#machine can’t replace madness

[the-most-humble-blog]

Reblog if you’re not scared of AI because you already write like something it could never imitate. Not because you’re better. But because you bleed. And you’d burn the prompt before letting a machine speak for your soul.

📜 Go create something. Then dare it to match you. <!-- END TRANSMISSION [IT’S NOT A COMPETITION IF YOU’RE ALREADY A SPECIES ABOVE.] -->

[rafecameronssl4t]

Leo is born || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: the long awaited fic of Leo's birth!

Warnings: complications with childbirth, allusion to ppd.

Word count: 1,190

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The hospital room was anything but calm—machines beeping, nurses and doctors moving quickly, their faces strained with focus. The air was thick with tension, a suffocating weight pressing down on your chest. You were drenched in sweat, each contraction crashing over you like a violent wave, sharper and more relentless than the last.

Hours had blurred together in an agonising haze, the pain unyielding, your body caught in a merciless cycle that showed no sign of easing. The baby was still in the wrong position, and every minute that passed felt like a lifetime. You were struggling to breathe through the pain, your vision blurring at the edges. Rafe paced at the edge of the room, running his hands through his hair, his eyes wild with worry. His shirt was crumpled, half tucked in, half hanging loose, as if he had dressed in a rush and didn’t care how he looked.

For once, his usually cool, composed demeanour was completely shattered. His gaze flicked between you and the doctors, desperation and helplessness etched across his face. He had no control here, and it was driving him mad. Another contraction hit, and you let out a sharp cry, your body trembling. Your hands clenched around the bedsheets, knuckles turning white.

Rafe was by your side in an instant, grabbing your hand. But his touch wasn’t soft or reassuring—it was tight, as if he were trying to hold on to his own fraying sanity. “Rafe…” you gasped, trying to catch your breath, your voice cracking. “Hey, hey… it’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe. I’m right here.”

His gaze flicked to the doctors, his blue eyes narrowing with a dangerous intensity. “What the hell is going on?” His voice was low, tight, like a coiled spring ready to snap. “Why aren’t you doing something?” One of the doctors—a calm, composed man in his forties—tried to explain.

“Mr. Cameron, we’re monitoring the situation. The baby is in a breech position, and we’re assessing the safest way to proceed without—” Rafe cut him off, his voice rising, sharp and angry. “I’m not paying you thousands of dollars to asses the situation! Do something now! She’s in pain. She’s been in pain for hours, and you're just standing around doing nothing!”

His hand gripped yours tighter, though he didn’t even seem aware of it, his focus entirely on the medical staff. You could see the way the doctors exchanged looks—professional, calm, but there was a flicker of unease in their expressions. They were used to pressure, but not the kind of raw, unfiltered anger that Rafe was radiating.

“Mr. Cameron, I understand you’re upset, but we have to ensure the safety of both your wife and the baby. A C-section is becoming increasingly likely, but we have to wait for the right moment.” Rafe let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “The right moment? My wife is screaming in pain, and you're telling me to wait for the right moment?”

Another contraction hit, and your hand instinctively tightened around his. You let out a choked sob, tears streaming down your face as the pain shot through your entire body. Rafe’s attention snapped back to you, and for a brief moment, the anger in his face softened, replaced by something raw—something vulnerable.

He brushed a damp strand of hair away from your face, his thumb trembling as it touched your skin.“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he whispered, though the strain in his voice betrayed the fear simmering beneath the surface. “I’m right here.”“Rafe,” you gasped, voice cracking, “I can’t… it hurts so much.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked like he might break. But he didn’t. He bent down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath shaky, his words barely above a whisper. “I know, I know… I’m so sorry. I wish I could take it away. I’d do anything to make this easier for you. Just—just hold on, okay? You’re so strong. You’re doing so good.”

But the second the contraction eased, his head whipped back toward the doctors, fury burning in his eyes again. “Do something! Now! I don’t care how much it costs. I don’t care what it takes. Just help her!” One of the nurses, sensing the rising tension, stepped forward. “We’re preparing for a C-section, Mr. Cameron. We need just a few more minutes to make sure everything is ready.”

“You’ve had hours,” Rafe snapped. His voice was dangerously low now, the calm before the storm. “If anything happens to her—or to my son—it’s on you. Do you understand me?” You could feel his anger vibrating through his body, his hand trembling in yours. He was terrified, but he didn’t know how to express it except through rage.

And yet, even through the haze of pain, you could see that his fury wasn’t just anger—it was fear. He was helpless in a situation he couldn’t control, and it was killing him. Before you could say anything else, the doctor spoke up, his tone firm but professional. “We’re ready for the C-section. We’re going to take good care of both of you.”

Rafe’s eyes flicked back to the doctor, his jaw still clenched, but he didn’t say anything more. Instead, he turned back to you, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles, trying to offer you the only comfort he could. “You’re going to be okay,” he whispered, his voice soft now, almost pleading. “You’re so strong, and I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” The next moments were a blur. The pain, the fear, the cold sterility of the operating room.

But Rafe never left your side. Even through his anger, through his fear, he stayed with you, his hand in yours, his eyes locked on you, as if you were the only thing tethering him to this world. And when Leo’s first cry pierced the room, Rafe let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding. His grip on your hand tightened, and he leaned down, pressing his lips to your forehead, his voice choked with emotion.

“You did it,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “He’s here.” You let out a breath of relief. “Here,” a nurse approaches with your newborn son, freshly cleaned and swaddled. “Hm?” Your voice is distant as she gently places him on your chest. The weight of him feels foreign, almost surreal. You suck in a shallow breath, your shaky hand reaching up to stroke his delicate back, but you pull it away, unable to hold it there for more than a second.

The room feels heavy, and a hollow ache settles deep within your chest. You avert your eyes, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. “Can I… Can I just rest?” Your voice cracks. “I-I want to rest right now.” The nurses exchange quiet glances, their eyes flicking toward Rafe, who is watching you closely, trying to understand the distance in your expression. His brows knit together in concern, but after a beat, he nods slowly, saying nothing, his gaze lingering on you as if he’s waiting for you to come back to yourself.

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [16]

Danny has been with the Wayne’s for a while now and his status as a halfa is starting to affect some things he comes in contact with a little bit.

At first he thought this only happened back in his old home in Amity Park because the ectoplasm samples were kept in the fridge, and though that does speed up the process, it turns out Danny causes the same things to happen just fine on his own. It just takes a lot longer.

This means he now occasionally has to replace or decontaminate some of his things every once in a while. and with the electronics the same applies but usually the protections that Tucker has made do the trick too.

Danny has been very careful, he never borrows anything that’s highly susceptible to ecto-contamination from the others and whenever he needs something from the kitchen he just goes to Alfred (he really doesn’t want to see how the old man might react to the coffee machine starting to act weird because of Danny). Just, the last thing Danny wants to do is inconvenience the Wayne’s by ecto-contaminating something of theirs.

It’s really only when Danny slips back into vigilante-ism that things go sideways.

And Danny really tried. His obsession is space, not heroism, so he figured he’d be fine just focussing on his education. But he kinda forgot about the fact that he just really really loves being a hero.

He loves the thrill, the danger. He loves giving a smackdown and just in general having a good fight, he loves helping people, he loves being a force of good. And yeah, he kinda also likes the praise, but nothing weird and overbearing (some people go way too far in their hero worship, but that’s a story for another day)

So after some back and forth and arguments with Bruce who, contrary to popular belief, was absolutely not thrilled that his latest traumatized kid who was being kept safe in the mansion so far now decided that no, he wants to be part of the family business too please.

Danny eventually threatens to just go out anyway without any of his help and that just gives Bruce flashbacks to the time when he had just taken Dick as his ward. Not to mention some of his other kids and… dammit.

Well then… Danny can go explain things to Jason himself once he finds out and is probably going to be mad about it, Bruce is not taking the blame this time.

So Danny (name pending, he could just go with Phantom again, but he also wouldn’t mind using something bird or bat related) gets back into the game once again! And that’s fine that’s cool. But back to the original point.

Danny figured that he would just do what he’s been doing so far with any bat gadgets as well, and maybe it would be even less of a problem cause he’s pretty sure that these things break a lot more often because of all the fights and stuff.

What Danny had not really thought about though is potential intense high emotion situations. Like for very specific example; Scarecrow taking an obsessive interest in him because of Danny’s ghostly ability to feed on fear (somewhat) and the situation getting out of hand, him getting very hurt, Batman having to carry him out of there while Danny was kinda bleeding a bit (a lot). Bruce being worried and Danny wanting to be anywhere but there anymore and-

Well, you get the point.

So, take all that and add high tech bat armor and what you get is suddenly sentient batsuit.

It actually took a bit for anyone to catch on that something was going on, but it was eventually figured out. and once that was the case Danny couldn’t really help his seemingly endless stream of apologies.

But how can anyone ever blame him for bleeding out on Bruce and the weird reanimative properties of said blood making it so Bruce’s suit can now “talk”

Bruce described it more as like a martian mind link, which would explain why only he could hear things. it’s probably only for the wearer.

It can’t move on it’s own, it needs someone to wear it. But it can sense things and react for the wearer and honestly all that alone is more than enough reason to find a way to exorcise it… if not for the whole,

“but if it’s a sentient ecto entity now we can’t just ‘kill’ it, we literally abolished the anti ecto acts just so that can’t be done anymore”

it’s probably a good thing the suit has grabbed all the ‘Batman’ and made that what it is. All the core values are there, so there isn’t going to be any risk of it killing someone at least.

Still though… what to do now?

[natalievoncatte]

She had been both dreading and anticipating this moment. The portal platform activated, the display confirming that the arrival was from Argo City. Purple hues danced across the strange crystalline walls of the Fortress of Solitude and Lena held her breath. This was not going yo be an easy reunion.

Lena still found it difficult to believe that he would ever trust her. The Man of Steel. Superman. Kal-El of Krypton. Karan’s cousin.

Clark.

He was dressed not in his super suit but a garment akin to a tunic bearing his colors and crest and he was not alone. A tall, narrowly built and energetic woman accompanied him, carrying a baby on one hip and guiding a toddler boy by the hand on the other side.

Lois Lane had a peculiar quality; she was thin and wiry and not conventionally lovely but somehow dominated every room she occupied with the same sheer force of personality that had captured the heart of the perfect man from the sky. Lena had fond memories of Lois when she and Clark and Lex were all friends in Metropolis, before her brother had gone mad. Lena was only a teenager then and intimidated by Lois.

Kara took a half step to greet her cousin, then paused. He wasn’t here for her.

The cyborg.

Half machine, the Kara of an alternate world, one that was erased in the Crisis-that-was-not-a-Crisis, was in many ways a sad, harrowing creature to look upon. Half her face was missing, replaced with gleaming steel, and Lena had recently replace a chunk of Kryptonite in her chest with a safer power source, one that powered the machinery she needed to live without torturing her at the same time.

“Who are you?” the cyborg rasped, her voice distant and tinny, ever on the verge of tears.

Clark shot Kara - their Kara- a brief glance, and they did that annoying silent-nod thing they did with each other and Clark approached their guest.

Though Clark towered over both Karas -he was the among the tallest men that Lena had ever met- Lena knew that Kara overmatched him in both speed and raw strength, had actually witnessed them fight once when Clark was not himself. Still, he cut a regal and imposing figure. Kara wore her heritage like a mourning shroud as often as not, but Clark carried his like a banner.

The cyborg regarded him uneasily.

“Who are you?”

“My human name is Clark Kent, but I am Kal-El, the son of Jor-El.”

The cyborg looked up sharply and met his gaze, unwavering. She reached up with both hands, one unnaturally cold flesh and the other a skeletal claw, and lightly brushed either cheek.

“I never knew you on my Earth. I was sent by portal, not by pod, and there wasn’t enough energy to open it again before Krypton exploded.”

There as a brief, heavy pause and then he gathered her broken form in a bear hug and held her. The peculiar rasping noises she made turned out to be sobs, as she tried desperately to cry with the only tears her abused form could muster, a thin trickle of blood from her remaining eye.

“I was always alone. I was the last of my kind.” She drew back and looked at him. “You were a baby. You’re so big.”

“Kara tells me they’re taking your Lena to Themyscira, is that right?” Clark said, releasing her.

“Yes. I don’t know what that means. There was no such place where I came from.”

“They’ll help her. I can’t go, it’s a place of women.”

“I’m going,” said Lois. “I’ve never been and it sounds like you could use the moral support. Clark can watch the boys for a few days.”

Cyborg Kara edged closer to her and they spoke in hushed tones, about what Lena wasn’t sure.

Her attention was consumed by Clark as he loomed over her.

“Lena,” he said.

“Clark,” she said.

Kara walked to Lena’s side but said nothing, making a more profound statement by draping her arm protectively around Lena’s waist.

“Kara told me quite a bit about everything that’s happened between you.”

“She has?” Lena said, cautiously.

“I have,” said Kara.

Clark looked bemused. “You both think I’m surprised, but I was there when you two first met and I have super-senses. I’m not sure which of your hearts was beating harder. It was just a matter of time, really.”

“It was our, ah, guest that pushed me to speak up,” said Lena, “to tell her how I feel. After that it was just… natural.”

Kara looked at her and Lena forgot everything. The biting cold of the Fortress, the weight of Superman’s gaze, the presence of Kara’s tragic doppelgänger, everything but the pure look of adoration in Kara’s silly smile. It was like the cyborg had told her that night she first appeared in Lena’s apartment: there was something fundamental between them, a link that could not be explained, not even quantified. It seemed silly to think about it in such terms but once Lena just let go of her fear and accepted it, it was as much part of the world as sunshine and birdsong. They belonged to each other as surely as the moon belongs to the sky.

“You two should visit,” said Clark. “Introduce Lena to your mother.”

“Clark,” Kara said, uneasily. “Krypton… how would I introduce her? I’m not going to pretend that we’re not together. Our language doesn’t even have a word for queer.”

“It does now,” he said. “Things are changing. They’re looking to the future, not the mistakes of the past.”

“Maybe we’ll visit,” Kara said, “but we have something to do first, someone who needs our help.”

That someone was being brought through now. The alternate Lena was an unsettling sight- Kara may have already met clones and parallel universe copies of herself but Lena was new at this and it was hard to process.

Inside the stasis pod, her twin was not quite her twin; older and leaner, she had laugh lines around her mouth but there was a worn quality to her beauty; even in an artificial sleep it was obvious that her closed eyes had seen too much.

“You’re going to be okay,” Lena told herself as Alex walked up.

“It’s time,” she said.

[winteringdream]

MY BOYFRIEND ! ──── kim woonhak

✩ ⋅ pairing. kim woonhak x gn!reader ✩ ⋅ genre. fluff, headcanona ✩ ⋅ warnings. none! ✩ ⋅ wc. 1k-ish ✩ ⋅ riwoo's version! | taesan’s version! | sungho's version | myungjae's version | leehan's version

BOYFRIEND WOONHAK WHO WOULD... brag about you to literally everyone.

You barely step into the café before Woonhak spots you, his face lighting up instantly. “There they are!” he announces, waving you over as his friends turn to look.

“Oh no,” you mutter under your breath, already bracing yourself.

Woonhak, completely oblivious to your embarassement, slings an arm around your shoulder the moment you reach him. “Guys, have I mentioned that they're the best? Like, actually the best? I don’t know how I got this lucky.”

His friends groan in unison. “You mention it every time.”

“And yet, it’s still not enough,” Woonhak declares proudly, grinning down at you. “Anyway, did I tell you they—”

You sigh, but you can’t help smiling as you nudge him. “Enough, Woon.”

“Never,” he replies, beaming.

BOYFRIEND WOONHAK WHO WOULD... pout if you didn’t give him enough attention, only to break into a huge smile the moment you look his way.

You’re sitting at your desk, completely focused on your work, when you feel a presence beside you. Ignoring it at first, you continue typing, until an exaggerated sigh sounds from beside you.

You glance up to find Woonhak standing there, arms crossed, lips pushed out in the biggest pout you’ve ever seen.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ve been ignoring me for exactly seventeen minutes and thirty-two seconds,” he huffs.

You roll your eyes. “You’ll survive, I need to finish this before the deadline give me a few more minutes.”

Woonhak lets out another dramatic sigh, loudly flopping onto the couch. But the second you turn your chair toward him, his pout vanishes, replaced by a bright, cheeky grin.

“Knew that’d get your attention,” he says, throwing a pillow in your direction.

You shake your head, laughing, before catching the pillow. “You’re impossible.”

“You love me~” he sing-songs, winking.

BOYFRIEND WOONHAK WHO WOULD...never let you go to bed upset, staying up as long as it takes to talk things through and reassure you that everything is okay.

You sit on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around yourself, staring at the floor. The room is quiet. Woonhak is next to you, his usual playful energy gone.

“Talk to me,” he says softly. No teasing, no jokes just him patiently waiting.

You shake your head, not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t what to say.

Woonhak shifts closer, his fingers brushing yours before he takes your hand fully. “I don’t care how long it takes,” he murmurs. “I just don’t want you to go to sleep feeling like this.”

You swallow and slowly exhale. “I just… I don’t like fighting with you.”

He squeezes your hand gently. “Me neither. But we’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Are you mad at me? Do you hate me?” you murmur, refusing to look him in the eye.

“What? Of course not” he replies, tilting his head until he makes eye contact with you. "I'm not mad at you and I don't hate you. Couples fight, that's normal. I still love you, no matter what."

You nod, and Woonhak pulls you into his arms, holding you close like he has all the time in the world.

BOYFRIEND WOONHAK WHO WOULD... insist on winning you plushies at the arcade, and if he failed, he’d dramatically accuse the machine of being rigged.

The claw hovers over the plushie, Woonhak’s eyes locked on it with intense focus. You hold your breath as he presses the button, watching the metal claws go down, grip the stuffed animal.

Woonhak stands frozen as the stuffed bear tumbles back into the pile. There’s a moment of silence before he turns to you, eyes wide with betrayal. “What was that? I had it!”

"Or maybe you’re just bad at it.” you snort.

He gasps, clutching his chest. “How dare you?” Then, he spins back to the machine, jabbing a finger at it. “This thing is rigged. There’s no way.”

You cross your arms, amused. “So you’re done?”

Woonhak scoffs. “Obviously not. Have you never seen that mining picture, babe. Our next turn might be it!” He steps aside and gestures grandly. “So now it’s your turn. But don’t worry, I’ll coach you.”

You give him a look. “Oh, so now I have to play?”

“Yes,” he says, completely serious. “We win together.”

And just like that, he’s holding you by your shoulders, muttering game strategies like this is the most important mission of your life.

BOYFRIEND WOONHAK WHO WOULD... send you the most ridiculous selfies whenever he is bored

Your phone buzzes, and without even looking, you already know who it is.

Opening the message, you’re greeted by a ridiculously close-up selfie. His face scrunched in a way that somehow makes his nose look huge, chin tucked in for maximum effect.

"thinking about you… but also about chicken nuggets. idk which one i love more"

You giggle, typing out a reply to his text.

"glad to know I rank as high as processed chicken"

Almost immediately, your phone dings again. This time, it’s a picture of him with dramatically wide eyes, one hand over his chest as if your words physically wounded him.

"you don’t get it you and nuggets are my entire world"

Rolling your eyes, you’re about to respond when another picture arrives. This time, it’s him sitting in what looks like a fast-food restaurant, two orders of nuggets in front of him.

"one box is for you. come claim your place in my heart."

You shake your head, laughing to yourself. He’s ridiculous. But you’re already grabbing your jacket.

bonedo taglist: @ihruaz @tmrwsuns

[holyblonded]

is chickie ever naughty on her own account? like not kyra leading it but chickie does and gets in trouble alone?

— yes, absolutely. chickie can be a little troublemaker in her own right, she just does it in a very “quiet chaos” sort of way. it doesn’t happen often, but when it does… everyone’s like wait what just happened??

— she’s the kind of kid who’ll sneak into the training ground early, rearrange all the cones into a smiley face, and act completely innocent when asked about it

— once dyed the tips of her hair bright green during international duty just because someone in the locker room said “you wouldn’t”

— absolutely got caught by leah doing it in the hotel bathroom and lied with a mouthful of dye bottle and gloves on like “i’m not doing anything”

— one time she climbed the scaffolding of the stands during a quiet day at arsenal just to see the view. got stuck. didn’t even call for help, just chilled there until beth spotted her and freaked out

— during one recovery session, she replaced the physio’s playlist with sam’s worst karaoke recordings. it took everyone twenty minutes to realize and the physio was crying laughing

— she once got told not to bring any snacks to the gym, so naturally she showed up with a full backpack of junk food and set up a snack bar in the corner. gave herself the fake business name “chickie’s chews.” got shut down in five minutes

— arsenal had to call her out by name in a team meeting because she kept sticking tiny googly eyes on the physio equipment. she just blinked and said “i don’t know who did that. but they sound fun.”

— one time got so fed up with the vending machine eating her coins that she slid a note under renee’s office door reading “fix ur evil robot. respectfully, chickie”

— leah’s always the one dragged in like “come get your child” and she’s so exasperated but also weirdly proud

— “why do you keep doing this?”

— “it builds character.”

— still gets away with it 90% of the time because she looks so small and innocent

— but when she does get caught? she just sighs dramatically like “fine. punish me. i’ll never taste freedom again.”

— nobody ever punishes her that hard. they can’t. she’s too ridiculous.

— kyra is both impressed and mad that chickie pulls this stuff without needing a chaos co-pilot. like how dare she cause problems on purpose and why am i proud??

— her most iconic solo crime remains sneaking a giant chelsea flag into the arsenal dressing room as a prank. leah confiscated it, but secretly took a picture and sent it to sam with “your kid’s got balls.”

— sam responded, “yeah. unfortunately. they’re mine.”

[serensama]

Thursday Bangers: Dr, Who?

Thank you for this game and wicked lyric prompt @woundedsoul12- love you to bits <3

I've been wanting to write this scene for WEEKS, full transparency, it's based off a scene/clip I saw of a K-drama "My Father is Strange" - now I know nothing else about this series but this scene stuck with me, and I thought... yeah... why not have another meet-cute type of scene with these two giant idiots?

Read on Ao3

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

"I don't know why I didn't trust you to be on my side"- What It Sounds Like by Huntr/x from Kpop Demon Hunters

---

The coffee machine was making death noises. Lilya was no expert, but it definitely did not sound healthy, nor did her assistant sound happy, yelping every so often when the machine gurgled louder. 

“It's sputtering again,” Bellara groaned into the phone, followed by a dramatic gasp. “Okay, no - it's bubbling. That’s a death rattle, Lilya. It’s singing the song of its people, it’s not long for this world, I just know it, Boss. I’m not trained for this.” Lilya shifted the phone to her other ear, nudging open the door to her apartment building with her hip. “So go get coffee, Bell.” “I would, but I’ve already put the client folders on your desk. And the psych forms. And the intake reports. And Mr Stephens is first up this morning, you know he’s going to be here insanely early because of his anxiety, so someone has to be here to open the door. We don’t need a repeat of last year’s summer breakdown. Besides all this – listen to me, I’ve been attacked by machinery, I’m too fragile this morning. Can you please swing by the café?”

“You’re unbelievable. You’re my assistant, remember.”

“Yes, but right now I’m also a victim. Also, Illario has already called.”

Lilya paused mid-step. “He did? I mean.. He... he what?” Smooth Lilya. Way not to sound over-eager or anything.  Bellara cleared her throat innocently, but it sounded too much like laughter for Lilya to brush off entirely. “Relax. He was just calling to make sure you got in safe. He said something about, and I quote, ‘just heard there was a bad traffic accident in our part of town.’ Which is apparently code for I miss your boss and need to know her heart still beats for me, please and thank you.” “Maker,” Lilya muttered, picking off a piece of lint from her dress. “He’s-...” wonderful, thoughtful, delicious “-... relentless.” “Well, I think he’s sweet. In a... very Illario sort of way.” “So what, you’re friends now?” Lilya snorted inelegantly, checking both sides of the street before shuffling across, smiling at a gentleman who passed by her with a smile.  “Well, he did threaten to replace me before he knew I was magic,” Bellara said, not even pretending to sound offended. “But he did it thinking it was to help you. So I can’t stay mad.” There was a moment of silence and Lilya could almost hear the other woman’s brain ticking through her headset. “So... this thing with Illario... is it serious? Is he as charming as they say he is in the gossip columns? Oh, you have to tell me so I can live vicariously through you-” “Oh, but you and Irelin-” “Over. Tell me already before Mr Stephens’ shows up and starts counting everything in the office again!” 

Lilya scoffed at her, trying to keep herself from smiling and getting pulled into a conversation she wasn’t ready to have yet. “There’s nothing to tell you, Bell. We’ve just talked a little. On the phone.”

“Sure, talk,” Bellara snorted. “That’s what you kids are calling it these days, huh?” --- She took the scenic route to work, taking the time every second day of the week to detour through the quieter side streets where the buildings in her neighbourhood wore ivy, and the mornings smelled like warm sugar, fresh bread and clean sheets from the people hanging their laundry on their fire escapes. Viago always groused at the quaint ‘little village’ feel of where she chose to live and work, but she wasn’t going to let his doom and gloom deter her from the place she loved. Sure, she adored the Villa, and she was born into a life most would kill for, but it took living differently to see how fortunate she was... that and if she stayed at the family home under the same roof as her brother, she’d have been taken in for fratricide years ago.  Her phone buzzed when she stopped at the lights. Good morning. I’ll see you soon. From the sound of it, your assistant is seconds from declaring a national emergency.

Lilya shook her head at the text message, her thumbs already flying, trying to ignore the smile that pulled at her mouth. It’s really not necessary. I’m already on my way to get some.

Too late. I’m not far at all, he replied all too quickly, as if he had been watching his phone for her response. 

She groaned, dramatically and out loud, for no one’s benefit. He hadn’t seen her since the gala more than two weeks ago. That night, she’d had a full team of professionals turning her into someone glossy and statuesque and worthy of his tuxedoed smirk. Today, she’d barely made it out of the house with two matching shoes. The past fortnight had been consumed by paperwork, licensing board meetings, and her conscious decision to ignore all contact from Viago. She was exhausted, but also, finally at peace. The kind of peace that was necessary before she and Illario went any further. Lilya knew that her brother would rear his moustached head sooner or later to talk at her, but he was the least of her worries in the grand scheme of things.   By the time she reached the corner of the street in front of her practice, panic had seeped in.

She marched up to the nearest parked town car and used the tinted windows to assess how unsalvageable her appearance was. Her reflection blinked back with puffier eyes than she remembered, a faint smudge of her lip gloss on her bottom lip and her hair clinging onto its last shred of dignity after two days of dry shampoo. “Okay,” she murmured to herself, smoothing her dress. “Not a complete disaster. Just... mild chaos chic. It’ll be fine... it’ll be fine.”

She was mid-lint inspection of her skirt when her phone buzzed again.

Bellara said the coffee situation was dire. I just wanted your morning to feel a little easier. Even if I couldn’t be the one to make it that way. She rolled her eyes and smiled despite herself. She was going to hate the coffee; she typically avoided the stuff whenever she could. But she was going to drink it like it was spun sugar from the Fade itself and be grateful for every bitter drop, because it came from such a sweet place.  Andraste’s ass- she was starting to sound like the heroine from Bellara’s novel.  --- He had been watching for a while.

Marcel, his driver, hadn’t said anything since they had parked the car five minutes before. But the silence was heavy with the kind of judgment that came from watching your employer lean forward every thirty seconds like a teenager at a school window passing his girlfriend’s school, hoping for a chance to see her, even for a moment.

“She always walks this way?” Marcel asked finally.

“Every Tuesday,” Illario murmured, not turning to look at him. “At least that’s what her assistant told me.” 

He caught the first glimpse of her when she turned the corner, half-hidden behind a streetlight, tucking her phone into her coat pocket, already fidgeting with her hair like she knew he was watching. And she did fuss. Maker, how she fussed. Checking her reflection in the window of his town car, she unknowingly looked him in the eye as she fretted about her looks. Lilya smoothed her dress, tugging at her sleeves as if she were meeting someone important and not just some idiot with her coffee. She could’ve walked through traffic in a dirty burlap sack and still looked divine, but she wanted to look her best for him... and that realisation made his chest go tight.

He’d have to remember to get something nice for her assistant; if he hadn’t managed to get her on his side, he’d never have had the chance to see Lilya like this. He had to admit that Bellara had played her part beautifully. “So we’re like spies now?” Bellara had whispered into the phone the afternoon prior. “Or two people ensuring your caffeine delivery,” Illario replied, amused at the young woman’s excitement. He heard her scoff on the other end of the line.  “Same difference. I’m still choosing our code names.” “...Are you writing a novel or something?” “Wha—no. No! W-who told you that? Bye.”

If Lucanis were there instead of choosing to work from home like the hermit that he was, he’d have jabbed him in the ribs just to distract him from the beating of his heart. But the last thing his cousin would have wanted to see was his ex-therapist and his cousin making eyes at each other, he was thankful that he was absent for this particular excursion. Still, Illario almost missed him.

But then Lilya checked her phone again, and smiled, as if she meant it, her eyes soft and her fingertips just touching her lips in quiet shock or wonder or awe at something he had written... and suddenly, he didn’t miss anything at all.

--- He rolled down the window at the perfect moment.

She started and nearly stumbled backwards, but his hand shot out, catching her wrist before she could fall into the stranger behind her.

“You alright?” he asked, voice warm and amused. “Would’ve caught you sooner, but I didn’t want to ruin the dramatic reveal.”

Her mouth parted in surprise, and then her eyes flared with outrage. “You... You have been sitting there this whole time?!”

He let go of her wrist once she was steady. “Technically, yes. Practically? That depends on how you feel about loitering on your stoop with only the best of intentions.”

She couldn’t answer him. There was not one witty rejoinder up her sleeve at all. Not with her brain still stuck on the fact that he looked like he’d walked out of a luxury brand campaign and she... well. She was wearing the lintiest dress in existence. Added to the fact that she probably looked like a love-struck teenager staring at her phone as if she were waiting on his every word. Of course, she was, but he didn’t need to know that! 

“I brought coffee,” he said, stepping out of the car with a full cup tray. “Or an assortment of caffeine, anyway. I didn’t want to guess what you’d like and be wrong.”

She looked at the tray in his hands and blinked. “You know, I don’t even drink coffee.”

“Well then, Bellara will be a force of nature after drinking all four coffees on her own, forgive me.” Lilya bit her lip to stop from grinning. “I appreciate the effort. Truly. And I will drink these, it is just a pity I prefer hot chocolate.” Illario bent at the knees like he’d just been shot. “I knew it. Someone as sweet as you? Of course you’d want chocolate.”

She made a face. “Don’t say that. It sounds like I should be frolicking through a meadow with pigtails, a flock of sheep, singing songs with birds while woodland creatures gather to darn my dress.”

“You’d look cute in pigtails,” he laughed at her horror. “Luckily, I anticipated this and brought backup.” Illario pulled out another cup tray and placed it into her awaiting hand. “There’s a hot chocolate there. And a fruity tea. And a strong espresso in case you change your mind halfway through drinking either option and decide to be a good Antivan after all.”

“Okay,” she said, cheeks starting to warm from his attention. “Now you’re just showing off.” “This counts as showing off to you? The bar must be subterranean. Now, I fear what will physically happen to you when I actually try.” He glanced at his watch and swore softly, missing the way Lilya’s eyes widened as she thought about what his effort would actually do to her. “I’ve got to run. I’m late to a meeting I don’t want to go to. But... I’ll call you later?”

Lilya nodded, rearranging the tray in her hand. “Sure.”

And then, without thinking too hard, she leaned in. Her free hand rose to his cheek as she kissed the other, soft and warm, a brush of lips and skin to start her morning right. He caught her hand before she could drop it and pressed a kiss to her palm. No heat in the action, but it still made their next breath halt in their chest. He let her hand go, quickly, before either of them could undo the moment with words or fall over a line they really weren’t ready to cross - not yet, not so soon.

“I’ve got to go,” he said again, more as a reminder to himself than a farewell to her. “I’ll- I’ll call you!” He placed the other tray into her other hand, and she gave the world’s most awkward wave, juggling all the drinks. “You sure you’ve got all that? I can run them upstairs with you, if you want?”  “It may surprise you, Illario, but most women have developed ungodly hand strength from years of surviving without pockets. I will not be defeated by eight drinks. Not today. Now off with you, don’t be late!” 

He grinned. She was adorable. She was perfect. He was going to go to hell, ruined by a girl and her smile, and he was booking a one-way ticket there. 

Illario slipped back into the car and watched her go until she disappeared into the building.

She smiled because of him. That was what undid him. And it would, each and every time, he just knew it.

He should’ve known from the moment she smiled at him across that bar. Should’ve trusted his gut - the same gut that never failed him in business - that this wasn’t just a phase or a fling or some clever game to win.

She wasn’t like the other people in his past. She never had been. She saw him. Really saw him, all sharp edges, splinters, and shadows that clouded over him, and somehow, she still smiled as if she liked what she saw. Like it was easy to do it. Like he was already good (already enough).

And he had her grinning at her phone like he’d handed her a miracle in a cardboard cup.

He leaned back into the seat as Marcel pulled out into the traffic, and smirked at his own damn reflection in the window. He was smug and stupidly happy, like he had found the cure for cancer or been nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize, something much greater than the small kindness he’d shown... just to be able to see her, even for a moment. 

Huh. Guess he was just like a teenager passing his girlfriend’s high school after all. 

Yeah.

It was going to be a good day. Hell. It might even be a great one. 

--- Softly tagging: @davrinsleftpectoral @jenn2d2 @rookamell @kabsey @thedissonantverses @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @obsessed-with-book-boyfriends @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai @mythals-whore @selennes @serstolas @aetherflowers @hightowerqueen @himluv @jukkaricity @redheadsramblings @brennacedria @the-sparrohawk @hedwigoprah @gingervitus and anyone else who may want to play! :)

[kelin-is-writing]

Endeavor is not the only one to blame for ruining the family. Rei is equally to blame for ruining the family as well. She is a completely TERRIBLE and SHIT mother. Has done absolutely NOTHING for her kids. She neglected Dabi, Fuyumi and Natsuo. Willing to replace her own son by creating another kid. That fucked up. Had creepy disturbing thoughts against her own kids just coz they look like their father. Getting slapped is no fucking excuse to further neglect all of her kids by running away and abusing Shoto. As a mother she has no responsibility whatsoever. Rei is no victim. Rei is an abuser who got what she deserved. There's no point in complaining about Endeavor all the time but glorifying Rei. Both are equally bad parents. If you still don't realise that then please don't be a mom. #FuckRei #WorstMotherEver #KillRei

Okay, first of all how about you calm down? We don’t even know each others, but you come into my inbox asking for a not so civil discussion? Yooooo 😂😂😂

And you know what? Yes, Endeavor is entirely to blame actually because everything that happened is a consequence of his big ass man actions and yes, Rei wasn’t a good mother (Nobody said the contrary), but at least she tried unlike someone else who was way too self-absorbed to see anyone else aside from his egotistical self and his selfish goal.

“She neglected her kids”, Well of course she did! Every 2/3 business days she was busy popping out kids like a children machine and not being able to say anything back, otherwise her good-for-nothing and abusive “Husband” would beat her up and blame everything on her. Oh! What a coincidence! Just like how you did right now! Crazy, right? 😃

But what some of you peoples in this fandom fail miserably to grasp, because blinded way too much by whatever you see in Endeavor (or just because you guys like to Victim Blame), is that when the Himura’s sold her to Enji, Rei was prolly underage. Why underage? Easy. Enji is 45 when he’s introduced, while Touya is 24 right? 45-24= 21 and since ALL the married couples in Bnha have a 4 years gap (go check it on their Wikis mwah) and math isn’t an opinion: 21-4= 17 everyone! Wohoo. Right?

Rei was sold to the Todoroki’s when she was underage, but not only that… Enji has groomed her for years, then he started to spiral over greed, fame and power after he found out his child couldn’t achieve for him something that he can’t achieve on his own, because he’s a useless and self-centered beast.

Unlike him who is a whole ass adult when Touya is born, Rei is extremely young AND has become a mother for the very first time so without the guidance and the emotional support of someone who has already been a parent before her, I find it hard to for a woman to deal with both postpartum depression and rising a child alone the way she did at fucking 17 guys. And she has dealt with this over and over for four-freaking-times; Natsuo and Shoto’s ones were even worse because from the scenes alone (manga speaking) you can clearly tell Enji has forced himself on her for the last twos, furthermore Enji beats her up and from Fuyumi, Natsuo and Shoto’s reaction you can tell it wasn’t the first nor the last time since it has gone to the point where Rei was traumatized so bad that she started hallucinating of Enji’s gaze in her kids’ eyes made her have a mental breakdown. That’s how much he has abused her. All this because her husband was too focused on grooming first his wife and then his kids for the sake of a goal he didn’t have the balls to try reach by himself and projecting his insecurities on his family, because he isn’t enough of a man and pisses in his pants only at the mention of All Might’s name. I can’t take such a subject seriously, if I gotta be honest.

Mind you, this madness continued even after Touya’s death. It was during that arc, after she had dealt with four postpartum depression, depression, the pain of the knowledge that her husband has abused her mentally, physically and sexually and the death of her 13 years old son that everything went downhill for her; yet some of you guys act surprised when she had a mental breakdown? Rei had been in a constant state of brainstorming since Natsuo’s birth, if not even earlier, until she didn’t broke down completely after Touya’s passing. So yeah, maybe she wasn’t the best mother for the Todoroki siblings, but ever since she gave birth to Touya, Rei has been trying her best to be there for them and at the same time preserve her sanity. Because in a situation where she had to deal with four kids and a manchild, someone had to try and keep a semblance of balance in there even if she was one of Endeavor’s victims who’s mental health was being destroyed by a lot.

As I already said, some of you guys in this fandom lack a great amount of emotional intelligence and dare I say most of you lack depth too. I don’t expect you guys to be the most empathetic peoples in the world, really, I don’t, but this is a tad bit too much. Do you guys even try to look beyond your own noses anymore? Or has that gone out of fashion?

Also, what’s this new trend of Victim Blaming peoples who came out of an abusive environment? That’s so… Ambiguous…

Anyways! All this didn’t end for good until the whole of Japan found out his son is a Villain and he waited to beg for forgiveness (something he should’ve done sooner), only when everyone has been caught into the hurricane and almost got offed entirely as a family, which is (if you ask me, since you in my inbox) the most unattractive thing a man of his big ass age could ever do.

Everyone, stay away from peoples who lack accountability and self-awareness, because they’re going to play your mental health like a fidget spinner bubs 🫶🏻💜

Last but not least: if you want to talk this way to me and especially about such topics that bad, don’t do it on Anonymous because I will hardly take you seriously.

All this being said and cleared out of the way, hope you have a good evening 💜

[olderthannetfic]

oh, so looks like AI is again the hot topic of this blog?

here’s my thing: (“fuck AI disclaimer here”), I often see the sentiment of “I want AI to do my job/chores/etc, not my hobbies.” In fact, I believe there’s actually a pretty popular post about that? Can’t find it now lol but I saw that almost exact tweet used as a reaction image/post addition several times. And, sure! If there was a way to do that in an environmentally sound, completely passing the Turing test way, I’d agree!

but, um guys,… some of us DO have writing or art or whatever as our job. So by that logic, AI IS doing our job. Not in a good way of course. But I don’t know, it almost feels like people who are primarily hobbyists/fandom focused in their art or writing (which is totally fine, don’t get me wrong) are, without even realizing it, implying that writing or making art or whatever isn’t a job for some people.

Obviously I know that writers/artists/etc who do it as "just" a hobby are very aware that it's a career lol. And are indeed also often advocates for anti-Ai In the work place! Because they know it’s taking our careers away. But i just find it odd when ppl are like "i want Ai to do my LAUNDRY and my DISHES and my WORK! not my HOBBY! which is why AI ART IS BAD!" like… im not trying to be hostile because i truly will admit i am likely taking it way too personally and I KNOW that’s no one intent, but it kinda irritates me, yk?

Also, what do you mean by AI doing your job? You can’t be anti GPT in regards to fun writing, but pro GPT in regards to whatever bullshit customer service thing you have to write. Self checkout? Is AI, can’t imagine anyone is too offended by it. Those annoying, but mostly harmless, robot answering machines where you have to scream “CUSTOMER SERVICE REP” in order to get thru to anyone? AI. Chat bots that you “Talk to” during Off-hours when no one is actually available? AI. And way better AI than stupid GPT slop. Not fun, but definitely a bit more manageable.

So, yeah, there’s good AI. There’s bad AI. And for some, AI art IS ruining our hobby spaces… but for some, AI art IS indeed “replacing our jobs”. Which is not a good thing btw. also, I wanna add that I’m not vagueing or particularly pissed off at any other asker here. Mostly just venting in general. So I apologize if I come off as particularly hateful or if “making up a guy to get mad at”. It just upsets me to see people talking about “wanting AI to do their job not their hobby” when the AI they hate in question…. IS many people’s jobs. Like I said I KNOW I’m taking it way too personally and maybe even completely misinterpreting! But it just, ugh.

--

[tryingtobeblunt]

Are you, my reason?

They had hit him too hard. 

The blood dripping from his head and down his back was a dead giveaway, even In-ho had flinched at the sound of impact. Gi-hun was sent falling to the ground below him, callasping next to his prior opponent. 

In-ho wasn’t necessarily worried per say, yet the man's straight out refusal to take the money had him second guessing how he should handle the situation. His aching shoulder made it particularly bothersome, the adhesive irritating the already inflamed skin. He knew a headache was due, and had prepared an entire bottle of Advil in his left pocket for the night. 

Ushering the VIP’s out was especially difficult, in part and due to the fact that one was missing. 

After Jun-ho had been…. relocated, In-ho was sure to cover up the misstep, absolutely certain every hint of the evidence was disposed of. The others had been reluctant to leave without saying goodbye to one of their close acquaintances, though it took very little convincing once the minutes had ticked onto hours without a word. 

With that done he decided to check on his winner, the man was hauled up in the infirmary his wounds being tended to and his tattered suit being replaced by his old worn rags be called clothes.  

The walk was short, though the atmosphere felt off. His head was pounding despite the five painkillers already stirring in his veins, the sweat soaking his shirt was starting to build slowly. He chalked it off to blood loss. 

Gi-hun looked pale, the sickly kind of pale that makes you worry if a person is about to faint. They had bandaged him up well, one around his head and many more scattered around his limbs. 

“He’s not looking good” a nurse says when she notices In-ho, her brows furrowed and her gaze focused on a clipboard she has clutched in her hands. 

“How so?” In-ho asks in turn, his eyes never leaving the man lying in front of him. 

The nurse sighs heavily “His head it’s-.... We can’t treat him here” 

In-ho studies Gi-huns head once more, noting the slight swell. It didn’t look good, and more than anything he wanted to strangle the lousy piece of shit who decided to use his full strength to hit Gi-hun. They didn’t have the equipment to handle a concussion, much less a brain injury. But he knew he couldn’t fixate on that, at least not now. They had to get to a hospital. 

-

They decided a helicopter was fastest, the ride wasn’t swift per say but it was efficient, getting Gi-hun to Daejeons closest hospital in a matter of hours. 

He’d paid off the people at the scene, health care workers seemed to be extremely lenient when it came to brides, second to law enforcement. 

Then he had no other choice than to wait. 

The bribes seemed to help prioritize Gi-hun, rolling him back and into a room for x-rays and blood tests as soon as they arrived. Nurses offering In-ho small convenient pleasures like food, water, and even a bed, though he declined all of them not predisposed to pay the hefty price they will later choose to highlight within the fine print. 

Instead he sits in the small waiting room meant for foreboding family members, he could practically smell the melancholy emanating from the chairs. 

The thought of his late wife unexpectedly settled in his mind, the late night waiting rooms, the humming of nearby vending machines, the distant beeps of life support. Seo-yun never liked hospitals, her mothers early cancer diagnosis making no pleasant memories for her future. Though In-ho remembered with great clarity that while fighting for her life in the one place she hated the most, she was so utterly positive throughout the entire ordeal. He knew in some parts she did it for his sake, which somehow only annoyed him further. It made him mad to no end, he even remembered yelling at her a few weeks before her inevitable death. 

“Cry! Yell! Do you something! Seeing you suffer like this- smiling all the time isn’t healthy goddammit!” he exclaimed, making Seo-yun flinch away. 

She heaved a small sigh, something she could barely muster, and grasped In-ho's hand. Her gaunt finders wrapping around his, the clammy texture foreign. 

“Please don’t yell In-ho, there’s others sleeping” she replies.

Her smile is as bright as ever and In-ho is so scared, so scared that she sees any hope at all. Because when it came down to it, there really was no hope left. 

-

“Mr.Hwang?”

“Mr.Hwang hello?” 

In-ho is startled out of his sleep by another nurse, the woman tapping on his shoulder with much reluctance. The glare he sends her way seems to only make her apprehensive attitude heighten. 

“Uh- sorry Mr.Hwang, we have some results from the tests… though we’d like you to come see Mr.Seong for yourself” she stammers, the words seeming to come out a mile a minute. 

In-ho’s frown deepens before lifting himself up from the comfortable chair, following as she leads him to Gi-hun’s assigned room. The light that shines in from the walkways windows make him narrow his eyes, the harsh glare much more powerful than he’d expected. It must have been the very early hours of the morning, the sun barely coming up from where it was hidden in the distant mountains. 

As the nurse slowly eases open the door to Gi-huns room In-ho is allowed the first glimpse of the man he hadn’t seen since last night, he's tucked into the bed, wires of operating machines filling the space around him, the dingy soaked through bandages replaced by much more effective ones. He looks better, his once unconsciously pained expression now slack with tranquility. He notices idly that the man is far too tall for the bed, his gangly legs hanging off the edge in a way that has to be uncomfortable.

“How much longer will you have to treat him?” In-ho uttered, his voice gruff from disuse. 

The nurse looked up as if she didn't think he’d talk at all, she fumbled with a small clipboard to the side of Gi-huns bed. 

“We- at least until he.. uhm wakes up” she says gauging In-ho’s reaction, when he gives her none she continues. “We have to make sure he doesn't leave with anything we didn't anticipate- It could be dangerous you see-” 

“What did you find?” Interrupts In-ho. 

The nurse looks visibly startled, swallowing unconsciously and awkwardly adjusting her scrubs “I’m sorry?” 

In-ho decides then to finally meet her gaze, it’s searching and it’s clear more than anything that the hospital was being cautious, calculated with the information they gave to In-ho. Deliberately trying to scrounge any money they could from his deep pockets by withholding knowledge. In-ho isn’t surprised, just incredibly embarrassed on behalf of whoever decided to put this woman at the forefront of his affairs. 

“What. did. You. find.” he repeats. 

“W-we he…..” She starts, stopping when she can’t find a plausible excuse. Her eyes dim, realizing she's been caught, grieving the job she shouldn't have been saddled with in the first place. “He has a brain injury, one we can’t know the full extent of until he wakes up” 

He wonders what kind of penalization this woman will likely receive for breaching contract, though he also knew it wouldn’t have been half as bad as what he would have done if she had kept her mouth shut. She leaves abruptly, her gaze cast down and her feet dragging against the tiled floor. 

Gi-hun is still sleeping despite the small commotion, the heart monitor revealing his steady pulse. 

In-ho settles in the chair beside him, now set on waiting as close as possible. Afterall he really wasn’t looking forward to more discrepancies, he couldn’t even trust a damn hospital. How fitting. 

Are you, my reason? - Chapter 1 - passionatewording - Squid Game (TV 2021) [Archive of Our Own]

[aardvaark]

i neeeeed to talk about the leverage/person of interest crossover that only exists in my head, where the leverage characters are in the person of interest universe & vaguely following some of the person of interest plotlines (TM = The Machine, POI = Person Of Interest):

nate’s got a lot of similarities to harold. just replace nate’s evil ex-employer (insurance agency which let his son die) with harold’s evil ex-employer (government ppl concerned with The Machine, which lets innocent "irrelevant" people die) and voila. i think nate’s son (sam) was murdered instead of sick in this universe, and nate realised that TM predicted it and no one did anything. nate still doesn’t have the great computer/hacking skills harold does, he was involved in TM on behalf of the government or something. regardless, he knows a lot about it, but did not actually code it himself. he would struggle soooo much with the ethics of all this like harold does, and struggle with the legality like carter does.

unlike grace, if nate faked his death like harold did, maggie would absolutely know that nate was still alive. she 100% expects that shit from him. so either he doesn’t fake his death and just disappears without explanation, or maggie quickly confronts him and is really mad that he’d pretend to be dead when their son recently really did die. maggie is also quite a bit like carter, since they’re both very perceptive and not easily fooled.

parker mirrors root in a lot of ways, and a bit of shaw. the harold-root dynamic and nate-parker dynamic have some similarities too, with parker eventually becoming the mastermind, just like root becomes the analogue interface of the machine that harold built. also root & parker both became known as only one name lol. before POI, root was an assassin, hacker & thief. parker (pre-leverage) wouldn’t do all the grifting that root did in her pre-POI jobs, so parker would probably be using her own thief methods back then. parker is also much less concerned with hacking and i don’t think she’d think of TM as god-like, in the way root does. parker would instead become analogue interface because she’s *already* on the team and her thief skills are best suited for many of the "tertiary operations" that root performs. i mean, can’t you just picture parker doing the "im not talking to you" bit? like shaw, parker has always been told there’s something wrong with her and has been treated badly because of it. so on the emotional/personal side of things, i think parker would be quite close to shaw’s emotional arc in many ways.

hardison is also a bit like root and harold, but mostly because he’s a hacker, not because of who he is as a person. i think nate would not have the hacking skills required to deal with a lot of the stuff harold does in POI, so hardison would fill that role instead. hardison may have, at some point, been involved in the making of TM, or probably tried to hack it early on and actually succeeded. im not sure hardison would necessarily *want* to make TM and i definitely don’t think he’d make it reset every night like harold did, so that’s why i don’t think he’s necessarily the creator. like reese and shaw, hardison sometimes uses grifting to get into the "irrelevant" numbers’ lives. also like how root loves shaw for exactly who she is, hardison loves parker for exactly who she is, and their relationship would fit very well into a person of interest AU in that way. without root, who refers to the machine as "she", either the machine would get called "it" or else hardison might give it a name and pronouns and recognise that it’s… well, a bit more than the average AI.

eliot has some combination of reese & shaw’s backgrounds mixed in with his own. ie, at some point, he was unknowingly following TM’s orders, but he was on the "relevant" side of things. he may have been suspicious of how they were getting the numbers, but we know that pre-leverage eliot was kind of in a state where he was killing without caring about it for quite a while. perhaps once he quit the jobs involving killing, he might have gone looking for answers. whether or not he finds those answers prior to joining the team… that’s a story for another time.

sophie is a little like root (in that she mostly uses grifting for her jobs) but only slightly. honestly, person of interest doesn’t really have a character like sophie because POI is fine with killing people off, whereas leverage uses grifting instead of killing tons of people. so really, sophie’s kinda filling reese’s role, despite how odd that might sound. plus reese is the only team member that harold really chooses, a bit like how nate goes out of his way to track down sophie in leverage. i’d still like nate & sophie to have a history though, unlike reese and harold.

tara might be a fixer and similar to zoe morgan. and she would pose as a number or pretend to be involved in helping a number in the same way she pretends to be a lawyer in her first leverage episode.

leverage really doesn’t have comparable character roles to carter and fusco, particularly since they obtain their own info rather than secretly getting info off cops. i guess there’s bonnano and fbi guys but they’re much less present and not similar to carter & fusco. however, the leverage characters all get to be a bit comedic, which replaces a lot of fusco’s comedic relief, and ive mentioned how nate and maggie have some carter traits. this does make the "infiltrating corrupt cops/HR" plotline harder though.

let’s go steal the northern lights :)

[shamanfox]

Dyer’s Inferno

A Descent Into the Mind’s Own Hell

Canto I: The Fall

It began, as these things do,

with silence.

Not the kind that soothes,

but the kind that swallows.

The kind that hums in padded walls,

that stitches your name to a chart,

that replaces your voice

with a prescription.

They wheeled me in.

Wrists bound, feet dragging.

A ward of the lost, the broken,

the ones who saw too much.

The doors locked.

Hell clicked shut behind me.

Canto II: The Vestibule – The Ghosts of the Forgotten

The first souls did not wail.

They shuffled.

Slippers skimming tile, eyes empty,

mouths frozen mid-thought—

as if they once had words,

but lost them in the dosage.

A man in the corner rocked,

his lips forming silent prayers

to a God that had long since stopped responding.

A woman held a puzzle piece,

turning it over and over,

as if looking for the rest of the picture.

They were the ones who did not fight.

They were the ones who had been here too long.

They were the ones who had forgotten

why they ever wanted to leave.

Canto III: The First Circle – The Drowned

The mattress was thin.

The walls, white vinyl lungs.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

They did not need water here

to drown you.

Only pills, only time,

only the slow sinking of self

into something nameless.

I clawed at my own mind,

tried to remember

what it had been like

to be awake.

The river pulled me deeper.

Canto IV: The Second Circle – The Screaming Choir

Midnight.

And the wails began.

Not human, not quite—

raw voices clawing through the halls,

begging, bargaining, cursing, singing.

A chorus of madness.

A man to my left whispered in tongues,

a woman near the nurses’ station

laughed until she sobbed.

Someone scratched at the walls,

a frantic, rhythmic plea

to be let out,

or to be let further in.

Canto V: The Third Circle – The Battle in the Padded Cell

Then—

it came.

It did not need a name.

It had always been with me.

It did not need a face.

It had worn too many to count.

It stepped from the corners of my mind,

a beast stitched from memory and fear,

from trauma and prophecy,

from everything I had ever been

and everything I could never escape.

Get up.

It snarled, circled.

It did not attack.

It waited.

I lunged, I struck—

my fists hit nothing.

It laughed.

You can’t kill what you refuse to name.

Canto VI: The Fourth Circle – The Ego’s Prison

This was where most souls stayed.

The ones who still believed

they were just this body,

just this mind,

just this pain.

The ego ruled here,

a king with a shattered crown,

screaming into mirrors,

begging for proof of existence.

I watched men pace,

women unravel,

every soul here trying to

think their way out of Hell.

But the mind built the cage.

And the mind could never

set itself free.

Canto VII: The Fifth Circle – The River of Fire

The pills burned my veins.

Not because they poisoned me—

but because I saw through them.

I saw the machine,

the system,

the false salvation.

I spat the water,

refused the cup,

let the fire take me whole.

They called it psychosis.

I called it rebirth.

Canto VIII: The Sixth Circle – The Divine Comedy

I laughed.

How could I not?

The joke had always been on me.

The voices, the illusions, the ghosts—

it had all been theatre.

A play within a play.

A story told by consciousness itself,

pretending it had forgotten

it was the writer.

I sat in the center of the padded cell,

cross-legged, weightless,

watching it all dissolve.

They thought I was broken.

They thought I had lost my mind.

But I was the only one who could see

we were never real to begin with.

Canto IX: The Seventh Circle – The Surrender

The battle was not won.

The battle was never fought.

I let go.

Of the fear.

Of the beast.

Of the self.

The walls no longer breathed.

The monster no longer spoke.

The echoes fell silent.

And then—

the door unlocked.

Canto X: The Ascent

The nurse entered,

clipboard in hand,

eyes meeting mine

without pity, without fear.

She did not ask if I was healed.

She knew the truth.

No one leaves the inferno the same.

She unbuckled my wrists.

I stood.

Not free.

Not finished.

But awake.

I stepped forward.

Not out.

Not yet.

But forward.

And that, for now,

was enough.

Dyer’s Inferno.

Not a place.

Not a punishment.

A passage.

And I had walked through.

[waywardsummoner46]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ Sink Into the Darkness, My Light | Three | ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

"Join us, my Light."

Two centuries ago, the ruler of the Light disappeared, plunging the universe into chaos and disrupting the sacred, unspoken balance of the universe.

The eight rulers of the Darkness never stopped looking for her; their obsession never once waning since she vanished.

Recently, they've sensed something. Never around long enough to pinpoint but so euphoric that it sings within their veins. And since meeting you, well... slowly they begin to understand why.

"Sink into the darkness with us."

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

「✦」 PAIRING - yandere ot8!ateez x (?)reader

「✦」 GENRE - ancient gods!au, fantasy!au, magical powers!au

「✦」 WARNINGS - mind control, gaslighting, dom/sub, subspace (of a sort), temporary amnesia, manipulation, YANDERE AND DARK THEMES

「✦」 WORD COUNT - 2,024

「✦」 A/N - Sorry it took so long to get this one out, it is shorter than usual but after a couple of weeks I'll be able to write more frequently :)

「✦」 TAGLIST - @yandere-stories - @adorawritesalot

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

• one • two • three • four • five •

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

You hadn’t said a word since you left Seonghwa’s house.

  The entire experience had left a queasy feeling in your stomach and regardless of how immaculately styled your hair was, it seemed nothing could quell your unease. Ji-Ah had noticed your unusual silence when departing the old house but hadn’t caused a scene until after Seonghwa had waved you off.

  “I hope you have a good night, (Y/N).” He’d grinned at you, a glint in his eyes that seemed completely alien to his distraught visage earlier. You’d suppressed a shudder at his wink, feeling distinctly off until Seonghwa’s manor was but a speck in the rear view mirror.

  Ji-Ah turned to you, hair curled to frame her face and layers only accentuating her features. “Okay-”   “Seonghwa was so handsome, wasn’t he?” At Jiwon’s exclamation, both you and your soon-to-be interrogator winced violently.

  “Jesus fuck, Jiwon-ah. Tone down the volume a little bit.”

  A mildly sheepish look crossed her face but the heat in her eyes didn’t diminish. A headache began to form at your temples and you were growing increasingly agitated at her persistence, “You can’t deny it. He was like an angel! I’ve never seen anyone look like that before.”

  Regrettably, you whispered, “I have.” Perhaps a little too loudly, for Jiwon’s starstruck eyes grew brighter and the fire in Ji-Ah’s eyes was replaced by a mischievous twinkle.

  “Who-?”

  “Why, you little-” 

  Yeosang and Yunho’s faces flashed in your mind, a private smile gracing your lips. That feeling of lingering anxiety also melted away. 

  How strange. 

  You weren’t ready to discuss that so readily after your emotional roller coaster so… “What? I didn’t say anything,” and just like that the car erupted into madness.

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

“Hey, ladies. What can I get ya?”

  After ordering your drinks, the three of you scoped out a table tucked into a corner but still with a good view of the stage. 

  There were still residual nerves fluttering about inside your chest; this nightclub in particular was a last minute decision on Jiwon’s behalf. The club you regulared was full, according to the bouncers, so, determined not to have a failed birthday, your two friends had dragged your half-hearted and highly reluctant self to ‘Siren’s Den’. 

  Apparently, this nightclub had only recently been built and the owners were as elusive as the sun in a lightning storm.

   In other words, good luck finding them. 

  Despite your mild discomfort at being in such an unfamiliar environment on top of (being so far out of your comfort zone) the unexpected turn of events… the nightclub wasn’t half bad. 

  The stage was very evidently the main attraction; expensive-looking stage lights were attached to the ceiling and what you assumed were smoke machines of some kind were concealed by the intricate, crimson velvet curtains on the stage. In the darkish lighting of the club, you couldn’t really make out the floor of the stage but it was evident that it was top quality just from the taintless reflection of what little lighting illuminated the space.

  And… were those fire machines?

  “It isn’t too bad here, is it?” Ji-Ah commented passively, taking a sip of her rum and coke. She grimaced immediately at it, staring at it as though it had personally wronged her.

  You laughed at her expense. “Not too bad, huh?”

  “Har har, you’re hilarious,” she said, sticking her tongue out at you. “It’s not even that it tastes bad, there’s just something about it I don’t like.”

  Silence for all of two seconds swept over the table before Jiwon grabbed her glass of whatever cocktail she’d decided, picked it up and chugged the entire thing down in one go. She let out the most ungodly shriek you’d ever heard and all you could do was stare with a dumb half-smile on your face. 

  Because just what on earth was that.

  “I don’t know why you two are looking at me like that, I displayed perfectly acceptable behaviour for a nightcl- oh, Wooyoung! Hi!” 

  Following her gaze with a raised eyebrow you turned to look behind you, 

jaw dropped at the sight of a young man practically waltzing up to your table - he didn’t look like he’d just be hovering either. The table was circular so the only way for him to sit down was either by Jiwon or by… oh, no.

  Luckily for you, he sat down quite energetically next to Jiwon who looked completely thrilled to see whoever this Wooyoung guy was. So thrilled that, instead of simply moving over, she grabbed his smooth cheeks and brought him in for a kiss. (A kiss is generous, it looked more like they were trying to eat each others’ faces off.) A quick glance at Ji-Ah showed she shared similar sentiments to you. 

  “Jiwon, care to introduce us to your… uh, friend?” Ji-Ah questioned, a disapproving twinge to her facial features. 

  You’d like to know the answer to that yourself. Jiwon had always been the more extroverted and flirtatious of the three of you, but never had she treated someone with so much passion. To your knowledge, there had never been any further progression than incredibly suggestive flirtation so to see her basically eating this man’s face off was, to say the least, a bit of a shock. 

  Ultimately, it was Wooyoung who pulled away first, looking down at Jiwon with a devilish grin on his face. That wasn’t entirely inaccurate either; you’d compare him to the devil, dangerous because he was so beautiful. In return, she looked up through dazed eyes and you thought you saw something a black mist or pigment fading from her eyes. 

  Your eyes lingered on her own for a little while longer, convinced you’d seen something.

  She noticed you staring, “Everything okay, (Y/N)-ah? You’re looking at me like you want to kill me.” 

  Giving her what you hoped was a natural smile, you assured her lightly that you were fine, simply mildly shocked. “Yeah, sorry about that.” She then turns to Wooyoung with a glint in her eyes that made every hair on your body stand on edge, for a reason you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “So, this,” she gestures to him. “Is Wooyoung.” 

  A faint itch began at your jugular and you raised an absentminded hand to scratch at it.  

  “Yeah, Wooyoung… it’s, uh, nice to meet you?” Ji-Ah phrased it as a question, probably still recovering from the emotional whiplash of the entire day.

  Wooyoung turned to Ji-Ah and gave her a polite bow from across the table, “Nice to meet you as well, Jiwon’s told me a lot about you.”

  You listened to him speak, picking up on something in his tone that made your eyes narrow subtly. The itching grew worse and you tried to be conspicuous with your scratches, the sound drowned by the low hum of the nightclub around you.

  “And you must be (Y/N).” The words to respond got stuck in your throat, as though something was causing your trachea to swell and your voicebox to break. You tried to smile politely, really you did, but your jugular grew to a point of pain where controlling your facial features was becoming difficult. 

  Clearing your throat, you struggled past the pain and brought your hands into clenched fists under the table. “That’s me.” And that was all you could manage. Jiwon began a conversation that you couldn’t focus on at all but the sound of her voice was comforting.

 God, what was wrong with you today?

 You closed your eyes tightly, letting the low droning of your friends' voices ground your senses. You were becoming mildly overwhelmed, to say the least, and you just needed a few seconds to come back to yourself before maintaining a facade of sociability. 

  The night had only just begun, and yet… you really just wanted to sleep.

  A light touch to the hand clutching your drink caused you to open your eyes, turning to meet the concerned eyes of Ji-Ah. Communicating silently, you assured her through your eyes that you were okay. Having known each other for so long, reading each others’ facial expressions was like being fluent in another language.

  “- and then, this guy, Hongjoong I think his name was-” 

  You couldn’t help it; the hairs that were already on end seemed to stand impossibly straight and goosebumps erupted all across your skin. The nauseous feeling in your stomach that you’d tried so desperately to ignore returned tenfold and you emptied everything you’d consumed on the floor.

  You coughed violently. Ji-Ah stroked your back with a soothing hand and encouraging words, reaching for a water someone must’ve brought to the table. 

  Accepting it gracefully, you took a sip and washed your mouth out of the taste of your own vomit. After a while of sitting keeled over at a table, you assumed it was some cleaners that had to come to clean up your mess. You would’ve apologised profusely but you were hit with a wave of exhaustion so powerful Ji-Ah had to actually wrench you back upright from your clothes. 

  “Alright, that’s it. I’m taking you home.”

  “No, Ji-Ah, I’m okay. I swear-”

  “Tell that to the cleaners who just swiped away your stomach acid. For fuck sake, you’re green in the face! You aren’t well. Now. Let’s. Go.” Once Ji-Ah had her mind set on something, there was no use in disputing against her. You wouldn’t win. 

  Before even turning to look at Jiwon and Wooyoung, you knew Jiwon was sitting there with an expression of utter devastation and regret. She’d blame herself, even if nothing was her fault. “Jiwon-ah, I know exactly what you’re thinking. I’ve had a wonderful day and this does not erase the fact that this has been the best birthday I’ve had in a while.”

  Ji-Ah wrapped your arm around her shoulders and grabbed your bag from the seat. “It was lovely to meet you, Wooyoung. Sorry to cut it so short.” 

  He’d rested his head on top of Jiwon’s. His arms wrapped around her, evoking a sharp spike in your heart rate and the final reawakening of that damn itch on your neck. He smirked, tilting his head as though considering your entire being. Eventually, he must’ve found what he was looking for. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other a lot more often.”

  Ji-Ah’s hand tightening from its place supporting your waist made you realise just how ominous that sounded. “Now that we’ve officially met, I’d love to get to know my… girlfriend’s friends a bit more, wouldn’t you agree?”

  You laughed awkwardly, and nodded. “See you around, then.”

  “Goodnight, (Y/N). Happy Birthday.” 

  Then, bidding final goodbyes, you and Ji-Ah walked out of that nightclub but not without a final glance back at the couple. Something compelled you to look and you saw, with appallment, that Wooyoung was actively biting Jiwon on the neck. She seemed to be enjoying it. Thoroughly. So you turned around and tried to rid your mind of that sight.

  What you didn’t see were the black veins spreading from where he’d bitten, Jiwon collapsing against him like a puppet with no strings and a euphoric breath leaving his mouth. 

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

  Ji-Ah drove you home and the first thing you did was collapse onto your bed and sleep. The day had taken its toll on you and you were more than prepared for the comforts of Dreamland.

  As you snored away, the book on your nightstand grew alive. The cover was thrown open and pages were being flipped of their own will. ‘The Hidden War Within’ began to glow in the dim light of your bedroom, a white light emitting from its pages and the faint heat made you burrow into your pillow, subconsciously comforted by the warm aura. 

  Eventually, the pages ceased their movements but the book remained open; it was the first dated entry. 

A plague punctures mine heart,

Mine soul forever tainted by thine words,

For false promises and careless lies are such sweet sins,

And I pray, I may drown in the Light,

Than sink into the Darkness.

~ Anonymous

[binah-beloved]

Intertwining Threads

Binah x Reader Lobotomy Corporation Pronouns: Gender Neutral Warnings: Descriptions of blood and torture

~ * ~

The life of an Arbiter revolves around torture, as is fit of the prime assassins of the Head. Whatever is ordered shall be done, they all had vowed at the start of their service; threats, collection, removals, extermination. It’s all part of the cycle. There’s nothing to be done or changed, so why not relish in the destruction? Garion was no different, her hands stained with blood and the countless lives she had torn apart. Even when she was gutted and splintered, laid out in a chair to have her brain picked and prodded; when she was forced to cling to her dying breath, listening to every crack of bone with iron red dripping from her mouth; when her name was taken away and replaced by something dull and false so he could control her better, she remained the same, as an Arbiter mimics the City. Binah. What a fitting name. Meaning to contemplate, to understand. She could do nothing but think, after all, being locked away beside a well of madness, alone. Yes, she had much time to contemplate, her task of drawing water slowly driving her insane, as there was no one who could do this but her, no one else who could withstand it. This was her punishment, for everything. Hah, punishment. An Arbiter being tormented instead of doing the tormenting. How laughable. The people around her come and go, living and dying and returning with each new cycle. She’s the head of some department or another, except she can’t leave, not ever. The doors were barred and shut for her, for all of them, long ago.

The agents and clerks beneath her always await her instructions. She used to purposefully lie, watching with sharp eyes as they fell screaming to the monsters or the sounds or the images flashing across their eyes. But he disliked that, sending her back to the room with the well and making her draw more and more water as a form of discipline, and soon she found no joy in watching people crumble, only boredom. They all call her Binah. But she’s not Binah, she’s Garion, and will be Garion forevermore. It’s difficult to tell the time down here amongst the machines and shadows. The only signs are any new employees, fools who join the ranks of the facility because they are very stupid or very desperate, or perhaps a bit of both. She’s long since given up the need to remember any of them; all her energy is spent maintaining the last threads still attached to her sanity, the ones that never seem to snap even when she wants them to. Perhaps that’s another layer of this punishment, to be forced to bear it with lucid eyes. The Arbiter feels nothing when an Abnormality breaches containment, sitting and listening to the shouts and cries for a few moments before getting to her feet. A fight would be a welcome break from the well, anyway- even at her weakest she’s still a formidable opponent for even the worst creatures from the depths. But perhaps staring into the waters has made her sloppy, her skill degrading along with her mind, because the Abnormality is only caged after a long gash is opened on her arm, the blood dripping thickly onto the floor. She exhales. There is no pain. She is an Arbiter, after all, unafraid and strong.

Yet it still stings and burns. “Binah!” A voice rings out and her eyes open with a slight jolt. The sound is vaguely familiar, something heard in passing and no more, but somehow it feels different- concerned, frantic, warm. Her head tilts in its direction, gaze landing upon one of the more recent hires assigned to her department, looking worried and a little fearful at the sight of her blood. You fuss over her wounded arm and she can do nothing but let you, staring blankly as she’s pushed in the direction of the medical bay, the other agents scattering and the memory of your voice filling her head. Binah. It was so gentle, the way you said it- But she’s not Binah. She’s Garion. But who is Garion now, after being chained to an endless web of madness and despair? Nothing but an empty husk. The Head of Extraction has begun to linger near you once working hours are over. You’re often the only ones left in the main room at that hour, your pen constantly scratching against whatever file you’re currently working on, and she remains a short distance away, watching carefully. Occasionally you can smell the tea she drinks, your lips twitching into a smile at the lighthearted thought of your Sephirah truly enjoying something before there’s the sound of footsteps and a light clink as she sets her teacup on the table beside you and asks that you do not mind her sitting so close.

You blink, looking up from your papers and into those dull black eyes, and you smile. Her heart thumps once, merely humming and taking a sip of her tea to disguise her surprise. It’s easier around you, being locked in the depths. The few strands of her sanity become stronger, untangling themselves and weaving into an organized display in your presence- how? You must have some secret ability, some tool used to manipulate the senses, for not even bloodshed and slaughter could make her feel so warm. And your voice, when you speak that name she’s been given- ah, she almost feels like she could smile. Almost. Not quite, but almost. The sight of the Extraction Sephirah and a certain employee becomes commonplace; some even call you her favorite, but when you ask she merely tilts her head, a faint glint in her usually cold eyes, and presses a finger to her lips. It was only natural for him to notice, for the change in her behavior to catch his gaze and hold his attention in an iron grip tight enough to make him panic. You’re the cause of this- some random, low-level employee who gave a fragmented Arbiter a spark- and with rage in his voice he threatens her and you in one sentence, scrambling for some semblance of control. Her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, the air seemingly dropping a few degrees from her flat, icy stare. She is strong, can handle any torture or agony or suffering- but you are fragile, a bird she wants to cup in her palms and whisper her sorrows to and keep safe, safe for as long as you live and as long as you breathe. Her own blood she is willing to see spilled, but not yours. Never yours.

She is Garion- … No. She is Binah. That’s right, you called her Binah. She is Binah, a broken, useless shell of an Arbiter- and yet you say her name as if she’s a star in the night sky, bright and beautiful, giving her hope and warmth. So she is Binah, and it’s her own name, not for anyone to control. And Binah, the ex-Arbiter, speaks to him in a smooth, cold voice. “You will not hurt them, for I shall go mad if you do. The insanity that creeps into my skull and eats away at my senses is only restrained by an Arbiter’s will. It can and will crumble at any moment, within the blink of an eye, and the world will turn to blood and dust. So you will not hurt them. You cannot, unless your wish is to lose everything.” Binah. To contemplate, to understand. Yes, now, finally, she understands.

[thatsallshewrot3]

So for some reason all my favorite characters have to suffer 🤷🏼‍♀️ anyway, here’s mostly angsty fanfic prompts, but I promise there’s. Few fun and chaotic ones in here too!!!

Im a sucker for Peter/Harley and anything with Tony and Steve being fatherly 🥰

1. Premise:

After a mission gone wrong, Peter is left comatose. But his mind is trapped—aware but unable to move, speak, or escape the flashbacks Hydra left behind.

The team thinks he’s peacefully unconscious. He’s actually reliving his worst memories over and over.

Angst Twist:

Tony builds a machine to enter Peter’s mind to “say goodbye.” Instead, he finds Peter screaming for help.

They have to fight to bring him back—before he loses himself forever.

2. Premise:

After a Hydra tech malfunction, Peter’s mind gets split in two: Spider-Man and Peter Parker.

Spider-Man is ruthless, cold, efficient.

Peter is emotional, scared, desperate for help.

Angst Twist:

The team has to talk to Peter through mirror reflections, while Spider-Man takes over his body and refuses to let them help.

The Avengers are terrified they’ll lose the real Peter permanently.

3. Premise:

During a mission gone wrong, Peter is struck by an experimental sonic weapon.

Physically, he’s fine.

But now, he can’t hear anything.

Angst Twist:

He’s completely deaf—and the silence becomes suffocating. Peter starts withdrawing, struggling to adapt, convinced he’s no longer useful to the team.

The others try to help, but he won’t let them in.

4. Premise:

Peter gets caught in an explosion. The team buries him. They mourn him.

Three months later, they find him alive—scarred, limping, and held captive.

Angst Twist:

He remembers the funeral. Hydra showed it to him on loop. Told him no one came looking.

And worst of all?

They didn’t.

5. Premise:

Peter’s captured and replaced by a shapeshifter. The team doesn’t notice.

The real Peter escapes months later—but he doesn’t go to the Tower.

He goes to a safehouse. Alone.

Angst Twist:

He thinks they never wanted him—they wanted the obedient version.

He starts planning to disappear for good.

Then Clint finds him.

6. Premise:

After a mission injury, Peter loses the ability to speak.

At first, he tries to smile. Laugh it off.

But the silence becomes isolating.

Angst Twist:

He overhears the team talking about how quiet things are now.

He thinks they like it better that way.

7. Premise:

Peter is exposed to a chemical that forces him to relive his worst fear.

He collapses, shaking, unresponsive.

Angst Twist:

What does he see?

Not death.

Not pain.

Just the entire team walking away—cold, distant

8. Premise:

Peter’s suit gets shredded during a fight.

He passes out in the medbay, and when Bruce removes the suit, they see it.

Scars.

So many scars.

Angst Twist:

Some are old. From before Spider-Man.

Steve recognizes the kind you don’t get from battle.

And Peter wakes up begging them not to be mad.

“I stopped. I swear I stopped.”

9. Premise:

After an argument, the team stops talking to Peter.

They don’t mean to ignore him—just need space.

Peter thinks he’s being punished.

Angst Twist:

He goes days without speaking. Barely eats. Barely sleeps.

Tony finds him curled up in the workshop, shaking.

“Are you mad at me forever, or just until I’m gone?”

10. Premise:

Everyone goes off-world for a mission.

Peter stays behind to protect Earth.

Weeks pass.

No contact. No backup.

Angst Twist:

He thinks they’re dead.

Fights alone. Loses pieces of himself.

When they return, he’s unrecognizable. Cold. Quiet. Tired.

11. Premise:

Peter stumbles across a storage facility with Hydra equipment.

He finds a file with his name.

A number.

Pictures from before the spider.

Angst Twist:

The spider wasn’t an accident.

They bred it for him.

The Avengers had no idea. But now Peter’s not sure his life was ever really his.

12. Premise:

Someone leaks Peter’s medical files to the public.

His injuries. His therapy notes.

His trauma.

Angst Twist:

People mock him online. He spirals.

The team tries to reassure him, but he’s already deleted everything on his phone.

Except a single text to Tony he never sent:

“Am I still worth loving if I’m this broken?”

13. Premise:

Hydra left something behind in Peter.

A chip. A trigger. A command sequence.

Angst Twist:

It activates.

And he tries to claw it out of his spine before he hurts anyone.

The team has to restrain him as he screams

14. Premise:

Peter stops a building from collapsing—literally holds the supports up until civilians escape.

His arms are shaking. He’s bleeding.

But he does it.

Angst Twist:

The team praises the mission.

But no one asks how it was saved.

Not until later, when Harley finds Peter’s hands—torn, trembling, unable to hold a spoon.

15. Premise:

The team hears Peter over comms, steady and brave—guiding civilians, distracting enemies.

But something’s off.

Too calm.

Angst Twist:

They find him barely alive.

He was hit first. Bad.

He was bleeding out the whole time.

But he stayed on mic until the end, voice unwavering.

16. Premise:

Peter stitches his own wounds.

Not because no one will help—but because he doesn’t want to ask.

Angst Twist:

Harley finds a drawer in Peter’s room.

Scissors. Thread. Bandages.

17. Premise:

Peter finds documents about the radioactive spider.

It wasn’t the first.

It was version 8.

Angst Twist:

Versions 1–7 all died in trials.

So did the kids they bit.

Peter was the only one who survived.

And Oscorp tried to recover him before he “spoiled.”

18. Premise:

Oscorp hijacks the Tower’s systems.

Every screen flickers.

Then:

Peter.

Chained to a table, thrashing, screaming.

Angst Twist:

The footage is live.

The Avengers are helpless.

He’s screaming for them. For Tony.

And Tony has to sit there—watching the kid who calls him “Dad” beg

19. Premise:

Peter’s grounded.

Tony says no patrol.

So Peter tries to sneak out.

Steve, Natasha, Clint, and Bucky each take turns “babysitting” him.

Chaos Ensues:

• Steve teaches Peter how to cheat at poker

• Nat lets him sneak out… and follows him in stealth mode

• Bucky duct-tapes him to the couch (and still loses him)

• Clint just naps and says, “If you die, don’t tell me.”

Eventually, Peter ends up saving someone anyway… and gets more grounded.

20. Premise:

Peter challenges the Avengers to a baking contest.

Everyone takes it way too seriously.

Highlights Include:

• Bucky trying to assassinate Clint with ghost pepper brownies

• Natasha using edible glitter like it’s a threat

• Harley and Peter turning the lab into a cookie factory

• Tony setting off the fire alarms with a “plasma-fusion soufflé”

Steve wins with banana bread. Peter calls rigged.

21. Premise:

Peter introduces the team to Dungeons & Dragons.

Highlights Include:

• Tony is chaotic neutral and immediately betrays Steve

• Clint plays a bard who seduces everyone

• Sam won’t stop trying to “punch the wizard”

• Natasha rolls nat-20s like it’s a threat

• Bucky’s character is a traumatized rogue with trust issues

Peter?

He’s the dungeon master.

And he’s terrifyingly good at it.

22. Premise:

Peter forgets his own birthday.

He’s so used to brushing it off, especially after May died, that it doesn’t even register.

Angst-Fluff Twist:

The Avengers don’t forget.

Tony puts the day off-limits on every Stark calendar.

Steve bakes a cake (badly).

Natasha gets him a knife he’s absolutely not allowed to carry.

When Peter walks in and sees “Happy Birthday, Webhead” spelled wrong on a banner…

23. Premise:

Peter misses movie night.

They find him in the medbay with a bruised rib and a black eye.

He was cornered. Again. By Flash.

Said it wasn’t “worth making a big deal.”

Clint is already halfway out the door.

24. Premise:

Peter hasn’t smiled in weeks.

He says he’s fine. He still shows up.

But the spark’s gone.

And one night, Tony catches him sitting on the roof.

Rain pouring. Just… sitting.

25. Premise:

Peter vs Harley vs Clint in an ugly Christmas sweater battle.

Tony funds it.

Natasha judges.

Steve is forced into elf ears.

Peter wins when his sweater plays “All I Want for Christmas Is You” every time he moves.

Chaos.

Laughter.

Snowball fight breaks out.

Nat declares herself Sweater Dictator and bans glitter.

Peter’s laugh echoes through the compound.

26. Premise:

Steve makes everyone write something they’re thankful for.

They all grumble.

Until Peter reads his:

“I’m thankful I didn’t give up when it got bad. Because now I have a family again.”

Everyone’s dead silent.

Even Tony wipes at his eyes.

Then Harley throws a roll at Clint to break the tension.

27. Premise:

Peter doesn’t send invites. Doesn’t ask.

He assumes they’re all too busy.

Graduation day, he sits alone in the bleachers, wearing his cap, watching other kids’ families cheer.

Then he hears it.

“LET’S GO, PETER!”

“THAT’S MY SON!”

“WOO! VAL-E-DORK-TORIAN!”

He looks up.

Entire Avengers team in the stands.

• Tony holding a massive “PROUD DAD” banner

• Steve standing next to him, holding tissues

• Nat in all black, sunglasses on, still smiling

• Clint with an airhorn

• Sam and Bucky screaming

• Harley yelling “THAT’S MY BOYFRIEND!”

Peter bursts into tears.

28. Premise:

They tried to blend in.

They tried to behave.

They failed.

• Bucky glares at anyone who cheers louder than them

• Nat wears a black “Peter’s Fan Club” hoodie

• Steve holds a “Proud Dad” sign the size of a bus

• Tony hacks the jumbotron to show a live feed of Peter’s face

• Sam shows up in his own cap and gown and pretends to graduate too

Peter: “I wanted a normal graduation.”

Tony: “You’re Spider-Man. That ship sailed, bug.”

29. Premise:

Peter disappears for months after a mission goes wrong.

When the Avengers find him, he’s a ghost of himself—emotionless, cold, Hydra’s puppet.

It takes every ounce of patience and love from the team to bring him back.

30. Premise:

Hydra kept Peter in a cryogenic pod for months.

Time froze for him.

But he was conscious the whole time.

Trapped in his own mind. No light. No sound. Just memories and hallucinations.

He wakes up screaming.

The team doesn’t know how to help.

Until Bucky sits with him

31. Premise:

Peter gets trapped in a mirror maze built by Mysterio — real and virtual.

He sees versions of himself:

• Hydra soldier.

• Broken child.

• Murderer.

• Coward.

• Clone.

Each one taunts him.

Each one reflects his worst fears.

32. Premise:

Peter starts skipping meals.

One turns into two.

Then it’s just coffee.

Then nothing at all.

Everyone assumes he’s just busy. Tired. Distracted.

Until Natasha catches him in the kitchen — swaying on his feet, eyes sunken, hands shaking as he opens the fridge and closes it again. Over and over. Unable to let himself eat.

33. Premise:

Peter is kidnapped off the street — grabbed mid-patrol after a rough mission, exhausted and alone.

He’s cuffed. Collared. Drugged. Transported in silence.

He wakes up in a shipping container surrounded by others, most of them younger. All silent.

They’re not being rescued.

They’re being auctioned.

“One male, enhanced. Spider mutation. Intelligent. Loyal under pressure. Responsive to pain.”

“Item 23: Project Arachnid.”

The highest bidder?

The Red Room.

34. Premise:

A mind control virus hits the tower.

Everyone’s infected.

Everyone but Peter.

They turn on each other. On him.

He refuses to fight back.

Even when Bucky throws him into a wall. Even when Nat dislocates his arm.

He disables them one by one — without hurting them — until the antidote is ready.

And when they wake, it’s to a battered, bleeding, unconscious Peter

35. Premise:

Peter figures out the villain’s plan early.

He knows the only way to stop it is to go dark.

He fakes a fight. Leaves the team. Works alone. Sabotages the plan from the inside.

No one knows.

Not until they find footage weeks later of Peter single-handedly dismantling a Hydra base.

“Why didn’t he tell us?”

“Because we would’ve stopped him.”

36. Premise:

Peter was trained by Hydra before becoming a hero — a fact he’s hidden for years.

When the Avengers are captured and locked in a facility with no way out, Peter remembers everything.

Because he was made to escape places like this.

He turns off the “kid” persona.

Moves like a ghost.

Kills like a weapon.

Then the team sees him drenched in blood, unlocking their cells

37. Premise:

The Avengers are trapped underground.

Peter is the only one conscious after the cave-in.

He claws through stone with bleeding hands.

Holds beams up with shattered ribs.

Keeps them breathing, one by one, while slowly running out of air himself.

By the time help arrives, Peter’s collapsed with dirt in his lungs and blood in his mouth.

38. Premise:

The team watches CCTV footage of a disaster site they missed — bodies everywhere, wreckage burning.

But then one figure appears.

Alone.

Small.

Bleeding.

Peter.

He holds off twenty armed soldiers. Fights until his knuckles split open. Protects a group of civilians like it’s the only thing that matters.

Steve says nothing.

Tony doesn’t breathe.

39. Premise:

Right after Mysterio died, Peter tried to tell someone what happened.

They brushed him off. Said it was handled.

That he was fine.

The team doesn’t find out until months later.

By then, the trauma has rotted inside him.

He’s still terrified of illusions. Of being tricked. Of not knowing what’s real.

[ornii]

Mad Max: Coins of Rage!

This was a request from @ab1nsur

I decided to throw a little spin on it. Hopefully it’s still passable as decent.

It hasn’t been long since you’ve been working at the arcade. The job was open and since it’s Halloween, kids are enjoying more festivities, so they had to hire more support than usual. Look no further to you, Dustin’s older cousin who he tries to ignore due to your playful teasing. It was your average Thursday afternoon, sitting at the desk you propped yourself up, reading the latest comic book. Your eyes focus on the Issue 7 of the Uncanny X-Men comic, watching the always beautiful Jean Grey. What took you off the comic was a brush of Red hair walking past you. The Most off putting part was the length, boys this young shouldn’t have hair that long.

Slowly lowering your comic book right below your eyelids you peer over to the fairly calming ruckus, while it was full of kids laughing and having fun. There was a certain, natural calmness about it, since it hasn’t been calm in Hawkins for a while. Your eyes dart around and spot the red hair, right at the dig dug machine. That hair was attached to a redhead, no surprise there, but it was, a girl.

Sneakers, Jeans, and a Red Track jacket, she definitely wasn’t the definition of a “Girl” that everyone else thinks. Your eyes focus on the screen in front of her to see her score going higher and higher, until she loses, but broke the high school. From the small reflection in the glass you could see a smile, but it slowly faded as she got her stuff and left. You shrugged it off, letting it go for the time being.

It wasn’t until the next Day that you got an earful of the truth, working another shift; reading another comic, this time the Silver Hawks. But your enjoyment was suddenly cut off by the inappropriate cough of someone you knew to get your attention. You slowly lower your comic and see a trio of Boys at your counter, you knew them too well. Dustin, Will, and Your Cousin Lucas.

“(Y/n), this is an emergency.” Dustin says, placing his hands on the desk, you squint at him to inquire more.

“Okay? What’s the issue?” You ask.

“We need to find Mad Max.” Lucas said, you stared at him for what seemed to be forever.

“…Who?” You ask, and the boys drag you over to the Dig Dug game, and see that the top score was replaced by a Title: Mad Max. Their high score got blown out of the water by this Mad Max.

“I can’t believe someone got higher than me.” Dustin says, and you shook your head “A real tragedy.”

“You know who Mad Max? He has to be cheating.” Will said, Lucas nods, “Nobody gets that high without breaking the system.”

“I don’t think she was breaking the system.” You said, which was a major fuck up.

“She?” The boys say together, and you sigh.

“Yeah, she.” In less than a minute you were accosted by the boys asking questions about this Mad Max Girl.

“There’s no way! What does she look like?”

“Is she Elizabeth Taylor hot?!”

“Is she totally rad?”

You shut them down by being louder than you wanted. “Hey!” You said, “im not letting you wackos stalk a girl, you want your score back at the top? Beat hers.” You said and walk back to your counter, the trio were obviously miffed by it but didn’t push any further. You thought that this was finally the end of the Mad Max Saga, returning back to your comic and enjoying your reading. Subsequently, the boys couldn’t surpass Mad Max, losing their quarters in the war.

They didn’t return the next day, probably reeling from their defeat from Mad Max, and it was Friday, so it was even more odd they didn’t show up. She did of course, Mad Max, you’re inside one of the old machines, cleaning our cobwebs and changing fuses. Pulling your head from inside the back of the machine you see from the window Mad Max exit a fine car, argue with some blonde guy and he speeds off. She flips him off and storms inside. Guess things aren’t always so good for Mad Max. Her first stop was Dig Dug, guess to best her own score. You finish emptying the machine and decide it’s probably best to warn her. You casually approach, hands in your pocket as you approach, She vaguely sees your reflection in the mirror.

“I didn’t do anything.” She said in a huff.

“I know you didn’t, just wanted to ask you.. are you Mad Max?” You said, you already knew the answer, but she didn’t know how much you did. “Who’s asking?” She replies.

“Just asking.” You reply, and she keeps playing, her silence basically answering your question. “Look I just.. want to apologize for my cousin and his weird ass friends.” You said, she Turns to you.

“Cousin?” She said, “Yeah, Lucas, really annoying, Dustin and Will are okay..” my bad for them being creeps.

“They were pretty weird as school.” She said, which made your eyebrows rise. “They did it at school too?” You groan, “my reputation is gonna be in shambles.” You said, obviously being sarcastic which got a dry chuckle from max. She’s already back at her game and you decide to place a sack of quarters at the center of the console. She looks at it, and then back to you.

“As an apology for my cousin and friends, they’re mad you beat their High Score or whatever.” You explain.

“So, why are you sticking up for some creeps?” She said, and you shrugged. “Lucas is family, he’s got Dustin, Mike and Will. They’ve been friends since they were born, far as I’m concerned they’re family too.” You said, Max looks at you and for a moment you saw a hint of sadness, but she quickly buries it down and shrugs and takes the quarters. “If they have any more high scores you let me know.” She said with sarcasm. You give a small smirk and nod.

“Yeah, I’ll be Seeing You, Max.”