey]

“We’re for life y’know so, stop it. Stop doing this to me y’know I need you.”

✎ᝰ. Part one.

Black!Reader x Rockstar!Touya!

Now playing..

-Self Righteous by Bryson Tiller-

0:00 •━━━━───── 04:02

⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻

ılıılıılıılıılıılı

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮

📢: toxic relationship, unexpected pregnancy!, drug addiction + alcohol addiction!, smut, angst, he’s an asshole, and bad writing!

Trust me baby it’s hard to give it up, it’s tough.

He remember the day you left him. It was probably one of his clearest memories and one that he regretted a lot.

“I’m getting better I fuckin’ swear! It’s just for recreational use—“ He tried to explain himself but you cut him off “Touya don’t give me that shit” You pointed your manicured finger in his chest harshly “I can’t believe you—no..no you promised to me! You promised to me you stopped!” The sheer pain in your voice made him wince he didn’t like to hurt you (but he seemed to do it a lot didn’t he? Time and time again he lost count now)

“The doctor said it’s okay as long as I do it in small doses—“

“Shut the fuck up! Stop trying to defend yourself. And what doctor? Cause I know you’re not talking about Garaki!”

He sighed rubbing his face feeling his blood rush to his brain the pills were already kicking in and he could barely hear you curse him out. He wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Are you even listening to me?” Fuck. He heard that little crack in your voice the one that always came out when you were mad and about to cry. It almost broke his heart.

“You want me to be honest? No I’m not because it’s not a big deal. It just small doses to get me through the day I can control it.” He said his voice so sure and he gestured with his hand to the pill bottle in your hand.

You looked at him in disbelief and at his sheer audacity your throat burning with the sensation that let you know you were about the cry. You threw the pill bottle at the wall and it popped open the containments going everywhere. Touya let out a frustrated groan his eyes flickering between the bottle and you “God, why do you have to be so dramatic! Making this shit so complicated.”

You stuck your middle finger at him turning around to the stairs “Fuck you! I am so sick of you and your shit. “ You voice was angry as you headed up not even bothering to look back at him ignoring his mutterings. “The next time you’re crying in the shower or in the hospital for overdosing don’t even bother calling my number.” You didn’t even try to hide the tears as they flowed down your cheek.

He should see how much he hurt you.

“Oh so that’s what we’re doing? You don’t really mean that and we both know it.” His tone was so dismissive and so aggravating you turnt to look at him your lip curled in disgust.

You saw him pause at the tears and the bastard had the audacity to look away “Don’t feel guilty now and I’m deadass.” You said grabbing the gold necklace at your neck that had the delicate little ‘D’ letter hanging off of it (he gave it to you your first anniversary and back then he was so sweet and loving—) and promptly ripped it off throwing it harshly down the stairs.

You saw the way he turnt his head back his eyes immediately going to where he heard the sound and you saw the way his eyes widened. He looked at the object like it was foreign something he could barely comprehend.

He shook his head trying to keep his composure because he could feel it, his anger coming to the surface and him angry and high wasn’t a good mix. “You think that,” he gestured vaguely to the necklace “is ‘suppose to me make what? Say sorry? It’s just a fuckin’ necklace and you’re acting like I’m doing coke it’s just pills.”

There he goes acting like he was right in this situation downplaying your feelings.

He would ‘quit’ go through withdrawal and then he would start again and It was always ‘light pills’. Then he would want something stronger, and when that wouldn’t satisfy him he would want something more higher grade. It’s how he’d get enlisted in the hospital and this was his starting third time.

You couldn’t take it anymore the last time he—he had to take a break from his career one that got him a lot backlash from critics and his fans. And now he was acting like he was invincible? This was so tiring and you were exhausted dealing with this.

With him and his demons.

So you didn’t even respond back to him. Didn’t even give him a glance as you went upstairs and packed your bags. And when you came downstairs an hour later and saw him in the kitchen drinking you scoffed not even saying a goodbye.

He didn’t chase you. No you always did that.

But when those two weeks passed and you still didn’t come back on his doorstep he called your phone and learned that you blocked him.

He scoffed “Doesn’t matter..fuck her..abandoning me..”

But it did matter. Because you dug a tight little hole in his heart that yearned for your warmth ever since the day you left. (I need you—I fuckin’ need you. I’m so sorry I know..I know I’m a piece of shit but I need you—)

I guess it's my fault, I know what's up.

Everything was his fault because it was always his fault. He was always the one hurting and hurting and you were the one who always forgave and forgave. (You were always too good for him, you were a good girl you didn’t belong with somebody like him. You deserved to be with a nice man who treated you right and as much as he wanted that for you he fuckin’ hated the idea of you being with someone else.)

So the least thing he could do is give you some space so you could breathe and come to peace before he would walk back into your life and destroy everything with his ‘I’m sorrys’ and your favorite flowers.

In that time, his life got both simpler and more complicated. Simpler, because you weren’t there anymore—no one was nagging him about the smoking or the drinking. No one was in his ear, begging him to take care of himself. He could do whatever he wanted without your voice holding him accountable. It was like he was finally free.

But complicated, because without you, everything undoubtedly spiraled.

It wasn’t the drugs that sent him to the hospital this time, though. No, this time, it was something else—a different kind of wake-up call. One that came with sterile white walls, the beeping of machines, and a doctor who looked too tired to bother sugarcoating the truth

He could die if he didn’t stop drinking.

Two years. That’s all they gave him. His liver was already weak enough but now it was waving the white flag. He remembered sitting in that hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to laugh it off like he always did. But the laugh didn’t come.

Because for the first time, he realized that all the nights spent drowning his thoughts, all the times he’d chosen the bottle over you—over everything—had brought him here.

(You were listed as his emergency contact when they found him passed out. You didn’t answer. You didn’t answer. You didn’t answer. Why was he surprised you basically foreshadowed this life dangering situation. Because you were always right and right and he always was so, so wrong.)

Baby, we used to fuck (from now on we make love)

He missed those legs fuck. Those things were the only reason why he did missionary he swears on it. Feeling the plush of your inner thighs and the sheer warmth there made him smile like actually smile. And when he was drowning himself in them your legs closed around him and he could barely hear you asking if he was okay because you didn’t want to suffocate him.

But he didn’t care because the taste of your cum on his tongue was better than any drug he’s ever had in his life (and feeling your thighs tremble as he kept going ‘n going. perfection.) He missed you pussy dearly she always took him so well squeezing around him, being sooo warm, and making him cum. Not to mention that feeling he always got which he didn’t want to lose for the world but he lost it shit!. (his pupils blown wide dilated from the pleasure and adrenaline from being inside you. His cock pumping in and out of your puffy cunt while his lips sucked on your collarbone branding your skin with his marks of lust love leaving your brown skin with red hickeys in his wake. )

He couldn’t lie and pretend and say he didn’t miss you. He missed his girl. (He hoped nobody was in that pussy when he wasn’t there. Nobody deserved to be in there besides him thank you very much)

And your eyes (sexy brown eyes ) damn your eyes. They weren’t lying when they said ‘eyes are the window to the soul’ because he saw everything and he loved seeing that pleasure pool in them and the ‘I want you to stop but I don’t want you stop’ written all over your face. Ugh it was priceless. He missed seeing those eyes when he woke up in the morning looking at him with so much love and warmth (“touya stop staring at me it’s creepy.” He remembers you saying and he replied with a “nah, I get to wake up to this sight everyday can’t I be appreciative?”) He should’ve been more appreciative but selfishness runs through his blood and it’s in his nature. He can’t help it. He’s sorry he didn’t mean to hurt you. Take me back, please I need you. He missed seeing those eyes when got back from tour and finally got to see them in person after months on FaceTime. He missed seeing those eyes when he was in his darkest moments and you never looked at him like he was a monster you just wanted to help. He took it for granted. He took it for granted. This is all your fault. Take responsibility. He missed seeing those eyes.

Girl, let's catch up, phone calls ain't enough

That's where I messed up, I shoulda kept in touch

He would’ve kept in touch. He tried to keep in touch with you. But you blocked him and don’t ask him how he got your new number.

Come back home

You don’t gotta forgive me I just wanna talk

I’m a piece of shit I know but i got help I got put in rehab again and it’s been 3 months. I’ve been trying like actually and I haven’t missed any days and it’s all for you. Please let me be better for you.

But you never answered. You didn’t even leave him on seen. Did it hurt? Of course it did it felt like the little space you dug in his heart was going to be empty forever and you would never come back to fill it up. He would never admit but he cried himself to sleep sometimes because you were suppose to be right beside him letting him spoon you.

It wasn’t suppose to be this way. God he’s such an asshole.

Cause I ain't the type that will hit it and quit it

Even if it's mine, even if it isn't

Take them trips and pay yo' ass a visit

And then. And then you texted him. It was the middle of the day to when he was doing a recording session.

1-12-8 Shinjuku, Shinjuku Ward, Tokyo 160-0022, Japan

When he saw the message he felt starstrucked. Because the last time he texted you was a month ago and he had been busy with working on this album. He felt his breath hitch reading the message ‘okay Shinjuku? she only lives half an hour away what the fuck’ okay this wasn’t bad. “Gotta go, you guys finish your parts.” He said half dazed and half distracted grabbing his things and leaving not even hearing Toga say “wait where ya going?”

Holy shit. You were allowing him back in if this address was anything to go by. But why? I mean he’s very happy he is (he would do better this time. He fuckin’ had to because you were his everything and then more) but this was so random, he thought you were never going to respond to his texts and he was even more surprised you didn’t straight up tell him to fuck off when he texted you. And that gave him hope because he wasn’t blocked yet.

And now here he was speeding on the highway all the way to Shinjuku because he was back in. He wanted to call you and ask why now? But he felt like you wouldn’t have answered until he got to the apartment because that’s the type of shit you would do.

He looked around as he parked in the parking lot. It was a simple apartment complex nothing to fancy although the grass did looked like it needed to be cut. There weren’t any shady figures looming around so that’s good that you weren’t in a bad area because if he could he would move you out so quick.

He rubbed at his face tiredly feeling his nerves run through him. God why was he nervous get a grip Touya isn’t this what you’ve wanting since she left? So breathe. And he did it’s one of things that actually stuck with him from rehab it gave him a sense of control. Or at least a faux one because he was never in control not one time in his life

He got out his car shutting the door and locking it before pulling up your address again from the text. Except the door number wasn’t there so he had to text you.

What’s your door number?

He waited like a good two minutes before he saw the seen pop up and then no response. Okay weird and then he heard a door being opened making him look up to the second floor.

Oh.

Oh.

You dyed your hair? It was a honey brown color all over and was tied back in a slicked bun. Your eyes met his and he felt himself swallow hard and maybe he fell in love all over again. You then went back inside your apartment not a word from your lips and he quickly went to the stairs a couple feet away.

He rushed up and hurried down the walk to your door and promptly froze.

What.

What?!

Before he could even say anything you cut him off your voice soft and surprisingly calm (he was expecting anger for the most of it) “I don’t wanna hear nothing from your mouth until I say what I have to say. So come in and close the door.”

He swallowed hard again because there was to much going on and he was experiencing too much right now. He wasn’t expecting this. He felt dizzy, he felt like his head was spinning and spinning trying to wrap its self around this situation. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to bolt out the fuckin’ door and never come back. He-he—

Because here you are in the middle of your small living room holding a bundle of what he—of a—a bundle to your chest.

At your look he somehow had managed to turn around and close the door shut locking it and then turning around almost robotically. He eyed the bundle and saw a shift of movement which made you adjust your position. He felt his whole body freeze because no! He wa—wasn’t he..wasn’t ready. This had to be a dream—please let it be a dream!

His eyes flickered to the bundle, then to you, then to the bundle again. This shit couldn’t be real, it had to been some sick dream nightmare his brain made up and he was asleep in the studio right? Right?!

And then you started talking and everything went downhill from there.

“I was already pregnant..when I left. Maybe a week or so before and I was planning on telling you but I was scared.”

Touya felt something try to escape from his mouth but nothing came out. He remained speechless his throat closing up and his heart hammering in his chest so hard it echoed to his ears. This felt like being on adderall all over again except he wasn’t doing it for some motivation this felt like his drink got spiked.

He was staring at the bundle so hard he’s pretty sure lasers were about to come out. And then—and then he saw an a-arm escaping the blanket before going back in. “I..” His throat felt like it was on fire like and it reminded him of drinking whiskey the burn taste usually so welcomed but right now it it was unwelcomed.

“You weren’t ready.” Your voice steady and calm. You seemed so composed like you practiced for this in your head for days and you probably did. But he could see it the nerves the slight tremble of your finger and you still hadn’t look at him. Did it hurt so much to look at him? If it did he would understand he was still due for his punishment.

“Neither was I. And I..I thought about it. Aborting the baby and I was gonna do it for you. Because I know you’re not ready to be a father and all it would do was hurt you. But I was so s-sick of doing shit for you, thinking about your opinion, and how you felt when I didn’t even consider my own feelings.”

Your voice cracked just slightly but you swallowed it down rocking the baby gently as if to calm yourself. You still hadn’t looked at him

Touya’s knees felt like they were about to give out and the dizzying felt worse. “I—I would’ve been there for you. I wouldn’t have abandoned you y’know this—“

But you cut him off sharply “We both know that’s a load of shit.” Your huff of amusement felt like a slap across the cheek. He flinched and he couldn’t help but feel offended and he wanted to say anything to defend himself but he knew you were right.

“You weren’t in a place where I could tell you. You weren’t even in a place where I could stay. I didn’t feel safe around you Touya and when you get in that mindset..you get erratic.”

Ouch.

Your words felt like he was being cut open slowly by knives. His flesh, muscles, bone and blood revealed for all to see. Cutting around his skin sharply and deeply no mercy in your voice (he didn’t deserve it anyway). He felt a pang of guilt hammering in his chest, this wasn’t just a conversation this was his reckoning.

This is your punishment.

He felt at a lost of words once again because he didn’t know what to say or what you wanted him to say. His apology would mean shit and you both would know it but him saying nothing at all would make the silence worse.

“You texted me saying you got into rehab for me..and I don’t know whether to believe that or not. Because you say a lot of shit to convince me to go back to you. So is it true or are you lying to me?”

You were the executioner and he was the condemned looking up at you as you were about to bring the axe down if he didn’t spit the truth out now.

You finally had looked at him your eyes flashing with pain before it disappeared like it was never there in the first place. He swallowed hard and the man that had been hiding behind arrogance and all the bravado finally came out (he couldn’t wear the mask any more. Show yourself. Who are you Touya Todoroki?)

“It’s true. I’ve been off of it for awhile now..and the alcohol.” His voice had been softer than he intended to it almost sounded..fragile.

Was that enough? No it never was. He let his face show his real emotions because nonchalance wasn’t something you deserved right now. He needed to be honest with you, something you never got while you two were together.

His hands itched at him to do something to reach for you, offer proof that didn’t exist, but he stayed rooted in his place.

“I’m not lying,” He added his voice cracking at the edges (show yourself. show her.) “You—you were right about..how I would be in the hospital again. I deserved it.” ‘I deserved everything’ was unspoken but it was heard and he didn’t know if it was on deaf ears.

His declaration sat in the air heavy its weight crushing him and your eyes burned into his. You needed more and he would give you more. Anything even if it meant allowing the guilt, the sheer shame, and the fear show up on his face. Something he never would’ve done in the past because it was pathetic but now? He deserved to feel pathetic.

He deserved to be down on his knees begging for your forgiveness to be allowed back into your life again. And so that’s what he did.

He walked away from the door slowly so you could see his actions as he made his way over to you showing you exactly what he was doing. Getting down on his knees looking up at you like you determined life and death and in this case you did. You looked at him in barely hidden shock your lips parted to say something but he cut you off. “I messed up..I messed us up.” He confessed like the dammed tied up in chains of all his lies, manipulations, and failures. His voice had dropped lower almost to a whisper and it sounded desperate.

“Please,” His voice rasped. “Please believe me. I don’t wanna hurt you again. Let me be the one to help you with this. Let me take all of your pain because I deserve all of it. I don’t blame you for leaving me. I don’t. I’m to much ‘fuckin work, too much damage, too much for anyone to handle. You shouldn’t have to drain yourself for me. So I get it—I understand.”

You said nothing in return but he caught it the way your grip around the baby tightened and the shaky breath that followed right after. His voice was gaining strength even as his composure was breaking and cracking finally showing you the man who you fell in love with.

“I took you for granted,” he continued his voice was raw and full of pain “But I’m taking responsibility now. I’m being mature something I know you needed in the past and I know I’m too late. But I’ve grown and I want you to see that. And I meant it when I said I went to rehab for you. I needed to get better. For you. For…” He looked up at the bundle you were cradling so gently and he had to take it in on how perfect you looked. (He felt like he was intruding and that he didn’t belong here looking at something so sacred.) His throat tightened again as the reality of it slammed into him like a wrecking ball. You’re a father now Touya. He wanted to throw up but he swallowed it down. Be a man, be a man for her. “I’m gonna continue to do better..for the both of you.”

You didn’t respond right away, and the silence that followed felt deafening. He had to fill it up he didn’t want to lose you. “You don’t have to let me back into your life not if you don’t want to. And that’s fine I just..I just want to help you.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Part 1 done yippe! I’m so happy I got this done and didn’t let it rot in my drafts for months. Please please please leave feedback even an emoji something that’ll keep me motivated.

٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´- (I’m so serious leave something 🤬)

[jessicafangirl]

Masks (Yes I've got another story)

Faith had lost most of her namesake after a life of turmoil and disappointment. Perpetua was a creature who had lost who he was, memories and all. Both were about to find out that the real monsters aren't always the ones who aren't human. And maybe a name lost to time wasn't so lost after all.

I'm literally insane. I think this is the 4th Ghost story I've started now and have to finish. Blame Tobias Forge for being my muse and inspiring me WAY too hard. (No, keep inspiring me. Harder. Faster. Harder. Faster.) Wait...sorry...I'm okay.

So as a heads up, this is an AU take on the ministry and the brothers. There have already been vampire fics out there, but I'm doin this one a little different. The idea wouldn't let me go. Not sure how many chapters we'll have here but knowing the wordy bitches I write...maybe a few.

Please let me know what you think and share, kudo, repost, etc. FEED ME FEEDBACK. You can also read here on AO3 (Fun fact, I read that romance novel you see below in High School cause I'm OLD. If you like this feel free to buy me a KoFi here

Cemeteries were peaceful.  When people weren’t alive to actually be rude, evil, or loud any longer things seemed to calm down.  Graveyards were sanctuaries.  People used to picnic on graves, finding a place to visit their loved one who was only 6 feet away. 

That was one of a million random facts that rattled around Faith’s head as she settled nearby one of her favorite spots in the old cemetery.  It had become her second home for the last couple of months.  It was the first week of October and the air was starting to get colder.  She couldn’t quite see her breath, but you could feel it. 

Fall was her favorite time of year.  The scents of burning leaves, apple cider, the signs of Halloween coming soon.  Faith always felt better in fall, but even her favorite season couldn’t fix her right then.  She took a sip of her coffee, the cinnamon and chocolate flavor mixing sweetly.  She sat the overpriced beverage down on the stone bench she’d decided was hers and sighed as she pulled out her book.  Today was a reading day not a writing one.  She wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on her words, so she was going to try and focus on someone else’s.

It was a year since she’d gone into remission as of today.  It was two years since Blake had left her to fight her own monster alone.  She’d made it out the other side, but Faith felt like she’d lost most of herself in the process.  She was at the tail end of 40 and was surprised she’d made it that far. 

Odds were she wasn’t going to make it much further.  She wasn’t supposed to…at least she felt that way.  Faith glanced around; her blue-green eyes surprisingly bright in her pale face.  She was gaining back some of the weight she’d lost.  She was a foodie, but chemo tended to make you barf a lot.  So you stopped eating, it seemed sort of pointless when you just gagged it all back out.  Plus it hurt after a while.  Now Faith seemed to want to make up for lost time.  Her forced diet had changed her appearance.  She’d looked too thin, which was something she didn’t know was possible for her.  Her mom was probably proud wherever in the universe she was now…hopefully for her dads sake not where he was so he’d finally have some peace.

Now she was eating as though to make up for it sometimes.  The risk of never eating again or being able to experience a new sort of food hits home hard when it happens.  But sometimes the PTSD of the ordeal would rear its head, and she’d feel nauseas to the point that food was a nightmare.  It was a balancing act and Faith felt like she was going to fall off the thin wire she was walking into a void.

The irony of her name wasn’t lost on her.  She seemed to have little of it left in her life.  But she’d beaten the odds, and she supposed she should have more faith in the universe.  It was hard though, very hard.  But days like this one helped her.  She pulled her baseball cap off her head and ran her black, chipped nailed fingers through her hair.  The reddish gold locks had survived her treatment; she probably should flaunt them instead of shoving the Star Wars logo emblazoned hat on top of them.  But she was feeling tired and lazy, so hat it was.

After one more glance around she settled into her book, a dark fantasy romance that she knew was filled with enough cheese it should have come with crackers.  But she was in the mood for it, something that would let her get out of her own head.  Fantasy and romance, things she didn’t have in her life at all…she’d earned a little escape from reality. 

Holding the book in one hand, she took another drink of coffee with the other.  In her bag she had a small bouquet of flowers, some dark purple blooms mixed with white ones.  She’d take a stroll along the tombstones later and leave some amongst them.  It felt right to repay the place with some sort of offering since it gave her a sanctuary from the cruel and loud world outside. 

Faith sat in the cool silence and let the world fade away.  The book was filled with the kind of story and scenarios that didn’t exist in reality.  Men or more accurately creatures didn’t have this sort of loyalty or poetic words dripping from their lips.  People were selfish, people were cruel.  And the world didn’t have happy endings.  Faith kept reading anyway because she wanted to experience it even second or third hand.  Words that could make that strange little tickle in her chest at how beautiful and sweet they were.  A real love that could be forever and someone who would die for you.  What was wrong with dreaming of what wasn’t real?  What could it hurt? 

Her coffee had grown cold, and the light was growing dimmer by the time she’d actually finished the book.  She slipped it back Into her bag and glanced around.  It had gotten markedly colder over the time she’d been sitting.  Faith decided now would be the time to divvy out her flowers and then head home, such as it was.

She stood and began walking to one of her favorite, older stones.  It was around 150 years old but still in good shape. The granite was cracked in a few places, but the inscription and designs carved were still legible.  “Franklin Beaufort McGivers, a prince among men with no crown”  Faith like that description.  “Here’s to you Frankie.”  She said aloud and placed one of the purple flowers on top of the stone monument.

After a few more stops she came to another of her favorite markers.  This one always drew her to it for some reason, maybe because of the entire mystery of the thing.  It was black stone carved with designs she’d never seen before.  At the top was an inverted and stylized cross.  There were no dates which was one of the mysteries of this particular headstone, no years of life or death.  There was just a name, Mary Goore, in gothic script carved forever in the rock.  Below the name was a phrase in Latin.  She’d finally looked it up one day and discovered it said, “Eternal as the night they walk.” 

Well, if eternity was their thing, then what use would dates be to you?  That made sense Faith supposed.  Also the phrase was one that belonged in one of those dark fantasy books for sure.  Faith placed two of the purple flowers on the headstone, brushing away a few leaves that had settled there.  As she did so the streetlights came on, letting her know it was after six at night and she should probably start heading home. 

“Well Mary, you are apparently not the only one walking at night.”  She said to the grave, smiling.  She’d tried once to find out anything about the name on the headstone.  There was nothing really save for one oddly fuzzy photograph, black and white and taken in the 30s.  It showed a thin, pale figure posing with two other gentlemen.  They were all holding bottles of what had to be beer.  The figure in the middle, with the dark hair that was falling over his face was listed as Mary Goore. 

Faith’s eyebrows had lifted at that.  The gravestone seemed far older than the photo, so maybe the gent in the photograph had just borrowed the name or was a family member?  She couldn’t find out anymore, so the mystery stayed just that.  What was funny though is while Mary’s image was fairly blurry in the picture, the other men in the photo were clearly visible.  Faith was certain that the one on the right was Bela Lugosi.  She’d seen probably every movie he’d ever done, even the bad ones.  If it wasn’t him, boy, were they a dead ringer for the man who made Dracula a household name.

“Good night Mary Goore, wherever you are.”  She said to the now cold night air.  She pulled her jacket a little tighter and headed out of the graveyard, leaves crunching underfoot.  Her mind was occupied with what she would do for dinner, if anything, as she walked out the gate.  She had no idea that she was being watched as she left.

Within the dark of the cemetery, behind the trees surrounding the graves, a single white eye was able to be seen as the moon hit it with a beam of light.  It blinked as it watched Faith leave, waiting until she was completely swallowed by the now encroaching fog, and then he appeared. 

Dressed in a long black coat with a hood attached, the figure was hesitant.  Perpetua was always hesitant now, cautious, nervous.  He had reason to be, but he couldn’t remember why.  But the graveyard was clear now, no one remaining.  The lone woman had left only her scent behind.  It beckoned him even though he knew better than to follow it.  Lilacs and something sweet, he took a deep breath of the damp air and tried to hold the memory of it. 

He pushed the hood back, exposing the gleaming metal of his mask to the moonlight, his dark curls brushed back from his face.  The half mask left his cheeks, chin and jaw exposed as well as his nose.  These he’d painted in black and silver as was befitting a would-be Papa of the church, at least that’s what his keepers had told him.  But he wasn’t an actual Papa so no white could be used.  Instead, silver would take the place of white to match his mask.

Perpetua moved with an inhuman grace across the cold earth until he stood in front of the gravestone that the lovely woman had stood at only minutes before.  She’d smiled while there, but he’d seen the sadness in her eyes, the melancholy that surrounded her much like the fog did him now.  He was drawn to this stone too and for good reason. 

He reached out his black gloved fingers, the silver tipped claws gleaming and picked up one of the purple flowers.  He lifted it to his nose, closing his green and white eyes as he let the scent soothe him.  A smile crossed his full, painted lips.  It was a worthy offering, and he’d watched her place the flowers on some of the other graves as well.  She respected the dead, the spirits that called this place home.  A place he felt at home in.

He took the flower and placed it in one of the button holes of his coat and then turned towards the direction of the gate.  Her image was still in his minds eye.  He’d watched her many times as she’d come here over the last few months, she never knowing he was there.  She never had another person with her, simply herself or a book…sometimes she’d have a journal with her. 

He’d smile as he’d see her excitedly writing, a grin spreading over her pale face when she came up with something that seemed to please her.  Other times he’d have to stop the laughter from coming from his own lips (something that would surprise him as he very rarely laughed) as she would speak the lines aloud in the voices of characters she was creating.  Perpetua found it charming and a welcome addition to what he considered his cemetery, his domain, his home.  He recognized a loneliness within the woman that he was all to familiar with.  Maybe, just maybe she returned because somehow, she sensed him there, just beyond the trees and it helped abate it.

Or he was having thoughts that his keepers would consider overly romantic.  He hadn’t always been this way, he was sure.  His memories were hazy; lost to time he supposed…or something darker. 

Perpetua pulled the hood back over his dark hair, his mask shadowed within it.  He turned and walked into the fog, finding his way through the gate.  This time of year, with the upcoming holiday, he didn’t have to be as worried about his mask seeming out of place if someone noticed it.  He tended to keep his head down anyway. 

He did so now, his thoughts suddenly troubled by that lack of memory.  Every so often he’d have a vision…something triggering it randomly.  Maybe a smell, a color, a sound.  And he’d nearly fall to his knees as the images came unbidden in his mind. 

Pain.  Agony.  Voices raised, screaming.  A figure strapped down to a table with silver chains and men in black surrounding them.   He knew the figure on the table…

But then it would all end just as suddenly as it began.  He was grateful for that…sometimes.  Other times he wanted to know where these visions sprang from, who was it  on the table?  Perpetua tried sometimes, when he was particularly brave, to try and initiate them.  But it never worked.  He should probably be glad, he could only imagine what his keepers would do if they knew what he was up to.  He’d only just been allowed to leave the grounds again after an incident where he’d collapsed after a particularly nasty episode. 

Perpetua started humming a tune, one he’d heard within the rectory of the church the day before.  Band practice had been happening, and he’d watched from the wings while the man with the familiar voice, the leader, had pranced about in that lovely blue jacket and sang.  He remembered the words but didn’t trust himself to sing them aloud just yet…he doubted his voice, another hiccup that his keepers were trying to get him to overcome.  But humming the tune he could do.  The sound was clear, sweet, and almost hypnotizing if someone had caught it on the breeze.

A stray thought entered his head which surprised him, almost making him stumble as the feeling it elicited shook him.  He’d like to bewitch the woman from the graveyard in the moonlight as the song stated.  Perpetua shook his head, dark curls bouncing beneath his hood.  The thought wasn’t something…proper.  But the voice speaking it in his ear…it was so much like his own, only he could almost feel the feral smile that said it.  He really did need to eat, he thought.

Thankfully that was about to remedied as he turned the corner and saw the familiar glowing sign.  He went down the alley that ran along the building and there waiting for him was his meal, hiding just behind some boxes.  The bottle was almost the same blue as the jacket he’d seen, but what was inside was not.  He unscrewed the cap and took a sniff, the familiar iron scent making his teeth ache and his mouth fill with saliva.  He was far hungrier than he realized.

Perpetua lifted the bottle to his painted lips and gulped the blood down quickly, hiding himself behind the dumpster that the blood bank had in the same alley.  The “donations” the church made to one of the employees insured his meal was here every other day at the same time, no questions asked.  The alternative wasn’t something he wanted to return to ever again. 

He finished the bottle in record time, licking his lips and realizing his paints would be ruined by the action…but not finding it in himself to care.  He’d fix them later. 

Perpetua placed the bottle back where he’d found it, knowing it would be retrieved that same evening.  He pulled the hood more securely in place and after glancing about slipped out from the alley.  As he walked back to the graveyard, he noticed a bookstore window and paused, glancing at the decorations of pumpkins and rubber bats and what appeared to be a lot of books about vampires.  A brow raised behind his silver mask as he noticed one of them was the one the woman was reading that evening.  He found a smile suddenly gracing his reflection…something he was sure would surprise many of those authors he had.

He turned then and with a sigh headed back to his home, humming the song once more, his thoughts distracted by the scent of lilac and the taste of copper sweetness still on his tongue.  That was why he didn’t notice the fact that, much as he’d been watching the lovely reader in his cemetery, someone else was watching him as well.

[laughing-with-god]

How would victor jungkook be ?

in terms of what? like yandere or his story?

well, my original plan was that Victor's revenge would be the sequel to Quarter Quell once JK won it and he'd join the other victors. However, I used Taehyung in QQ so it wouldn't make sense if he was also in VR lol. Ofc, i can prob do a rewrite and just replace taehyung in QQ, but idk.

either way, here are some random headcanons for how I picture jk as a Victor

thinks some of the other victors only won on a technicality and doesn't mind making passive-aggressive comments about it

does NOT like being associated with Jin or Jimin's weak asses, thinks they're sneaky little shits who had to rely on tricks bc they would lose in a physical fight

he's very popular as a victor. tbh i think he's the only one who rivals jimin's popularity. the capitol love how bloodthirsty he is. while jimin mainly has female fans, jungkook has a good mix of both since men want to be like JK, and obvi women find him hot

I think he'd do a lot of tv shows and interviews. he knows people value his input for games so I can see him offering his insight on current tributes. remember the scoring system for how tributes would get rated? i can see him being asked to be on the team that assess those.

as a mentor, I think he'd be the type to pick a favorite and only really focus on that kid. he doesn't care if it's heartless, he's not wasting his time on a lost cause just to make them feel better.

I can see him looking at the other kid like "you might as well live it up while you can, you probably aren't gonna make it past the bloodbath."

if by some miracle that kid did survive and win, JK would be like ".....damn, guess I owe you a drink. my bad. welcome to victor's row tho :)"

as a mentor, he will tell his kids to just stick to the career alliance. if for some reason a kid from 2 wanted to align themselves with someone whose not a career, JK would just be like "ur on your own w that" bc ain't no way he's gonna attempt to talk to non career victors who prob hate him

I think he's another victor who splits his time pretty evenly between the capitol and his home district.

does not have to sell his body or anything because he is a capitol fav, but I do think he'll make shitty comments towards jimin

"Hi whore- I mean, Jimin"

yeah those two hate each other lol^^

doesn't really have any triggers or trauma from his games.

if anything he looks back at it with fond memories, which kinda freak the rest of the victors out

I don't think he has any victor friends

thinks jin and jimin are weak, namjoon is too clever for his own good, yoongi is annoying, hoseok is ungrateful and tae is just there...

I think yoongi is the only one who outright tried fighting jk once in a drugged up rage

jk prob made a comment about a tribute from 6.

"I bet if we put morphling in the cornucopia she would've actually survived the bloodbath. all kids from six are just addicts."

yeah yoongi tried punching him for that and Jk wiped the floor with him, namjoon had to get involved

I don't know how he'd spend his winnings tbh. I don't see him being really into anything other than weapons.

As a yandere, i think he'd try really hard to market you guys as the ideal victor couple

he'd def talk anout marrying you and having other victor babies in interviews n shit

"when it comes time for Yn and I to train our kids for the games-"

it's an open secret that the capitol just let JK have you lol

[strqyr]

Honestly smth i find weird is how Oz has, seemingly, never been to the Ever After.

Cause like,, Oz is OLD. He's thousands of years old- and that's a very vague timeframe, that could be 5k years just as easily as 90k years. Regardless, that's a LONG ass time and a lot of lives; statistically, he WOULD have ended up in the Ever After, considering the Blacksmith implied that more than just the people we know had ended up in the Ever After, and Alyx and Lewis got there entirely on accident.

Hell, it's possible SALEM has gotten there. Miles said in a cameo that Salem knows more about the Brothers now than she did during and right after her rebellion, and one of her WOR videos (the one on aura) depicts a Blacksmith (which like, could be coincidence lol)- so it's entirely possible Salem, at the very least, knows about the Blacksmith.

If *Salem* knows even a tiny bit about the Ever After- then I really wonder why Oz... doesn't. Cause from my perspective and what I remember, it seems like he only thought it was just a story, and the theory that Lewis was an ozcarnation, iirc, was debunked. So Oz has never been to the Ever After, at least from what we've seen.

And i just think that's weird? He should have at Some point, but he hasn't. My working theory rn is that Light made it a part of Ozma's curse that he can't end up in the Ever After, if that's even possible.

But I wanted your thoughts on it, cause idk if it's a plot hole the writers overlooked, or if it's something that has an in-universe explanation lol

i'm very mixed on this bc on one hand, oz recognized the story when oscar was quoting it, telling him that he has lived through his fair share of fairy tales, which is a leading statement that implies the girl who fell through the world is something he is personally familiar with—i.e. he has lived through it. sure, the line might just be in reference to all the other fairy tales that are about oz's experiences, but if you're show-only watcher and know nothing about the fairy tales of remnant, that context is lost on you.

but then. . . oscar tries searching for more information in vacuo, narrating that "ozpin has no explanation of what might have happened" to those who fell, which then takes us to a completely different direction. one explanation could be that, well. there's probably multiple ways of ending up in the ever after—like i sincerely doubt alyx and lewis used to staff to create this pathway "not on remnant" and then fell lol—, and you simply cannot assume that different entry point has the same exit, right?

so. a mixed bag. one possibility is that oz himself hasn't been in the ever after, but one of his reincarnations before he reincarnated into them might have. so, no personal experience, but memories of one, yes.

and i kinda feel like salem might be in a similar kind of boat? part of the curse the gods put on her was that she would walk the face of remnant as long as it turned, and i get the feeling that's very literal, in the same vein ambrosius takes things literally; she can't leave remnant. it echoes back to her tower, the window that was her only view to the outside world, blocked by an invisible barrier that she couldn't get through, and it would explain why they've made the point of the space within the vaults not being on remnant—and hence why she needs others to get the relics for her, or why she never appeared on the bridge despite being back for some time while the battle was still going.

but it's still possible that someone salem knows has been in the ever after and this is where my "summer rose is still alive" agenda and "why did the sundered rose appear in the ever after like that?" question meet.

. . . anyway. i think it makes sense for the gods to make some rules for both oz and salem in terms of where they can and cannot go, bc ascension could very easily turn into a "get out of jail for free" card re: their curses, and the gods would obviously know about it, so better nip that at the bud before it's too late.

so my guess would be that neither oz or salem have been in the ever after personally, but someone they know (or have reincarnated into with oz) has been, and that's where their knowledge comes from. . . if they do know anything, at all.

[fictionkinfessions]

so uh, yeah.

i've kinfirmed (epic!)odysseus and i kind of have. a lot of mixed feelings about that.

i've been trying to figure out what might be different/the same, and there's some concrete things i can tell thus far.

i remember hermes being a more important figure in my journey home, i think? i think me being his great grandson made him feel like he had more of a stake in it, which is kind of odd, considering that oftentimes the gods didn't really put much effort into the lives their children, much less their grandchildren or great grandchildren, but for some reason it mattered to hermes. i think it's cause i had a lot of him in me (cause, you know. the lies and trickery thing). i think i recall ending up good friends/family with him, of sorts. it was nice, i think. especially because he was the one to, um. physically take me away from the island (thanks to hermes and athena for that one, by the way.)

speaking of the island, though really i'd rather not. i... don't really remember her, which is probably a good thing, because from what i can recall, my time there was... awful. absolutely awful. thinking about it makes me nauseous. i can't remember if she actually tried anything physically, or if it was all manipulation and emotional abuse. i have a few other things i remember from it but. i don't really think i want to share those.

the only other thing that really messes with me is that i very clearly remember what it was like to kill. i won't go into much detail because uh. i'm not sure how much is allowed on this blog, and i don't want to overstep boundaries, but i remember the weight of a sword and a bow in my hands. i remember the weight of the trident i used against poseidon. i remember what it felt like to use it. i remember the infant. i feel sick to my stomach thinking about it.

i remember parts of the war, i think. i remember diomedes, he was one of my closest friends. i remember being annoyed that i even had to be there in the first place. i remember the irritation i felt with menelaus. i remember i hated ajax the lesser, i think. i don't know. i think of him and i get angry.

i remember fragments of my journey home as a whole. a lot of it comes in specific emotions that i recall. i remember the dread i felt in the cyclops’ cave, and then the hollow numbness. i remember the grief that i tried (and failed) to force down with each member of the crew i lost. i remember the determination i felt. i remember the terror i felt facing poseidon. i remember the crushing pain i felt in the underworld. i remember what it felt like the moment i decided to "become the monster". i remember the ache of betrayal, the fear inside of me as i faced zeus. i remember the hollow acceptance as i realized my survival would mean sacrificing the remainder of my crew. i remember the depression of ogygia. i remember that fierce desperation i felt when hermes finally found me. i remember the fury i felt against poseidon and the suitors. i remember the relief at finally being home.

i remember becoming friends with circe, i think? the emotions i feel towards her are friendly, at least.

i remember my men, or at least some of them. i remember eurylochus and polites, at the very least. a few glimpses of others, maybe? i remember small moments between polites, eurylochus, and i.

i don’t remember as much of my sister or mom as i’d like. i have vague memories of my sister, and i remember seeing my mom in the underworld.

i remember my mentor, athena. i remember that i was angry at her, but more than that, i felt guilty. she was my greatest friend, and the loss of her presence was greatly felt. is greatly felt. i remember for a time, once i returned back to ithaca, i felt angry again. my mentor had never been kind or gentle, and as much as it frustrated me, i felt that i only ever grew into a stronger man because of it. her teachings were correct, and it was only because of my failings that my journey home occurred the way it did. i was worried, when i learned she was training telemachus, though, because of how harsh of a teacher she had been to me. my son was so very strong, but i wanted him to be better than me. not to have my same failings. seeing her be so gentle towards him when i had never received that treatment from her hurt. seeing how we did a complete 180 on our belief metrics felt odd. how was it that the hard, firm athena that i had known had changed so greatly? but then i remember how much i changed. i wish i could tell her how sorry i am, and thank her for everything.

i remember how proud i felt of my son, telemachus. the guilt as well, at having missed so much of his life. i wasn't there for so much of it, and yet i could not be prouder of the man he grew into. i only wish i had been there to see it.

i remember bits and pieces of penelope, and that hurts. the idea that i spent so long apart from her that her image started to fade from my mind. and yet, the love i feel for her has never, not once, wavered. she is my everything, my love, my penelope.

gods, this turned out really long. sorry about that.

-odysseus (#☕️☁️🏹 -> formerly ☕️☁️)

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