#despite the very very LOUD and obvious abuse

[spacerockfloater]

Why the fuck does Laena Velaryon, who is canonically younger than Rhaenyra Targaryen in the show, look like a fucking 20-year-old in episode 5 while Rhaenyra, her elder, still looks fucking 13? Why the actual fuck did they change the YOUNGER girl’s actress and made her look older, but it’s okay for Rhaenyra to continue looking like a preteen? I’ll tell you why.

They’re trying to distract us from the fact that creepy ass Daemon is courting a 14-year-old. A FOURTEEN YEAR OLD. Rhaenyra is 15 in episode 1 and Laena is 12, meaning they have a 3 year age gap. Then, Viserys tells Rhaenyra that she must marry since she’s 17 now, making Laena 14, maybe 15 at best. So they obviously can’t afford having Daemon thirst over a child again, therefore this is a shitty attempt to cover up the fact that Laena still is a very fucking young child.

HBO what is this? Why do your casting choices indicate that you’re trying to use some kind of ageist technique to manipulate your viewers? Why are the supposedly good guys, Rhaenyra and her children, portrayed by very young actors? Is this to show how innocent and pure they are? Why are the characters who are supposedly evil, Aegon and Aemond, or the character for whom we shouldn’t worry too much about since she’s just a tool for Daemon’s story line to develop, Laena, portrayed by obviously older actors even though they’re all supposed to be kids? Because the youth = good people and old = bad people analogy is fucking gross and lowkey paedophilic. Not to mention how weird it is to make all the black girls in the show look like fucking grown ups. What kind of racist bullshit is this?

I can’t understand HBO’s decisionmaking for the love of me. Like, on the one hand, it’s so obvious that they’re forcing Daemon and Rhaenyra down our throats, to the point that I actually laughed out loud when the show runner said “he doesn’t get why people like Daemon”. Like, my guy, you MADE the show. You made him look like an appealing, dangerous, sexy, strong, victorious and mysterious man, so what do you mean you don’t get the appeal? On the other hand though, most of the actions that they allow Daemon to perform are so horrifying that it makes it impossible for a sane person to stand beside him and defend him. Like, they try to sugarcoat that he’s an abusive piece of shit yeah, but they somehow don’t shy away from the fact that he’s terrible? Are they doing both of these things on purpose? Are they trying to challenge the viewer, to show us how abusers, despite being openly deranged, still have their way of dazzling their victims, the average person, and hypnotising them with their charm? Is Daemon doing to us (and by us I mean you Daemon stans, not me, stay safe though) what he’s doing to Rhaenyra and Laena? Are the show producers testing the average viewer’s intelligence and ability to recognise an abuser? Will there be a lesson to be learned?

I would like to hope so but I highly doubt it, because while one could support this theory by arguing that changing Laena’s actress is an attempt to mask Daemon’s degenerative nature a bit so that it isn’t completely obvious that he’s a bad man, someone else could counter this argument by saying that we’ve already seen Daemon groom a minor so this wouldn’t be something new. We’ve seen him do much more violent crimes actually, so why shy away from the fact he’s a groomer when we are already aware of this? Idk man, I really want to think that HBO is trying to make us see that Daemon is an evil person, but then indirectly glorifying him constantly makes me believe they just want people to root for him.

P.S. I may anger a lot of people by saying this, so I’ll make myself clear by stating that I love and greatly respect actors who specialise in portraying evil characters, because doing so and not losing yourself is a challenge (*cough* Leto *cough*) but if done correctly, it’s a true showcase of one’s talent and hard work. Lee, De Niro, Hopkins, Bardem and Rickman are just a few to name. However, Matt Smith has never rubbed me the right way. No hate to the guy, I don’t even know him, but I’ve seen him play the villain in three separate occasions (HOTD, Last Night in Soho, Morbius) and I just get these weird vibes, but I usually told myself it’s just my imagination running wild. However, I recently found out that Smith claimed that Daemon is a loyal man who loves deeply and that his “heir for a day” brothel feast was his way of honouring Aema, which really disturbed me for obvious reasons. I don’t know if he said this because he’s trying to defend his character and by extension himself, or if he just wants to promote the show, or if he doesn’t understand Daemon or if he funnily enough has fallen victim to his own character’s charm and I don’t care because it is a dangerous thing to say. Painting this character, the arrogant, obnoxious, self serving, people slaughtering, wife murdering, backstabbing, abusing, grooming, lying, manipulating, war criminal of a man, in such a positive light while being a man yourself, knowing that most of this character’s supporters are young impressionable women who just find him hot, makes me lowkey wanna cover my drink in his presence, I don’t know.

[mamayan]

★Mind Break☆

Cult Leader! Tenko Shigaraki x AFAB! Reader

You should’ve known better than to run from the devil.

WARNING: This work contains depictions of psychological, physical, and emotional torture. Cult ideologies/problematic religious themes will be present throughout this writing, and will include nonconsensual and dubiously consensual sexual content. Abuse, violence, murder, sadism, and blood used even in a sexual context will be present. This story is not a romance, and depicts unhealthy obsessions and mental illness caused by psychological breaks. I am not going to tag this work further. By reading this work, you are agreeing that you understand it will include morally conflicting content and sexually explicit material which can be considered extreme. Read at your own risk, and enjoy. ♡

It wasn’t always like this.

You shift, abhorring your inability to function properly anymore, trying to make your body comfortable despite the freezing temperature having numbed your muscles into lead.

The metal bed chained and hanging off the damp stone walls seemed to inject ice into the very marrow of your bones. Was there even a point to it?

You distractedly listen to the soft scurry and skitter of mice. That was the point of it.

Everything hurt.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, face blotchy and swollen from the last round you’d given into.

It wasn’t like this before.

Sure, you’d occasionally slip up, and you’d get a swift smack on your ass for causing trouble. Where was that treatment now? It changed when he stepped up. When Father Shigaraki passed the torch to him, your life became a walking nightmare.

Your chest constricted, eyes shutting despite no light illuminating your surroundings as memories flooded. The throbbing in your skull becoming a fist pounding to get out.

When you’d finally gotten old enough, you’d left the compound. Ran away from everything you’d ever known and loved. Your instincts had screamed at you to get away. Tenko had become a man you could not withstand, because despite his treatment towards you, everyone loved him. They had hailed him as the next great leader and prophet, saying that he’d bring them to greatness and no one would’ve believed you. He was hope in the dark world for your community, and that was the sign which showed you that the only way to survive was to distance yourself as far as possible.

You stayed hidden for nearly five years… you truly thought for a moment you were free. You thought he’d forgotten. That your past would let bygones be bygones.

You were sorely mistaken.

You clenched your teeth as the loud sirens began, the noise so sharp and painful it made your head nearly break.

You could only weakly curl up, mind so foggy and disoriented you didn’t hear anything but a constant buzzing tone in your ears as the siren waned into silence again. You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve slept. Food was brought but it was merely pushed through a hole at the bottom of your metal door. You got two meals a day, bread and a watery vegetable soup.

The sharp pounding on the door cuts through the tinnitus and has you scrambling off the bed, muscles screaming in protest as your skin splits under the jagged earth you’d thrown yourself onto. Tattered clothing not helping the painful friction as you dig your bare feet into the stone and pushed yourself against a wall.

You weren’t fully cognizant, but as the heavy lock turned, you whined as warm light crawled into your space, nearly blinding you despite the dullness.

“Poor thing…,” his voice was raspier than you remember, more gravely in depth as he chuckles, looking down at your pathetic form curled and shaking.

“How’re you doing my little lamb?” His humor isn’t disguised in the least, his glee at seeing you vulnerable and weak for him obvious as he grins.

He tracks your bloody hands weakly hugging yourself, your bottom lip trembling as you look up under your lashes with those teary eyes he adores so much.

Your small pink tongue dips out to lick your lips, his dark garnet eyes watching intently.

“M-m’cold…” your voice is tiny, hardly audible.

His boots thump loudly as he walks towards you, ignoring how you clearly tense up and attempt to mold yourself into the wall to get away from him. When he’s close enough to nearly touch your bare feet with his boots, he crouches down, resting his forearms on dark denim as he tilts his head with a soft expression.

“Tell me lamb, was it fun out there?” The light against his back blanketed his pale skin in warmth, “Did you have fun in the big wide world, running around, dirtying yourself like some common whore?” You flinch as his tone grows in severity. Blurry vision looking at a familiar yet not face.

He has a scar on his lip, one which hadn’t been there before, crossing straight down.

He was still a beautiful man, the scar even seeming to add a masculine charm to his otherwise somewhat pretty visage. Soft purple rings clung beneath his eyes though, making him look softer somehow. He looked like he’d slept about as much as you.

You stared too long.

You can’t react when his hand shoots out and curls around your neck, fingers and rings digging painfully into your flesh as he cuts off your oxygen cruelly. Your fingers grasp at his wrist and hand, futile in their attempt to pry his death grip off your throat as you slowly suffocate. The pinch and pull of the jewelry he wore was breaking the delicate skin and making it more slippery as blood flowed.

He’s rambling, but it sounds like you’re underwater and he’s above the surface, as if he’s speaking another language.

Tears pool down your cheeks, rivers running freely like your blood as your face begins to take on a sickly dark hue, veins bulging in your face and eyes popping wide from their sockets. A few blood vessels bursting in your left eye.

Just as your vision goes dark, he lets you go.

Your coughing fit which followed nothing glamorous or cute, sputtering and hacking as bile rose but nothing came out. Your throat burned like someone forced you to drink gasoline and swallow a lit match, dropping over to your side by his feet and clutching where he’d left bloody indents.

“Pfft, you haven’t changed at all… I’m glad honestly.”

His boot connects with your side, merciful in the amount of strength exerted but still painful in your weakened state. You sputtered, nearly choking again on your saliva as you tremble and struggle to draw in air.

“No one is going to save you lamb, no one even wants to. When you ran away, you died to everyone here, everyone but me,” you can smell the leather of his shoe as he lifts it and brings it to your head, pushing down until you literally croak. “You should be grateful I’m showing so much grace to you lamb, the others suggested I do much, much worse to rehabilitate you.” His voice is snide while your heart wars with his words. He’s lying, he had to be.

You could only cry though. Sniffling beneath his boot as he lifted it off you, eager to look at your face.

His smile is vile, you note as your tired eyes flick up. He looked nothing like the messenger angel Father Shigaraki had dubbed him before his passing. As your tears blurred his pretty image… he looked like a demon from hell. A beautiful monster.

You weren’t sure what he even wanted from you, what it was he truly craved, but you wanted the pain to end.

Your palms scraped against the damp gravely floor below, finding a somewhat good position to lean your weight on and push your body up, even as your blood created an imbalance due to the slickness. Tenko let you, watching as your head hung in defeat lowered even further, chin tucked to your chest as your knees slid up. When you got to a semi-kneeling position, one hand steadying you on the ground, the other… the other reaching out and gripping his pant leg.

Those red eyes widened a fraction, watching intently as you look up at him from your spot on the floor.

His heart rate increased, pounding in his chest as he drank you in, lips twitching as his teeth ached. He didn’t stop you from using him as an anchor and rising up enough to sink your other hand into his pants too.

You looked like a dog begging for a treat, and his cock throbbed in agreement.

You remembered the degrading title he used to force you to call him when you were younger.

“M-Master…” it was almost inaudible, your sweet lips struggling to even form words after the abuse he leveled your throat.

“Master please…” even as your tears continued to fall, face ruined and messy, he laughed. Deep and boisterous, he nearly doubled over as he bared his white teeth.

“Fuck haha! You—!, okay, alright, what do you want little lamb, hm?” Once he calmed down enough, adrenaline high as he stares down at you with a renewed sense of vigor, he spoke.

He leaned down a bit, cupping your jaw and smiling deeper when you cringe and flinch, but still don’t pull away.

“Go ahead, you got my attention now.” He says it almost benevolently, but his eyes were impatient.

It hurt to swallow, your mouth having gone dry as you parted your lips.

“I want to be forgiven… I’m sorry…”

He lifted one sparse brow up. “Yeah? You’re sorry?” You nod, jerky and short as your neck flames up in pain.

He straights, tapping a finger against his lip in a gesture of consideration.

“Okay little lamb,” he snickers, “I’m willing to forgive you and let you leave here, but you need to be cleaned first.” You perk up, eyes finding a hint of light as the prospect of relief is dangled in front of you.

“Yes, anything please,” you gasp, desperation bleeding into your voice.

That’s why it takes you by surprise when his hands drop and begin to calmly undo his leather belt. Fingers steady and sure as you blankly watch him unbutton his jeans, and shimmy them down enough for his fat leaking cock to spring free.

“Well then, we can start by cleaning this filthy mouth first.” His eyes are closed as he grins, pearly canines on display and distorted features resembling something inhuman.

“T-Tenko…?” His hand not holding his cock swiftly sinks into your hair, easily dragging your face closer so he can slap the hard rod against your soft cheek a few times, the smell of him warm and bitter, contrasted by the damp cool air around you. “That’s not what you call me, is it lamb?” He doesn’t sound angry, but when you look back up, he’s dropped his cock and raised his hand.

The blow is more sharp than it is brute force, your head held in place by his other hand to avoid you collapsing and hitting your head on the floor.

Your cry echoes weakly. Face inflamed as your jerked right back to his groin where he smashes your injured cheek against his dick, rubbing it in as he groans.

“You need to be retaught manners too it seems, but we’ll just stick with a simple cleaning today.”

He’s speaking as if discussing a mundane topic like the weather, scolding you like one might scold a child in school. His tip rubbing and spreading pre-cum and tears across your face as you calm down from the pain he assaulted you with.

“Open your mouth.” He’s not asking but you obey and part your lips.

He holds a lot of your weight up by your hair, watching in fascination as his swollen mushroom tip rests against your bottom lip. His engorged meat rod looks insidious against your face pretty, thick veins protruding from the angry red of the skin, long and thick but tapering towards the tip a little where it curves up. He lets his hips tip, the tip entering your warm wet cavern, lips opening wider as he sinks about a quarter inside.

Your face scrunches, likely due to the sensation and taste of him, little tongue moving languidly against the underside of his shaft. He curses, bucking his hips a little more and arm exerting force when you attempt to pull back.

You whine around him, hands trying to push his hips back but too weak to prevent him from sliding out and doing it again.

“That’s it lamb, I’m just cleaning your mouth, relax~” he chuckles, Tenko’s grip in your hair tightening painfully as he begins testing your limits with depth and speed.

“I wouldn’t have to do this if, fuck, you just stayed home where you belong like a good girl,” he moans, your teeth accidentally grazing his cock but it seems to spur him on rather than flinch in pain.

“Shit, that’s it, go ahead and bite if you feel like dealing with a concussion, I’ll break your skull on this floor happily.” He’s sneering down at you, loving the fear which enters your gaze as you now struggle to open wider and avoid such a fate. It only helps him work his cock deeper, into your throat where you almost scream due to the blinding pain.

His earlier damage still too fresh as he loses it moaning, your slobber and blood now coating his cock and bringing delicious friction as he lets his tip tease your raw throat. His balls tap against the under side of your chin, his white pubic hair nearly tickling inside your nose as he tries to fit all of himself inside your mouth.

The noises you made would make any normal person stop. The painful howls muffled by his cock and stuffed back down your throat, his speed increasing as his balls drew tight.

“Have to keep you clean inside and out lamb, so you’re going to take every drop—,” his teeth are grit, grinding together as his orgasm washes over him, hot ropes of cum gagging and suffocating you again as he lets his cock rest inside your throat while he finishes. You don’t feel the cum, only him twitch as he empties his load into your belly.

Your eyes stare blankly at nothing. Dark spots dotting your vision even when he pulls out and pushes you off him.

You land on your side, wheezing and clutching your throat again as you blink away the darkness threatening to consume you, your adrenaline keeping you awake as Tenko crouches down beside you again.

He’d redressed, looking unfazed with a healthy pink hue to his cheeks now.

“C-can I leave now…?” Your voice doesn’t even sound like your own now. Each syllable grating on your damaged flesh.

“Why the fuck would I let you leave?” His words nearly stop your heart. Icy dread replacing the burning.

“Y-you said…” your eyes leaked, face showing your absolute shock and disbelief.

He laughed, standing up again, shoving his hands in his pockets as he smiled down at you.

“I lied.”

His lips tug higher as he leaves, locking you away again even as your wail echoes woefully throughout his hideout.

Invisible needles stabbed up your knees, waking you up more than the blaring white light.

You wanted out, away from this migraine inducing brightness, but all you could do was pray.

As a child, you’d preferred to sleep or pass notes around rather than be immersed in devotional. You wished you paid more attention, because only God could save you from this hell.

You flinched, startling yourself as shadows stretched and danced around the walls, despite the fluorescents preventing such things from being cast.

Your arms wrap around yourself, kneeling and hunched over as the visions continued even when you closed your eyes. Faceless dark creatures trying to pry into your mind as you scream, the noise bouncing back and slamming into your sensitive eardrums, breaking you from the moment.

They were gone, your weary eyes tracked, licking your dry chapped lips and imagining how nice it would be to have some sort of lip balm or lotion.

Your head bowed again, lips running through carefully memorized prayers as events from your past unfurl like a blooming rose. Each petal a fractured piece you try to suppress and fail, the voice of your therapist so distant now since you’ve been home.

Deep breathes led to panic attacks and unconsciousness, the faces of family and friends skewed into wicked distortions you struggled to differentiate between dream and reality.

Tenko remained vivid in your memories though. You grimaced, as it was likely due to the pain he inflicted in your youth, which seared into your subconscious as a warning for any future interactions. Humans rarely touch a hot stove twice.

You shake and tremble as time drags on, murmuring scripture from memory as best you can to ask for grace, pleading for your safe release.

Tiny patters catch your attention, eyes blinking open and staring at a small mouse. Soft tuffs of light brown fur, the little creature might’ve invoked disgust and fear before your capture, but now only bland curiosity filled you.

It scurried around for a while, sniffing at the metal tray left by a thin hole on the bottom of the door, looking for crumbs it would not find.

It was… abhorrently cute.

You returned to prayer, until your evening meal arrived and was silently exchanged, your eyes catching not even a glimpse of skin.

You shuffled awkwardly before the tray, decorum gone as you eat with need for survival instead of enjoyment, eyes steely and swirling almost violently as a tiny squeak draws your attention down.

The mouse. Tiny pinpoint dark eyes and a little pink twitching nose face you.

You should kill it. It likely had diseases or something else, it’s better of dead but…

Something inside prevents you, and instead you drop a few crumbs of bread.

It was all you could spare. The little creature isn’t wasteful though, eating with gusto unlike you as you watch in mild amusement.

“If you like the food so much, we should switch places,” you whisper jokingly, the mouse ignoring you in favor of licking and sniffing out even the most minuscule piece of food left.

You finish your meal too, however unsatisfying and unfulfilling.

Your eyes close shut even though the light disallows you any proper rest, mind shutting off like a device to power down.

Your hazy brain reboots at the sound of footsteps some time later, obnoxious compared to the ones belonging to the one in charge of food delivery.

Tenko, your brain unhelpfully supplies. You don’t want to see him. You want nothing to do with him or this compound anymore, but your body was beginning to associate him with more than just pain.

He was warm, physically speaking at least, and the skin on skin contact left you reeling with comfort you didn’t want to receive from him. He’s a lunatic and a psychopath, and you loathe him like none other, but the terror of him is equal to the hatred.

Your new friend abandons you as the locks turn, your eyes trailing up from the ground to watch as the door slowly swings open, revealing the man who haunts even your dreams.

“Hello little lamb, did you miss me?”

Each wobbly step felt like treading over broken glass.

You could hardly stand, legs truly unused to the feeling as you’d given up your mad pacing in favor of protecting the damaged soles of your feet.

Not anymore though, as the hand tangled in your locks jerked you onward, using your hair almost like a lead as you stare at the filthy floor you traverse on, destination left an anxiety filled mystery.

“Come on little lamb~ we’re nearly there,” his soft cooing voice makes your insides revolt, twisting and causing you to stumble.

At least he’s there to make sure your face doesn’t hit the hard surface of the ground, oddly powerful in his lean physique as he simply holds up your weight and pulls you along side him.

He’s merry and cheerful, whistling occasionally as he strolls as if through a friendly neighborhood park and not some type of underground dungeon only found in medieval theatrics.

Your eyes trail back at the light smattering of your blood on the floor, wearily looking as far ahead as you could in this half crouched position.

It was dimmer out here than your cell. The blaring alarms replaced by white hot light that seared your mind awake and deprived you of sleep further.

Out here the shadows danced. Your eyes fearfully taking in the monsters beginning to crawl off the walls and towards you, just out of reach though, as if Tenko was holding them back.

That scared you even more.

A new room came up just at the end of the hall, a shorter distance than you’d felt it was.

He hauled you forward and threw you inside before dim lights illuminated the space from an antique switch on the wall.

There was only a chandelier in here, you noted before the breath left your lungs on impact with the ground, side blaring up in pain as you lay still.

Your eyes widen, pupils dilating as strange staticky figures moved about the space, the room swirling like a whirlpool of colors before you were yanked up and out of the fever dream.

Tenko was humming some sort of hymn, his deep timber almost soothing despite his violent manner of dragging you towards a small in-ground pool.

A baptism pool, with steps leading into the shallow water with a metal railing for assistance, likely for the elderly.

Your vision seemed to jump back and forth between the water being a dark blue and bloody red, unintentionally jerking in Tenko’s hold.

He seems to misinterpret it, “It’s okay lamb, I’ll be baptizing you tonight, washing the sins of the outside world which tainted you away.” You want to bark at his delusional little speech, to roll your eyes or do something, but you’re silent like a doll in his hold. Weak. Pathetic. Worthless. Powerless.

He lets you drop, in favor of scooping you up bridal style in his arms, your filthy sorry figure truly in need of a bath you’ve been denied thus far.

He’s not the least bit repulsed, seeming even thrilled to hold you close as he smiles his pearly white canines at you.

“Look at you, being so good for me. I almost want to reward you,” he chuckles, face calm and even as he takes you both fully clothed into the shockingly cold water.

He doesn’t even flinch.

You’re unable to do much else but gasp, curling into Tenko’s warm chest as chills immediately wrack your body.

Once he’s about waist deep, he extends his arms and lets your feet sink down, one hand spread between your shoulder blades and keeping you up.

Those red hued eyes truly seemed to manifest evil, the dim lighting not dampening the color’s vibrance. He looks like a malevolent angel.

“Are you ready? You’ll need to hold your breath for just a little while I recite the passage.”

Something inside is trying to worm itself out past your lips, begging you to speak up, move away, not trust him.

You can’t seem to remember exactly why as you nod numbly.

Until his free hand raises up, pressed against your chest just under your collarbone and caging your upper body between his hands.

His smile is almost serene.

Then you’re submerged, just barely enough time to hold your breath while the chilling liquid around you wakes you.

Your eyes blink open despite the chlorine burning them, seeing him through a strange mirage now, lips moving and canted up.

Your chest starts to hurt after ten seconds. Then it’s a somewhat urgent need after twenty.

At thirty your instincts take hold and you struggle, air being pushed out meanly by his hand as he applies pressure to still you.

It’s impossible though, you need to breathe. You need it with urgency as your feet kick out, arms coming up to fight and remove his grip, but he just keeps you under. The adrenaline wins though, finally pushing him roughly so you can come up for greedy gulps of air, choking and sputtering while the rooms spins and nausea grips you.

“You didn’t even last a minute lamb,” he remarks offhandedly, and your near drowning reminds you why he is to be feared like death itself because his next move is to grip your throat, the other tangling back in your hair while he smiles down at you, face cinching unnaturally tight as he leans over your panting trembling figure.

“How about this? If you can last a minute, we’ll stop.”

Liar, your heart and mind roar with passion, but your survival instincts demand you do so because it meant life or death.

He doesn’t prepare you this time, sinking you under while his laugh filters through the water into a muddled tune as you fail to even last thirty seconds this time, clawing and biting like a wounded animal as your vision begins to go dark and lungs threaten to shut down.

He yanks you back up, just enough time to gather in air before you’re plunged again, vision beginning to fade as those horrid shadow creatures emerge, almost playfully as you dance around suffocation.

Your mind is playing tricks, these devils aren’t real, not when the one above you is flesh and bone attempting to end your miserable existence.

You’re dragged to the surface again, fighting for freedom from the death grip which holds you in the water as you lash out, a war cry almost deafening to your own sensitive ears.

It’s impossible to tell how long it goes on, your will for survival being challenged by a soul deep exhaustion, finger nails soaked in blood from scratching at his arms and even his bared skin around his throat and chest.

He’s content to watch the inevitable. The moment when your mind releases the concoction of chemicals to ease your death peacefully, because it could fight no longer as he repeatedly drowns you.

His eyes gleam with wicked joy, pupils enlarged as he pushes you beneath the water again, you’re thrashing so much more futile despite how you still struggled. You still wanted to live.

It’s inevitable though, when your vision goes dark, creeping in at the edges and swallowing your sight hole as a painless numbness washes over you.

You begin to hear again first. Strange warbled noises and hissing. Your foggy mind is content to drift, light as you feel rested and freed from the confines of agony which plagued you like a disease so long.

It sounds pained, the noises, the strange squelching and smacking not connecting as you languidly listen and try to decipher what was occurring around you.

Your vision returns next. Slowly, as if not to frighten you, your eyes begin to take in more and more light. Faded blurry shapes and colors becoming clarified into a full picture you could actually make out.

You were on the ground, this floor tiled like you’d see around a public pool. Face resting down as you looked at a familiar baptism pool which began filling your mind with dread.

The water was rippling, your eyes noting that the room was rocking.

Feeling came back last. You felt the chilly air slowly prick at your wet skin and hair, teeth sensitive as you felt your body rock, pressure and numbness beginning to fade into true feeling. Your hand was out stretched and dipped into the water, as if he couldn’t be bothered to fully pull you out, the cool liquid somewhat refreshing as your skin felt hot and feverish.

A blooming white hot pain in your rear caught your full attention though, body too weak to even manage words as you lay limp on the ground, realization dawning as full frontal clarity strikes you like a branding iron.

“Awake?” He muses, hand moving to press your face back down when you attempted to lift your head, not bothering to lessen his crushing weight as you choke and heave. Your eyes can only widen further, looking up at the mirrors which acted as a backdrop to the the pool to see your body and not recognize it. Not recognize you. As if this was all happening to another as he grunts, the hot iron rod which continued its path inside your taunt previously unused sphincter as you groan low in your throat like a wounded animal. Your own native language foreign in your mind as it goes blank to only focus on the mirrors.

His pretty face screwed up in pleasure, his tongue nearly hanging out his mouth as he pants and works his hips against you, more of a struggle to fully sheath himself inside your bleeding rectum due to the lack of preparation he’d done. The stretched ring of muscle inflamed as he lets a drop of spit hit just above it and slide around his cock as he grips your hips.

“You have such a tight little ass—fuck—,” his head drops, hair falling into his face as he watches you take him, pulling out occasionally to see how wide he’s left your abused asshole.

“—p-please—,” you brokenly whimper the words, still unable to fathom why this all was happening. What did you do?

It didn’t matter, not when his thrusts were getting rougher, thick cock spearing you and nearly tearing you open as he grunts and moans above you.

“Keep begging lamb, I want to hear it,” he chuckles, and your vision becomes blurred with tears you can’t even wipe away. Too tired and hurt. You wanted to sleep again.

He doesn’t like your unresponsiveness though, bucking hard and digging his knees into the ground to scoot you up.

You shriek as he pushes your torso back into the water, hand tangled in your hair as he cackles now, deranged expression lighting up at the break in your stoic facade.

“I-I’m sorry—!” Your voice is broken and raspy as you cry out, hands trying to keep him from pushing your head back into the water as his cock begins slamming inside you aggressively.

Blood, spit, and his earlier load he’d jerked and shot over your unconscious figure frothed at the base of his cock as he sinks inside you.

“Start begging lamb!” He moans as you tighten in fear and panic, senseless babbling too quick and jumbled for him to truly appreciate.

“Tsk, that’s not how you beg—fucking idiot,” he sighs, ruthless as he shoves you beneath the water again. Enjoying your futile struggle as your hips jerk and work his cock with delicious friction inside your rigid hot walls.

“Fuck yes, tighten your ass slut, that’s it!” He’s close just from watching you struggle.

Your eyes are open, staring at the bottom of the pool as he abuses your hole above the surface, oxygen deprived and delirious until he yanks your head up.

He moans loudly when you cough and sputter water out, the suction of your walls driving him wild as his thrusts become more jerky and uneven.

“O-oh God please—!” You can only sob for mercy, praying to be saved from the purgatory that is Tenko Shigaraki.

“Yes—! Pray to me baby, because I. Am. Your. Fucking. God.” He growls and punctuates each word with a merciless thrust, pushing you under one last time as he grinds his groin against your soft rear and pumps his load deep inside.

Bleary eyes blink open to dim lighting, seeing a familiar cell from the position of the metal bed.

Your head ached like it might split open any second, but your soul felt the most damaged.

You could only whimper and whine as you sat your stiffened body up, muscles screaming in protest as you stood before collapsing to the ground below.

It was a miserable reality as you dragged yourself over to the little toilet in the corner, attempting to relieve yourself but only finding the water saturated with murky red and clots.

The little sink difficult to use as a wash station, as you cup the icy water, for once grateful for it, and let it wash down your battered form.

It took what seemed like forever to clean away the evidence of him, but as you looked around, you realized blandly there were no clothes for you anymore.

What you’d worn to the… baptism, had been stripped in your unconscious state. He didn’t seem to feel like returning the tattered rags.

You crossed the room, laying beneath the metal bed now, content with just sitting with the low hum of aches inside and out of you. Curled on your side, you sit and watch the door in the dim orange glow of the lights.

They turned off the white fluorescents, which meant the noise would come soon.

It did, not long after that thought, the wailing siren began as you numbly looked ahead, no longer flinching at the noise.

Hours seemed to pass before your food arrived, which you crawled towards, content with eating on your stomach as you rested.

It was the familiar squeak which granted your friend the favor of seeing your face.

Your little mouse came just on time for… whatever meal this was. You hardly paid mind to it, throwing a few generous crumbs for your mouse like a gracious host.

“You should feel honored mouse, this is the finest bread they serve here.” Your giggle is slurred as you bite into the stale bread, mouth dry and the baked good only acting as sandpaper.

You finished it all though. Your mouse not one to be beat either, leaving no trace of the crumbs you’d left for it.

You smiled, content to watch it skitter about, before it curiously moved closer to you.

Then a little closer.

Then it was sniffing your finger, flinching back at first when you lift it, but coming back anyway as you softly pat its tiny head with the tip of your pointer.

“Am I all you got down here…?” You imagine those beady little eyes filled with intelligence and understanding.

“That’s okay. We can stick together.” It’s whispered like a sworn secret.

You let your eyes fall closed, trusting mouse not to attempt to nibble on you while you slept.

You awoke with a jolt, heart beating wildly in your chest as shadows rampaged around the room, the sound of the siren wailing as you try and scramble away from the chaos.

They were everywhere, trying to grab you, actually grabbing you, your scream of fright falling on empty halls as you struggle with your sanity.

Your legs kick out, arms thrashing as you attempt to fight off these morphing demons, hazy mind fighting for some sense of reason despite the madness.

A clawed hand reached at you from below, your palm instinctively coming down to smack it away in your panic.

The siren ends, and with it, the shadows seem to disperse as you pant and try to catch your breath, dizziness and fatigue weighing on you as your fingers rub together and feel something… stinky.

Your heart stops. The world seems to as well.

“Mouse…?”

It’s not real. Yet the little brown clump of fur and dark blood and guts could only be the dead body of your tiny friend.

“Mouse— I-I didn’t mean it— wait, why?!” Your shriek echoes, blood on your hand streaking your cheek now as you wail in anguish, careful to lift up the mangled corpse you’d crushed.

You did this. You hurt it. It was your fault.

It felt like you were being shattered. Screaming until you couldn’t anymore, coughing up blood from your raw and abused throat, clinging to your cooling friend as time became irrelevant.

Food came and went. You didn’t touch it. You didn’t know how many trays were given and taken away without a single piece touched, but it finally summoned him.

Heavy boots were your first clue, eyes still following shadows of little mice dancing around you.

The door opening changed the direction of your gaze as Tenko stepped inside, face impassive this time as he looks at you.

His presence invokes the tears which bubble and spill down your cheeks, quick to crawl on your knees to him like he was your last salvation.

“Please—,” your lower lip wobbled as your scratchy small voice broke the silence. “She’s hurt… I hurt her… please…” and he watched.

Watched the lovely little angel he adored lose her wings and fall to the depths of hell where he ruled.

“Shh… it’s okay, I’m here. Let me see,” he crouches down, smile soft and soothing to your frayed nerves, one hand moving to tuck a matted and tangled chunk of your hair behind your ear. He didn’t seem the least bit repulsed by the decomposing mouse corpse you held. Eyes focused and attentive on you, as you cried and confessed the sin of murder to him.

Like he was your God.

He wrapped you up in his arms, carrying you out as you sobbed weakly for mercy and forgiveness… for the little mouse and for your crime of harming it.

Your face buried in his neck, breathing in the scent of bleach and chemicals like it was fresh air.

You were curled up in a ball, rocking yourself comfortingly as you trembled in fear before hallucinations so real you weren’t able to differentiate anymore. Shadow monsters haunting you at every second except when he was around, trying to crawl into your mind and destroy you completely.

Your hands ran through your hair, clean now as Master had been returning nearly everyday to bathe you with him.

He should be back soon.

You glance at the bed and clean living space, somehow so foreign and alien that you feel terrified of even laying on it without him.

You hum a familiar hymn, counting the seconds until these demons are cast out in his presence.

Your soft skin is naked and bare, but the room is warm despite phantom goosebumps raising.

The door opens, boots muted on the fluffy carpet, strolling towards you with ease and grace as you unfurl and crawl towards him.

“Little lamb, did you miss me?” His cherry red eyes sparkling with amusement and mischief, glossy white hair swept back save a few strays which framed his face.

Your smile is genuine as you nod, “Welcome back Master.”

He watches you with immense satisfaction, your skin and hair healthier now that you’ve been rehabilitated and given proper nutrition and care.

You sit perfectly still, nude body on display for thousands of eyes. The solemn atmosphere disallows for embarrassment as Master speaks, voice carrying his message and voice of God for the people.

“With this sacrifice, let our sins be washed in blood!” his arms spread wide, the cheer of the church deafening yet you move not a single muscle.

You don’t watch, even as the muffled screams become gurgled sounds of drowning.

The sacrifice had to be a damned sinner, one Master deemed better off sent to Heaven early. Dying for the church like this meant even though they were unclean, they could still find salvation through their death. It wasn’t anything new, even as a child you’d witnessed such things.

You cease useless thoughts, eyes trained on him.

He caught your gaze, eyes crinkling as he grins before winking.

They smear the freshly spilled blood over you, hooded masked members wordlessly carrying out the ritual.

“Now the blood of a virgin needs to be spilled…” he murmurs for heads to bow, prayer beginning but you don’t close your eyes, staring out blankly as iron burns your nostrils.

Your skin painted with the blood of a sinner, laid dead on another alter, which you let yourself skip from staring at.

The prayer finishes as Master rises, turning his attention on you as he walks your way. His clothing is all white, current appearance similar to a saint as he approaches.

“Little lamb,” he smoothes a hand through your soft hair with affection, bright red eyes nearly glowing as he leans close, undeterred by the blood coating your cheeks, lips, forehead, and major portions of your body. “Are you ready to be slaughtered?”

A chant in the crowd begins. Hummed at first, building in volume, the words ominous. “Lamb for slaughter.”

You briefly wonder if you’re next, just like the man they’d gutted next to you.

You nod anyway. It hardly mattered whatever he chose to do with you.

Your eyes still widened in surprise as he pushed you gently to lay back on the alter, as he climbed up as well before his people watching with heated gazes.

Master grins, looking sinister and beautiful as he licks his lips and addresses the masses.

“I shall now make the virgin bleed,” you don’t question him as he easily spreads your thighs open, leaving your slit on full view for the crowd and his own eyes.

“Be good for me lamb, I know you can do it,” these words are hushed and spoken just for you, as he places a gentle kiss on your forehead. The action is soothing, and you allow your muscles to relax as you watch the crowd with a mixture of emotion.

Were they real or shadows?

You jolt as you feel something hot and wet prod your vaginal entrance, looking down to see Master had freed his heavy thick cock, erect and leaking from the dark red tip as he pumps it with his free hand a few times.

Then he lets the soft warm tip slip through your folds, parting them to press.

It takes immense force that leaves your chest heaving for air as your finger nails chip and break on the marble alter, body wracked with the intense desire to cringe and pull away.

You stay still, as he grunts pushing into your dry walls, essentially digging his cock inside your cunt to burrow deep.

You’re hardly breathing anymore, face frozen in agony as he stuffed you with each searing inch as you grit your teeth and endured.

The chanting was muted by the muddled noise in your head, like water in your ears, as tears slid down your cheeks.

He pulls out completely once his tip kisses your cervix. His cock coated in a sheen of your blood, though whether it was actually your hymen or the tearing of your vaginal walls was not important. It was the symbolism.

He lets his people take in the sight of you both, feeling pride swell inside him as they grow wild with excitement, moving to close in around you both now. The elders stayed back, their robes and masks in place as they continued the chant while the younger and common members touched and groped your trembling body, smearing the blood and even moving it down to your slit where you jerked a little.

“Be gentle with my lamb, tonight, I make her my wife on this auspicious occasion.” His teeth are sharp and glaring as he smiles, your eyes watching as if behind a screen.

What day was it? You wondered oddly, curious why you couldn’t recall it at all.

Master begins disrobing, shamelessly revealing each inch of his lean muscular build for all eyes as he falls on you again, this time caging your view in to only see him.

Your eyes connect, his alight with joy. “Keep your eyes on me while I fuck you stupid tonight.” He whispers in your ear, too low for anyone else to pick up on, using the position to lick the shell of it as you moan at the strange sensation.

He uses one arm to stay propped above you, letting the other move towards the hooded hard nub just above your slit, pressing softly and rubbing circles as electric shocks of pleasure zap up your spine. Your toes cramp as you try to straighten, but his hips smashing against you ass he sinks into you again stop your movements.

Your eyes widen in shock.

It doesn’t hurt at all.

It’s strange, the fullness still heavy and different, but the sting and ache are gone as he uses the blood of that scapegoat as lube to fuck your pretty cunt.

Tenko laughs as your eyes glaze over, face already showing the euphoria as he works your clit and his cock slowly into you, taking his time this round without the necessity of injuring you.

His gaze even gentle as he almost lovingly fucks you, the terrified expression on your face amusing at the very least for him.

“Relax lamb, we got the pain out of the way, just keep your legs spread for me and I’ll do all the work.” He assures, and like always, you fall for it.

He works you both to climax quickly, chuckling as you clamp and seize around his cock helplessly.

Your hands gripping at his shoulders as he leans down to kiss you, slipping his tongue in your mouth for a filthy kiss that leaves you light headed and pliant as he hardens again inside you.

You glance down wearily, his hips grinding back into you as his finger works your clit again.

“Let’s feel so good we both want to die.” Those red eyes seal your fate.

“Tenko! Stop breaking your toys, I’m not gonna share mine if you do.” Small childish and chubby hands grip at his own, tugging the toy owned by you from his grasp as he eyes you with disdain not matching a child his age.

“I have to break them.” He rolls his eyes, picking up the disfigured doll he’d “fixed” given to him by his previous family. The ones before his Master Father Shigaraki took him in.

“Why? That’s stupid.” You retort, obnoxious as you try to hide your dolls as if he even wanted them.

“Because if I don’t break it, then how is it even really mine?”

Post dividers/@cafekitsune

A/N:

I hope you enjoyed this piece! It was very self indulgent if I’m being honest~

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐄

Yandere Scott Summers x GN Reader

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓: When Scott feels his authority over you — the authority to keep you safe — is undermined, he has no choice but to show a little tough love. And, unfortunately for you, he doesn’t hold back.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒: platonic yandere content, strict mentor Scott, younger rookie reader, infantilism if you squint, slight intimidation tactics, argument, sparring gone wrong, technical physical abuse(?), Scott just goes ham on beating the shit out of you, all in the name of keeping you safe of course, blood mentioned, sight manipulation, sickeningly soft Scott at the end.

Cyclops goes too easy on you.

All the other X-Men know it; Wolverine and Gambit always make sure to tease you about it every chance they get. Despite all of the hard work you’ve put in since you joined the team, it’s like your field commander thinks you’re made of glass with how he opts for defensive maneuvering in sparring lessons. He’ll never throw a punch or go for the kick, instead blocking or catching whatever you throw his way. You swear he even lets you go for the take down rather than letting you earn it yourself.

It’s just so frustrating. He’s the one who keeps saying you have to prove you’re for a mission… how can you do that if he never gives you the chance? You came here to be one of the X-Men, so you deserve to be trained like one. Hell, he even exchanges blows with Jubilee, and she’s no older than you are. Meanwhile, the most you get is a slight shove or the gentlest pin-down known to man. How is this preparing you for anything out on the field?!

“(Y/N), stay focused.”

And there’s his annoyingly demanding voice snapping you out of your spiral of irritated thoughts.

The two of you were “sparring” in the Danger Room, long after everyone else left. As usual, you mentally jeered; he always has something he wants you to hang back for, because even the most trivial things need to be “corrected” in his eyes. Today, you were unfortunate enough to “push your punch,” as he put it, and now you were stuck with him until he finally deemed the problem fixed. After being forced to punch the air for a solid 10 minutes — not without his very much needed critiques, of course — you were finally back to directing your fists at him.

(At least this is a chance to take out my anger on the source, you bitterly thought to yourself.)

The mundane you-punch-and-he-blocks experience (because that’s all it is; you weren’t really “sparring”) has been going on for the past 5 minutes. You’ve gotten in some solid blows, some of them actually catching him by surprise, much to your satisfaction. But it was obvious your heart wasn’t into it, and it was only a matter of time before he noticed.

Catching your next punch in his hand, he gave you a tight frown. “Hey. Did you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” you responded through gritted teeth. It was easy enough to twist your fist out of his grip, which only added to your vexation; he should’ve at least pretended to try.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” the older mutant retorted, crossing his arms over his chest (part of you wanted to take this as a chance to deliver a sharp kick to his side, but you refrained). “I could’ve easily neutralized you from how sloppy that blow was.”

Before your brain could catch up, your mouth spat out a loaded question; “then why didn’t you?”

“(Y/N),” he lowly warned.

“What?” It was hard to keep the poison out of your tone, but you tried your best. “I’m one of the X-Men too, you know. I can handle it!”

The visor over his eyes made his expression harder to read. All you could go off of was the bottom half of his face, and from the way his jaw tightened, you could tell he wasn’t in the mood for this. “You can’t.”

“Wh—” you were caught off guard from the pure vindication of his words, causing you to drop your fighting stance entirely. “Yes I can! You can’t just decide that!”

“I’m your leader,” he spat out, “I can decide whatever I want for the sake of my team.”

“You can’t call yourself my leader if you don’t let me on missions! That’s just unfair!” To accentuate your exasperation, you threw your arms out to the side. “Look, man. You can bench me all you want, but at least train me with the same respect as everyone—”

He was quick to cut you off. “This isn’t about respect, (Y/N). You’re just not ready for that level of training, and your performance today proves that. You’re getting lazy.”

“Only ‘cuz you don’t take me seriously,” you scoffed. Before he could say something to that, you quickly continued. “These aren’t sparring sessions. Not actually helpful ones, anyway. I mean, if you’re never gonna fight back, why even bother?! You may as well have me waste my time punching a training dummy instead—”

“That’s enough,” he snapped at you, but you only continued.

“Can’t you just hear me out?!” A frustrated groan tumbled from your lips. “I’m not asking you to drop me in the middle of a war zone, I just want you to actually train me!! At this rate, I’ll never be ready for a mission!! Please, Cyke… I wanna be trained for real!”

Cyclops went eerily silent at this. While you couldn’t see his eyes, the glare he was giving you translated quite well, causing a shiver up to go up your spine. Nevertheless, you stood your ground; you finally spoke your mind, and you weren’t going to let him intimidate you out of this. You’ll easily take an optic blast to the face if it meant getting your point across.

“… Get ready, then,” was his flat reply.

You were only given a fraction of a second to process the implication before he quickly took on a fighting stance, delivering a precise jab to your rib cage. His movements were nothing but a blur to you, the painful blow almost knocking you off your feet as you let out a shout. He gave you no time to recover as he threw his next punch, which you fortunately managed to dodge, albeit barely. A rapid procession of fists followed, and you could feel the gusts of them as you desperately tried to keep up your evasive maneuvering.

It soon became harder and harder to keep up with how fast he was moving. You eventually had to resort to blocking with your forearms; an experience you found to be quite painful. The sheer power from his punches made your bones feel like they were gonna splinter, the skin of your arms already burning from agony. One nasty hit at the wrong angle could very well break something. Surely, Cyclops was keeping this in mind, right?

The focus you had on his upper half made you completely neglect keeping an eye on his legs. This mistake quickly caught up to you when his knee collided with your jaw, the reflexive flinch of your hand being too late to stop it. As your teeth smashed together and caught your tongue in the process, his fist gave you no time to recollect yourself as it planted itself square in your nose. Stars filled your vision, your balance becoming less and less controlled. Cyclops easily took advantage of this and delivered a turning kick to your side, right in the same spot he initially punched you in.

You felt your head colliding with the Danger Room’s floor before you even realized you were knocked down.

The taste of blood filled your mouth, and you could vaguely feel some trinkling out of your throbbing nose. Weakly attempting to push yourself off of the ground, a strained grunt left your vocal cords as you became quite literally painfully aware of the aching in your arms. Just as you managed to get up on your hands and knees, a downwards force suddenly pinned you back against the floor and effectively knocked all of the wind out of your lungs. You could feel the heal of his boot against your shoulder blades. He was applying enough pressure for you to distantly worry about your rib cage, and all you could do was pathetically struggle against it.

“This is what I meant,” he coldly remarked. “You can’t handle it.”

Blood mixed with saliva dribbled down your chin as you tried to spit something back. “Th-This isn’t—”

“You’re not ready,” he interrupted, the foot he has on your back only crushing your chest further. “For the field, for the Danger Room simulations, for any sort of training that could leave you like this.”

Finally, the pressure on your back was alleviated, causing you to gasp out for air. Your vision was become fuzzy, but you didn’t dare succumb to the darkness, instead rapidly trying to blink away the splotchy holes. A wet cough from your lungs only worsened the burning sensation through your body. Below you, the floor was becoming a canvas of speckled blood, both from your nose and mouth as you desperately heaved for air.

Fight or flight was the only thing keeping you conscious at this point.

“C… Cy—ke,” you wheezed, desperately struggling to get up on your hands and knees again. “Please, I…”

“Stay down,” he warned from above you. The danger that laced his words made a shiver go up your spine, causing your movements to falter. After a few moments, however, you gingerly continued to push yourself upwards, which caused your field leader to growl out a low, “(Y/N).”

It took all your strength to ignore him; to ignore your better judgement.

Cyclops didn’t take to kindly to that.

The feeling of his hand cradling the back of your neck made your shoulders jolt, and it wasn’t long before your face collided with the ground. He kept a firm grip on your head as he swiftly maneuvered your hands to his liking, pinning one to your back against his knee and the other right next to your face. It quickly dawned upon you that struggling was futile, yet despite that, you tried anyways. A frustrated sigh left the older mutant’s lips at your thrashing and twisting.

“This for your own good,” he chided, tightening his hold on you. “Stop struggling. You’re only going to hurt yourself.”

“You’re—!! The one h-hurting me,” you snapped back. A cry of pain ended your sentence as he dug his knee further into your back.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” said Cyclops with a low tone. He was letting you take his full body weight, and you found it increasingly harder to breathe. “Why can’t you just let me do what’s good for you? Why can’t you just let me take care of you?”

That last part rendered you completely still. Take care of you? What the hell did he mean by that? Was this seriously his idea of taking care of you? Giving you the kiddy treatment and then beating the crap out of you when you ask to be treated with actual respect?

What the hell is this guy’s problem?!

He must’ve taken your state of shock as a white flag, because the weight on your body was finally letting up. As much as you wanted to take this as an opportunity to catch him off guard, it suddenly dawned upon you just how much agony you were in. Your chest ached from your lungs to your rib cage. The nerves in your forearms felt like they were punched numb. You couldn’t even breathe from your nose and instead had to rely on your mouth (it didn’t help that the ghost of air over your wounded tongue created a sharp sting). What little fight you had left in you was rapidly depleting, rendering you completely tired on the ground.

“There,” he breathed out, the softness in his tone sounding foreign to your ears. “Just relax. Easy, now. You’re in no condition to try anything, you hear me?”

You couldn’t even muster up enough energy to roll your eyes at his coaxing murmurs. Though it pained you to admit it, he was unfortunately right; now wasn’t the time to be testing your luck. His hands slowly moved away from your head and wrist, his knee eventually following suite after a deliberate moment. Then, as delicately as he could, he peeled you off of the floor and into his strong arms. Every part of your body felt like it was on fire, and you couldn’t stop the pathetic wince from your throat.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you now.” He gently tucked your head in the crook of his neck, rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder blades. “Let’s get Beast to check you over, yeah?”

No response came from your mouth. All you could do was slump against his chest and fight a losing battle against the beckoning call of unconsciousness. His quiet coos started to sound more and more distant, and before you knew it, you were out like a light.

Cyclops goes too easy on you.

Perhaps you finally found out why.

[bootlegramdomneess]

Hello! If is okay I would like to ask you something about how you interpret this aspect of show as a therapist.

Why do you think is Sydney the one that calls Carmy’s panick attacks? (the one in opening day, and that moment in “doors” when she calms him down when he is screaming they are to slow, and because of her, he calms down and the frantic music stops)

Does it had to do with love (even though I also think they are in love) or is because of trust and the bond they share? Secure attachment kind of thing? Is it because the particular type of abuse he has suffered? Or is something about Sydney’s personality? Would love your take on that.

Thank you 🙏🏼

ooo. Thanks for the question. Okay, there are a lot of layers to this

In season one we see Sydney coming into the beef during a time where Carmy was trying to get everyone to understand what he was trying to do, and meeting Sydney, he saw she understood where he was coming from. It had to be a big relief. I think Carmy comes from a space of feeling as though no one truly understands him or who he is. I think meeting Sydney was a shock to his system because here was someone who understood what he was trying to do at the Beef. Here was someone who shared the same vision as him. Similar ideas. Similar plans. Who is passionate about cooking. Here was a person who knew the part of his life (Being a chef) he didn't share with anyone. As time went on, he connected with her on a professional level, he depended on her, he relied on her in a way, i think, he never has with anyone in the kitchen. Sydney has this way about her that can be very disarming. Disarming to the point where he felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with her in telling her about his Al-anon meetings. I think by the end of the season, he tried to subconsciously sabotage this relationship by exploding on her, but still invited her back into his life---despite her challenging his core beliefs of no one understanding him or he has to do things on his own. Or he can't get close to anyone.

2. In season 2 we see a shift in their dynamic where trust has been built. They've grown closer. They're having conversations about their personal lives. They're giving each other advice. They've built this little family inside the restaurant. Sydney is slowly now integrated into his family. They're literally building their future together. But here Carmy goes, sabotaging things (by bringing the C person into the dynamic) again because his relationship with Sydney is once again challenging his core beliefs. This is the theme I'm starting to notice.

3. Carmy admires Sydney. He values her opinion. He sees interpersonal skills she brings into the kitchen, and into their dynamic, that he wants to mirror himself. (This is partway why he is ALWAYS watching her)

He constantly asks if things are okay between them. He doesn't lie to her. (outside of omitting who the C person was). He tries his best to articulate his feelings to her without her prompting. When he said "I don't want to do this without you. I can't do this without you. You make me better at this." He meant that shit. That is so hard to admit out loud for him because the emotional stakes and the fear of rejection is so high for him. it's obvious he holds her in such high regard because he does not do or say any of those things to anyone else in his life. He ignores them. He shuts them out. He avoids. He doesn't communicate. (Just look at his entire dynamic with the C person. Just look at how he's shut her out completely).

4.This season he feels so ashamed and upset that he left Sydney alone. "I left you alone." After promising to her various times, he won't do that. He is devastated by this. he was yelling GET SYDNEY when he was locked in the freezer because he left her alone. So now he's gone into the extreme mode to try and fix it the things between them even though she didn't feel he abandoned her.

He told Sydney to check him if he's fucking up. He trusts he will listen to her when she does and correct himself. We are now at a point where he does not want to fuck shit up with her anymore. He is now allowing Sydney's presence in his life to challenge his core belief without sabotaging it. I think, Carmy has already casually admitted in his mind that he has strong feelings for Sydney, but I think he's put it in a deli and stored it on a shelf for various Carmy reasons.

So, when Sydney checks him in the kitchen, tells him to calm down, he listens. Sydney doesn't view Carmy as broken. Despite knowing he has anxiety and panic attacks. Despite his emotional issues, despite his family dysfunction. I think Sydney views him as someone who can hold it together. She doesn't coddle him because she sees he is trying and has the ability to get his act together. When she says: "So don't fuck up" is a great example of that.

Sydney is clear in her expectations of him. She holds him accountable. Sydney is gentle and disarming and forgiving in a way he is not with himself and he recognizes he needs that. Him being able to calm down when she tells him to, is her shaping his behavior. His thoughts of her helping him calm from a panic attack is because he trusts her voice. She is the port in the storm. She is the only one he trusts enough to be this way with him. Because he is in love with her.

[summerlovingbaby]

secrets

“ Don’t call him, don’t you dare-” she demanded through pained gasps. Her ribs were jutting out of her chest at painful angles, and blood from a nosebleed was pouring into her mouth.

A training incident gone wrong. A machine malfunction that ended with her being smacked through a brick wall and clear into the next room. She thought she was fine, at first she stood, then the pain hit her hard and she lost her footing and collapsed.

Bakugou was closest and caught her before she hit the ground, barking orders at the rest of the group, while they stood and watched like statues. By the looks of it she broke most of her ribs and she needed a hospital imediatly. He took his phone out of his pocket and dailed for an ambulance, and it was only when she woke up and began moaning in pain did the thought occurred to call her brother.

The Todoroki’s were twins, and despite their near identical looks, they didn’t seem all to fond of eachtother, what at first seemed to be like mutual indifference because increasingly obvious that it was less indefrence and more avoidance. Who could blame them, with the childhood they had. One ignored and clawing desperately for attention, one abused by the same man. 

Y/N scraped into UA by the skin of her teeth and fought hard to stay there. Her father actively didn’t want her to go to UA and was looking for any reason to withdraw her, and she was determined not to give him one. She was in the top of their class, trained harder than anyone, but was generally carless and reckless with her life because she didn’t think it was worth much.

Bakugou at least they assumed that they cared for eachother in weird ways.

Bakugou looked over her shoulder at Deku who was fiddling with his hands, “ Call Todoroki,” he demanded.

Her eyes widened at the thought of that, she lifted her shoulders from the ground, but pain shot through her spin and she flung backwards again. 

“ Deku don’t you dare,” she demanded. The last thing she wanted to do was be a bother to her. It seemed he actively disliked her, and she didn’t want to seem like a burden. “ You can’t call him, you better not, or I swear-”  her rant was cut off by a loud groan and a wet cough.

“ Should I call her dad?” someone asked in the crowd.

The thought of her father seemed to make her panic, where she was rather calm before, she frantically tried to get up, but only ended up rolling to her side. Blood spilt from her mouth and onto the wooden floor of the gym. Blue and red lights flashing outside the gym window let them know the ambulance was here. Y/N was then filled with an overwhelming feeling of dread rising from her chest, she could feel blood rising in her throat, and began to choke on it, she opened her mouth to breathe but could only gurgle out blood.

“ Don’t call her dad, call her brother,” Bakugou said, he grabbed her hand, in a poor attempt to calm her. He cool demaner slipped and she pathetically clawed at his arms.

“ Please don’t,” she garggled, “I don’t want to bother him,”

The doors burst open and a group of men in uniform ushered in, with a gurney and she was quickly loaded onto it, and sedated because she refused to stop talking, and the mere mention of her brother she would try to sit up, and the peramedics kept asking about her father which raised her blood pressure to dangerous levels.

Shoto was revising a homework assignment at the counter when Iida burst into the room being trailed by a very concerned Deku, whatever happened must have been important because the pair of them were still in pajamas, neither of them had bothered to change out of their slippers.  Deku spotted him first and nearly knocked him on the floor, trying to get his attention.

“ Midoryia, whats wrong?” he asked, suddenly concerned. Deku looked rather haggard, and Iida hadn’t taken off his nightcap.

“ Something happened to your sister!” Iida said, his phone rang suddenly and he quickly awnseered it and held it up to her, “ Bakugou and Kirishima are taking her to the hospital, it’s bad,” he said quickly. “ Bakugou says its bad, which means we should go to the hospital,” he said.

“ I know a bus route,” Deku said scrolling on his phone.

“ What?” Todoroki was blinking rapidly, if he were being honest he didn’t hear a word they said after sister.

Alarmed by Todoroki’s lack of panic, Deku repeated his words very slowly and made sure Todoroki nodded along. Once Deku finished Todoroki looked between the pair, vaguely confused, his face twitched into something that could have been concern.

“ What happened?” he asked. He closed his computer.

“ Training accident, that robot flung her through a brick wall,” Deku spoke rapidly. He tugged at his wrist trying to urge him off of the barstool, but Todoroki restited.

“ Oh,” he said quietly, like it was the smallest voice in the world, “ Well I hope she’s okay,” he said, he chewed on his bottom lip and stared at his hands. He couldn’t seem to move, and while he wanted nothing more than to stand and take the quickest bus to the hospital, something caused him to pause.

Deku balked at Todoroki, then cocked his head to the side, studying Todorokis very limited expressions, “You don’t want to see her?” he asked. He knew their relationship was limited, but never knew the exact extent of this. He knew Todoroki cared for her, even if it wasn’t in obvious ways. He always looked at her in class, sneakily listening to her conversations to make sure that she was okay.

“I don’t think she wants to see me, I don’t want to cause her any more pain,” he shrugged sadly. “ She doesn’t really like me very much,” he added.

“ Oh, Sho, you’ve got it all wrong, that’s not it at all,” he said softly.

Iida, who was still on the phone, pulled away from it and used his other hand to cover the speaker.

“ They’re getting her scans but she’s gonna need surgery, she broke most of her ribs and punctured a lung, and they think she has abdominal bleed, and they’re testing her to confirm, we should go now,” Iida said firmly.

“ She’s allergic to iodine,” Todoroki said, “ tell them to tell the doctors that she’s allergic to iodine,” he said firmly.

Deku yanked Todoroki from the stool so hard he nearly fell off the chair, he was not gonna let Todoroki fail to support his sister because they were both to stubborn to admit they cared for each other, for whatever reason they seemed determined not to make connections.

By the time they arrived at the hospital, Y/N was already in surgey, getting Todoroki through the hospital door was a struggle enough, and they only convinced him by promising that he could leave once she pulled through surgery.

“ She’s not gonna want to see me,” Shoto insisted, pacing along the waiting room wall.

“ Why wouldn’t she, you’re her brother?” Iida asked, “ I know it’s complicated but-”

“ It’s not complicated, she hates me,” he said sadly.

Everyone in that room knew exactly how untrue that sentiment was. 

“ Sho, she loves you, so much, she thinks you hate her,” Deku explained.

It took 5 hours, she broke 5 ribs and punctured a lung. The impact ruptured her spleen, which bruised her appendix. Surgery was extensive and painful, but they wheeled her into the ICU where Bakugou waited for her. Todoroki wanted to stay, she looked so much like their mom after their dad beat her. Bruised, bloody and broken it seemed wrong to leave her.

Besides Deku said he was wrong and he had to find out if it was true. He spent his whole life thinking his sister wanted nothing to do with him, and if she did, if there was a small chance she did then he had to know.

The doctors only allowed one person in at a time, as not to overwhelm her, her heart rate was all over the place, and they thought the commotion would make her to unstable. Bakugou insisted he was the first to see her, and he had his mean face on, and the whole team knew better than to argue with him when he was in a mood like that.

She smiled at the sight of him, he was wearing his glasses and they made him look like a little old man. A grouchy old man. But he was allowed to be a little grouchy, the doctor explained that she had serous injuries and nearly died half a dozen times, he was allowed to be mad, it was only fair.

“ You’re not allowed to yell at me,” she said softly, He looked at her, and she knew that he called him. “You called him,” she said, she tried to sit up, but all the wires crossing her chest made it hazardous. “Why? I told you not to, I told you-”

“ Y/N-”

“ The last thing he needs for me is to bother him, he already hates me enough I don’t need to give him another reason to do that,” she said pathetically. She was trying hard not to cry, but her mouth fell into a frown and she could feel tears welling in her eyes. 

“ He doesn’t-”

“ I don’t want him to think any less of me, he already thinks the worst,” she started, before she erupted into tears. “ Oh my god, I miss my mom,” she said through painful sobs.

“ Y/N I think the world of you,” his voice came from the door. Bakugou quickly excused himself, and Todoroki cautiously walked towards the bed.

It was true, he thought the world of her. He was strong, stronger than he ever was, stronger than he ever would be. Strong enough to get into UA on her own, strong enough to defend their mom, stand up to their dad. And she was smart, and brave, and everything he couldn’t figure out how to be.

“ Don’t lie because you feel bad,” she said quietly.

“ I’m not lying, Y/N I mean it, I never hated you, and why you think that is beyond me,” he said firmly.

“ You’ve avoided me since Toya died, and you seemed so angry all the time, I thought you were mad at me,” she said.

“ You avoided me,” he pointed to his chest, “ everytime I saw you, you would just walk away.”

Her eyes glazed over, “Daddy told me to leave you alone, he told me that you didn’t want to hang out with me,” she pouted at the memory. “ He said that you didn’t like me anymore because I was pathetic, and you wanted to focus on being a hero, and that I would hold you back. It seemed so important to you, and I didn’t want to hold you back.” She was 5, her older brother died and after his funeral, a small affair with no food comfort or warmth, her dad pulled her aside, chastised her for crying in public and told her that her twin hated her, and she would always be a weak small girl.

Shoto breathed heavily, for a second he felt like a little boy all over again, bending at the will of his mean bastard of a father. “ He told me that you never wanted to speak to me again because it was you knew it was my fault that Toya died, and you seemed so sad all the time when I saw you, so I thought it would be better stay away,” he said quietly.

“ Because I missed you, and you hated me,” she said.

“ I never hated you,” he said firmly.

Tears welled in her eyes again, and a broken sob ecapsed from her lips. Her father was a bastard, that much they knew, but he took away something that they would never get back, they took away their twinhood. They spent years avoiding eachother because they were convinced it was for the best.

“ So we can hang out?” she catiouned a ask through tears, “ And be friends again.”

Todoroki nodded quickly, he wanted nothing more than to be her brother again.

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[1-800-imagines]

drunk texts part 3 | r.c.

series masterlist here!

cw: violence, mentions of past abuse

to say you were worried about what was about to happen would be a huge understatement. with rafe gone, your anxiety grew by the minute, your heart hammering.

since your white shirt had been ruined by fucking jungle juice of all things, you had put rafe’s shirt on and then put yours on the ground.

his shirt was huge on you and covered your shorts. but as you were lost in your own thoughts you hadn't noticed someone approaching.

but then you heard his voice. and not the voice you wanted to hear. it was blake's. your head snapped towards him.

he looked at you and registered what you were wearing. with a sarcastic laugh tinged with a deep bitterness in it, he snapped, “oh so NOW you think you can whore it up with rafe?”

your breathe caught, despite hating him, you still felt the need to justify all your actions and tell him that it wasn’t like that, “no, it’s not. my shirt.” you were stumbling on your words and pointing to your stained tank top on the ground which looked even more incriminating at this point. 

he stalked closer to you, “you think i’m gonna believe a slut like you?” his hand moved to your jaw and squeezed it. tears welled in your eyes. memories of him holding you in that position during fights surged your memory.

but little did you know, rafe wasn’t far behind blake and he was hot on his trail. rafe had gone looking for him but saw blake leave the crowd as he had already spotted you.

“hey asshole, take your fucking hands off her.” rafe shouted, grabbing blake’s shoulder to turn him around. 

before you could comprehend what was happening, as soon as blake turned to face rafe, rafe punched blake in the square in the face, causing a loud crack. 

you stood entirely still, scared to move. rafe grabbed blake by the collar of his shirt, “leave her alone, from now on.” he shoved blake away from him, blake's nose bleeding heavily.

"you could've broken my fucking nose bro!" blake shouted.

"yeah and that'll be the least of your fucking problems if you lay another hand on her. you get me, bro?" rafe's voice was laced with venom.

blake threw his hands up and backed away, "whatever you say man, not like i wanted that crazy bitch anyway."

those words punched you in the gut and you let out the smallest gasp, rafe clenched his fist and was about to hit him again but you caught his arm. "not worth it, please." you whispered softly.

as soon as he realized it was you touching him, his body relaxed slightly. blake took the opportunity to high tail it out of there. rafe turned to you and frowned. “you okay?” he whispered, touching your cheek that was still slightly red from blake’s grasp. 

you nodded and looked at his hand that you were holding, “you’re bleedin, rafe.” you took his hand in yours and grabbed your shirt off the ground, wrapping it around the fist that had protected you. “thank you,” you whispered, "you didn't have to do that for me". 

“don’t thank me sweetheart. you don’t deserve that shit. blake never deserved you in the first place. no one will ever be good enough.” his non-injured hand moved a piece of hair behind your ear, “don’t forget what you’re worth.”

you were shaking from the encounter. rafe noticed immediately. “do you wanna get out of here?” he asked softly.

you nodded too eagerly so he said, “go tell your ride you’re leaving so your friends don’t worry about you. i know sarah will be worried. i’ll be right here.” you hesitated, looking back towards the crowd where blake was. rafe, sensing your hesitation added, “i’ll wait right here for you. keep my eyes on you the whole time.” with that reassurance from him, you wandered into the crowd to find pope.

your eyes met blake’s and he scowled at you, then making it very obvious that he was enjoying what was now happening to him. there was a random girl grinding on him, dancing.

pope wasn’t far and when you walked up to him, he immediately asked you, “are you okay?”

“yeah, some shit happened with blake. i’m gonna leave.” you said softly.

“let me drive you.” pope insisted.

you shook your head, “no it’s okay. i got a ride. let the others know so they don’t worry? i’ll see you back at the chateau tomorrow.”

pope sighed, “of course. be careful.”

you smiled back at pope and made your way back to rafe. “everything good?” he asked.

“yeah, i told pope to relay the message. let’s go please.” your voice was barely above a whisper.

he slipped his non-injured hand into yours and led you to where he had parked his truck.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

one piece live action thoughts?

It looks very much like a live action adaptation of One Piece. For better, and very much also for worse.

I mean this in the sense that it's adapted to fit a form that helps it make sense 1) in live action and 2) to a general audience which isn't intimately familiar with manga or anime, and which a broadcaster or streaming service would want to reach.

Luffy especially, at least going by the relatively tiny snippet we have seen so far, seems to have had some of his more peculiar edges sanded off to fit more comfortably into the mold of a typical young adult protagonist, which includes the... I guess what people call "marvel speak" now? The little funny quips and asides and ironic saying-the-obvious-thing-out-loud beats, which are more Americanisms than Marvel specific but I digress.

In One Piece, Luffy is most often not the point of view character, especially early on. Luffy is usually observed from outside by other characters - Koby serves this role in the early chapters, and from then on usually we see Luffy through his crew, or through whatever secondary characters they're interacting with in that particular arc.

People have observed this before, but in the manga, we essentially NEVER get any internal monologue from Luffy, he always either SAYS what he's thinking, or he runs on head empty no thoughts just vibes instinct and gut reaction.

And that... probably doesn't really work with a typical young adult protagonist. If adapted faithfully to screen, I think a lot of audiences would read him as just a reckless, inconsiderate and kinda heartless asshole, because a framing and presentation of Luffy that makes sense in a manga or anime just doesn't read the same in live action filmmaking.

Like, One Piece opens with Luffy recklessly sailing off to sea despite having no idea how to sail, getting sucked into a whirlpool and surviving on sheer dumb luck, getting picked up by some pirates in a barrel. Then he meets an abused child named Koby who has been getting the shit kicked out of him daily for months and immediately calls him a clumsy, stupid, cowardly worthless loser to his face and laughs at him.

Like, if you adapted that faithfully, how would that come across to a general audience? Imagine this scene staged in live-action, with human actors having to portray this conversation rather than stylized cartoon people. It simply wouldn't come across the same way, Luffy would come across as an It's Always Sunny character at best. Why would a general audience sympathize with him? Why would they find him compelling or worth investing emotionally in?

And I'm not saying there aren't ways to adapt One Piece faithfully into live action, there absolutely are (much like the manga, I would make everyone ELSE the point-of-view characters looking AT Luffy rather than try and present him as a Likeable Protagonist, for example).

My point is just that in any translation into live action, there are going to be concessions to the medium, there are going to be concessions to film language, concessions to audience expectations, concessions to the market conditions, concessions to the studio funding the filming, and so on. That's just the nature of the endeavour.

When it's done well, you get an adaptation that preserves the spirit of the thing while fitting its medium. Lord of the Rings comes to mind, an adaptation which changed huge amounts from its source material, but preserved the spirit.

When it's done poorly you get... well, Cowboy Bebop on Netflix.

I don't know from the tiny trailer snippet we've seen whether this show will preserve the spirit of One Piece, it very well may not, and end up another victim on the pile of bad anime adaptations. But I don't think the fact that it changed the vibe of the characters or Main Character'd Luffy alone are reasons to dismiss it, at least not yet. Those might have been necessary concessions for the show to work in live action at all. We shall see.

I'm not super optimistic or excited (because, again, I remember Cowboy Bebop), but I'm not despairing of it yet either.

[sneakyfordethklok]

Toki Headcanons

Baby.. baby man baby...

He's 5'8", the second shortest in the band below Pickles.

Toki's weight fluctuates between about 170 and 180, depending on his eating habits and his health. Obviously he is very muscular, but he tends to slim down more unintentionally during the summer, when it's warmer and he feels like he has more time to workout.

He's about 25 now, though he was going on 17 when he joined Dethklok back in the day.

He doesn't exactly exercise a lot, but he definitely tries to. He works with weights sometimes, and counts his anxious rearranging of his room on occasion as a workout.

Charles had a home gymnasium, the size of their dining room, built in one of the wings of Mordhaus for Toki. Though, he really only uses the treadmill and some of the weight machines. He likes rowing.

His bunny tattos are shitty, faded stick-and-poke pieces Murderface and Pickles helped him with. He cried the first two times, but has been pretty strong since.

Aside from the two rabbit tattoos, he has an angel wings and halo piece on his other arm, and the Dethklok logo tattooed on his chest, right under his ribs.

His mustache grows from his top lip like catfish whiskers.

Toki doesn't wear them to concerts or most publicized events, but he likes to wear the featured hair clips and other accessories for his own tastes.

As part of that, he very much enjoys scenecore and early 2000s emo/scene fashion.

His English is noticeably and (arguably) significantly better than Skwisgaar, in large part due to him learning English at a younger age.

His back from between his shoulder blades to the small of his back, and to the edges of his shoulders are covered in welts. The edges are dark flesh-tone, some of the newer-ish ones being a shiny pink. Just the lightest touch will send Toki into a panic.

Generally, he responds negatively to criticism, loud noise (that he wasn't made privy to prior), or anything perceived as aggression. He cries and gets upset easily enough, something his band mates ridicule him for, but in turn he is also the most understanding, gentle, and affectionate member of Dethklok.

Even after being treated poorly or outright mocked by his friends, Toki will be quick to do anything for them. Especially affectionate acts of kindness. (See the episode Dethmas.)

Toki got a nose piercing for aesthetic and symbolic reasons, following a drunken escapade with Murderface, of course. The bassist convinced him to get the piercing, and after paying a visit to a tattoo shop, it happened.

Despite the.. interesting story behind his piercing, he's still quite happy with it. And it's the only one he has.

It's pretty much obvious just by looking at him, but Toki has massive eyes compared to his bandmates. They're big, doe-like pools that make him look at least 5 years younger than he is. His baby-like appearance, especially in the rare times he's shaved his mustache, don't exactly help his appeal to children.

Toki's unfortunate adoration of Rockzo also apply to just about everything else clown-related or clown-themed. He likes carnivals, circus acts, clown music, ICP, clown Halloween masks, etc. You could call it a special interest.

He was officially diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder and CPTSD from a psychiatrist at age 21, just a few years after joining Dethklok.

His knife injury from Magnus during Doomstar Requiem did get infected, and left an absolutely ugly scar behind. It's just behind his left shoulder blade, and is a marred, ugly pockmark against his mostly smooth flesh otherwise, even when compared to his welts from the child abuse he endured.

Toki still has nightmares about his father's death, and his treatment while kidnapped with Abigail by Magnus.

Following the events of Requiem, Toki regressed mentally, but not fully. His childish behavior from before didn't change, but his ability to cope with stress and uncomfortable/unfamiliar situations worsened immediately. He can't handle almost any stress or antagonizing without crying or getting very upset, and he wears sensory headphones quite often now.

He enjoys the old My Little Pony and Strawberry Shortcake cartoons, but won't admit it to Skwisgaar or his other bandmates.

While being in a poly with his bandmates, his predominant partner is Murderface, being the main pairing of mine (Warface).

NSFW BELOW THIS

LAST WARNING

His main kinks are praise kink, breeding, BDSM, body worship, knife-play, and edging.

Very sensitive, needy, and easy to turn on. He'll do anything for approval, and to make his partner feel good. Almost to the point of desperation.

He's a switch, though is mainly a bottom.

That being said, he can snap at a moment's notice and can turn the tables very fast. Never underestimate how being horny and desperate can make him lose his resolve and patience.

With barely any hesitation, he can flip you over or pin you down, whatever is necessary, and make you do whatever he wants. He's certainly strong enough to use force on anyone to get his way, though of course he would never hurt a partner on purpose.

If he's not trying to hold himself back, he can get too excited and cum too quickly.

Big into breeding, with a hyper focus on bodily fluids. He wants you a soaking wet, moaning mess while he fills you with cum. He can be pretty forceful about it too— Toki's the kind of guy that has been wanting to knock up any female partner he gets from probably the first date.

He's big into gentle aftercare. He loves to cuddle, make out, shower/bathe together post coitus, whatever his partner wants. He's the kind of guy to rub your back after and play with your hair while you both coming back down.

[themotherofhorses]

figures dancing gracefully (across my memory)

— simon "ghost" riley x oc!silentdove reyes.

setting: call of duty x marvel cinematic universe

summary: she’s much too damn young to be handling all of this trauma, this . . . baggage. everyone says that when they first meet her; nevertheless, Dove persists.

warnings: explicit language and mentions of previously experienced abuse (per the Red Room theme).

note: in conjunction with this specific post. the RedBack has been a personal OC WIP of mine for maybe four(ish) years. despite being an obvious OC-insert series, everyone is welcome to enjoy it.

It is snowing again. For the fifth night in a row. 

SilentDove tells herself that is why she cannot—for the ever life of her—find the comfort of sleep tonight; instead, she opts for a nice hot drink on the couch. Mint hot chocolate, to be exact, topped with four puffy white marshmallows. It tastes especially good with that particular combination. Natasha picked up a new packet of them the last time she went grocery shopping, saying something along the lines of how ‘every safe house needs to be well-stocked with good snacks!’

The black cat mug is cute too.

The truth is she cannot sleep — no matter how hard she tries, how absolutely fucking desperate she feels, or how many of those tiny blue melatonin pills she pops in her mouth. Nothing helps. God, it fucking sucks. 

Whenever she closes her eyes, the memory resurfaces. Empty, sometimes blurry, fuzzy, loud, absolutely unbearable, but at most times very specific childhood memories. 

Ballet. 

Schooling. 

Harsh, overwhelming, hardhearted training — the sort where you snap a poor sister’s neck within the first few hours of the morning before sinking to your feet to tend to an (almost) fractured ankle in the evening, swollen and bruised and agonizing to step on. Or sit at a school desk, dressed in a freshly-steamed schoolgirl uniform, forced to recite some classic Disney movie word-for-word….or until you are told to stop. 

(It is hell on Earth, hidden in Russia.) 

“Again.” 

She can still hear the coach, voice tinny, instructing them to repeat the dance. Again. Again. Again. That is perhaps one of the worst memories, in her opinion. Somewhere in the middle, or maybe towards the end, a dancer messed up and he noticed. That is not good, child, nor it is allowed to happen. Seated on the pretty polished floors are the baby spiders —the маленькие пауoки—watching every detail with big and hungry eyes.

No, the маленькие пауoки must never be introduced to such sloppiness, not at this age.

The Bolshoi Theatre demands only the finest ballerinas — girls that are light on their toes, beautiful in their face, with potential for stardom.

Dove takes another sip of her hot chocolate while remembering . . . remembering . . . remembering . . . dancing, dancing, dancing, again and again; all while ignoring the terrible ache burning through her poor feet, flaring up near the bone of her big toe before shooting up to her ankle, and the large soldier fixated near the door. 

(The thing about the soldier was that he never made a sound. Precise strikes, fatal slashes, heavy exhalation through his ebony mask he always wore, but never a sound from his mouth . . . if he even had one.)

From where she is hunkered down in her father’s ranchhouse, propped up against comfy pillows, she flattens both legs before gazing down at her feet. A beat. Then she curls her toes before wiggling them. Her nose scrunches. They’re horribly disfigured and knobby — and ugly if she is honest with herself. 

Bless her soul, Natasha had given her some of that fancy, high-tech medical cream (courtesy of Dr. Helen Cho); a week later, her toes are slowly beginning to appear better. Or, maybe, just normal, like how a young woman’s foot is supposed to look.

Her toenails are painted a soft white, much like the snow blanketing the Montanan plains; it makes her smile a little (she once heard that the color “white” represents a mix of purity, cleanliness, and freshness. Rebirth, the fourth word might’ve been. Well, that and the nail polish was displayed too prettily at the store to overlook, discounted too, and never before had she the privilege of painting her nails).

Dove wiggles her big toe again; beneath it, along the stretch of her right foot, is a long stripe of scar tissue. As much as she dreams, it will never fade away, regardless of the scrubbing in the shower or pretending it does not exist or using those fancy Stark creams.

One of the many scars from the Red Room.

She’s much too damn young to be handling all of this trauma, this . . . baggage. Everyone says that when they first meet her; nevertheless, Dove persists. Natasha knows that certain feeling all too well, and Yelena too. They are in the same busted-up boat, drifting down the same river.

However, the therapy sessions they both suggested are good — incredible, even; they allow her to voice her most inner and brutal thoughts while patching together bits and pieces of a long-forgotten identity. She was a ballerina, Dove tells herself; she had to have been one — there was the Nutcracker, Swan Lake, and A Midsummer’s Night Dreams. 

Her pointe shoes were a pretty pastel blue, the sort of color belonging to the summertime sky, while her favorite leotard was a deep navy. Natasha wore the same during her time there, she thinks. And Yelena, too. Maybe even their mother, Melina.

(Melina cycled through the Red Room four times — Dove couldn’t even imagine how that could’ve felt.) 

The two women are her family. 

Family. Such a . . . distant concept to Dove. She glances down at her feet again, sighing. Sometimes . . . Dove slips up and calls Natasha “momma” . . . and sometimes . . . Natasha will call her “my sweet маленький пауoк” in return; she’ll then remind her that she’s not alone. Not anymore. It is okay to weep…to scream and shout, and to come to her if need be.

Silence is no longer necessary.

Is it, though? Dove was born silent. At times, that is all she is capable of feeling. 

But, alas, it still makes Dove feel a bit better, even if the conversations consist of recycled words. She is not alone, not anymore. There is no more slipping stale bread for breakfast, no more being handcuffed to the bed, and no more being disciplined for sneezing a little too loudly.

No more being considered a weapon with a face — capable of nothing more but murder. Natasha is her family now, and maybe even Clint Barton and Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson too. 

Her hot chocolate is cold now — the marshmallows look kinda weird now, too, like drowned little white bodies, nothing like how they appear in those silly Hollywood movies. But drinking it makes her feel happier, a lot lighter, sleepier, and safer. Sometimes, Dove wonders if a different childhood may have had more steaming mugs of hot chocolate with all those different flavors Yelena once told her about.

(She had seen them in some grocery store in Manchester, England — an entire aisle jam-packed with hundreds of colorful flavors. It smelled good, too, Yelena had said.)

Melina claims she did not have a childhood.

Oh, but she did. 

It was sitting before computers, watching Russian propaganda before sipping on a random juice box (grape-flavored most of the time). It was hours upon hours of constant ballet practice, perfecting all those turns and leaps. It was standing before human-shaped shooting targets, a red hourglass centered in the middle where the human lungs exist.

It was the massive soldier in the backroom—the one with the two long, dark braids—teaching the widows how to place their victims in a tight headlock before demonstrating the move on them, snapping their tiny, skinny necks in one quick motion. Or how to silence a person with a blow to the kidney.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Nattie.”

“How are you feeling tonight?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“. . . Nightmares?”

Dove pauses. “Nah. It’s snowing over here; there is something therapeutic about watching it and—”

Natasha cuts her off. “Doesn’t work on me, kid. You should know that,” and there is a beat of silence, and Dove can already see the sad smile tugging at her lips, “—so, was it nightmares again?” 

“No. Not this time. Memories…of Dreykov, y’know, and the ballet and—” she takes a small sip of her cold drink, “—and just anything I can remember, really.  Sometimes, it is gun practice, something it’s combat. I’m getting better, actually, thanks to Bruce and Helen. It’s still kind of hazy, but now I can make out things. People. Places. Objects. Y’know, all that shit. I just can’t sleep because of it.” She places the phone on the coffee table before leaning back and inhaling deeply. “M’fine, Nat, really. Y’know, it is all part of the recovery process.”

"Yeah. No, yeah, I get it. But hey, just remember, I'm here. I know you have your therapy sessions, and I know it helps to some degree, but all that shit? I know it firsthand. Everything you've been through, Yelena and I have too, so you're not alone. Not in this lifetime anymore.” 

She smiles. It is times like this that SilentDove hates when she took assignments that sent her on the other side of the world. “Thanks. How’s it over there?” 

“Boring. Humid as fuck, and Clint is such a loud snorer. Hey, make sure all the doors are locked before you go to bed.”

Like clockwork, of course. 

“I will. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Sure, kid. Get some rest. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

The call soon cuts after that, and Dove is left to her thoughts again. Her dark eyes drift across the living room, studying every little detail before her — from her grandmother's star blanket to the pretty picture of her mother hung above the fireplace.

She hums. There are ghosts in this house.

Ghosts.

Her own ghosts.

Oddly enough, that thought doesn't bother Dove at all. She’s always liked the idea of ghosts.

[criticalpraisefilm]

I Saw the TV Glow - and I wept. Here's why.

Coming out is scary. There's a million reasons why but the one I want to talk about is the self doubt.

What if I'm wrong? What if it's not true? What if I go through the frightening, worrying steps I have to take to live my most authentic life and it just gets worse?

I Saw the TV Glow asks another question: what if you're right? And what if that fear didn't go away? And what if it was worth it anyway?

(for the sake of this review, I will be referring to the main characters as Owen and Maddy, and using he/him and she/her pronouns respectively, as that is how they are presented in the movie, no matter the subtext. Or just straight text)

Owen (Justice Smith) is a lonely, shy, awkward boy living in the suburbs to an ill mother and an unwelcoming father. He connects with Maddy (Brigette Lundy-Paine), a lonely, show, awkward girl living with an uncaring mother and an abusive father, over The Pink Opaque, a TV show about two psychic girls, Isabel (Helena Howard) and Tara (Lindsey Jordan) fighting evil. As they grow up and their lives drift apart and together again, the lines between reality and The Pink Opaque start to blur, and Owen and Maddy realise they may have more in common with Isabel and Tara than they realised.

I first watched this movie in a group on a TV connected to a laptop with a bunch of other trans people. The small screen felt appropriate, with the early 2000s VHS aesthetic and imagery, somehow watching something modern and slightly more retro at the same time, like we really were streaming The Pink Opaque, but the real one, not the terrible version Owen discovers later. Describing things from my own childhood as retro feels a bit strange, but life moves on, whether you really live it or not. Maybe we should have watched it on a CRT TV for the full effect.

Regardless, after it was done, there was discussion, but mostly there was silence as we processed what we'd watched and dried our tears. I think I cried more than anyone else. That's not a comment about how it connected with me more than anyone else. I just cry a lot at movies now. Thank you, estrogen.

The second time I watched it it was in a cinema. The movie got a very limited cinema run in my home country and there was only one day to go and see it. I didn't think I could emotionally handle watching it alone, so I invited a few friends. In the end, only one friend was able to come see it with me. That friend is not transgender.

After the movie I stood outside smoking a cigarette and bouncing up and down talking about all the details I had missed the first time, the aspect ratio changes, some of the callbacks that were more obvious second time around, but mostly I ranted about things I had already experienced the first time I saw the movie because it still sat with me.

Somewhat ironically, and maybe slightly perversely, I described how I felt by using a moment from a Marvel movie. I talked to my friend about Maddy and Owen speaking about years moving like seconds, your life going by without you even noticing, like scenes are being skipped. And then you're older, and then you're a year older, and another year, and you barely notice because it's like you're watching it play out on a screen. You can't feel anything because you feel hollow, like someone has dug out your insides and it's all just a dream you can't wake up from. Despite the hollowness and the numbness, you can't breathe.

And I told my friend it was like that moment in Thor: Ragnarok where the Hulk smashes Thor against the ground in a callback to when Hulk did that to Loki in The Avengers. Loki in the crowds stands up and points and shouts "that's how that feels!". Because yes. That's how that feels.

That's how it feels to watch your life go by because you somehow can't bring yourself to care. As if the life isn't yours. As if there's another life you should be living, but it's not there. Or, rather, it is there, but saying it out loud, admitting it to yourself sounds silly. Crazy, even. There's another life I should be living? My memories of being myself are all mixed up with my memories of being somebody else? That's ridiculous. I am myself. I have a life.

I'm not somebody else. I'm not a character I grew up connecting to and relating to. There is no other life waiting for me. I'm myself. I'm not someone else. I'm not a girl.

It doesn't matter that my life doesn't feel my own. It doesn't matter that I wish I was someone else. It doesn't matter that I wish I was beautiful and powerful and very far away. It doesn't matter that I found something, a piece of media that describes being different, and I clung to it like a lifeline. It doesn't matter that the person I connected to through that media did what I'm afraid to and was better for it. It doesn't matter that I can't breathe.

That's how it feels to live in the Midnight Realm. That's also how gender dysphoria feels. At least, that's how it felt to me.

"It was time I became a man."

Owen's line here is one of the two moments in the movie that makes me cry the hardest. I cried a lot, but I really cry there. The denial, the doubling down on the life you hate, that you can't connect with, but that you stick with because that other life you want or have been promised just seems to scary to strive for. Like Isabel in The Pink Opaque, he's afraid of what's inside him, and that fear keeps him away from his life and pushes him towards a life that doesn't suit him, that never suited him, but that he feels he has to live. A life as a real man.

I cried because the denial was heartbreaking and tragic. And very familiar. I was 16 when I learned what the word "transgender" meant, and that being that was something people could do. I didn't come out until I was 21, because it felt scary. I'd know. I'd be more certain. I'm not certain, and what if I'm wrong?

I'm 28 as I write this, and I've never been more certain. But I look back at myself, 10 years ago, and think what if nothing had changed. What if I hadn't taken those steps. What if I hadn't had the support I did and what if nobody had held my hand through that first step. What if nobody had given me the permission to come out and realise that I never needed permission?

Maddy tries to be that hand for Owen, but he's too scared. And that's familiar too. The first time I watched the movie I thought it was odd that Maddy tries to convince Owen to join her in The Pink Opaque, but she shows no joy in it. She doesn't describe how liberating it was to live her own life finally. She just describes the trauma it took to get there. But on my second watch I understood better. Because she had to return to the awful life that wasn't hers. Show how terrible this life is, how it isn't Owen's, how he can be that girl he briefly pretended to be when he wore Isabel's magic dress. The magic is that it's not pretend. This is who you could be.

The gentleness of the way Maddy interacts with Owen in every scene stands out to me. From drawing the tattoo on his neck, to never forcing him to come to terms with himself the way she did. It's not something she can force him into. He has to come to that conclusion himself. The scene where he tries on the dress and her reaction is very important to me. Seeing who he really is before even he does. The fact that the movie has gone out of its way to inform us that she is a lesbian is important, as it informs how she sees him. As a girl. Not as Isabel. Not as part of The Pink Opaque. Not as someone trapped in the Midnight Realm. A girl, first and foremost.

This is reinforced by the way Maddy reappears years after disappearing with shorter hair and wearing a shirt. Whether or not the character has made a change to her gender identity, we don't know, but she's found her truer self and wants to help Owen do the same.

The constant framing of Owen in pink hues, the way the aspect ratio changes between reality and the TV show and eventually starts presenting The Pink Opaque in the real aspect ratio, tell us who Owen is and who he is afraid to be.

If I'm harping on the same point. it's because that's what the movie is, a character piece about what if you didn't transition. What if you didn't take that step, and it takes great pains to show what it feels to be unfulfilled and watch your life go by without ever burying yourself, burying your old life, and rising into your new one as the person you should be.

Which brings me to the other line in the movie that makes me cry more than any other. A simple shot of a street with graffiti in the road, spelling out the ultimate message of Owen's character arc and the movie as a whole:

"There is still time."

There really is no time limit. There is time to learn how to breathe. To be yourself. I came out at 21, but I know plenty of people who came out later. The longer you have a life, the more difficult it is to let it go, and yet I don't know a single person who isn't happier having found a life as their more authentic self. It is always worth it.

That's what the ending is about, to me at least. I've heard people say it's bleak, that it ends suddenly without providing resolution on either the plot, or the allegory that the plot is about, but I disagree. Owen realises that Maddy was right. He gets the permission he's been waiting for for the last 20 years. His apologising for existing afterwards is more realistic than anything else - he's still himself. But he knows where his life should be. He knows to go and join his friend in The Pink Opaque. He knows how to breathe again.

Was Maddy right? Were they in the Midnight Realm the whole time? Was it all just a plot from Mr Melancholy? Were all the people in their lives just there to keep them there and keep them down? Was The Pink Opaque more than a TV show?

I don't care. That's not the part of the movie that moves me. That's just the vehicle through which the movie delivers what it's trying to say.

I describe the first steps of transitioning as a rabbit hole. It's dark, it's cramped, it's difficult to move and it seems like it goes on forever. Going down there in the first place is scary. Seems like a bad idea. What if it leads nowhere? What if it leads deeper? I have a sky that I can see here, and that's fine. My life has places it can go.

It's only after you come out the other side of the rabbit hole that you realise that what you've been seeing when you look up your whole life is the roof of a cave, and that the world is so much larger, and the air is so much crisper than you ever knew. You can move. You can breathe. You can see. The cave is comfortable when you don't know anything else, and the path out is terrifying. But the first time you see the sky, you know that you're never going back.

I cried the first time I saw the sky. And I cry when Owen sees the sky too.

[ollycohens]

Would you write Five Hargreeves realising he had a daughter with a commission agent and they have been using her for her powers for very long? You can make her as you like or not mention her at all, I just kinda want his pov when he realises that 1) he has a child 2) the child has been made into a weapon by the very same people who also turned him into a weapon 3) the child is like 16 now so he has been a deadbeat father and has no idea how he was treated. Was she abused. Was it like they were or how lila was. Was it worse. And like the full range of emotions he feels about this which also include guilt because this was careless of him.

(I don't know if this falls under the Five romance category because there is an implication of him having slept with someone at the commission so I understand if you are uncomfortable but just let me know? Thanks.)

Here you go! I hope you like it! I wanted to add all of the siblings but found it a little difficult to fit them all in, so despite that, I hope you like it! I loved writing this and I love this idea so dearly. It's dear to my heart. Story is under the cut :)

Five and Diego walked through the field of bodies and briefcases, making their way toward Dot and Herb.

Five stepped over a sizzling briefcase, "Herb. Dot." he nodded. The three agents greeted each other.

“Sup, Herbie.” Diego trudged through the pile of corpses and stuck his hand out to do an intricate— and quite embarrassing— handshake with Herb. 

The four of them chatted for a bit, discussing The Handler and how they could get home, to which Herb waved his hand at the large array of briefcases scattered about the field.

“Take your pick.” Herb scrunched his shoulders, grinning.

Diego went to grab the closest briefcase to them, inspecting it, and furrowing his brows as he realized he had no clue how to use these things. Diego inspected the briefcase for a moment before ultimately giving up, “Yo, Five, come check this out.” 

“Actually, uhm, Mr. Five, p-please wait a moment.” Herb bounced back on the heels of his feet, nervous. “May we speak in private?” He pointed slightly to the side.

Five shoved his hands into his pockets, walking over to Herb, a good distance away from the others, “What’s up?”

“T-There’s something I found out when I was voted in as acting chairman.” Five could practically see the sweat piling over on the man's face. “Ithought you may want to see this.” he reached under his shirt, pulling out a red folder with the big words classified on it. 

He handed it to Five, seemingly holding his breath. Five opened it up, seeing his name at the top, and ignoring the one next to it. His breathing stuttered as he finished reading the papers in the folder. His chest felt tight, and he was sure his panic was obvious.

“What is this?” He spoke loud enough to gather Diego’s attention, who hurried over to his side, trying to read the contents in the folder.

Five pulled it away from his reach, his heart pounding, unsure of what to do. “What were they planning to do with her...?” He looked at Herb, his eyes hard yet containing a slight plead to them.

“What’s going on?” Diego looked between the two, mouth slightly agape as he tried to think of things to say.

The two ignored him, “The Handler wanted to use her powers for the Commission had Lila not worked out for her.” He sighed, twitching his head to the side, “But now that she’s dead and Lila’s off the grid for the moment, I’ve been able to get a hold of Emmalyn.”

“Her name is Emmalyn?” Five couldn’t think straight. He turned around, walked to a bale of hay nearby, and sat on it, letting his head fall into his hands for a moment before turning back to address Herb. 

“They made her into a fucking weapon?” Just like him. Exactly like him. His eyes were dark as he looked through his lashes.

“W-Well! No. Yes. I didn’t! It was The Handler… I am so sorry, Mr. Five.” 

He waved Herb off, understanding the situation, yet he could still feel his chest growing even tighter. He wished he could be someone like Allison, or even Viktor— people who were able to be vulnerable around each other so easily. He wished he was someone who could ask for a hug from a sibling. He wished he wanted a hug like a normal person.

He had a daughter. A daughter. He didn’t even know about it. He made a massive mistake deciding to let loose just once during the commission. Now he has a child who was at least in her teens. One he wasn’t even there for. He didn’t even know whether that was worse than Reginald or not. 

He was careless, and he faced the consequences.

Diego choked on his breath, “You have a daughter!?” It took Five a moment to realize Diego had seized the folder when he put it down next to him— when did he put it down?

Five clenched his eyes shut, controlling his breathing for a moment. “I don’t know what to do.” he let himself be vulnerable as his voice shook a little. He knew it was what he needed right now, even if he didn’t know how to do it. It’s what Dolores would’ve said to do, he thought. 

“Dude, it’s okay, we’ll figure out. Everything's going to be fine. We'll do this together. Team zero, remember? ” Diego stuck out his fist, waiting for a bump back. Five stared at him.

He stood up, starting to feel his head burn up from everything happening, “Let’s grab a briefcase and go home.” he’ll figure it out then. 

Everyone was waiting for the briefcase to finish calculating so they could see if it worked. 

They were all exhausted. Five was still overthinking everything about the kid, his kid, and he was sure his siblings could tell. Or at the least, they could tell he wasn’t focused on the briefcase like he usually would be, and that alone was weird to them. He hadn’t told them anything yet and didn’t know if he should.

“Five? Is everything okay?” Viktor sat on the couch next to him, Klaus was on the floor leaning against the cushions. “Yes,” he muttered in response.“Just waiting so I can get you all home.” 

Viktor flashes Five a face that he couldn’t quite understand. “I don’t think any of us care about how long it’s taking. We’re all tired.” 

“Yeah, babe. Let it take a few hours so I can get some beauty sleep.” Klaus pitched in from the floor, spreading his legs out in a deep stretch.

Five let them sit in silence for a while, thinking and thinking. He was too tired. Tired enough to not plan his next words. “I found out I have a daughter.” he blinked slowly, staring at the wall ahead.

“What the shit?” Klaus flipped his head around, giggling from the floor as his mouth switched between smiling in shock and falling agape. 

Viktor didn’t even say anything. He just stared at Five, expression unreadable, but he could tell it wasn’t a bad one. “I’ve never met her before, Herb was the one who told me. Herb.” he sat back against the couch, huffing. 

“Does that mean we have another niece?” Viktor smiled slightly. His eyes were growing big and shiny, awe in his face.

“Does that mean you're not a virgin?” Klaus gasped, smacking Five’s leg continuously as he cackled, “Oh my God! I totally thought you were!”

Five jerked away from his brother’s abusing slaps, “Shut up.” he could feel his cheeks warming up, a slight smirk fighting its way through. Somehow, he felt relief in their reactions.

Viktor was silent as he put a hand on Five’s bicep, letting his touch be light and avoidable in case it wasn't welcomed. “Don’t worry about it now, Five. When we get back, we can get back in touch with Herb.”

“Yeah! Don’t worry, little guy—” Five kicked Klaus, his cheeks warming even more despite being slightly ticked off, “ Ye ow— We can handle this all later. We got your back. We’re family, bro. ”

“Every time you speak I feel just that much closer to shoving you into a trash compactor limb by limb and letting it crush you joint by joint.” he smiled and patted his brother’s shoulder, a warm feeling in his chest.

“Thank you, guys. Seriously.” he looked away from them, eyes focused on the now-beeping briefcase, the word ready blinking on the tiny screen at the top. He felt his shoulders sag in relief. 

He could meet his daughter at some point, hopefully soon, and he’d make up for everything he didn’t do for her. His family would help him and everything would turn out alright for once.

He sat up, grabbed the briefcase, and turned back to his siblings, a genuine smile on his face,

“Let’s go home.”

*end*

You can also read it here on ao3

[thekeeperof-thefandoms]

Alastor with a gen z, who is also a doe, who is actually very motherly despite her young age. Yes she's choatic and loud sometimes. But elegant and understanding. Even studied psychology which makes her more compassionate with others.

Usually alastor refuses to interact with the younger sinners for they r annoying and end up killing them but since she is staying at the hotel he can't kill her. But after a while of avoiding her he starts to ca6ch up how caring and doting she is over everyone despite being the youngest in the hotel. She even tried to make him jambalaya and left it in the oven after learning it's one of his favorite.

She slowly start growing on him but he's suspicious on why she's in hell. So later on months later he finds her reading in the balcony late at night with violin playing the background and starts a conversation which ends up with him asking her about why she's in hell she states that she killed her abusive foster parents then herself.

(I have more ideas for this plot if u want)

I love incredibly specific asks like this because its so obvious this is either based on an OC or losely based on yourself and the fact you have more.

That being said, I encourage you to make your own posts about this if you have so much you want to do with the idea. For two reasons.

One, because I know what it's like to have an incredibly specific idea in your head when making asks or talking to other people in the fandom. You're always happy for their input but it's so unsatisfying when their responses don't line up witb your idea.

Two. I'm old. I'm 26. I'm that weird age where I'm not quite gen z and not quite millennial.

However, I will add to your idea.

I don't think Alastor kills newer sinners on sight, he has his own canon moral code on who he does and doesn't kill. And gen z kids from America specifically probably don't view Hell any different from their normal lives. Struggling to get by day to day while everything around them goes to shit. The only upside is no one gives a fuck if you're gay or trans or whatever and you have easy access to alcohol and drugs.

The difference is gen z kids have all the audacity and aren't afraid to start shit and while this can be incredibly amusing for Alastor they're all a bit too much for him so he tends to stay away.

Your motherly tendencies and psychological knowledge endears you to him even if he doesn't understand half of what you say and you get a little wild.

I firmly believe Alastor killed his abusive father so he isn't even going to bat an eye at you killing your parents but he would lecture you about killing yourself. What was the point of killing them if you didn't get to bask in it? Didn't live long enough to enjoy that freedom? He views it as a waste.

He'd probably mentor you instead of be interested in you. Clearly you're young and foolish and too emotional. He's going to have to teach you how to revel in getting even with those that wronged you and taking pride in the fact you've helped rid the world of such tasteless, rude, and insufferable people.

[marunalu]

Isn't all of the rabid BKDK shippers similar to that one pairing in Bleach where the loud shippers want one pairing and the Editors suggest that the Bleach's author should do it, but he explicitly stated that he wanted this pairing instead because its his story? At best, the official canon ship for Izuku would be Izuchaco or implied of it or no ships at all.

At least Hori agrees with us that the BKDK relationship is abusive and that the two would be treating each other as acquaintances who just happen to grow up together. And the thing is for that BKDK contest, he acknowledges the skills of the artists but the relationship is not romantic at all. So it's really just people being extremely obsessed with the idea that any and all relationships should be romantic instead of platonic. I wonder if he was expecting a badass action scenes between the two working together instead of causal romantic times?

Do you happen to have a citation for the contest so that we can point towards the fact that BKDK is just for fun, not canon?

I remember I saw horis reply somewhere on twitter between 2 or 3 years ago. But I dont have twitter, well X know, anymore. Honestly, I dont quite remember if it was a bkdk fanart contest or just an exhibition. And I think it was only japanese artists. But basically, while he praised all the fanarts and the talents of the artists, he made clear that the way bakugous and izukus relationship is portaied as in these fanworks is not what their relationship is really or ever was like. There were tons of romantic bkdk and fanart of them as children playing happily with each other. He basically confirmed as unbiased as possible that this kind of interpretation of their relationship is completly fanon. Maybe someone who reads this can give us a link though, I tried to find it with google, but google only showed me reddit and quora posts about "why bkdk is canon" and such stupid stuff. 🙄

And yes you are right, the bkdk shippers are VERY similar to the rapid ichiruki shippers back then. Mind you I WAS THERE when the shipping war between ichirukis and ichihimes was at its highest and believe me it was UGLY and for me who never shipped ichigo with either rukia or orihime it kinda destroyed the manga/anime for me back then and its one of the main reasons why I dont like shipping in generell anymore. But despite never shipping it myself I KNEW ichigo would end up with orihime, because kubo made it obvious. The anime cut a lot of canon ichihime moments and included tons of filler ichiruki moments, so its no wonder why so many people believed at first ichiruki was a thing. And to be fair to kubo, he made clear statements back then about ichigos and rukias relationship being pure platonic YEARS BEFORE the manga ended, but the shippers ignored that and played victim afterwards. Hori on the other hand would never make this kind of bold statement, because he is aware of the backlash that would happen. I like hori and I can understand why he wouldnt want to upset people because he was attacked and got death threads in the past already from stupid shippers, but I have to say tite kubo is clearly the braver one of these two. He simply gives a fuck what people think and just does his thing no matter if people like it or not.

The best part was how not that long ago he completly destroyed an hardcore ichiruki shipper on social media who attacked him and insultet ichihime and kubo was just like: "you know what? FUCK YOU! From now on I will make even more ichihime content just to piss you off even more asshole!" Kubo is amazing and a legend!

[acrossthewavesoftime]

top five things YOU have written 🫵🫵 that you're ok with sharing ofc :3

That's a very difficult and interesting question, thank you! :) I don't really know if I can pick five and rate them in a set hierarchy. I like many things I write, shorter and longer, finished and unfinished, so here are 5 that come to mind:

I don't write for it very often, but what I write, I enjoy writing a lot. The early 19th century AU which I came up with for @nordleuchten in which a few generations ago the Stuarts managed to produce some sort of heir, making the Hannovarians bog standard German provincial rulers instead of British monarchs. The man you know as George III and his heir, Prinz Georg stand to inherit the throne as it is expected that the Stuart line will come to an end in their lifetime. Georg is pretty much good old Prinny, who however decides to take drastic measures when he finds that being patronised by his dad as a grown man has become insufferable. He decides to take an alias and join the British navy, because what else cries freedom so much as watching romantic sunsets at sea? In the act of leaving clandestinely, he is caught by one Karoline von Braunschweig, a beloathed cousin acting as his mother's lady-in-waiting. Georg takes to life at sea like a duck to water despite the fact that it turns out to be nothing like what he imagined, and becomes a celebrated hero of the Napoleonic Wars. Hijinks ensue when his cover is blown, his brother Ernst tries to take over the succession, and he realises he doesn't actually loathe Karoline, quite on the contrary, really. Karoline meanwhile has to explain a big belly away, and George sails for a place called Trafalgar... It's all delightfully off and the real George and Caroline would probably disapprove, but sometimes, certain AUs are not meant to be very accurate, just a little silly.

Less silly and as far as my research goes, as close to history as possible, my story on Henry Clinton and Mary Baddeley. I have written so much about the two already, it's almost a novel. I am fascinated by the mutual respect, suppressed affection and surprisingly good documentation there is. Theoretically, their relationship is a communist party meeting worth of red flags; a power dynamic between employer and employee, a substantial age gap, Mary being very much reliant on Clinton's protection from beng sexually harrassed by an officer in her husband's regiment and him falling in love with her while she was pregnant with her husband's child are just the most obvious ones. Regardless of all these things, both, given time, found love. Let's hope I will finish it one day so we can have the big budget adaptation i'm dreaming of ever since learning about the two...

I have a similar thing going for the Graveses, which is a little more light-hearted in that both Mrs and Mr Admiral were two very outspoken people, with Margaret in particular passing judgements on people in her letters worthy of Jane Austen novels. There is some tragedy in that they met at a point in their lives where they both seem to have still been processing the death of a beloved loved one, and both helped raise a child that was not their own. Given their eventful lives, bubbly family and their very loud personalities, however, I think this one writes itself a little easier.

A Stuart AU in which Maria Beatrice d'Este, now Queen of England, has had enough. Identifying, in her mind, her husband's unchanging licentious ways as the reason why God takes all her children from her young, she decides to commit regicide when she realises she is pregnant once more, in order to protect this child at least; because if James is dead, he can no longer commits acts displeasing God, right? The flaws in her logic aside, she makes this last desperate attempt to suffocate James, the husband who has abused her for so long, both physically and mentally, in his sleep with a cushion, but fails as he wakes up. Fleeing England in the middle of the night, Maria Beatrice manages to find a passage to the continent and makes it to The Hague, where the Prince and Princess of Orange now have a political scandal on their hands. What ensues is an intense triangular situation in which everyone is faced with ghosts of the past; Maria Beatrice, who never wanted to get married and have children, is faced by the involuntarily childless Mary who would do everything to be a mother; William by his own conduct towards Mary when they were newly-wed, which he finds himself reminded of by some things Maria Beatrice recounts of her marriage, fearing he may have mistreated Mary, and all three of them by the question of who will one day be James' heir, Mary, or the baby, if it turns out to be a boy, Maria Beatrice is about to have? Includes such memorable scenes as the one in which William feeds a toddler potential pretender a waffle while engineering his ascension to the throne during a council meeting (hey, the waffle-thing at least is based on an event and person during his own childhood, so).

I'm currently writing a little something quite light-hearted featuring Louise de Kérouaille and exploring her perspective on her relationship with Charles II, which I find quite delightful.

If any of you want to know something else about the stories (since I don't post them to AO3), feel free to ask. :)

[iknowshocker]

Do you believe kai is redeemable?

hi anon!

the short answer, in case it's all you'd like is: yes, 100%.

i either agree with or understand all of his choices, even the ones that suck. so in a lot of ways, to me, he never needed redemption.

the long answer, if you'd like to know why:

first i think i have to explain my general thoughts on kai as a whole, because some of my personal headcannons differ from others in the fandom.

i've never, not from the moment he showed up a feral little gremlin munching pork rinds in the prison world, considered him to be evil.

Kai lies/disregards things and masks 90% of the time, and yet he's always super open about what was done to him growing up. "they called me ____", "i remember them doing ____", etc. it would be super easy to paint his childhood any way he liked, and yet he doesn't. he knows what happened to him was wrong, and he's going to remind you every chance he gets.

i think he developed sociopathy as a coping mechanism after years of abuse and isolation. i headcannon that they were a homeschool family, which just furthers his lack of social interaction. if he was allowed/forced to help at all, it was doing the manual labor chores while Jo was the one handling anything that involved physical touch.

as an older sibling myself, him being the oldest boy specifically and the complexities around his feelings of wanting to protect them/being jealous/getting robbed of his birthright haunt me.

if you want to get into my true roman empire (those freaking christmas sweater photos) then i don't think he outright hated any of them growing up. sure, they were annoying and loud and sometimes sticky, but they were still his siblings. those feelings of resentment obviously grew stronger the sicker he became, but like, he never hurt anyone until he realized he was being lied to.

so i view the initial murders as a mental break, and i doubt he was in full control of himself at the time. if it was planned out, why didn't he drain someone's magic? killing them the human way is yes, a lot more personal, but it just doesn't make sense to me given his drive for magic based power. you'd think he'd want to go into the merge charged up, you know?

speaking of the og merge: did they expect him to just ... not ask about it and be cool with getting told no? like the fact that no one foresaw him lashing out so violently only proves to me that he wasn't *that* scary growing up. joshua probably had the ascendent prepped and ready to go, and he was just waiting for an outburst bad enough to use it. shame it took that, my guy. i feel we could have handled this whole thing a bit better.

i think kai was probably obsessively dedicated to his magical training leading up to 1994. i take "been practicing my whole life" very seriously, lol. he wanted to prove that he could do it, and prove the coven wrong for doubting him. i imagine him hoarding objects to drain and being super freaking annoyed that even Jo stops letting him borrow what he needs to just do basic work. we find out later that Valerie wore a necklace she could siphon from when she needed magic, and you're telling me no one thought of that in modern day?? enchant the beeper, for gods sake.

despite all that, he ended up being the strongest witch in TVD next to bonnie, and that was with him being mostly self taught. he's stupid good at voiceless magic, which i've always taken to mean he's a very instinctual wielder. he doesn't need the verbal spells, he's strong enough to just will the magic into listening.

"i had a soft spot for one of my sisters" and the repeated use of "sissy" for jo, make me wish we knew more about them as kids and how she let herself be turned against him. they have so much in common and such an obvious twin connection that lasts until the very last moment when he stabs himself and chooses to bleed out right beside her on the floor of the ruined church. Jo (and Bonnie) are the only people that seems to be able to get through to pre-merge kai. then post-merge kai is laser focused on making things up to them. i wish we saw more of him realizing he suddenly had a full range of emotion and what that did to him.

that sweet spot of post merge/pre 1903 prison world is the closest we come to kai's actual personality (imo). he's so shockingly, desperately earnest, while still being darkly funny and a little too aggressive. it's my favorite version of him.

those scenes show us the side of him that so obviously wants to be needed, even if it means hurting himself to be helpful. yes, luke is the reason why the emotions manifest, but luke is also not down for self sacrificing (ironic as hell, given his choice to merge). luke routinely tells the mfg to get fucked, so to say that he's the one making kai risk his life/the coven to help bonnie is just untrue. i think kai is trying to earn a spot in the group, and if they'd given him one, he would have been insanely useful.

like i said i think he masks 90% of the time, and the confidence that he shows is often hiding a huge insecurity over feeling like he's not good/strong/smart enough. there is always going to be a part of him that is still that scared little broken witch locked alone in his room, begging to be let out. i don't know how to view him as "hot bad boy who f*cks" because that's just not how i've ever seen him. don't get me wrong, i love those fics as much as anyone, but it's just not true Kai to me.

look i know some of you are like, hey op go back to when you said you agree with his choices, so here we go:

we know that the parker kids grew up being taught "coven over family", but what does that even look like inside the house? do they love each other but feel conflicted about it? is there constant fighting over who is closest to their parents? is it just anarchy? no matter what you think, it's clear they're all deeply traumatized.

kai has every right to be angry over the og merge, and lashing out makes complete sense. say it with me: murder is not okay BUT what better way to show joshua he's not messing around? if he's used to acting out for attention, what happens if he breaks something that can't be put back together this time? if they've been raised to think that family doesn't matter, why would any of them even care?

it's horrible, flawed logic, but it's there.

look me in the eyes and explain to me why it's okay when Daddy tries to kill you, but when it's your brother suddenly it's this big unforgivable crime, Jo. i'll wait.

Liv makes some of the most realistic decisions in the show to me, including the fact that she sides with Kai. unlike luke, she points out how they have every right to be mad at Jo. after sending Kai away, she abandoned them to an abusive father, (not to mention moved across the country with a new name to make it harder to ever find her!!) leaving them stuck fulfilling a merge that wasn't theirs to begin with. good for you for trying to get your brother on the throne livvie-poo 👏🏼 let him make the hard choices so you can run off with tyler and live in the woods 👏🏼

the parker's also make a lot of comments about how if kai is let out, he'll go full homicidal maniac and kill everyone just for fun. and yet, every murder we see him commit is a means to an end. again, in case you missed it the first time: murder is not okay BUT they act like he's some random spree killer when he's just ?? not ??

every murder/crime he commits has a clear reason, even if a lot of them are small/petty.

the taxi driver: he couldn't pay the fee

the random college kids: he needed to get into the hospital to see Jo

the grill manager: he was hungry, the guy was in his way, and elena was unconscious over his shoulder, lol

the coven murders/stabbing Jo: he needs to hold onto power, and they've given up on him yet again. at this point, let's just burn the whole thing and start over !!

there are so many characters in TVD that actually kill without reason, feeling, or second thought. (including enzo, bon-bon, so jot that down). while i'm not diminishing how violent kai can be, i certainly don't lump him in with characters like klaus or damon.

this is a slightly unpopular opinion especially amongst people that don't ship Bonkai, but i view everything done in the prison world as mutual retaliation. bonnie and kai are fighting. i'm not excusing his behavior anymore than i'm excusing hers, but she quite literally killed him not once but twice.

once they're both out she feels endless hatred towards him as a coping mechanism to give herself something to focus on so she doesn't break, and i wish !! so badly that it was used as a way to bond them. like who better to help her navigate violent magical outbursts then mr "killed half my family in a fit of jealous rage" himself?

we could have seen them grow together, navigating standing up for themselves in healthy ways and encouraging each others strengths, but no.

ill die on the hill that if bonnie knew what kai did on her birthday we wouldn't even be having this conversation, anon. I don't think he expected anyone to actually 100% forgive him, because at the end of the day he also knows he's made some huge mistakes/poor choices. but if specifically Jo or Bonnie had said something like "i see that you are trying" i think it would have been enough for him to stay on that path.

i don't think kai likes being the bad guy, its just another means to an end. if he can't get what he wants (or what he feels he deserves) by asking, he'll take it. and yes, showing off and being scary does give him some sort of thrill - but it's also the only way he can get them to look at him.

listen you don't even understand the things i would give to see him realize the heretics were once siphons. to realize they were geminis and that it's basically a coven gene !! to finally know he's not the only witch to be born like this !!

imagine getting to hear lily tell him there's nothing wrong with him ?? that she's sorry his parents kept the truth from him ?? that he didn't deserve the childhood he had but she's happy to help him now ?? i truly don't know if i could handle it.

kai is so completely desperate to be part of a group that it ends up blinding him and making him vulnerable to attack. i guess i just don't know how to see a character like that and not believe in them.

alright, as you can see, anon, im not great at short answers and i clearly think about him too much. it doesn't help that im currently working on a book series with an MC inspired by him 🙈 the brain rot is real and i fear it may never end. hope you enjoyed this ted talk tho!! thanks for being my first ask ✨

[verdemoun]

Do they get a reminder that their world now still isn’t completely safe and accepting of them? Like, it’s safer and more accepting, but not completely.

me: hey guys i have this super fun idea for a modern au where the gang have memories canon events and slowly become ooc through healing y'all: when do they die. how to they deal with trauma. what was hosea's funeral like. do they get hate crimed

of course they do. modern era is modern era. things have changed. some for the better, some for the absolute worse.

bessie has to give the girls a lecture that the danger that men pose to women has not changed. they shouldn't be walking home alone at night. vaccines might have reduced the number of women killed by disease but just made it more obvious how explicitly men were a risk to women.

the girlies didn't believe it until karen and jenny, having had a great but surprisingly tame night at the bar, noticed a guy walking behind them as they made their way home. the guy proceeded to lurk outside the house despite lenny and sean having both made their presences known. it wasn't until arthur turned up, hunting bow in hand ready, that the guy sprinted off into the dark

kieran actually did have a job for a brief period of time! the stable where bessie took him horseriding informally hired him as a groom, cash in hand for weekends whenever he felt like working, only to change hands and the new owner very aggressively tell him to fuck off because why would they pay a (multiple ableist and homophobic slurs) to do basic chores

not only was kieran distraught to lose his only regular contact with horses, but how upsetting it actual moment was: to be excited for work only to find out about the new management by said new management screaming at him, heckling him with all the same abusive mannerisms of the o'driscolls. it took weeks for him to leave the house afterwards

homophobia is still very much a thing. on one hand the gang are used to 19th century murdered for being queer homophobia, on the other homophobia is fucking loud. it is organized and it is everywhere, especially whenever elections were coming up.

arthur considers himself lucky he just deals with generic homophobia. sure he gets women promising to turn him straight, and he accidentally brutally declares 'ma'am i do in fact like women and men but i'm sure no matter what you were i wouldn't think you were worth pissing on'

the religious rooted homophobia? that hits sean hard. he considers himself catholic, not a very good catholic but a catholic none the less, and when religious groups preach hate and sin it effects him. surely being an outlaw condemned his soul enough. sometimes he needs that extra support from the gang that whatever god there is wouldn't actually hate him for finding happiness with lenny

bill internalizes everything. he comes so far in being comfortable and able to accept himself only to be knocked back by homophobic media and protest and suddenly want to hide again. the tension wrestling with the fact being out and meeting other gay people makes him profoundly happy and then how much he already hates himself only to (re)discover in modern era that people still think he should hate himself for being gay

but absolutely none of them would argue lenny doesn't have it the worst. lenny deals with a) homophobia and racism in his workplace as a university lecturer surrounded by old money conservative white men b) racism within the queer community, forced to swallow that 19th century urge to end an argument with a gun when someone says something that is explicit fetishization that becomes explicit racism when he says no c) being a black man in modern america.

lenny is not shy about the fact he misses the fact in 19th century he could shoot a man that was pissing him off, escape like he did in strawberry, and keep riding until he found somewhere safe. for lenny, modern era doesn't feel safer like it does for the rest of the gang, just a different kind of dangerous.

even after a decade in timewarp, lenny is still shocked by how deep racism runs. one of the worst days of his life, in either era, was a day he had to pick up maeve from school. he was listed as the second emergency contact if sean wasn't available. he was listed as sean's partner. the school knew sean was in a same sex relationship and were supportive. but lenny, a black man, turning up asking to pick up maeve, who was sick, who saw him and called out for him dad, when lenny had all his id on him that matched perfectly with the information that was provided to the school - they still called the cops

and the cops turned up, and maybe it was spectacularly shit cops but they drew their guns on lenny, an unarmed black man, trying to pick up his daughter from school. it was only that karen, who previously thought she wouldn't be able to get there, turned up and said 'that is maeve's father what the fuck are you doing'

maeve didn't understand why she had to change school and threw a mighty tantrum until she was assured abigail jr would be changing school as well after the incident. the next school were almost uncomfortable with how clear sean was in saying my partner is a black man but understood having heard about the incident, and were very supportive

lenny still feels uncomfortable going to school events despite how much he adores seeing maeve at school, participating and trying her best and getting the opportunity to be more than any of them got to be in 19th century. he is both paranoid but knows he is not being paranoid people are watching him out the corner of their eyes just for being a black man