#but the tags are there because they’re mentioned.

[always-just-red]

Hii! I've seen some Pregnancy scenario with LaD's men, but I have this HC-- personally for Sylus. That when fem!reader got pregnant, he didn't really understand how the Pregnancy hormones work, until he experienced one and he got confused how he should act or react because it's feels like he's walking on landime, one wrong move/word, she'd throwing tantrum or being sulky at him

I've heard from my Friend who got pregnant before, when she craving something and her Husband showing any form that he can't fulfill what she's craves, she felt her heart broken, and she'd sulk and acted as if he just cheated on her. The problem is, she always craved something that didn't even exist at that moment😂, she's craving certain type of Mango while it's not even that Mango season, so nobody selling it. He literally being desperate to negotiate with her cravings

So... Can I request a scenario smiliar like that? It doesn't have to be mango, or any foods. Just... how Pregnancy hormones or Cravings could make Sylus got frustated lol

Aaaaa anon this is adorable, thank you! We love making Sylus suffer in cute and harmless ways. He's always asking for trouble, so let's give him some! 😌💅

Something Sweet

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus knows how to get what he wants. Getting what you want might be a little more tricky...

Genre: fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: female!reader, IMPLIED pregnant!reader (pregnancy not actually mentioned or described- just hormones being hormones ✌), established relationship, canon pet names, a lil bit of roleplay because Sylus refuses to leave his Mystic Adventure era

| Word count: 2.1k | Masterlist |

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Sy, d’you know what I’m craving right now?”

“Always, sweetie.” Sylus doesn’t look up from his book. “Not now, though. I’m tired.”

Morning sunlight streams through the gaps in your living room curtains, casting pale yellow shapes over the floor. A shard of it has been inching over the sofa towards Sylus, the sharp edge now grazing the side of his face. He shifts, ever so slightly, away from its touch. His eyes are open but heavy.

“No,” you scold, leaning forwards to swat at him with your book. “That’s not what I meant, you narcissist.”

He chuckles with his usual low timbre— his gaze still not lifting— and the sound is deeper for how close he is to sleep. He wants to give in to it, you can tell. When he turns a page, the movement is languid, soft. You’re losing him.

“Sy,” you say again, then with more of a whine: “Sylus.”

His eyes flutter closed as he draws in a deep breath. His hand raises, his fingers stretching to pull his reading glasses from his face. They’re set down on the arm of the chair beside him, along with the book, and he turns to you with a smile. “What are you craving, sweetie?”

You rest your book on your stomach. Your legs are stretched out over Sylus’s lap, and his hand finds one of your feet, massaging an ache from it as you begin your speech. “Do you remember that café we used to go to? The one we found when it started raining in the park that day? We didn’t think it was open, but then the owner knocked on the window and said we could—”

“Yeah?” His hand moves to your other foot.

“Well, they make these—”

“Macarons.”

“You remember?”

His smile widens like he remembers vividly. “Kitten, how could I forget? I’m still jealous of that sweet little treat. You’ve never made that face for me, and believe me—” he wiggles one of your toes— “I’ve tried.”

That had been one of the only times you’d truly caught him off-guard, back when your feelings for one another were unnamed and uncharted. The rain had been drumming against the café window, and you’d heaved Sylus’s damp coat from your shoulders— giggled at the raised eyebrow and the sarcastic ‘…thanks’ he’d given in turn. One hot drink later, you were lifting a pastel pink macaron to your lips, taking a delicate bite and failing to stifle a tiny, almost euphoric moan.

You remember realising yourself: blushing profusely and expecting some remark, some ridicule, but none ever came. Sylus’s eyes were wide, dark, fixed upon your still parted mouth.

After a few of the longest seconds of your life, he’d dragged the plate with the rest of the macarons away from you and muttered something about how you had better not do that again.

“They’re still the sweetest things I’ve ever tasted,” you tease now, just as you’d wrestled him for that plate back then, set on eating every last macaron.

He makes a hmph as he idly runs a finger over the part of your foot he knows is ticklish. His expression is distinctly grumpy, but it falters as you laugh and try to writhe away from him.

You’re quickly out of breath. “Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

He glances up at you and you smile sweetly, head tilting. “Please?”

His coat on a rainy day. The entire plate of macarons in the end; he’s never been very good at denying you anything. For the first time since you’d stirred him from his book, however, he appears genuinely regretful. “You’re forgetting something, sweetie,” he murmurs gently. “Why did we stop going to that café, hmm?”

You shrug.

“It closed, kitten,” he sighs. “Months ago.”

“What?”

Not only did you already know that— you actually visited the café on its final day. The owner was telling you stories: he was moving somewhere warmer, closer to family, and he needed all the funds he could get. Sylus had snuck an obscene amount of money into the man’s tip jar whilst you acted as a distraction. You both had fond memories of that place; it was nice to make one more.   

It's all coming back to you and you’re struck by a wave of nostalgia. You want to go back there. You can’t go back there. It doesn’t exist anymore, and you’ll never taste sweetness like that again.

Your mouth has gone dry.

“Sweetie?” Sylus prompts, because he notices you’re far away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice wobbles, “I just really wanted… I mean, I really needed one of those—”

“… Macarons?” he finishes for you.

You burst into tears, and one day, you’ll tally this as another time you took the man by surprise. His face drops instantly— lost, for a moment— before he slides your legs from his lap, allowing him to lean closer. “No, no, no,” he coos, “don’t cry, kitten, please. I didn’t mean to… well, I didn’t realise…”

He doesn’t know what to say, and he always knows what to say. He set you off with a single word and now he’s stuttering like sentences are all possible landmines. He tries his luck again, putting a foot forward: “Listen to me. I’ll go to the store. Would that be alright? Or perhaps there’s another café that could—”

You explode: sobbing even more viscerally. Your whole body shakes with it.

Sylus has frozen. He watches on helplessly as you cry, blabbering about the macarons you can’t have and the café you can’t return to. Across the room, even Mephisto has hunched down on his perch, though he issues a few, spirited squawks, maybe in solidarity with your breakdown, or maybe in protest of it.

It’s like a catalyst. You cry more: burying your face in your hands because what the hell is wrong with you? It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, so why do you feel sick? And then there’s Sylus— your Sylus, devoted and adoring— and here you are, punishing him for something beyond his control.

You look up from your hands, desperate to apologise, but he’s gone. More shards of sunlight paint his empty seat and catch all that’s left of him: a few crow feathers, glistening like onyx. Mephisto is gone too, and the room is quiet, save for you snivelling and feeling sorry for yourself.

“Sylus?” you call out into the empty morning.

It isn’t his fault, not really. You wouldn’t want to be around you, either.

…

Something brushes over your cheek, and your tired eyes open.

The sun has ebbed back behind the curtains and the ceiling light has taken its place, casting artificial highlights over everything in reach: the coffee table, the closed-up flowers at its centre and a mug of tea that’s gone cold. Sylus is in front of you too, backlit and soft like a daydream, and he—

He left you.

“Sy?” you whisper warily, because the context is coming back to you slowly, piece by piece.

“Hey,” he coaxes, voice as honeyed as whatever’s turned the air sweet.

You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes and relishing the warmth of his hand on your face. Then you slap his shoulder. “Hey, really? That’s all you’ve got— hey?”

He’s kneeling for you— on the floor, beside the couch— so you can meet his eyes. He settles his chin thoughtfully on the edge of the seat, his nose almost touching yours. “What would you prefer, sweetie?” His lips are close to yours too. “Good evening, my beloved? Greetings, my queen?”

“How about sorry?” you snap, because he isn’t cute and he isn’t charming.

He pouts. “Why sorry?”

“Because you left, Sylus!�� You sit up straighter, and your phone tumbles out of your lap. Its screen is still lit-up from a few hours ago, showcasing a very one-sided conversation and a rant you never actually sent, because it’s still in the text box.

You vaguely recall writing it, so you try to snatch the phone from Sylus’s hand as he plucks it from the floor. He’s more alert than you. More co-ordinated. He keeps it out of your grasp as he reads the unsent message, an eyebrow raising.

It was a lot of things— colourful, creative— not entirely tasteful. “My, my, your highness,” he tuts, “so this is the treatment your valiant knight receives for undertaking your quest?”

“You’re not valiant,” you rebuke, and you manage to wrestle your phone from him. “You’re—”

“A heartless prick,” he finishes casually, quoting your message with a chuckle. He takes your free hand and kisses the back of it, refusing to let you pull away. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“You can have your heart back.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with it, sweetie. With me, too. Now—” he sits back on his knees— “would you please ask me about my quest?”

The analogy is lost on you. You sit fully up, looking down at him. “What quest, oh valiant knight?”

His lips form a smirk; he just loves when you play along. “Close your eyes.”

You do— whether you’re queen or not. You hear him shifting aside, and then there’s a snap of his fingers. The air changes, warping like thick, liquid smoke, and you know he’s using his Evol. “Open,” he commands.

And there on the coffee table, freshly teleported, is a plate of macarons the colour of cherry blossoms. As if anticipating the comparison, Sylus pulls a handful of pink petals from his pocket and blows them up into the air so they can spiral down on the scene. He watches them. Then you. “Ta-da,” he proclaims, his tone dry but full of humour.

You’re prone to hyperbole nowadays, but this is without a doubt the best thing you have ever seen.

“Sylus,” you gasp in disbelief, “how did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says; the story isn’t for today, and he’s very, very tired. A few weeks from now he’ll tell you about how he tracked down the contact information of the owner of the old café. How he spent an hour on the phone bargaining for a certain macaron recipe, and several more hours in the kitchen, trying to get them perfect. “Now, they might not be exactly the same, sweetie. But I did try to—”

You surge forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s so impulsive— so reckless— that you almost tumble down from the couch, but he catches you, steadies you, and your hand is gripping the soft of his hair as he kisses you back. Slowly, his mouth not leaving yours, he lifts you back into your seat.

“Easy, sweetie.” His voice is low as he pulls away, and though he turns his face from you, you can make out the blush on his cheeks. He settles back into his kneeling position on the floor. “I have one more surprise for you. Do try to control yourself.”

He retrieves a small, complete flower from his pocket, albeit one a little dreary from its journey. Sylus smiles triumphantly as he holds it out to you, and he was right; you do want to throw yourself at him. Instead, you take the flower and lean forwards, tucking it behind his ear before he can protest. He’d tilted closer to help you, and he sits back with an exasperated tsk when you’re done.

“It suits you,” you grin.

He yawns. “Everything does.”

You don’t want to get into trouble, so you shimmy to the very edge of your seat and carefully— showing tremendous restraint— reach out to take his face in your hands. “You’re amazing, Sy. Thank you for doing all of this for me, but…”

“But…?”

“I missed you. I like macarons, yeah,” you smile, “but I’d much rather have you.”

This time, he can’t hide his face and the way it goes pink, like the blossom behind his ear. His cheeks are warm beneath your palms. “You couldn’t have said that before I spent the whole day—”

His voice is strangled as you keel towards him— slow and deliberate— to thread your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He tenses for a moment, then wraps his arms around you too: holding you tightly, keeping you from falling any further. You can feel his hand stroking your back and he hums as you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Such a lovely moment, kitten,” he muses, your head on his shoulder. “I do hope it’s sincere, and not— say— an excuse for someone to get her paws on the macarons behind me.”

There’s another moment of quiet.

“Don’t be silly, Sy,” you retort, but your mouth is full, your cheeks are stuffed, and not a single word of it is intelligible.

[beefrobeefcal]

Purpose feat. Joel Miller & Hel my contribution for @perotovar's FRITH Celebration

Summary: Everyone has a purpose, but Joel is running from his. Read the prompt here.

Jackson!Joel Miller + Hel | Rating: 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 1,972

Content Warnings: multiple mentions of death, mourning, grief, loss, mention of suicide attempt

Author's Notes: Thank you @perotovar for the gift of this pairing - you're a true gem in this community 💜🥩💜 read all the Frith Fics here.

Thank you to @strang3lov3, @noxturnalpascal, @bitchesuntitled & @weregirlbyknight for their eyes and love. dividers made by @saradika-graphics

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Sitting on an old rocking chair on his front porch, Joel watched the procession go by his home towards the graveyard at the end of the main road. 

Jackson mourns another, he thought to himself.

He sees the family of the departed, holding each other as they walk slowly behind the horse-drawn wagon carrying their beloved person in a pine box, and he knows the sorrow that robs them of a full breath and a full night’s sleep. He watched the two children, clutching to their weeping mother and then he looked down, unable to watch them. 

He knows they’re permanently changed because of grief, and that has given him a purpose.

She had come to him in a dream as he lay with his head bandaged and pride wounded in a FEDRA camp; Sarah was gone and his botched self-inflicted wound hadn’t let him join her. The first time she visited him, it was just a feverish nightmare of teeth and rot, struggling ineffectively against a black abyss slowly pulling him under. This dream became a regular occurrence for months, waking him drenched in sweat with panting breaths, his eyes darting wildly around in the darkness.

It wasn’t until one still and quiet night as he slept on the forest floor, his head on his backpack and his gun gripped in his hand, that she finally showed Her face. Serene and chaotic, sublime and intolerable, She stood preternaturally still above him. The scent of Her wafted over him as he rubbed his eyes, attempting to shake off the clutch of sleep. She reeked of damp earth and decay. When She finally stirred, Her every minute movement seemed to echo in antiquity, sounding of trees in the distance being forced to bow and break from a hurricane. She smelled of damp earth and decay. 

He forced himself fully awake before She was able to speak, and he refused to allow Her to ever get a word out to him. In a few blinks of his eyes She was gone.

She attempted to visit him more and more so he started drinking to relieve him of the hauntings. The alcohol helped for a while, but then Her gnarled bone hands pulled his unconscious mind open and began to let Her decayed flora seep in. But the pills… the pills are what finally stopped Her.

Nearly two decades of all of the pills and alcohol he could get his hands on kept Her out of his dreams and out of his head. There would be echoes with no origin and fleeting shadows telling him She was never far, but he remained out of reach. Internally, he blamed Her for plaguing his mind with Sarah’s last moments, reliving the moment on repeat, having to hear her begging and crying out to him as he held her for the last time. Some nights, he could still smell the gunpowder and blood that clung to his memories as he slipped into an inebriated slumber. 

He blamed the terrible thing She was - the decayed abomination that haunted him - for making him relive the darkest moments of his life, plying himself with drink and drugs to keep Her away. And it worked; it worked for so long that any indication that She was around, Joel learned to dismiss as foundations settling or leaves blowing in the trees. 

All of that changed when he lost Tess and gained Ellie. An uncanny switch in his partner, forcing him into a role he’d long since abandoned - father. Ellie held a mirror up to him, forcing him to see what he’d become and face what he was running from. The honest horrors of time and grief had etched and eroded him, and he saw shards of Her woven into the old man he was becoming, and gradually, he came around to Her.

Joel hadn’t touched a drink or drug since returning to Jackson with Ellie. They hadn’t found anything at the university beyond the evidence of the Fireflies having been there at one point, and with no indication of where they went they returned to Tommy’s new community.

Two years of sobriety had landed Joel with a clearer mind and a better temperament. She had stayed away as if to say you had your chance, and it was a bittersweet relief to him. 

Until Tommy died. 

He’d led a reconnaissance party out to secure the area surrounding the town, and Tommy’s horse got spooked, making a wrong step and falling off an embankment. While his grief swelled in him like a balloon, Joel took solace that he’d had two years with him before losing his brother again, and that at least Tommy’s death was quick. He knew he couldn’t fall apart like he had with Sarah, and that he had to be strong for Ellie, for Maria and Tommy’s child, and for the town. The funeral took place as soon as his body had returned to Jackson and that night, Joel laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. 

His eyes were wide open and he was awake when Her sweet and putrid smell washed over him in a cold, dark mist. His grief allowed no room for further pain, so Joel found that he did not feel fear. He felt at peace.

The sounds that crawled out from Her gaping maw swirled around him and words formed from them in his mind.

My beloved child - you are returned. You are needed. Tragedy and renewal bind you to me. The sun has his moon and the moon has her sun. Life turns to death and death bores life. Decay gives way to rebirth.

He woke with a startled hacking cough to find his room lit by the pale morning sun shining weakly through his bedroom window. It took him a moment to get his bearings and remember where he was. It felt like only seconds before that She was speaking to him; he could still smell the rot that heralded Her, and once he calmed down, he was surprised that he felt comforted by it. 

It was from there that the ravens began to hang round the front of his house on the fence and trees. When he sat on the front porch, they even dared to come right up and sit on the railing, quirking their heads as they made eye contact and small clucks at him. 

The ravens carried on visiting him with a cautious curiosity for a few weeks until She visited him again in the night. He was wide awake during an intense spring storm that had knocked out the power. He was trying to light the storm lamp when he felt the air in the room grow stale and damp and the sounds the the winds outside faded into dulled white noise. The flame that he’d managed to light flickered and sank low, barely casting a light beyond a faint amber and his breathing echoed in his living room, and She moved from the shadows, and her terrible and beautiful voice crept out into the room. 

My beloved child - grown in grief.

Joel looked at her, feeling his heartbeat slow and his mind quiet, and he nodded to Her. They watched one another as Joel tried to summon the courage to ask something - anything. 

“Who are y-”. His words caught in his throat before he finished as the realization that he already knew Her and Her name. It was etched in his soul and echoed in his heart. 

Hel. Goddess of death and guide to the underworld. Her name was one that should have struck terror into him from years of his Catholic grandmother forcing him and his brother to mass, and given the amount of death that he’d experienced and partaken in, part of his thought that fear should have come from seeing this as his reckoning. But instead, he felt peace in her terrible presence. He dropped to his knees and the start of tears burned his eyes. He felt the grief of everyone he had lost wash over him in waves, coming to the surface and gasping for air. Joel had spent so long trying to choke that grief and suffocate it where it sat in him, but on his knees before Her broke him wide open and gave air to the parts of his soul that he’d worked so hard to kill.

Joel woke up the next day and it was different. He moved through the day as he normally did, but inside he felt more assured of himself, feeling a peace he hadn’t known since before Sarah was born. There was a slight change in him, a light flickering in his eyes that others picked up on but said nothing about. That and the ravens.

No matter where Joel went, there was a raven nearby. If he stayed in place - at a town meeting or at home -  the ravens would slowly settle one by one until their entire unkindness was perched on the trees and eaves, waiting for him to move again. Day by day, it became more apparent to the other residents of Jackson that Joel wasn’t the same; the silent and harsh somberness that had left them wary of interacting with him had turned to a quiet warmth that radiated from within. 

At first, Joel thought this change in him was for the dead - or those that were making the transition. He sat with the sick and elderly in the medical clinic, ensuring they weren’t alone as they moved on, taking up the mantle of guide. 

But it didn’t feel right. His heart would ache in the morning from the looks of those left behind by their loved one’s departure. Joel would watch as families and friends would be thrown into their mourning, and he’d feel the familiar sting in his throat. He would leave the clinic, chest ripped open and wound burning, and he’d be right back in the throws of his own loss. Sarah, Tess, Tommy… Sarah, Tess, Tommy… Sarah, Tess, Tommy… Sarah, Tess, Tommy… Sarah, Tess, Tommy… Sarah, Tess, Tommy… 

But he would return, suffering for his perceived purpose, and repeat the cycle over and over again. 

It wasn’t until one night as he sat next to Charles, the 80-something year old who’d fallen and broke his hip, that Joel finally made the connection. 

“I mourn for what they will become…”, Charlie murmured softly, causing Joel to turn his head from counting the ravens through the window.

“Hmm? What’re you talkin’ about, Charlie?”

“My children. My Grandchildren. My friends… when I leave…”, he spoke wearily, then looked at Joel. “You know how grief changes people. Especially now. Look around. We shouldn’t mourn the dead, we should mourn who the living become because of it.”

Joel swallowed thickly. It was as though Charlie had set off a chain reaction in his head, connecting dots and seeing the truth of it. He looked into the old man’s eyes and saw Her there already, ready to guide him herself. 

He is for the living.  Again, that change in him seemed to glow brighter.

Charlie adjusted himself slowly in the bed and took in Joel with a crackled smile. “Ah. Now there’s a man with a purpose.”

The old man passed on as the pale morning crept over the mountains, and Joel wept by his side, thankful for the last bit of wisdom the old man gave.

Joel thinks back about his journey as he sees the last of the funeral procession pass his porch and he stands up, looking at the ravens. He gives them a curt nod and sighs, “Let’s go.”

He steps out onto the road and walks towards the home of the recently departed, ready and waiting to guide them through their grief so their own transition is peaceful. 

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✨ And now, the new prompt!

[#FFF271 Tantrum Entrance]

Who is having the tantrum? Why? What caused them to enter in such a manner? All those emotions building up and up and up until they explode! We want to read all about them, so get writing! Go, go, go!

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The Collective <3

[shadowkoo]

I just needed to come here and vent for a moment. As a writer, I put a lot of time and thought into curating my ideas and outlining fics before I even begin writing. So, you can imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning to a tumblr notification that someone had tagged me in a post titled “[My Fic Title] Part 2.”

Naturally, I was a bit shocked. After scrolling through it, I realized that this user had written a second part to one of my fanfics, and they tagged me to credit me for the original story.

While I won’t name the specific fic or the user (they did remove it per my request), I feel the need to address this publicly with a quick PSA.

My characters, storylines, cliffhangers, and everything in between are my intellectual property. Yes, the characters are inspired by real idols, and yes, some of my plots exist within established TV/film/book universes. But the ideas, twists, and execution are mine, and I’m the one who will decide how they unfold. (For clarity, the fic in question isn’t set in another media universe, but I wanted include this line since it is relevant for a couple of my other works).

I appreciate that this person enjoyed my fic enough to be inspired to write something themselves, but to be completely honest, I don’t think what they did was okay. I have some serious issues with this, and I want to share them to hopefully prevent this from happening to me—or anyone else—again.

First off, I find it incredibly rude that they didn’t reach out to ask my permission beforehand. Had they done so, I would’ve immediately told them not to go forward with it. Instead, I found out through a tag after the fic had already been posted, which felt like a slap in the face. To make matters worse, because of time zone differences, the post was live for hours while I was asleep, gaining traction.

I know that in the fanfic community, it’s somewhat common to write alternate endings or continuations for larger works from big-name authors or shows, but that’s not what’s happening here. I’m a hobby kpop fanfic writer. Writing a fanfic of my fanfic just feels out of line.

To be blunt, it felt like they were piggybacking off the success of my story, trying to steal some of the excitement I’d built for an upcoming second part. It also seemed like an attempt to siphon engagement, followers, and interactions from my readers—people who were already invested in the original work.

What bothers me even more is that I’ve publicly mentioned I’m already working on a second part. It left me with a bad taste, like this person was trying to rush out their version before I could post mine. That kind of move creates confusion for readers and, from where I stand, feels calculated and disrespectful.

So let me make this crystal clear: No one has my consent to rewrite my work, create additional parts to my fics whether they’re complete, on hiatus, or in-progress, whether or not i have mentioned that i'm writing another part, or to publish alternate endings, etc.

Thank you for understanding. - Raven

[stitchedcosmos]

Abt the Orcatstra stuff

TLDR: I've looked through their posts as well as others and I can't find any proof they did anything wrong. Orca making NSFW art, saying they don't like a ship and blocking people who like that ship is completely normal and you shouldn't take it personally.

Long ver:

People in the DSAF fandom (mainly Tumblr) are freaking out about a take Orcatstra made on shipping Jack with Harry, Jake and/or Rodger, allegedly harassing people who ship them, one case being running a 14/15-year-old off the website and making NSFW art, mainly gore.

About the ship: I think Orcatstra's take is completely understandable. "Oh but the phone can leave" and "Oh but he treats them well in the Good ending" doesn't matter. At the end of the day, whether he treats them well or not is completely irrelevant. Jack can choose at any time whether they live or die. When he fires them, they get murdered. He has power over them and that is a power imbalance that a lot of people are going to be uncomfortable with. In cases like Dave, Matt, Steven or Henry, if things don't go well between the two, they have the ability to leave with no fear of something bad happening to them. The phones on the other hand, could get fired (die) if they're not on Jack's good side with just a simple phone call. Even if they left, they literally mention Afton Robotics hunting down escaped phone guys and a simple phone call telling AR one's gone rouge is all it takes. Doing this after getting pissed off by them or whatever, is completely in character for Jack to do (especially legacy). People bring up that Jack treats them well in the good ending but how about all the other routes? Especially in the Legacy routes, Jack treats them like shit and actively uses this power imbalance against them on multiple occasions. People bring up Davesport as a retort to this, bringing up how utterly devoted Dave can be, but Dave when treated like this usually fights back or distances himself away from him, neither is something the phones can do without fear of getting killed. At the end of the day, it all comes down to how you headcanon Jack to act, but the power imbalance is definitely enough to put a lot of people off. Also, as a POC myself, I don't think them saying it felt like "Owner x Slave" to them, was racist.

About the blocking: Blocking people is something people are allowed to do for whatever reason they like. If someone posts content you don't like, the normal response most people have is to block them. Whether you feel the block is "deserved" or not, doesn't matter. Hell, sometimes I block people over a single post or comment they make because I simply disagree with it so much. Blocking people is completely okay under literally any circumstance.

About harassment: I have found no proof of this. Seriously. I've looked through multiple people's accounts, including Orca's and have found nothing. I'm even seeing people ask for proof and being told the person has none. the dsaf confessions account keeps getting brought up as proof of someone who got harassed but looking at both their posts and Orca's, from what I've seen, no harassment happened. From what I can tell, all of this is a complete misunderstanding where Orca talking about not liking the account got interpreted as Orca bullying them. If they don't like them and want to post about not liking them, they have the right to do that.

Edit: Just remembered this so I’ll quickly add it now, people are shouting at orca 4 “harassing a minor” but they’re a minor themselves.

About NSFW: They're allowed to draw it. DSAF is an NSFW series and therefore has A LOT of NSFW topics, subjects, scenes and characters in it. If someone wants to draw that, they have the right to. If you don't like it, block them. Some people are saying they should tag their gore art and while I personally agree with that, if they don't want to, they have every right not to. It's their blog and if you don't like it, just block them and move on. "But what if a child sees it" on Tumblr, you can only see what you search up or are personally interested in, a child shouldn't be looking at DSAF-related content in the first place because, again, it is an NSFW series.

Overall, my thoughts on the matter are... *drum roll*

It's not that serious and the block button is free. If you don't like someone, what they're doing, what they're posting, block them. It's that simple and getting blocked doesn't mean anything. This situation, as well as others like it, are making me fear that most of you aren't old enough to even know what DSAF is, let alone be in the fandom.

[iwasntstable]

𝗡.𝗦. | 𝗡𝗢𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗢 𝗚𝗢 | 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗨𝗘_𝗧𝗪𝗢

🗀 C:/PROJECTS/MYWORK/SERIES/NOWHERETOGO [projects] ﹂ [my-work] | in-progress | favourites 　﹂ all | [series] | one-shot | blurb | head-cannons 　　﹂ [nowhere-to-go]

Series Summary: You knew the decision to follow your father into the so-called 'most dangerous Ward' was a dangerous one, but you had to do anything and everything possible to keep him alive. He's the only family you have left. Growing evermore reckless after the death of your mother and blinded by his lust for retribution, this decision is one that will alter the course of your life forever. And the life of a half-ghoul half-human who never thought he'd find himself entangled with the daughter of a former CCG Investigator.

NOWHERE TO GO is a multi-chapter story set in the Tokyo Ghoul universe, centring around Half-Ghoul!Noah and Human!Reader.

Chapter Content Tags: descriptions of violence and gore, brief mentions of death.

Word Count: 1.8k.

Note: Please be aware this story is set in the universe of Tokyo Ghoul, before the events of the manga and anime. It will, however, contain references to content found in the source material. specific content warnings will always be applied at the beginning of each chapter.

✶ [join the NOWHERE TO GO taglist.]

➔read on AO3➔➔ PREV　/　NEXT [coming soon..]

CREDIT › image — 'Tokyo Ghoul:re - Chapter 54' - 石田 スイ (Sui Ishida). › image edit — @iwasntstable (me). › star divider — @saradika-graphics. › short grey divider — @saradika-graphics. › Tokyo Ghoul — created by 石田 スイ (Sui Ishida).

“It has been reported that more violent outbreaks are occurring in the 13th Ward, following on from last week's turf war between two opposing gangs of ghouls. Witnesses describe violent altercations in the streets, resulting in massive damage to property and local businesses. The 13th Ward is no stranger to savage acts of violence, and while ghoul attacks on humans are common, acts of cannibalism between ghouls are also a recurrent sight. We have First Class Investigator Soto here to provide more information. Thank you for joining us.”

“The pleasure is mine.”

“Now, the 13th Ward is widely referred to as ‘the most dangerous Ward’. Could you elaborate for us on why exactly that is?”

“Of course. Now the ghoul population of the 13th Ward greatly outnumbers the human population, not something seen here in the 1st Ward or the 2nd, for example. Due to this fact, there is, quite simply, not enough food for them to go around. And ghouls have been shown to be incredibly territorial creatures…”

“Ugh, it’s just awful, isn’t it?” 

“I seriously can’t believe you’re moving there. Your dad is going to get you fucking killed.”

“It can’t be that bad, surely? It’s probably all just overexaggerated for the news.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that,” you sigh over your cup of coffee. “You two need to chill out. It's not gonna be that bad.”

Kira says your name in that tone of voice that you know means business—the one she uses to scold her daughter—"There are more ghouls than humans over there! To the point they’re fucking eating each other to survive! I meant what I said before, you can live with me until you find your own place.”

“You know I can’t leave my dad,” placing your cup down on the coffee-stained table and rubbing the tense point in your forehead.

“I mean this in the most respectful way possible. You don’t have to be responsible for your dad. If he wants to chase ghouls in the 13th Ward, let him. You can’t put your life on hold or put it in danger just because he thinks he has some righteous quest to single-handedly rid the world of ghouls,” she reaches across the table to take your hands in hers, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders brilliantly illuminated by the setting sun through the window, giving her an almost angelic glow.

“You’re always the voice of reason,” you smile, squeezing her hands back. “But you know it’s not that easy. I can’t lose him too.”

“We know,” Mari adds her hand to yours and Kira’s, her tanned skin a sharp contrast to Kira’s almost translucent hands. “We just want you to be safe. If you ever want to leave, if you change your mind, you know our doors are always open for you.”

“Except mine,” Haru smiles, keeping her well-manicured hands to herself.

“Yeah, your behemoth dogs take up all the fucking space,” you can’t hold back your laugh at Kira’s remark.

“Say another word against them. See what happens,” she smirks back.

“I’m gonna miss you guys so fucking much.”

“We’re going to miss you more,” Haru’s voice wavering like she’s on the brink of tears.

“Don’t you dare disappear on us. We all expect regular check-ins, so we know you’re alive.”

“Or what you’ll set your dogs after her?” Mari laughs.

“Yeah, joke all you want! They could find her! All the way from the 2nd Ward to the 13th and beyond.”

“You don’t need to do that," you laugh. "I’ll stay in contact. I promise.”

The conversation between the four of you is interrupted by Kira’s obnoxious ringtone, earning glares from the elderly patrons lingering in the corners of the cafe. “Crap. Gotta go pick up my girl,” she stands, throwing back the last of her tea, chair screeching as it slides across the floor, your own following suit when you rise to meet her. She pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, pressing all of the love from her body into yours, just in case this is her final goodbye.

“I’ll call you,” you swear. “As often as I can.”

“I love you,” she muffles into your shoulder. “God, okay. I really have to go. I’ll see you guys later, and you! Do not forget to call,” she laughs as you draw a cross over your heart, scooping up her bag and coat in her arms before heading for the door. She gives one last wave, and then she’s gone.

“I hate to do this, but I have to go too. I have work in an hour.” Mari stands as well, rounding the table to bring you into your second bone-breaking hug of the day. 

“Thank you for coming. I love you, and we’ll speak soon, yeah?”

“Definitely. Bye Haru!” 

“Bye! See you later.”

You sit back down, relaxing into the chair. The weight of the goodbyes sitting heavy on your chest.

“I am really worried about you,” Haru says quietly. “That place is so dangerous, and I’m scared your dad is only gonna make things worse.”

“He can handle himself. He served for a decade in the CCG, remember?” You try your best to convince her, but judging by the expression on her face, it isn’t working very well.

“Yeah, he’s the best of the best,” she rolls her eyes. “Or he was until- Look, you and I both know he hasn’t been the same since what happened, and I don’t want his reckless behaviour to endanger you.”

“I know how to handle him,” you affirm. “He’s still grieving. This is the only way he knows how to cope.”

“What about your grief? When do you get the chance to break down?” Her usually warm brown eyes are full of a profound sadness.

“Stop looking at me like you’re never gonna see me again. And don’t worry about me. I can handle my dad, and I can handle myself,” though you speak with confidence, you can feel yourself wavering. Doubting for a moment if the strength you hold is as robust as you claim it is.

“If you get to a point where you need to put yourself first, please know that nobody would ever blame you. None of us,” she says, taking your hand in hers much like Kira and Mari did earlier, squeezing it tightly.

“I know,” you nod.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, breaking it occasionally with casual conversation and reminiscing on older days. Until Haru too has to gather her things and leave.

“Do you want me to walk you to the station?” She asks as she slides her arms into her coat.

“No, no. It’s fine. I think I’m just gonna sit for a while. Finish my drink.”

She nods, pulls you into your third and final crushing hug of the day, and heads off home through the door. The sound of the little bell dinging follows her as she goes.

You pass the time people-watching through the window. Familiar faces you’d seen around you all your life—faces that you’d likely never see again. Savouring the last of your drink, the scent of the cafe, and the view from your favourite spot by the window until the time comes for you too to leave.

As you fix your hair from under the collar of your coat, you don’t see the customer entering into the cafe as you pass through the door. Bumping face first into a warm, solid chest. The man holds you by the shoulders as you start to topple backwards, holding you steadily in place.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see-”

“Don’t worry about it,” the smooth voice chuckles lightly. “No harm done.”

He releases your shoulders and sidesteps you to enter the cafe so quickly you don’t even catch a glimpse of his face. Leaving you standing on the step as the last light of your last day in the 2nd Ward warms your skin.

The 13th Ward isn’t too far away from where you grew up in the 2nd Ward, separated only by the 3rd. So it didn’t make sense for the weather to be so drastically different. The sky was entirely overcast, forbidding even a single ray of sunlight to pierce through and touch the ground. And it was cold. That was to be expected so late in the year, but you found yourself shivering, the chill creeping into your skin even through your layers. Looking over your shoulder from where your dad was unloading boxes from the car, you just couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on you. 

“There are more ghouls than humans over there! To the point they’re fucking eating each other to survive!” Kira’s voice rings in your head, and you realise you’ve never felt like prey before. Until now.

“Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna help?” Your dad huffs as he drops a box at your feet. Standing up straight and stretching out his back nonchalantly. 

How he could be so calm was beyond you, but then, that might be the peace of mind serving a decade in the CCG brings you. Killing ghouls was second nature to him. “Sorry, I’m on it,” you say, picking up the box and hoisting it high to get a secure grip.

“Take these too, will you?” He drops two metal cases from the rental car on top of the box in your arms, the weight of them instantly making your arms ache. You’re momentarily transfixed, having not seen them in months; an ache settles in your chest too. Pushing the thought out of your head, you focus on the task at hand—getting your possessions into your new apartment before the sky gets the chance to grow darker.

The place wasn’t too small. The CCG retirement package was generous and allowed your dad to find somewhere to live that was suitable for you both, but more importantly, suitable for his needs. The larger pieces of furniture were already delivered by some of your dad's work buddies, traditional movers, all refusing to set foot this side of the 3rd Ward; beds, couches, appliances. All that remained was to make the house a home as best you could.

You managed to get everything inside before sunset, and with the door secured with five deadbolts, you felt you could somewhat relax into your bed after the strenuous move. Most of your belongings are unpacked and organised. The only tasks left were to unpack your clothes and look for a job, though you were unsure what kind of establishments would even be hiring in the so-called most dangerous Ward. Your dad insisted you didn’t need to work, but you knew you both couldn’t survive long solely off his retirement fund.

But as you lie there and the heavy hand of sleep begins to drag you under, you find yourself thinking of your friends, missing them already even though only a day has passed. You drift off to sleep, missing the life you had to leave behind and, weirdly enough, thinking of the stranger whose warm hold you fell into.

PREV　/　NEXT [coming soon..]

[adverbally]

Sway Through the Crowd to an Empty Space

Written for the @steddiesmuttyseptember prompt “clothes on” | wc: 1,347 | rated: M | cw: none | tags: in public (alley behind the club), outdoors, making out, dry humping, teasing, not very smutty actually but they’re on their way there | background buckingham, drinking mention | title from “Let’s Dance” by David Bowie

———

Steve knows exactly what Eddie’s planning when he asks Steve to follow him into the alley behind the club. They’re both sweating a little, packed into the small space with too many other people, and they’ve been dancing for what feels like an eternity. Eddie spent the whole last song with his hands on Steve’s hips, looking at him like he wanted to eat him alive, and Steve wanted to let him.

He was about to invite Eddie into the bathroom with him when Eddie leaned in and shouted over the music, “I’m gonna go outside for a cigarette. Wanna come?”

And now Steve is pushed up against the dirty brick behind the dumpster with Eddie’s tongue in his mouth and his hands sneaking beneath the hem of his shirt, cigarettes long forgotten.

Eddie’s warm, draped all along the length of Steve’s body like a heated blanket, but it’s not enough to block out the chill of the late fall evening. Their cold noses bump against their flushed cheeks, and Eddie lets out an honest-to-god yelp when Steve’s hands come up to his jaw as their kisses deepen.

“Jesus Christ! Why are you so cold?”

“I’m waiting for you to warm me up,” Steve tells him with a suggestive smile.

Eddie frowns. “This isn’t going to be very sexy if you get frostbite and lose all your fingers.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin.” Steve drops his mouth to Eddie’s neck to rewarm the spot where his hand had been. Just to be safe, Steve makes sure to suck hard enough to bruise. Bringing more blood to the surface will help them stay warm, right?

It’s enough to make Eddie’s hips jolt, rubbing his erection against Steve’s hip through two layers of denim. “Please don’t talk about Robin during sex,” he groans into the empty alley.

Steve pulls back to look at him in disbelief. “Baby, it’s literally freezing out here. How are we supposed to have sex if my dick is turning into an icicle?”

“Oh, is that why it’s so hard?” Eddie’s smile is adorably crooked, but his eyes are like fire beneath the shadow cast by his bangs. He sways back into Steve’s space to kiss him again, swallowing his gasp when their clothed cocks meet. “Let me fix that for you,” he says against Steve’s lips.

It takes all of Steve’s willpower to press his palms to Eddie’s chest and gently nudge him back a step. “What’s your plan here? Because I have a feeling that it will involve me coming in my pants and going back inside to be wet and sticky for at least another hour before we can leave and drop off Robin and Chrissy. And don’t say,” he points aggressively when Eddie opens his mouth, “that you’ll clean me up, or that you’ll just let me come in your mouth, because you already made me too aware of the possibility of getting frostbite and these pants are closed for business.”

“What if,” Eddie muses, holding himself up with a hand against the wall next to Steve’s head, “I make you come in your pants and we can make up a spilled drink emergency to convince Robin and Chrissy we have to leave early?”

“Or we jump to the fake emergency so we can go home early and have warm, comfortable sex in our bed instead of this disgusting alley?” Steve smooths his hands over the lapels of Eddie’s leather jacket.

Eddie narrows his eyes thoughtfully. “Compromise? Ten minutes of making out in this disgusting alley and then we can leave?”

“Five minutes. Just ‘cause I think you’d be really sad if my dick fell off,” Steve says with a sympathetic pout.

“Mmmm, I would be,” Eddie agrees reluctantly, with a fond glance down at the straining fly of Steve’s jeans. “Five minutes it is.”

Steve doesn’t waste any time pulling Eddie closer by the collar of his t-shirt and devouring his mouth. Now that they’ve put a time limit on their makeout session, there’s an urgency to their kisses– Steve has a deadline if he wants to take Eddie apart, leave him panting and desperate and hard in his pants. He wants to tease him now so he can blow his socks off later.

Eddie doesn’t resist, equally eager to crowd Steve against the brick until they’re pressed together head to toe. They’re basically the same height but Steve is slouching against the wall, making him feel small and safe with Eddie’s arms caging him in. Steve’s own arms wind around Eddie’s waist, settling his hands at the small of his back. Over his clothes, of course; he doesn’t want to cross the line from ‘teasing’ to ‘annoying’ by getting his icy fingers on Eddie’s skin again.

They physically can’t be any closer together with the layers of fabric between them, but Steve still tries, grinding his hips against the denim-clad thigh Eddie has pressed between his legs. It feels so good when they fit together like this, like they were meant to interlock, and Steve's grip at the back of Eddie’s jacket tightens in a futile attempt for more. He can tell Eddie feels the same from the tight hold he has on Steve’s hips.

The alley is quiet around them, save for the distant thumping of the bass from the speakers inside. They can’t hear much over the sounds of their mouths moving together wetly and their ragged breathing. When Eddie shifts to adjust their angle, Steve can see their exhalations turning to foggy clouds in the cold air.

“Okay, I can see our breath right now. Time’s up,” he announces.

Eddie drops his head with a resigned sigh. “Already?” he whines, nuzzling his cold nose along Steve’s jaw and making him shiver.

“I won’t be able to suck you off when we get home if I get hypno— hippo—” He looks at Eddie expectantly when he can't find the word.

“Hypothermia,” Eddie informs him with a final chaste kiss to his lips. “And you have a point, unfortunately. I think parts of me are going numb.”

Steve is about to make the obvious joke about restoring feeling to Eddie’s sensitive spots, but he’s interrupted when the back door of the club crashes open with a violent metallic creak.

He and Eddie all but leap apart, trying to look like anything but two queer boys who were just playing tonsil hockey.

“Steeeeve,” the newcomer whines. “We’ve been looking for you foreeeeeever.”

Steve breathes a sigh of relief when it turns out to be Robin, enjoying the loose and enthusiastic stage of drunkenness while Chrissy tries to keep her propped up like a scarecrow. “Rob, we’ve only been gone for, like, ten minutes max.”

“Yeah but I wanted to dance with you!” She blinks at him like she doesn’t get what he’s not understanding about her obvious motive.

Beside her, Chrissy is shaking her head emphatically and waving her hand in front of her throat, indicating that Robin is cut off for the night.

“You know what? That’s a great idea.” Steve uses a hand at the small of Eddie’s back to usher him forward. “I just need to get something first,” he lies.

“Oh! Can I come?” Robin asks excitedly, like this is some kind of epic adventure out of one of Eddie’s campaigns.

Steve ducks under Robin’s other arm, helping Chrissy to keep her upright as they walk down the alley in the direction of Steve’s car. While Robin is babbling away to Chrissy about how much fun she’s having, Steve turns his head toward Eddie and whispers, “See, no emergency needed.”

“She’s kind of her own emergency, isn’t she?” Eddie’s voice is low and husky with suppressed laughter.

It’s unfair how quickly Steve’s face heats up at the sound. “Stop being sexy until we get home. Twenty minutes, tops.”

“Twenty minutes,” Eddie repeats with a wicked smile. It’s a promise when he says it.

When Steve speeds the whole way back to Robin and Chrissy’s apartment, Eddie is the only one who notices.

[fandomsnrambles]

Ik people talk about the tragedy of the Spinjitzu family, but i mostly see it focused on Lloyd and Garmadon which isnt bad, but also you’re sleeping on the tragedy for Wu and the FSM.

FSM -> Was a dragoni child raised in constant war who had to choose between family. Probably was a child soldier himself if we’re being real honest. Chose none of them and ran away. Idk how you come out of that w/o trust issues.

Hell, the trust issues was implied with Nineko and the way he doesn’t tell his sons much. Why would he? To do that he needs to tell them about his past, which means trauma dumping on his kids. He’s emotionally constipated. Can’t say it but does love his sons and the land he created. He fights to defend it and despite his past, longs for a world where he doesn’t have to fight anymore. Longs for peace.

However, his eldest son is hit with a poison he can’t cure (probably due to the overlord’s interference now that i’m looking back on it.) but he does his best to find what he thinks may work. He helps him through his episodes and tells his sons where he thinks the cure may be. But it still ends in disaster.

Wu -> Raised with high expectations. Probably under a lot of stress to keep up. I’m thinking gifted child/burn out. Loved his father, looked up to him but unintentionally copies his father’s unhealthy coping mechanisms because he thinks his father is the best. Doesnt realise his father probably struggled with his own internal issues with trauma. Did therapy exist 1000 years ago? Probably not.

Anyway, he watches his brother fall victim to a poison and blames himself for it (ignoring the fact he was what. 9???) Makes a lot of mistakes (Aspheera) but tries his best to fit into the mould of expectations.

Probably represses a lot of emotions. Anyway, he goes on to watch his brother descend into darkness (watches him go for chen at some point) and fights along side him for ninjago until suddenly he’s fighting alone against his brother after his friends in the elemental alliance slowly leave.

He falls in love, but shes also someone his brother loves. His brother marries her and he tries to move on. He raises Morro until morro leaves.

At this point, he’s lost his brother, father, friends and now a boy he raised. Then he gets a nephew only to find said nephew has to fight his father.

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

so five and lila being a thing is going right next to allison literally sexually assaulting luther in the box of things we are absolutely under no circumstances accepting as part of canon right

[toypretend]

twitter really liked this, so i’ll post it here too :))

[skitterjitter]

Ratio/Aventurine can go two ways:

1. Ratio viewing Aventurine as…not a science experiment, but something interesting pull apart and study, enabling his worst behaviors just to see the consequences, whatever they may be

2. Ratio refusing to let Aventurine burn himself out, treating him with care because no one else will (including himself and excluded Topaz)

In either case, Ratio’s attention is firmly fixed on Aventurine because he’s smart and can actually hold an intelligent conversation with Ratio. He may not be able to explain in minute detail how something works like Ratio can, but he knows how to get the results he wants and practical knowledge is still knowledge. A gambling fool Aventurine might be, but never an idiot or stupid

Also, Ratio realizing he likes Aventurine and being Mad about it is so funny. Aventurine may realize he cares about Ratio, but it would be hard for him to accept and admit his own feelings because he feels guilty for any comfort he finds and doesn’t think he deserves it unless there’s an edge to it

I like to think they had a…relationship of sorts going into Penacony, because it makes things a whole lot more painful. It balances out afterwards though, because we don’t know if he’s entirely free of the IPC, but the less Aventurine is attached to the IPC, the less he has to keep up his facade and the more Ratio gets to see the man underneath, whether he goes by Aventurine, Kakavasha or a different name entirely

[marisatomay]

Caught out I’m afraid

[starlesscitiess]

i just think that once you read unholyverse you can never go back. you’re a changed person. now in a completely convoluted backdoor sort of way, catholicism is in your head forever

[cerealmonster15]

images that bring me peace. u simply dont understand. !!!!

[serrennedyanonwriter]

Y’all, I’m back on my Sims4 BS, and I got Chris kissing/finally dating Luis and Carlos.

[eileensdress]

Ok you cannot tell me it’s not a little bit funny that twn writers got so sick of geraskier somehow being the main ship that they FINALLY made someone a little fruity