#sometimes spiral can be blue as a treat

[spiralmode]

i just think this scene is so good with a hard cut right there

[erosiism]

SACRED | YANDERE PRIEST X M!READER

prompt: yandere!priest x transmigrated!male!reader

character(s): priest (anton), you

warnings(s): mention of violence, god complex, religious imagery, dub-con, not to be glorified or romanticised

note(s): male reader, second person, past and present tense, not beta read. from twisted faith on my wattpad.

It takes a few moments for you to truly process what just happened. From the coarse sheets underneath your skin that differ greatly from the silken ones you have grown so accustomed to, to the air that smells like blood, you know something is terribly wrong.

Then you see a mural of a priest on the wall, and you remember where you are. A horror game.

Anton. It’s the name of the priest you need to find.

The first time you see the priest is the day after you transmigrate into a horror game. The said game, Spiraling into the Abyss features almost a cult like fanaticism with religion: you learn in the first few seconds of your time in the new world that they worship a priest like a God, and that they sacrifice humans to please the apparent gods of the heavens.

You’re a sacrifice. You know that. You are found to be guilty of some stupid crime you didn’t commit, and as far as you know, you are a worthless extra who will die by burning—you will do everything to prevent that.

To survive, you need to get into his good graces. You see him on the day or worship, when you come early to the Church: and his beauty astounds you. Symmetrical features—and the whole blue eyes and golden hair combination that is seen as rather cliche, in terms of beauty—but Anton doesn’t have a common kind of beauty; he is radiant. Benevolent. Ethereal. You marvel at him. His skin is without a blemish, and is fair, like he hasn’t gone out in the sun for a while...yet it has a healthy glow to it. His expression is serene. Anton's hair frames his face perfectly, and his eyes are expressive and rather captivating, with long, dark lashes that draw attention to it. His cheekbones are well-defined, his nose straight—and those only add to Anton's appeal.

He speaks to you in lilted tones, and immediately, you realize the priest isn’t just evil—he’s downright a menace.

"Sometimes I forget you are a new, naive believer. God is perfect, is he not? So his messengers, in turn, can do no wrong. He sends his messages through me. God is part of me. I'm merely ridding the world of evil."  He strides to where you are, and his hands touch the top of your head lightly. His fingers fall to your cheek, and he strokes it gently.

You can only swallow. “Yes, Father Anton.”

There’s one day where you ask him why he burns those bodies. He calls it “cleansing”, apparently.

“They donate to the church out of the kindness of their hearts,” you tell him, swallowing the bile down your throat as you hear more screams. “Is that not…a little extreme?”

“Extreme? Why, no, not at all.”

“You burn people alive.”

“That is the cleanest way to proceed. Their ashes tumble away, and it makes it much easier for the people, too. If we were to use magic, or beheading, or even hanging—it would be much messier, no? And I believe fire is such an awfully beautiful thing. It can make death look inviting; and even though the heavens might cast them away…in hell, all they will see is the fiery pits. This is their punishment. To feel sorry for them is strange, Y/n.”

Despite this, for the sake of your survival, you continue to visit him. Now, such visits are rare: Anton barely makes time for anyone. But he does, for you. 

Of course, this partial treatment doesn’t go unnoticed by you. He treats only you like this: it’s concerning, actually. His words are light and gentle, but the weight of it isn’t. In fact, he speaks of cleansing, he speaks of murdering in such a calm manner that you wonder if the devil truly resides in him.

But one thing is clear. 

To survive, you need to get into his good graces.

You feel your sanity slip each minute you spend in the game.

Anton kills. So does the Church. And you still can’t explain the goddamn obsession he has with you. Why has he not killed you yet? Anton is no saint, not at all.

Perhaps Anton was ensnared by the promise of Godhood—ensnared by the tendrils of his own self proclaimed grandiosity. Perhaps he had been idolized so much…worshiped by the devoted believers that he had simply been led to believe in his imagined divinity. Anton was a mortal who had dared to cast a shadow that eclipsed the very stars that he had reached for. Anton was simply adorned in robes of imagined omnipotence, and smelt of the fragrance of narcissus.

Here, he was god, but Anton was completely alienated from empathy. For what was a god in isolation but a sovereign ruler over an empire of one, ruling over a realm devoid of the richness of God’s grace?

You can’t deal with him much longer. He keeps murdering: he murders those who come to you under the guise of the silly notion of cleansing, he finds it amusing to see you sob and cry…and he has no qualms about drugging you. If not for the items you have stored in your inventory, warning you of drugs, you would have succumbed long ago.

Anton is no priest. 

And now he stands before you, his lips curling into a smile when he sees the look of despair on your face. He has just killed a friend,

You have to. You have to fight Anton…you have to…

Anton leans forward. You two are a hair’s breadth away.

God. Is God real? Is the devil real—has he taken form in Anton himself, twisting, persuading, begging, tempting people to court evil, to withhold the stench of death? The crimson flames have not faltered for long, and have only seemed to welcome him with fiery contempt, only surrendering when everything has been destroyed in its wake.

You long to spit curses towards Anton. You long for your limbs to connect with his face, and leave a mottled bruise there. You long for your twitching fingers to wrap around the priest’s neck; watch as oxygen slowly slips from his lungs out of your throat. You long to see his body grow limp.

“You are so perfect,” Anton murmurs, “so, so divine. So perfect…”

You don’t get why he says this. He’s been telling you this for ages: it’s the reason why you’ve been treated well. He claims you are some savior from an oracle ready to save him, he claims you saved him.

And now in this scenario, where his fingers are grazing your cheek?

You swallow. There was no way, right? No fucking way—

“I want to kiss you.”

Your heart drops. “…If I say no, you wouldn’t listen.”

A kiss. It would just be a kiss, right? That was okay. It means simply brushing your lips against Anton’s…yeah, that was possible.

You want to cry. Anton presses his lips on yours—it’s a mixture of heat and warmth; the way Anton ravages your lips has some sort of twisted hunger to it, craving and craving and craving. There is an obscene sheen of saliva coating your lips when you part.

The kiss tastes just like the forbidden fruit, plucked from the tree of desire. It is the same way that Eve sinned—eating a fruit that had belonged to the serpent. It was as if you had forged a pact with the devil himself—that in kissing Anton, it was like sealing your fate in the molten wax of sin, staining the canvas of your soul. Had matted it black. 

It was shameful. So utterly shameful that the kiss…

Once Anton fully lets go, he smiles, and you collapse on the ground, tears running down your face.

He needs you, Anton thinks, he needs you. You are the savior who has brought him from the depths of hell. You are his miracle. You are his little pet; his little divine sacrifice, the white sheep with the white wool. You are the one who will follow him guiltlessly. Untouched, untainted, clean.

You are shaking like a newborn lamb.

He presses another kiss on your forehead.

[ before, Anton’s pov ]

The world was dirty.

It needed a savior. Someone to bring them out from the depths of hell—to cleanse them. After all, was that not what the texts read? Was that not what he had learnt, ever since young? Was that not what had been instilled in him since his very birth? Luke 15:11-32. The wayward son who squandered his inheritance but was welcomed back by his forgiving father—Anton had marveled at it when he was young. To think someone would have such boundless grace; such forgiveness for a foolish person…

The oracle. Anton saw the oracle as a gift—a symbol from God. It had been delivered to him when he was young, naive, and careless. 

Anton remembered very little about his childhood. Extremely little. He remembered his mother, his father. But that was it—but oh, how he hated them. Anton did not remember why he hated them, why the portrait of his family had been torn out. He regarded life then, and now, as the beginning of the end.

Something fleeting, something ephemeral. Something tragic. Life was a wonderful tragedy.

People look at me with such endless wonder; such spellbound eyes and widened mouths. They see me as God—they see me as a deity above them all.

And that was true, Anton thought. That was very true. Sinners. Wretched, dirtied, horrid sinners, all of them! Anton despised humankind; they were worthless—made of brittle bones with flesh. He did not even see them as humans. They were just mere vessels in need of salvation.

“Father Anton!”

“Father Anton, would you please help me?”

“Bring me to the path of salvation!

He was anointed by a divine purpose to purify the soiled souls of the world…

Yes, that was his purpose.

It was relieving and calming to have a purpose. To drift in the vast expanse of the world; the universe without a tethering purpose is akin to being a feather in the breath of the wind. Useless, damaging, lonely. Anton could see—it was very easy for him to see who were those who were aimless in life, compared to those who had the bright, bubbly life shining magnificently in their eyes.

Oh, Mother. Anton would stand before her grave. Again, he did not remember much of what he believed was to be a mundane, boring childhood, but his mother’s name left a bitter taste on his tongue, horrid and painful. Somehow, he did not feel a single bit of…remorse, or guilt when he gazed at her tombstone. He expected to feel guilt for something he was quite sure he didn’t do.

But his lips would always curve into a smile when he saw the words etched on the grave. She was dead, he would remember. Dead. Occasionally, snippets of memories would come to him—her shrill voice, her messy, jagged hair, her crazed, crazed eyes. The way her fingernails felt on her skin when she scratched at him wildly.

Clearly, she deserved to die. How did she die, though? What exactly transpired? What kind of person was she, and what kind of person had she tried to make Anton into?

Anton found, to his surprise, that he was bothered about this. Detachment was something he prided himself on: he would never venture too close.

To have attachment with someone would be detrimental. Annoying. Haunting.

There were times—many, many times when Anton had awoken, hollow and void. 

The oracle.

The oracle.

When is it coming? When is it coming? Have the gods lied to me?

The oracle—his lifeline since he was young—was the very proof that this world had a chance, to live on, to heal.

A savior.

There were times Anton would grow impatient. He needed to do something about the state of the world. It would be easy, wouldn’t it? Why did people falter in front of flames? What did people shun away from blood? Was the sight not wonderful, not enchanting? The heat was welcoming—a gentle caress. Those who ventured in, would have their faces bathed in mesmerizing glow. Nevermind their screams, nevermind their bleeding, rotting flesh. 

The fire illuminated the world before it dissolved like nothing. Like it hadn’t existed. 

“Horrible! Horrible! You’re fucking horrible!” Then the stinging of flesh. There was something piping hot, something burning him.

“Why won’t you even flinch, you monster?”

Anton smiled loosely. Another memory. They came into his mind occasionally and quickly. He never pondered over them—it was useless to; for he already had everything he wanted.

The day you came into the world, was the day he felt alive. Waiting had become a bore to him—it was the same routine over and over again, with the same stupid, foolish people—

Something extraordinary had graced his reality. The oracle. You were the chosen one. The chosen one. The chosen one. The one he yearned for; seeked for; the change in the world.

“Dear God,” You had said the first time he saw you. “I confess I have been impure in my holy spiritual presence…”

Anton had seen you before the mural; your head lowered, your words soft and quiet.

Anton had stepped before you, tilting his head to the side as he observed you. In fact, you seemed to be struggling.

“You have to be sincere. You can’t just read off the mural.” Anton sighed.

You seemed to look at him with flickering recognition.

“Forgive me, Father Anton, for I have sinned.” You appeared shocked for the words to even slip past your lips; and oh, you were beautiful. Lovely. Innocent. Anton gazed at you—this was the person he had been waiting for his whole life—fervently, impatiently, silently. 

“You don’t seem to be used to this,” Anton said at last, as he took off his hood. He had not meant to come to church today—he was aware the crowd was growing more stifling, more crazed by the minute. The women of the church reminded him of his mother. There were times he wished he could draw a blade to their throat, and watch the blood spill out in a wonderful crimson.

“I’m afraid it’s been long since my last confession.”

Anton couldn’t help but smile. You were lying. 

“That’s alright,” He said calmly, “you have come now. Is there something in particular that’s troubling you, perhaps? To bring you to confession?”

“I…”

Anton could read human beings exceptionally well. From the way their eyes narrowed, the way their pupils widened marginally, to the gap of their fingers…you were trembling. You were thinking of what other lies you could say.

An adorable fool.

“You…?” He prompted. “You must not feel self conscious in the eyes of God. He already knows, Y/n. He is only waiting for you to confess.”

I am only waiting for you to confess. To tell me that you are from the oracle.

“I cannot even recall it.” You admitted.

You cannot recall it because it is not true.

“What do people come here for, Father Anton?”

Many things.

“The ones who have sinned so awfully they are made to be sacrifices.”

Oh. Sacrifices. Anton did not even—

There were times he would stand before dead bodies, blood in his hand, blinking slowly. When? When had he killed them? It all happened so fast, he wasn’t even aware of the blood staining his clothes, the bodies riddled on the ground.

“You tell me, Y/n.”

“Murder…?”

Anton wanted to laugh. A textbook answer. You had much to learn, didn’t you? It was alright. Anton could teach you. Teach you from ground zero, till you would become who you were supposed to be.

“Mostly, it’s their lack of faith. Rebelling against us. It is their perceived lack of loyalty, and their utter ignorance and disregard for God that leads us to take drastic measures.”

“But that’s…that’s killing isn’t it?”

So pure. So untainted, so innocent. 

The oracle. The person from the oracle. 

“But that doesn’t matter,” Anton said softly, “you show a desire to learn. And that is always very splendid, always welcomed.”

Anton would morph you and turn you into something splendid, divine.

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[getmeoutofhell]

Mk1 Women NSFW Headcanons part 2

includes: Li Mei, Mileena, Sindel.

part 1

warnings: SMUT! (ofc), pussy eating, degradation, STRAP! usage mentioned, mommy kink and blood kink mentioned, & more i think.

a/n: another WARNING! i added links to dildos to show a better description, just beware. sorry part 2 took fucking forever to do, but i’ve been working on other things. anyways enjoy!

Li Mei:

THIS women treats you so right in bed.

i promise you’ll never feel uncomfortable around her.

she loves feeling your naked body against hers. when you two have sex, it’s very intimate for her, so we wouldn’t want anyone knowing what you guys do when you’re alone if that makes since.

her strap is definitely a blue-ish color (something like this!), and boy does she know how to use it.

some days she’ll fuck you slow, whispering sweet and beautiful words in your ear as she’s inside of you.

“i love you so much, my lovely.” she says to you, as she kisses up your neck.

other days, you’re fucked. literally.

when’s she’s not in the best mood she’ll fuck you like you’re nothing to her, but you have the best orgasms so you don’t mind much.

and also after she fucks you dumb she compliments you. then she eats you out as a reward for being so good. but don’t worry, she reassures you once she’s done to make sure you’re safe.

she eats you out at a slow pace, tasting every inch of what’s hers. sometimes when you’re to needy and want her to go faster, she’ll just slowly lick up your slit over and over again. it drives you fucking insane.

if you guys are out somewhere where people can see you, she’ll check out your surroundings every minute to make sure nobody’s looking at your beautiful body.

if you behave good in public, she’ll give you a reward once you get home. she’ll even maybe let you be in charge. isn’t that great?

just be a good girl for her and you’ll be fine.

she fingers you so good, that you cum so fast every time.

but just imagine her scissoring you and slightly chocking you.

she loves buying you lingerie as a reward also for your good behavior.

she loves morning sex and is the best at it.

if you sit on her lap, you won’t be walking for a few days.

not gonna go into to much detail but you’ll thank me later 😛.

Mileena:

well if we’re talking about mileena after the incident she does a bunch of tongue action.

even when it comes to sex, a bunch of tongue action.

her strap is pink ofc with a spiral texture. (like this!) which has your g-spot touched beautifully.

if she’s pissed off (which happens a lot), you’ll know by how rough she is with you. nothing ever over the top but she’s not gonna be soft.

you’ll also know if she starts getting bossy with you. she might even yell a little bit, but nothing crazy.

you lowkey get pussy drunk with her every time you eat her out. and when she scissors you, you won’t ever get enough of it.

she licks all over your body. like all over. there’s not one spot she hasn’t licked on you. yes, that includes your ass crack, armpits, and feet. she’s a freaky girl.

she loves shoving her long tongue inside of your pussy. the feeling of that makes you lose your mind.

when she does eat you out, it’s very sloppy most of the time. her drool is everywhere. all over her, you, and the bed or whatever surface y’all are on.

she’d be down to try a bunch of kinks with you. you want it done? name it and she’ll do it with you.

she may of may not have a mommy and blood kink. i won’t go into to much detail…unless you want me to. 👀

if she’s horny when y’all are not home, y’all will be fucking anywhere. i’m not kidding. she’s a horny girl who gets horny often.

she’ll pull you into a room or bathroom to have you get her off, you’re fucked either way.

one of her favorite spots to lick you on your body besides your pussy, would definitely be your nipples. she just loves teasing them.

another thing she does in public is when she gets horny, she’ll eye you up and down in a certain way that tells you to come eat her pussy.

whenever y’all make out her tongue always immediately goes down your throat. your pussy loves it very much i tell you.

her fingers are pretty long, so when she fingers you, your legs basically become jelly every time. also, sometimes she makes you look at yourself in the mirror as she fingers you, hopefully you can keep your eyes open!

if you do somehow get to dom her, get prepared for her bickering. she still likes to be in control after all.

Sindel:

well, she does have a mommy kink for starters.

dom. a hard dom at that. she’s always in control of everything, you are her little slut after all ofc!

she wants you to obey her, so if you do that, you’ll be rewarded. she’ll even ride your beautiful face, wouldn’t you like that?

you have the best orgasms with her i swear. she fucks you like a slut.

mommy sindel’s strap looks like (this!), and it has your toes curling every single time. be prepared to get your pussy stretched and fucked nicely.

rough back shots most of the time. if you have hair be prepared.

she loves making you suck her beautiful nipples as she rubs her fingers through your hair (if you have any). god the noises she would make…

she is the queen after all so, if anyone comes near you she doesn’t want…they’re dead. she always immediately assumes the person is only hitting on you for sexual reasons, so she gets jealous.

you want to ride her face? you have to earn it like the slut you are. beg her and maybe she’ll let you. or if you misbehave she’s gonna ride your face and you won’t get any pleasure done to you. so your pussy is just gonna be wet and empty :(

another reward is her eating your pussy. which only happens if you be very good with no mistakes. mommy sindel doesn’t play.

she will sometimes take pictures of her in lingerie or just flat out naked and send them to you as a treat. i hope you enjoy it.

she loves shoving your face in her breast. her pussy gets so wet whenever you do it.

her pussy is perfect. like- actually perfect. and it taste so fucking good. every so often you do something bad on purpose, just so she’ll make you eat her pussy. but she knows when you do.

no one knows about you two. it’s y’all’s little secret, and always will be.

sometimes on missions, she’ll get pretty horny after watching you battle for her. on the way home, she’ll rub her hand on your thigh, letting you know it’s gonna be a wild night.

another thing she does as a punishment, is have you get on your knees infront of her. “who’s your queen?” she’ll ask you. you love it tho.

as long as you behave well and obey her, you’ll be rewarded as a good girl. :)

i hope you sluts enjoyed this. i’ve upgraded with my typing skills as you can see ;)

masterlist

[ladyveronikawrites]

In Your Eyes I See City Lights

Nicholas Ruffilo & Gender Neutral Reader

A little treat for @deathblacksmoke Blurb inspired from this moodboard Just a lot of fluff, please enjoy💛 word count: 667

It’s been one hell of a work week for you, and all you want to do is collapse on the sofa and snuggle up with your boyfriend. You toss your bag on the floor, and just as you are about to slip out of your shoes, Nick hands you your favorite pair of sneakers and his jacket—the same denim jacket he wore on your first date all those years ago. 

“Where are w-” A slender tattooed finger pressed against your lips silences you, but you take his outstretched hand instead. 

“Let me show you.” 

As the cool autumnal air breezes past you, you wrap his jacket tighter around yourself. Hands entwined Nick leads you down the sidewalk into the city. The car lights glow against the remaining puddles on the asphalt. It’s been rainy and cloudy for days now and at times, now more than ever you miss the sun. The dark cold winter days on the east coast are looming. Fresh air in your lungs and your love by your side was just what you needed. Snuggling up against him, he finally breaks the comforting silence. “Almost there, my love.”

Looking over at him, his stunning blue-grey eyes light up and you follow his gaze to the new cafe. There’s an old traffic light lit up green when you walk into the cafe, damp sneakers squeaking along the concrete floor. You take it all the sights, the industrial metal chairs at the counter, road signs decorating the crisp white walls, and the fairy lights hanging from the open glass-paned garage door. “This used to be a motorcycle shop,” Nick says lowly into your ear as your attention returns to him. 

“What did you order us?” you ask as Nick uncurls himself from your embrace. “For you a Vietnamese cold brew and a Thai bubble tea for me.” He grins handing you your drink and clinks your plastic cups together. 

“Dork.”

“I know,” he says proudly. “And you love it.” He leans down to press a tender kiss to your lips. 

“I do.” You smile back at him.

“C’mon.” He links elbows with you and leads you to your next destination. 

Your drinks have long been finished by the time you stroll into the bar. You haven’t been here since the band had their first gig all those years ago. The band has skyrocketed in popularity recently and it makes you dizzy just thinking about it. But Nicky has always stayed the same; the quiet gentleman that opens all your door to the rowdy nerd when his character dies in a video game. He’s always creating and looking at the world around him for inspiration. When he’s home from tour or the tattoo shop he spends his time with you and his cats. 

“Thank you,” you say reaching for his hands across the table. In the dim light of night, his eyes reflect the moon. He looks at your hands before lacing his fingers between yours. 

“Of course, doll. I know you’ve been working a lot these past few weeks and I am so proud of you, but you also need to take care of yourself.” He smiles softly at you as you take in his words, sometimes you feel like you don’t deserve his kindness and generosity especially when you’ve been so worn down.

A gentle squeeze of your hands pulls you from your spiraling thoughts. 

“You know that I love you, right?” His cheeks flush a little and he suddenly gets shy when you look up at him. Like he still needs to pinch himself to remind him that you are real and that he is still the luckiest guy on earth to get to spend every day with you.

“Yeah, I know.” You squeeze him back wishing you could punch him in the arm for getting sappy. But you know it's sincere. And you need the reminder too, that despite how crazy life can get that he still loves you. 

“I love you too.”

tysm for reading 💜 dividers @saradika-graphics

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[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 3

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, implied soapghost // CW: angst, hurt no comfort (yet), suicidal ideation, violent thoughts of self harm, MWIII spoilers

---

Everything is wrong — the dead bodies surrounding him, the strange hiss in his ear, the hateful expression on Ghost's face as he describes all the things Soap doesn't remember. 

All the ways he's hurt the people he loves the most.

No wonder Ghost is treating him like he's the enemy. It's because he is.

He sits back on his heels and stares at the blue sky he thought he'd never see again. The smell of death and human waste wafts through the broken-out glass of his helmet and sends him back to his hole in the ground where he would sit in a gut-churning mixture of mold, blood, and his own shit for the days and sometimes weeks between the ice cold spray-downs just before Makarov paid him a visit.

He's dizzy. Exhausted. Horrified.

And the inescapable hiss from his helmet makes him want to stab out his ear drums. The violence of the visceral thought sends a shiver down his spine.

Years.

Ghost said he's been trying to kill the 141 for years — months upon months of being nothing more than a mindless machine, a puppet for Makarov to pull the strings and make him dance. The implications of the broken out glass and the hissing are clear. Can he even trust himself not to turn again if he takes too big of a whiff of whatever is pumping out of his helmet?

He holds his breath. The longer he doesn't breathe, the more the world goes hazy. Vicious pain slices through his temples, and his lungs convulse, sucking in huge gulps of air. His vision blackens at the edges, the compulsion for violence rising higher—

Wind buffets his face, and the blackness clears away.

He supposes that answers that question.

He tries again to remove the helmet, but it seems to be sealed to his tactical vest — a vest that doesn't have any straps to loosen that he can see. Panic bubbles in his chest, and he struggles harder, desperate to remove the thing that tethers him to Makarov. The thing that made him kill for him.

"Stop," Ghost orders, the harsh tone grating like shards of glass over Soap's skin.

He stops, though the panic still simmers in his chest and tries to leak through his mouth as a whine. He can't bring himself to look at Ghost. Can't stomach that hateful look in his eyes.

Soap thought he'd never break. Thought he'd die before ever betraying his dearest friends and family.

Apparently, he was wrong.

What is left for him now if those he loves can't trust him? If he can't trust himself?

The memory of Ghost's scarred hands trailing over his bare chest jerks him from his spiraling thoughts, and he bites back a groan of frustration at his own coping methods, especially when the subject of his thoughts is sitting right in front of him, hating him.

During the time he remembers with Makarov, Soap used the phantom sensation of Ghost's hands on his skin as a distraction from the pain and torture Makarov put him through, telling himself he could one day feel those hands again if he just held on for another day. Back then, he believed without a doubt that Ghost would love him no matter what Makarov did to him.

Now Ghost won't even let him get close enough to touch.

He wishes he'd stopped fighting when Makarov first showed him that video, when the first wave of realization and despair rolled over him that no one was coming. Maybe he could've willed himself to die and saved the 141 at lot of pain and possible death—

Dread hits him like a sledgehammer straight to his chest.

"Price and Gaz... they're alive, right?" Soap croaks through a parched throat. "I didn't... I didn't hurt them, did I?"

"Hurt, yes. Kill, no... though not for lack of tryin'," Ghost growls.

It's the barest kind of relief, like a hot breeze on an even hotter day. 

As if he can bend nature to reflect his thoughts, the wind blows the fetid smell of some kind of industrial waste their direction. Soap grimaces at trading one foul smell for another. The chopper blades cutting through air grow louder, like an axe on a swinging pendulum, coming closer to cutting off his access to Ghost with every swing.

He's not stupid. Once he gets on that helo, he'll be indefinitely detained and probably never see Ghost again. He'll be lucky if Price and Gaz come to see him at all. The thought burns his throat like bile.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to the sky. "I don't remember. Please... please don't hate me."

Emotion builds in his chest like a bomb waiting to blow. All he wants is to be held. To feel a bit of the kindness and human connection he's been missing for so long. But he doesn't know who he is anymore. He feels like Soap, though clearly he hasn't been Soap for a very long time.

"If Makarov could make a man look and act like you once, he could do it again," Ghost rasps. "How do you expect me to... to..."

Ghost trails off, and Soap dares to glance up. He finds Ghost's eyes have mellowed into hesitant distrust, which is an improvement from blind hatred, but after imagining a warm welcome for so long, it's still a slap in the face.

He doesn't blame Ghost, though. He hates himself, too.

And he's right. It kills Soap to admit it, but he's right. It's possible that whatever Makarov did to the man he sent back from Siberia with the 141 has been done to him, too. It's possible that everything he's ever known or thought about himself is a fabrication built on Makarov's lies.

The rhythmic thrum of the helo gets louder. Bubbling panic turns into a cold stone in his gut. 

Even if he is the original Soap, he let himself get caught — wasn't good enough or strong enough to either avoid capture or escape later on. He's a failure in every sense of the word.

"Ye should probably just kill me now," Soap says, though he barely recognizes the strangely detached monotone falling from his lips. "I don't remember anything, and I'm only a danger to ye."

"I'm not... I'm not gonna kill you." Ghost's gaze sharpens. "Not unless you make me."

"Nae," he says in the same monotone. "Wouldnae do tha' to ye. At least... this version of me wouldn't."

He doesn't have a gun. If the amount of bodies surrounding them is any indication, he likely ran out of ammo and threw the gun aside in his pursuit of Ghost. The knife he dropped earlier, though... 

The blade glints in his peripheral vision, a siren song of potential relief. 

Ghost is hurt. He probably wouldn't be able to stop Soap before he could reach for it and stab himself in the eye...

Ghost might still try to stop him, though, and could hurt himself in the process. Soap can't risk that.

Or maybe he just can't stomach the idea of dying knowing Ghost did nothing to prevent it.

The helo glides over the closest warehouse, sending dust and debris flying. Ghost waves to catch the pilot's attention, and it descends, hovering as close to them as it can get and less than a foot from the ground. Soap reaches over to help Ghost up—

Ghost smacks him away again. Soap can barely hear him over the sound of the helo, but it's clear as a bell in his mind all the same. That growl. That hateful tone of voice.

His chest cracks open. The knife gleams in the sunlight.

"Let's go!" Ghost yells over the noise as he reaches the aircraft and grasping medic hands pull him inside.

And even now, after everything, Soap is helpless against following Ghost's orders. He pulls himself into the helo, leaving his last hope for a swift death glinting on the pavement. A medic slams the door shut with a finality that makes him shudder.

The medical staff are already stripping Ghost's gear to get at the wound. Soap moves toward the back of the helo to get out of the way, the sense of detachment growing stronger and the stone in his gut heavier as the helo rises into the air.

He's traded one prison for another, one torture chamber for another. He's seen too much during his time in the military to hope that the government won't treat him just like Makarov did — strap him to a chair until they're satisfied they've bled him dry.

And he's seen too much hate in Ghost's eyes to hope that his one-time lover will save him.

Not that he deserves to be saved...

The medical officer in charge comes at Ghost with a syringe likely full of a local anesthetic, but Ghost catches his arm and points at Soap. "I can wait. Sedate him first," he orders.

Shock clear in his expression, the officer looks between the two of them and opens his mouth, no doubt to protest. Soap beats him to it.

"Do it. Please."

The idea of sedation is a welcome one. His despair is too potent to take much more of the distrust bleeding from Ghost's mask-shadowed eyes. 

The medical officer shakes his head but does as he's ordered, setting side the syringe for Ghost to prepare a different one while his subordinates clean and stitch up Ghost's injury. A raised bag of blood hangs on the ceiling, already draining into Ghost's body to replace what he's lost. It must have been a lot for him to need a transfusion so immediately. Soap bites his lip, a thread of worry weaving through the numbness.

Was he the one that shot Ghost in the first place? It kills him that he doesn't even know.

The officer pulls off as much of Soap's outer gear as he can — the tac vest is a mystery to him, too, apparently — and eventually cuts off the arm of Soap's shirt to get at his bare skin.

The prick of a needle and the cold slide of drugs into his system sends him spiraling.

He remembers the sensation. A crack opens in his mind, and memories slip through — a thousand jabs to the neck followed by the paralyzing cold intruding in his blood stream.

And as much as he dreads that distrustful look in Ghost's eyes, for the length of time it takes the sedative to take effect, he keeps his gaze fixed on Ghost... if only to remind himself of where he is and who he's with.

Ghost is here.

Not Makarov, but Ghost.

Perhaps it's the drugs. Perhaps it's his own mind playing tricks on him. But as he slips under, he swears he sees a flash of longing replace the distrust in Ghost's eyes.

He clings to it as oblivion sweeps him away.

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 >>

[whatwouldsylwrite]

A lil thought for ya: reader getting Abby flowers to congratulate her on winning a hockey game and Abby getting all emotional because she's never gotten flowers before and it makes her feel all special and cared for by her sweet lil gf.

They're super domestic and fluffy in this <3 I'm sorry it took so long, but it just fitted so perfectly after the last chapter because of course reader'd want to do something nice for abby for her first post-recovery game

Abby was finally back on ice after a month of recovery. Her ankle still hurt a little, but she was so eager to be back she sometimes overworked herself - Abby wanted to be in the best form possible before she'd go on ice. It obviously resulted in restless evenings when you'd have to give her painkillers and make her put the brace back so her ankle would rest in a proper position. 

Somewhere inside Abby expected you to treat her like a child and scold her, but you never told her off, not taking away her responsibility for her own health. It felt good to have a partner who knew the line between care and patronising. 

Today was going to be challenging, their opponents were one of the strongest teams in the tournament, and Abby was nervous.

"Fuck. I can't fucking-" Abby swore as she was looking for her socks. 

"What are you looking for?" You asked from the kitchen where you were drinking tea. It was Saturday, and you got to wake up later than Abby who had a morning practice before the game. 

"The blue socks. Oh for fuck's sake." Abby was frustrated, and you picked up on it, immediately leaving your tea and coming to Abby. 

"Hey. You need to take a breath." You held her hands, stopping her from any movement to bring her back. "In and out, come on."

Abby closed her eyes and took a deep breath, calming herself down. She was spiralling and she needed to stop it. 

"I'll look for your blue socks and you go finish my tea, okay?"

Abby nodded and went to the kitchen, still taking some deep breaths: she was getting too worked up. Abby was scared of fucking up today, and it was driving her crazy. She sipped your tea, making herself slow down and just vibe while you were looking for her socks. Abby was sure they were in some obvious place, but her mind just couldn't register them. 

You came back, holding not only her blue socks but also a hairbrush.

"I'll do your hair. Sit."

"What would I do without you?" Abby asked, genuinely thankful as she sat down on a chair, giving you all the control over her hair. If Abby did her hair herself she'd probably get frustrated again with how imperfect it'd look, but it was you doing it so it couldn't be imperfect by design.

"Spiral, lash out on someone and then slam a lot of people into the boards." You shrugged playfully as you braided her hair. 

"Oh fuck you." Abby laughed and you laughed too, kissing her head. 

"It's the first game, you're nervous, of course your head is not in the right place. But I know you'll kick their asses and win tonight. I've seen you practise, you're going to be magnificent." 

Abby pretended she didn't blush from your words, but it warmed her heart. Your support meant a lot to her, and knowing you had her back made her feel safe and calm.

Eric can scream and get punched in the face afterwards, but as long as Abby knew she'd come back to your gentle embrace and soft kisses, she could care less. 

The practice was going well and Abby felt her anxiety going away and letting her competitiveness take hold. She felt powerful, her confidence coming back. Abby was the strongest player in the whole fucking tournament and she was going to prove it. They were going to win and she'd show everyone that the injury wasn't holding her back and she'd still kick everyone's asses even with a weak ankle. 

Boys felt confident too, hyped up as they skated to their positions for the puck drop. Abby quickly looked at the benches to find you and you waved and smiled at her, showing thumbs up. Oh, Abby was definitely going to win when her cutest number one fan was rooting for her. 

The puck dropped and Abby skated immediately, taking it away from her opponents. She felt ruthless and dangerous, not letting anyone get in her way. Abby definitely ignored the pain in her ankle, too high on adrenaline, as she scored again and again. She felt fucking all-powerful, like she could do anything right now. 

"What the fuck, Abby? Are you on fucking drugs today?" Manny said during the first break, laughing, surprised how well Abby was playing.

"(Y/n) is right there man, I can't lose today." Abby chuckled and chugged her water. "She braided my hair so I'm like. Blessed. You know what I mean?" 

"Like you have a lucky charm?" Manny helped. 

"Yeah." Abby smiled, refusing to get embarrassed of how sappy she was.

"You're a fucking simp, Anderson."

"I fucking am." Abby agreed and looked in your direction.

You were in her hoodie (your hoodie now, based on how often you wore it), you hair in a braided halo and you were looking back at her, smiling. Abby felt herself melt and turn into a soft pile of goo, your cute smile and cute up-do just evaporating her "don't fuck with me or I'll kill you" vibe.

"Oh god do I look the same when I look at my girl?" Manny asked with disgust as he watched Abby drool in your direction.

"You look worse." Abby's attitude came back and she was cool and stoic and hot again. "Remember when I had to close your mouth that one time when your weather girl wore a mini skirt?" 

Manny flipped her and they went back on ice, prepared to tear their opponents to shreds. The game was challenging and it wasn't easy to score, Abby got body checked a few times, but she enjoyed the game so much she thought they should ask their rival team for a friendly match after, because they were actually good.

The final horn rang, ending the game with 4:3 and Abby smirked, smug, as she skated back to her team. They won. The fucking won. Take that, Eric, Abby was the best even while she was still recovering. They shook hands with their opponents, thanked them for a game - and today thanks were actually genuine - and went to the players' benches to rest a little and go home. 

Abby took her helmet off as she was stopping before the exit and when she lifted her head back, she noticed you standing right at the exit, congratulating her teammates, hugging Manny. Abby rushed to you, excited, hugging you right away and lifting you up so she could kiss you. She knew she was cold, but she also knew you didn't mind.

"Congratulations." You whispered in her mouth with a sweet smile on your face, your eyes twinkling with love. "You were glorious."

"It's because you're my good luck charm." You giggled and blushed, and Abby just stared at you.

"Stop I'll literally barf." Ellie said behind your back and Abby let you go to hug Ellie next. "You're a fucking beast, Anderson."

"Thanks." Abby chuckled. "We're going to celebrate tonight. You coming?"

"You know I do." Ellie smirked and left you two alone as boys already went to the lockers. 

"I've got something for you." You said and quickly grabbed something from the bench. "Congratulations on the win."

Abby stared at your hands, her chest suddenly tight with emotions. You held a big colourful bouquet to her, filled with different flowers Abby probably didn't even know the names of. Abby took them carefully, still staring at them, absolutely dumbfounded. 

"Thank you." Abby said in a soft voice, getting shy. 

The last time someone got her flowers was when she was a child and was winning her first games: her father always made sure to give her flowers. Her previous partners just assumed that if she was more dominant it meant she didn't want this kind of attention, and it wasn't like she gave it too much thought, not really understanding the whole idea of flower giving. 

But right now Abby felt fucking butterflies in her stomach as she shyly smelled the bouquet, stealing glances at you. She felt giddy and couldn't control her smile even if she tried to suppress it, embarrassed by how plainly happy the flowers made her feel. Now Abby understood what you meant when you said she made you feel like a lady, because right now Abby felt like a fucking princess in front of her knight. You smiled at her, pleased, and Abby blushed more. 

"They're very pretty." Abby murmured as she looked over the bouquet. 

You smiled and Abby smiled back, her cheeks red, and you watched how delighted she was with your little gift, absolutely enamoured with her.

"Do you want me to take them so you can change?" You asked, but for some reason you knew she didn't.

"No." Abby said quickly and held the flowers closer to herself just as you did on your first date, protecting them.

"You're so cute." You chuckled and kissed Abby on the cheek.

"I'm not." Abby said, but you weren't convinced when she stood there, 6 feet of pure muscle and strength, holding a bouquet so gently like it could break, her cheeks pink, looking like a school girl. It was just so endearing and you kissed her again, basking in her.

Abby giggled when your prepped her face with little kisses and glanced at you bashfully, so in love with you she felt like she could explode right there.

"Yes, you are." You said teasingly and Abby just huffed at you. "I like it. I'll give flowers every day if it means you'll look so happy." You murmured as you stroke Abby's jaw on both sides and she rolled her eyes affectionately, still trying to appear cool and confident.

"Maybe every week?" Abby said playfully, but you caught on it.

"Every week then."

And you were true to your promise.

[deliciousbasementtrash]

Playing Nurse for the Batfam

Artist: Donna Floyd

Summary: you are a nurse working for Gotham General Hospital. Batman has offered you a job. You are now a nurse for the entire Batfamily. There has been an emergency and you have been called into the line of fire. How will the Fam react?

Pairing: Slowburn Jason Todd x Female!reader

Warning: Adult language, creepy perv man, gunshots, violence, killing

Word Count: 1.4k

Masterlist

Note: These characters are not my own they belong to DC. The only character that is 'mine' is the reader. I am going to be as nondescript as possible for the reader as well for physical attributes. This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be. Also for some reason, my replies to comments are not showing up. I’m not ignoring your comments Tumblr won’t let me respond :( But please, please comment I live for it

Part 8: Pizza Joe's

Once again, days passed without seeing Jason. Embarrassment flared inside me at the thought of our last interaction. I wasn’t one that enjoyed crying in front of people. And I hadn’t just cried, I had wailed, and choked, with spit and most likely snot leaking from my face. It wasn’t a cute poetic actress single tear sniffle. It was ugly and loud. Whatever. It’s not like I want a relationship. I’ve worked hard to obtain my peace. I don’t want a man to come in and disrupt the life I’ve worked hard to build. 

I grabbed gauze packets and shoved them into my chart, trying to distract my thoughts. I had completely run through them when Duke came in with several lacerations and broken ribs from the Black Mask. I shivered when Duke told me the details. The mob boss was sadistic and cruel, Duke had barely gotten away. I couldn’t meet Duke’s eyes after that. I’ve healed the Black Mask countless times. Guilt gnawed at my bones. Duke was injured because I kept that monster alive. And how many others? That line of delightful thinking always leads me straight into a downward spiral. Quickly, I grabbed more 16 gages and refilled those as well. 

This past week has been relentlessly busy. It felt like it was a full moon every night with the amount of insanity that happened. Even for Gotham. It felt like every one of Gotham’s plentiful villains had some sort of scheme, disastrous plan, or some way to ‘conquer the world.’ It made both my jobs a living hell. 

I was a walking zombie. I would sleep at my workstation and be woken up by the Batmobile screeching in with more injuries that needed to be healed. Bruce was almost always back and forth anywhere from 4-10 times a night. It sometimes felt like he was more reckless with me around. Throwing himself into danger more than he did in the beginning. Or maybe I was just overthinking it. 

A chime on my phone interrupted my thoughts. 

[Bruce has seven gunshot wounds. He isn’t stable enough to travel. We are on 717 Street behind Pizza Joe's. Be careful the shoot-out is still happening.]

The bright screen burned my tired eyes. The second the words sank in I grabbed the emergency kit and my keys and ran. I never treated them outside of the Batcave. They had always come to me. It must be bad. 

I drove like a maniac and got there in record time. 8 minutes. 8 minutes of Bruce bleeding out. 8 minutes of more shooting and how many more injuries. A fucking lot can happen in just 8 minutes. Panic rose in my chest, but I swallowed it down. Countless gunshots popped around me, lucky enough for me, none were aiming for my car. 

I got out quickly, grabbed my gear, and ran toward the back of the shittiest pizza in Gotham. The blue on Dick’s suit stood out like a beacon as he motioned me over. My black scrubs and dark zip-up hoody instantly got soaked through with rain. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about the rain or gunshots that rang out around me like popcorn kernels on the stove. I cared about the physical state of Bruce Wayne. 

It was bad. With the rain puddle around him, it was hard to determine the amount of blood loss. I got to work instantly. I threw my bag to Dick and put my hands on Bruce. 

“I need you to stuff his wounds with gauze. I’m going to replenish his blood and then I need you to take the gauze out one by one, so when I heal him they aren’t inside him. Understand?” I asked as I let my powers take over. 

“I understand,” Dick said and got to work just as quickly as I did. That was before more shots rang out. Hitting the brick wall just above my head. 

“Fuck!” Dick yelled, grabbing his batoons. “They are closer now!”

I felt my body start to shake as I forced it to heal Bruce faster, “Who the fuck is ‘they?’’

“Black Mask’s men. They are shooting to kill,” Dick said, standing up and blocking me and Bruce from the new onset of bullets.

“Get down or I’ll have to heal you both!” I hissed at him. 

“I need to get them away from you guys,” and without a second word, Dick ran toward the bullets. 

“Dick! Don’t–” I knew he couldn’t hear my begging screams. My best bet was to heal Bruce as fast as possible, we both help Dick, and escape via my shitty car. 

I was close too. Bruce’s blood was replenished, and five out of his seven gunshot wounds were closed Albiet the work was sloppy, but he would live. 

That was before I felt the unmistakable coolness against the back of my head. My blood ran cold, and I pushed harder to heal Bruce faster. 

“Stop whatever it is you’re doing or I’m going to blow your brains out,” a man said. His voice was oddly distorted. 

I didn’t listen. I kept healing Bruce. Any minute now. Please. Please. He pressed the gun parallel to my cheek and fired. It burned hot against my face. I tasted metal and gunpowder. My ear was ringing louder than church bells. Hesitantly, I raised my hands. 

“That’s it. Be a good bitch and stand up,” He said, digging the barrel harder into the back of my skull. Fear spiked inside me. I knew he would recognize me, but what choice did I have? 

Slowly, I stood. 

“Turn around,” the brute ordered. 

Slowly, I turned. 

A low, mocking laugh escaped from his skull mask. “My, my. Little Miss Y/f/n? Everyone was wondering where you had run off to! Turns out your the Bats personal whore!” I saw his eyes trail me up and down. Disgusting oily unease filled inside me. “You have a woman’s body now.”

Anger surged, making my blood feel like it was boiling. I slowly unzipped my hoody. The fool's eyes were transfixed on the sight. So much so that he didn’t realize that I was grabbing my medical scissors from my back pocket. 

In one fluid motion, I grabbed the scissors, and the next I had them stabbed into Black Mask’s throat. Before he could react I withdrew the scissors, resulting in blood being sprayed across my body and face. 

The Black Mask didn’t seem to care about his spurting neck. He reached out and gripped my throat, hard. He ruthlessly squeezed until it felt like my lungs would pop and my eyes would pop out of their sockets. Weakly, I tried to kick and scratch him. He merely laughed in my face, spraying more blood all over me. 

From his pocket, he grabbed a knife. “You know how long I’ve wanted to play with you? Your father would never let me. But Daddy isn’t here, is he?” With a practiced grace, he sliced my forearm open. Earning a weak hissing breath of pain. 

He trailed the knife over my chest, slowly adding more and more pressure. 

I tried screaming for Dick, but he was too far away fighting with everything he had. Bruce was still unconscious. 

I reached for this throat, trying to scratch him. I dug my index finger into his stab wound making him cry out in pain and anger and release the pressure he held against my neck. Air was a sweet joy in my lungs. 

Pain flashed across my head as the Black Mask whipped me with the back of his gun. He pushed the gun into my mouth, and for the second time that night, I tasted gunpowder. 

A loud shot rang out. Two shots. Three. Four. Five. 

And the pressure was off me. The Black Mask fell backward. Taking his gun with him. Panicked I looked around for the source. 

There, standing above Bruce, was the Red Hood. The rain was tinking against the metal. His chest heaved harshly up and down. And in his hands, he held two smoking guns. His expression was carved in a permanent scowl, but everything about him radiated vengeance. 

The Black Mask groaned in pain. Without taking his eyes off me Jason shot until both magazines ran out. 

I was frozen in place. Jason walked over Bruce’s unconscious body toward me. 

“Why the fuck are you here?” He growled, taking me into his arms.

Taglist: @soundsfunbutno@killxz@morpheus-girl@redhood414@bungunz@conicoroahre@greenyofthegreens@taytaylala12 @theroyalmanatee @nym-0-s @sarahskywalker-amadala @bonesbonesetc @dreaming-of-the-reality @gone-batty-fics @thescarletcryptid @bakugosgf2005 @irregular-child @vythika96 @greenyofthegreens @mythicalmo @eccentricarabella-blog @princessbl0ss0m @ghostindeath @whirlwind2005 @the-lights-are-loud @00hellohello00 @tfygcdy @theblindhag @murkyponds @midnightecko @crookedmakerfury @cosmicqueenieb @deans-spinster-witch

If I missed anyone please let me know <3

Author's note: sorry for the late update guys, I wasn't feeling very confident in myself or my writing. I will try to update more frequently! thank you all for your support it means so much.

Hashbrown Cam!

[andrea-lyn]

atla rec post the third! this round basically all zukka recs!

atla recs - part 3

noble blood by lupus (khaleeseas)

The Southern Water Tribe was no place for a firebender...or even a Fire Prince for that matter. And yet here Zuko was, not only in the South Pole’s capital itself but in the Royal Palace, protecting the tribe’s Chief after a failed assassination attempt. Chief Sokka, his old friend and a man who was intelligent and witty, yet kind of a dumbass. A man who was brave and strong and kind. A man who Zuko was utterly failing not to develop...personal feelings for. __

aka: a kind of roleswap AU with Southern Water Tribe Chief Sokka and bodyguard/mercenary Zuko.

it's more about the things that you take with by winterfire22

it’s been a few years since zuko took the throne, and he's doing his best. but there are some things missing.

enter his new ambassador program, and an opportunity to reconnect with an old friend.

before we jump ship, let me teach you how to stay afloat by eurydicees

He doesn't remember when his feelings changed, just that, somewhere between the fires of his homeland and the ocean of Sokka's pirate ship, he fell in love.

In which Zuko learns to swim, Sokka falls in love, and the sun and ocean remain as steady as ever.

in silence; ripen, fall and cease by aiyah

Zuko reaches out with trembling hands and tucks it behind Sokka’s ear.

“A pretty flower for a pretty boy,” he whispers.

- - -

[or: this is the story of an ikebana artist and the man who visits him.]

zing by meteor-sword (vaenire)

“I’ll just put away the rest of the treats for them. Toph, hold this will you?” He hefts Zuko’s bag over to her before Toph can protest, and she has a mind to drop the bag at her feet before she feels something interesting inside the bag. As her seismic sense ran passively through the bag, she sensed something small; it was heavier than the parchment but lighter than the bag of coins-- giving a feedback of vibration somewhere between glass and limestone.

//

Like usual, Toph sees this coming when no one else does.

gold in the air of summer by leopardfringe

Sometimes, Toph likes to ask about colors. Not often—people generally aren't great at explaining them to her, but her newfound metalbending abilities have left her curious.

(This, of course, has nothing at all to do with how she doesn’t even need her feet to know who's crushing on who in this group. Nope, this is just purely for research, and definitely not because she's sick of them dragging their feet.)

the stars go waltzing out in blue and red by tristanyvaine

Zuko falls in love with Sokka in the Southern Water Tribe. Sokka falls in love with Zuko in the Fire Nation. It spirals from there.

or: (Zuko thinks a lot about blue, words, love, and Sokka // Sokka thinks a lot about red, touch, love, and Zuko)

To Be Named, To Be Known (To Be Loved) by Erisenyo

Zuko needs tomorrow to be perfect, but when one person is so many things to so many people--My Lord, Fire Lord, Nephew, Zuzu, Sifu Hotman--how is he going to find the time to make sure everything goes exactly right?

Or,

Five titles Zuko has earned himself + One more to add to the list. If he can just get through this Very Important International Celebration first...

this ultraviolet morning light by GallifreyanFairytale

“Sokka?” Zuko’s voice is quiet and raspy as he shifts just enough that Sokka lifts his head up from Zuko’s shoulder. The confession Sokka had ready to go dies on his lips at Zuko’s expression - at the red he can just barely make out in Zuko’s eyes. “Sokka, I… need to tell you something.”

Sokka swallows and nods silently, not trusting his own admission to not slip out if he dares to open his mouth. Zuko must be confessing the same thing Sokka wants to. Which, admittedly, Sokka hadn’t actually planned for, but it’s fine. He can adapt to this. He just needs to shift a few words around in his brain, and--

“You’re my best friend, you know that right?”

And why does Zuko’s tone make this sound like a break up?

OR

sokka and zuko break up, make up, go undercover, thwart a rebellion, watch the sunrise, and change the course of fire nation history. not necessarily in that order.

the stars sighed in unison by spellboundrose

For some reason, Zuko can't stop looking at Sokka out of the corner of his eye. It must be something about the way the moonlight reflects off his skin—or maybe how his eyes, such a vibrant shade of blue, glimmer like the stars above them—

Oh.

Oh, no.

(Or, five moments under the night sky and one beneath the sun.)

everything and nothing at once by tristanyvaine

See, everything would be fine if Sokka was here, because if Sokka was here then Zuko wouldn't be thinking about him over and over and over again while he misses him from the stupid ponytail to his weird Water Tribe shoes.

signs of light by beachytablecloth

And now, out of breath from running, Sokka can feel the anxiety beginning to overwhelm him, stitching his sides and pounding in his ears.

“It’s Zuko,” he finally gets out, panting. “He’s missing.”

or,

Zuko gets kidnapped; Sokka falls apart.

A Predictable Story by mindbending

"On this night, you shall share a kiss with a great love of your life!”

That lying, scummy Aunt Wu predicts a grand romance for Sokka. To disprove her "fortunetelling" once and for all, Sokka decides to spend the night with least romantic person he knows.

Zuko.

Boomerangs and Rainbows by mindbending

At Sokka’s behest, the Gaang skips rescuing Zuko during the Siege at the North Pole. Instead they leave him, unconscious, buried in the snow.

In completely unrelated news, Sokka’s haunted by a ghost now.

little taste of heaven by loserlesbian

"His mom had given him a diary.

No, not a diary–– a journal, she had specified. He knows it’s a diary. Zuko thinks she only called it a journal because she thought that Zuko wouldn’t use it if she said otherwise. A diary is for feelings and angst, but a journal was for working through your problems without all that mushy, gushy stuff. It was for writing out simply what was in your head, nothing more, nothing less."

or, zuko through the years, struggling with himself and his sexuality.

[persterrr]

My Little Morty!

CHECK OUT MY R&M BLOG!!! @mortricken

Morty Smith is a flightless pegasus. He has pale blue coverts, which he inherited from his grandmother.

Morty has had a cutie mark since birth. No one is sure what it means. It is a spiral of yellow circles that are almost invisible against his pale yellow coat. Sometimes his cutie mark can be seen glowing faintly.

Summer Smith is a unicorn with a stubby, round horn. She has feathers on her hooves and ears that she inherited from her grandmother. Her magic is yellow.

Summer gained her cutie mark— an alien walkie-talkie— when she "did a Die Hard" and saved Rick and Morty from being killed at Blips and Chitz.

Beth Smith is a unicorn with a long, curved horn, which she inherited from her father. She has feathers in her ears that she inherited from her mother. Her magic is white.

Beth gained her cutie mark— a paw-print with stitches— at a young age when she discovered her talent for treating animals' injuries.

Jerry Smith is an Earth pony. No one really knows where he got his cutie mark, but he does really love apples. No relation to the Apple family.

Diane Sanchez is a pegasus with a fully-feathered tail, feathers on her hooves, and feathered ears. She has pale yellow primaries and secondaries.

Diane gained her cutie mark— a set of three purple paw-prints— as a young filly. It is unknown how she obtained it.

Rick Sanchez is a unicorn with a long, twisted black horn and furred hooves. He has a small beard and fur in his ears. His magic is lime green.

Rick gained his original cutie mark as a young colt, but when he finally created a functioning portal spell, a new cutie mark— a green portal— overtook his entire flank, swallowing up his old one.

[under-loch-n-key]

Not fanart today everyone, sorry. I will be uploading some within the week though!

I just need to vent and rant a bit.

I was feeling a bit rough today & made a venting self portrait piece for Pride Month. I've been out as trans for four years this November (26th of November) I’ve been on T three months and four days. I love who I am and my identity and wouldn’t change a thing, but sometimes I’m so tired.

I just want to love who I want to love. I want to wear what I want to wear without thinking “could this outfit that I wear today get me killed or harassed because it’s not in the norm?” I get fed up with having to conform to cisgender and heterosexual norms out of fear. I want to wear a dress and other pretty stuff again. I am cis passing so I’m privileged. I was cis passing before even starting T because I have naturally high T. So, me wearing feminine stuff scares me because I don’t want to get harassed for it. I have developed internalised toxic masculinity because of it. If I dye my hair I “may look gay” or “would people be able to tell I’m trans?” When in reality, I LOVE being queer, I LOVE being trans. It’s just hard. Being me is hard.

If I were to change my gender marker where I am, and if I were to get ovarian cancer and be in need of a hysterectomy, it wouldn’t be covered by insurance here because I am a man.

I am entitled to love, freedom, healthcare, happiness, marriage, not being turned away by businesses, or by churches/places that are meant to help all and help the community. I and everyone in this world is entitled to love, comfort, and living happily.

We have lost so many LGBTQIA+ people from this bigotry and hatred. It only seems to have spiralled even further since the pandemic or maybe because I came out in 2020 I’m just paying attention more…There’s people dead who should still be alive enjoying their favourite foods, drinks, films, etc. The people who bitch about how we are harming children, they’re “doing this for the children”, well guess what, every time you introduce more bigotry, you are killing a child. Not helping one. So, you can take the “help for the children” and shove it up your arse.

I sobbed tonite in my restroom because Nex Benedict and Brianna Ghey came into my head. They were so young and they are DEAD and for what? Because some fucking assholes just couldn’t handle the fact that LGBTQIA+ exist.

I’m TERRIFIED of dating people. Especially (cis) men because my brain goes to “Okay, is this person really interested in me or am I a fetish to them?” “If I go on a date with this guy tonite, will I come home later?” “What if he’s just trying to lure me somewhere and hurt me?”

THESE THOUGHTS SHOULD NOT BE NORMAL. I AM NOT A FETISH. I AM NOT A KINK. I AM NOT PROPERTY. I’M A HUMAN BEING.

Why can’t I just be human?

Why is it every time in the media there’s a criminal case and that person may or may not be gay, trans, or both, they hardly focus on the act itself but only on the fact that they were gay or transgender.

I am just SO fed up. Living in the states right now is a nightmare. I acknowledge that I’m privileged in ways that not many people have. I am in a blue state (for now), my mother is supportive, I have access to HRT and medical needs, I am white, I pass as a man. I am extremely privileged in those rights. I will never be able to even imagine how our gay and trans people of colour are treated. My heart breaks for them.

How many more of us is it going to take until we’re seen as people?

We’re not ped0phil3s, we’re not gr00mers, we aren’t out to harm your children, we didn’t steal a fucking rainbow from The Father Over Yonder, we aren’t working for Lucifer & if we are, I haven’t gotten my fucking pay cheque, we aren’t taking away healthcare from women, we aren’t taking over sports, etc. I could go on & on & on about this.

I can’t change who I am. Ironically, I loved being a woman. I loved my hair, my dresses, my makeup, my jewellery, the way some guys looked at me, I loved me. Although, something didn’t fit. I loved being a woman but something wasn’t right. I dressed goth, and then when I got home I dressed masculine. Even then, something didn’t click.

Then one day I was in middle school and I saw this girl named Maddy in my class. She was joking with a few of the boys in our class. She put her hair in her hat and made herself look like a boy and all the boys went “Woah! You really do look like a boy” and I was like “Huh, I wanna try that.”

So, I went home that day and messed around with it for a bit. Something felt better in me. I couldn’t explain it because I didn’t know what being trans was or what it meant. I went out like that any chance I could, unless I was around a boy or any preppy girls because I didn’t wanna get made fun of.

Eventually, one time in the store when I was walking away with my cousin from the register (still cis and in denial. Still an egg) the man at the register went “Have a good day, boys!” and we looked at each other and started laughing. Like omg, they called me a boy but I’m not a boy, right? It felt good & right.

You see, it wasn’t the dysphoria that made me figure out I was trans but the euphoria I felt from being called a man.

We have this heavy focus on the dysphoria (which I completely understand for people) but people forget about the euphoria too. I felt like something finally clicked but I couldn’t explain it.

That was until I started getting flooded with Trans TikToks and JammiDodger in my YouTube FYP and I was like “Haha, this is me. Wait-“

I didn’t realise I was trans until about 2020. Before I came out, (Oh, god, help me.. idk what egg me was thinking. I was so obvious..)I asked my mother while we were pulling into Walmart if I could get a binder and she’s like “What’s that?” and I said “Oh, to keep my chest flat. Since you know I love acting. So, do you think I could get one for when I play male roles? That way people couldn’t see that I’m a girl? Since you know I’m a girl who wants to play a male role.”

“Hmm, well sure, we can definitely do that. We’ll just have to see what I have to work with.” I was like hell yeah! I didn’t technically come out to my mother while I was in high school. She sorta just found out because she noticed everyone called me by my first trans name that I picked out and I was like “Uh- IT’S A NICKNAME BECAUSE I LOOK LIKE A CERTAIN ANIME CHARACTER WITH THE SAME NAME-“ I literally panicked.

Eventually, I kinda became like THE trans guy at my academy and since she was my English teacher, she found out through the words going around the school. It took her a while but she made it. We went and got the big chop. My hair was about three feet to four feet long and now it’s in the same style as Tony Stark’s hair or maybe even Shawn Spencer’s. Just that category of hair style. Lol. It’s very short now. I remember when she let me borrow her phone and I saw she changed my phone contact from my deadname to my old trans name. I took a picture of that and I still have it.

My name has since changed and I don’t have the same trans name I started out with. She’s still trying to switch over to using Anthony. She’s better than she used to be. I don’t mind being called by my old trans name per se but I just wish my name currently would be used more if that makes sense.

My mother is fully supportive of me now and we even got a pride cake a few days after my birthday (17th of June) because some dipshit at a store a town over threw a fit and destroyed a baker’s Pride cakes. Yeah, call US the snowflakes and yet you throw a fit about a rainbow on a cake? Yeah, okay. Lol. We got it from my mum’s friend who was giving pride cakes away to queer families after she found out about the incident.

Knowing that I have such supportive people means the world to me, but I know in some places that I go in the world, they won’t always be there to protect me. So, with that I’ve had to keep my guard up and protect myself.

I hope one day society will get to a place where we view everyone as people and that we’re all human. The LGBTQIA+ people we’ve lost will never be forgotten and we’ll always say their names. Please research our queer history. We could all learn stuff from each other.

If you’re ever feeling like your existence means nothing and that the world would be better off without you because of who you are, you are wrong. Your death isn’t something that just happens to you, it happens to everyone around you too. You would be missed because you’re loved and cherished. Knowing that you are also apart of this community with me, already makes me happy that you exist because we need more LGBTQIA+ voices. Our light and colours burn and shine brighter together so please do not go anywhere.

Thank you for existence. I love you. I’m proud of you for coming this far and we’ll go even further. We just have to make it through today. One day at a time. Everything will be okay and everything will turn out the way it’s supposed to.

If ANY of you are in need of immediate help please seek out The Trevor Project. They offer immediate help. It’s completely free and you can either text or call. I’ll leave a link for you below.

If you’ve made it to the end of this HUGE vent/rant, I’ll be sure to fluff some pillows for your eyes and get them some nice blankets because they must be tired as hell after reading this.

If you could reblog this so other LGBTQIA+ people who feel sad this pride could feel seen or just wanna reblog it for pride, please do!

If anyone can reblog this too with any other stories about their queer & trans experience or any other helpful info for LGBTQIA+ people & youth, that would also be really helpful!!

You are always safe on my blog. 💛⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🇵🇸🇸🇩🇨🇩

We can all benefit from helping each other, so also if you are able - please donate and help Operation Olive Branch for the people of Palestine, Sudan, and Congo! Remember, no one is free until we’re all free!! So, I’ll leave the link to their link tree here -

Link to Trevor Project here! They provide a lot of good info if you wanna research stuff too! -

[tokusaatsus]

WHY THEY DON’T CONFESS TO YOU

ft. HiMERU, sena izumi, tenshouin eichi

© tokusaatsus 2022

warnings: spoilers for himeru’s backstory, mentions of hospitals in eichi’s

Because it would be a lie

HiMERU would tell you they love you, except that’s not quite true. HiMERU doesn’t love you. HiMERU doesn’t even know you. As far as HiMERU is concerned, they’ve never met, interacted with, or spoken to the person known as L/N Y/N.

L/N Y/N and HiMERU do not exist in the same circles. There is only the tiniest bit of overlap, caused by Crazy:B and CosPro. And yet, that tiny space allowed the two of you to meet. It’s the butterfly effect. Spiralling and spiralling and spiralling.

However, ⬛⬛⬛⬛ does love you. But ⬛⬛⬛⬛ can’t tell you that they love you, because they do not exist. Not anymore. Maybe once, a long time ago, but now? ⬛⬛⬛⬛ is not a real person. The only person who could ever claim to know ⬛⬛⬛⬛ is now lying in a hospital bed, trapped in that liminal space between waking and unconsciousness. You might even say that ⬛⬛⬛⬛ never really existed in the first place, because if no one is awake enough to remember you, then are you truly living?

Are you in a perpetual state of limbo? Schrödinger’s idol, perhaps, where you both exist and don’t.

It’s a paradox, ⬛⬛⬛⬛ thinks. They love you, but they can’t tell you. HiMERU doesn’t love you, but HiMERU can tell you.

It would be cruel, ⬛⬛⬛⬛ reflects, to tell you HiMERU loves you when it is a lie.

You have always treated them with a sort of softness, a direct contrast to how you treat Amagi. The two of you are always bickering, bickering, bickering. Shiina once likened it to pigtail pulling–what children do on the playground when they are unable to express their true feelings–and HiMERU supposes that wouldn’t be an entirely wrong way of looking at it.

HiMERU isn’t blind. They see the way you look at them sometimes, during practice. Stealing glances, then looking away the minute your eyes meet. But that’s just it, isn’t it? You love HiMERU. Not ⬛⬛⬛⬛. Never ⬛⬛⬛⬛, because you don’t know ⬛⬛⬛⬛ so how could you love ​​⬛⬛⬛⬛? That’s the thing, see. You couldn’t.

So HiMERU won’t lie to you. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ will continue to love you as they always have and they will do so quietly–then you will move on and one day find someone who can truly, truly reciprocate your feelings and you will forget. Forget about HiMERU and ⬛⬛⬛⬛ and the blue-haired idol who made your heart skip a beat once upon a time.

He’s scared of being abandoned

Izumi won’t say he loves you.

That might be too broad of a term. Sure, he’s fond of you. Your personality doesn’t grate on him like so many others do, and you don’t try to get close to him out of some misguided attempt at pity. It helps that while you’re sweet on him, you don’t take any of his bullshit.

He knows what your favourite colour is, and why you always cry at this one specific commercial, and why you hate that one flavour and go out of your way to avoid it–and in return, you know what his favourite songs are, and why he hates painting his own nails, and why he likes stupid rom-coms.

And he can admit, he does like you more than most people. He’s listened to you moon over other boys and girls with a dreamy expression on your face, and forcing down that instinctual urge to give a scathing remark is getting a lot harder when he sees how you carelessly give your heart away to people who don’t deserve it right now and who probably never will.

(Yes, he’s aware he might be feeling a tad bit…jealous. Sue him.)

He can tell the others–well, mostly Naru-kun–may be picking up on his, ugh, feelings because she always gives him knowing glances whenever she sees him chatting with you in the hallways.

Y/N-chan is rather good-looking, no? Well, yes, it’s not like he hasn’t noticed? But whatever Naru-kun is hoping will happen is never going to, so she might as well stop getting her hopes up. You never even look at him. You’re always dreaming, head in the clouds. One day, you might go somewhere far beyond his reach, and then what?

Izumi is tired of being left behind.

He’s tired of waiting, waiting, always waiting for someone to come back. He’s tired of waiting for proof that he’s truly wanted. He’s been tired for a long while now, actually, but he’s never known how to do anything except wait and wait and wait and hope that they will return to him one day and they will tell him what he did wrong so he can prevent it from happening again.

It happened with…him. He’s not going to let it happen to you, too.

Besides, what you have right now is perfectly fine. So what if his glances linger sometimes and his touches last a little too long? It’s not like you’ll ever notice, anyways.

He thinks he’s going to die

Eichi knows he’s living on borrowed time. He’s known it for a long time. He might even have been born with this knowledge and isn’t that sad? Knowing that you are going to die just as you take your first breath.

There are so many things he hasn’t done yet. He hasn’t gone on a rollercoaster. He hasn’t eaten so much candy until he’s sick of it. He hasn’t had a scary movie marathon, he hasn’t stayed up until past midnight chatting with a friend on the other side of the world, he hasn’t sampled foods from around the globe.

He hasn’t told you he loves you.

There’s something that sets apart that last one from the rest of the items, though. On TENSHOUIN EICHI’S 100 THINGS I WANT TO DO BEFORE I DIE list, it would be at the very top in bold black ink, pressed in his looping script. TELL Y/N I LOVE YOU. Taunting him, because it still hasn’t been fulfilled and likely never will.

Oh, he knows he could tell you. You might even reciprocate. The chances of that are quite high. After all, he knows you. But he won’t.

And that’s the problem.

If he told you, it would be sweet, almost cloyingly so. He can already picture the confession. He would take you out to your favourite café, he would pay for your food, and then you would walk hand-in-hand under the sakura trees and the petals would shower over you two and Eichi would take your hands in his and he would say: Y/N, I love you. We are already partners, in every sense of the term except the romantic one. But we could be. What do you say?

You would say yes and then kiss him afterwards, under the veil of pink, with your fingers buried in his hair and his arms wrapped around your waist. And then you two would date and it would be your happily ever after.

That’s all well and good, until Eichi’s heart stops working the way it should and he’s rushed to a hospital with its cold, impersonal rooms and sterile steel instruments and beeping heart monitor and you would sit at his bedside and weep and weep and weep with his fingers clutched in yours as the ticking clock of his lifeline slowly faded into static: beeeeeeeep.

How could he do that to you?

Here’s your answer: he can’t.

notes!

WC: 1.2k words

reze txt hi. i ghostwrote this in 2 hours. no beta we die like men (lies a lil beta thanks grammarly i owe u one fr) i just like seeing y’all cry. enjoy <33

[yanderu-deredere]

Ryouta Watanabe ★ picrew link

gender: male sexuality: bisexual age: 21 height: 6′1″ (186cm) body notes: He’s very built underneath his clothes. He has a giant tattoo of an oni mask with clouds around it on his left pectoral. He also has tattoos of a realistic shibari spiral knot on both his forearms, a giant octopus on his left hip that wraps to his lower back and a bit down his thigh, paw prints of past cats he’s owned on his calf and a spider behind is left ear. He has two ear piercings in each ear. He also has a mole under his eye and on the right side of his mouth and a spattering of them on his shoulders and down his upper arms

type of yandere: Overprotective Yandere

easiest way to describe this yandere is that everything they do is for the sake of their darling’s safety. they’re not obsessive and selfish; taking their darling away and locking them up is for their own good. these yandere usually think themselves smarter, more knowledgeable or more capable than their darling; this paired with them usually thinking their darling is too innocent or oblivious to be left to themselves. these yandere usually are able to justify anything they do as something that they need to do.

Growing up, Ryouta only had his brother and nobody else. Even now, he could recall his childhood fondly specifically because his brother protected him and made it safe for him. However, eventually, Fujio had to reveal to his little brother exactly what kind of city he’d have to spend the rest of his life in. Ryouta learned quickly that Lovelock was ruthless and that you needed to be strong enough to protect yourself or the city would eat you alive. All of that is to say that, if Ryouta ever found someone he sees as an exact copy of himself when he was younger, he’dtry his best to become for them what his brother was for himself. Especially if they’re stupid enough to think they don’t need something like that.

likes: cats, vaping, caramel flavoured anything, boba tea, video games, aesthetically pleasing desserts dislikes: anything too bitter (just a little bit is okay), people who abuse children, cops or policemen, most types of alcohol, nosy people

Ryouta is a part-time Kuraokami Dreamy Creamery employee. The store is located along the boardwalk, surrounded by sun, surf and other cheery stores like it. The store’s theme is pastel and cute, with their mascot being an adorable little blue dragon. Despite it’s adorable atmosphere, however, Kuraokami is also one other thing: the headquarters of a drug dealing group that specialises in selling prescription pills and ice.

His underground name is Fujin, named after the god of wind. He gained the name from the fact that he’s always trailing vape smoke behind him like thick clouds. He’s also known to smoke marijuana often. Ryouta basically does the same thing as his brother, just not as frequently. Most often, it’s just guarding shipments, receiving drugs, etc. He’s never had to shake down people who owe them like his brother often does.

Often, when he’s not working, he’s holing himself up in his two story apartment, gaming his heart out. He’s spent a lot of time and effort customising his very own computer set up too so he’s often comfortably playing video games or watching movies. Usually, one or more of his five cats are with him. He has two maine coons named Miette and Cosette, a ginger cat Dubhan, named a siamese cat named Siobhan and a tabby named Tabitha.

Sometimes, Ryouta will actually leave his house and go on what he calls ‘dates with himself’. Basically, he just treats himself to aesthetic cafes, bakeries or pop up shops nearby that he’s interested in. Sometimes, they’re for events related to the video games he plays.

Even rarer than that, Ryouta can be found in the orphanage he grew up in, helping out and volunteering just to give back to the place that gave him a decent childhood. When he’s there, his brother is always there too.

sexual preference: vers top turn ons: creampie (giving), oral (receiving), praise (giving/receiving), shibari (giving/receiving), bondage (giving), body worship (giving/receiving), sex under the influence, breeding kink, overstimulation (giving/receiving)

dick size: 8.5in

[charcadett]

What’s Larry’s reaction to his SO having the least normal normal-types, the porygon line? Porygon Z specifically if u only want to deal with one of them 💚

Ooooh this is such a good idea! The Porygon line are all little weirdos for being Normal-types. Here you go, anon!

Larry With An S/O Who Has All Of The Porygon Line

- Larry likes Porygon and Porygon2. Not only does he like their color – pink and blue remind him of cotton candy – but he finds their duckling-esque appearance endearing. He’s never trained one himself. They seem a bit too much for him to handle. The Porygon line has a very dynamic moveset and is a better fit for the science types. He is most definitely not what one would call scientifically inclined. That doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the Pokemon you have by your side from afar.

- You have all three of the Porygon line. Porygon, Porygon2, and your beloved Porygon-Z. It was your first partner as a young trainer and your best friend. After its final evolution, it became a bit… erratic, but it’s still your partner, and you don’t know where’d you be without it. Besides, watching your boyfriend awkwardly putter alongside it is quite possibly the funniest thing you’ve seen.

- Porygon and Porygon2 don’t bother Larry much. He treats them the same as he’d treat his Flying-types. They float, and they have what can pass as beaks, that’s bird enough for him. They glide around him as he meanders about his apartment, occasionally scratching them under the chin. Porygon-Z throws him for a loop. The way it moves makes no sense, its strange cry makes his ears ring, and he is almost convinced he needs to call whoever wrote its entry and change its typing to AT LEAST Normal/Psychic. You’re starting to think that Porygon-Z likes to tease him. Sometimes, it even sneaks up behind him when he’s not paying attention- which is almost always - and moves its limbs in strange spirals that always get him to make the cutest expression. Larry’s brows furrow as he squints his eyes and slowly cocks his head to the side. “Is… it okay…?”

- One day, as Larry comes home from work he sees you and your three Pokemon relaxing on the couch together. With a small smile and a kiss to your temple he says, “There's my flock of odd ducklings.” Larry takes to calling you that as a pet name from then on.

[barrenclan]

WWAAAH THIS ISSUE OH MY GOD!!!! I think i start half of my reaction-to-a-new-issue asks with "omg this issue" BUT I CANT HELP IT LITERALLY THIS ISSUE ALMOST MADE ME CRY (in a good way). im so happy for this little blue man and his family starting to patch up some!!! Slugpelt opening up about her trauma to her kids, i really love your portrayal on love-bombing and manipulation with Cashew. I think it's really important for things like that to be portrayed properly in media without it being romanticized. And obviously yeah SLUGPELT admits she romanticized it when she was younger because he was the only one to treat her that way and he was HERS but you dont romanticize it with your writing and !!!! literally i admire the way youre able to portray these things so well in writing so much. And honestly those lines of "he was the only one to tell me those things" and the fact that thats what got her so hooked to him,,, stung a little bit bc its like very vaguely relatable to me and auuuh my heart!! I'm glad she realized that he didn't love her but the fact that she loved him while knowing it was just a game to him hurt a bit. i was not expecting to vaguely relate to the equivalent of a middle-aged mother but slay i guess. And Daff's reaction,,, and Slugpelt's response to that? Mannnn my HEART i love seeing Slugpelt come around and actually try to be motherly to her kids. i love her this is a slugpelt fan club. NOW PINEPAW COMING OUT TOO!!! Dude. When i first read the line of him saying "now if were all spilling secrets.." I honestly thought of the skull thing at first. But then after like two seconds and getting a little further i was like OH MY GOD HE'S GOING TO COME OUT ISNT HE. I have so many thoughts about that scene but I cannot materialize them into cohesive words. just. the whole thing was so well done. and im glad it went well for him. His whole spiral of "oh god i messed up why cant i just be normal and-" really hit me so hard and then proceeded to run me over twice, as someone who is gay that is often a thought process i would fall into, so seeing it portrayed in something is so validating man. but everyones reaction. slugpelt comforting him and being supportive, reassuring him its not weird, and that he's ok. asphodel having a look of guilt initially, assumably because of all of the times she would poke and prod at him for "needing to have kits some day" (call back to one of the first issues) , and then instantly teasing him over how she's seen him look at cormorant. Daffodil,,, man i was honestly worried about her at first because I didnt know how the implication of pine liking the same cat as her would come off to her, but her reaction??? priceless. literally so wholesome. i love how she just sees it as something exciting and something they can relate and bond over, i honestly wasnt expecting her to react like that but at the same time she generally does seem like a good sport so im not surprised in the end. seems in character for her. literally i love her. sweet baby child. literally the whole pinepaw coming out section almost made me cry it filled me with so much joy and love i love these silly little cats so much. going to be thinking about this so much for the next week istg

MADDDYYYYY

TYSM I'm super glad you liked the issue!! I really wanted to get across Slugpelt's perspective, to help understand why she could be taken in so thoroughly by someone like Cashew. She's got virtually no support structure in her life, and has been shown pretty much nothing but rejection her entire life, so when someone actually (seems to) choose her it means a lot. And since she's been shown to be such a distant and sometimes hurtful mother, I made sure to try and show why she is that way.

Pinepaw chose to share delights instead of horrors today! He already got everything he wants to talk about with those bones outside him, and Cootstorm did ask him not to tell anyone else.

YEAH the coming out scene was really fun and cathartic to write tbh, and actually I wasn't gonna include it in my initial planning but decided I needed to. I had considered the possibility of his family reacting badly (since they do live in a traditionalist group) but in the end like... I don't want to. "Confused but supportive" feels much better narratively and character-wise. You're right about why Asphodelpaw looked guilty too, especially since she's figuring some things out about herself as well. Daffodilpaw is my sweet kitty and she may be a little confused but she got the spirit <3

I'm so glad you like it,, they are all my silly little children and I love them dearly

[trenchgardens-ooc-ooc-ooc-ooc]

Ahem. May I order a bit of uhh 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, and a side of 25 for Calixtus? :>

YES!

What memory would your OC rather just forget?

Realizing that they were never as impartial as they thought, and everything that came after that. Their scale breaking, their self punishment, all of that.

But if they had the choice, they would forget all their life from the Nuclear Plant and just keep the few times they had positive interactions with their siblings. Doodle chains, notes left between swapping, the drawings they hid between the sarswapagus and the wall, stuff like that.

What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

Man. If you already know about cherubs? probably how social they are. I don't think it's a nature thing nearly as much as a nurture thing. They, as a mediator cherub, know that their life is dependent on keeping their black and white counterparts from killing themself to kill the other, a very very real threat. They have an extremely fine tuned, almost hair trigger, ultra specialized sense of when a storm is brewing. An intuition about when they're going to swap back and see Calfuray's dollhouse covered in slime, or Calbhach's chemistry set covered in claw marks. It kept them alive in the Plant, but it's so specialized to their siblings that in a social area with other people they get so many false positives. And resolving conflicts was a universal life or death situation for them, so if they can't resolve a conflict, they start to spiral pretty fast. Their body goes into adrenaline mode.

What is your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

Their devotion to settling scores is going to get them killed one day. Especially with their siblings. Or at least it would have if the trolls didn't help them. They're always riding on the coattails of their siblings. They know they put themself in danger by trying to appease them, but they've yet to process that its not life or death anymore, that they can just let their siblings figure it out on their own.

When scared, does your OC fight, flee, freeze or fawn?

Fawn. Fawn so hard.

How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?

What they want? Not far. For most of their story their own self is basically a footnote. "and also calixtus was here." What they feel they need? to the ends of the earth. They do really stupid shit to follow their siblings around.

How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?

It would be extremely difficult, and they would need to feel like they've been punished enough after. They have to feel like they gave their pound of flesh, sometimes literally, depending on how much cherub eyes weigh.

What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?

They got so much more scared. Originally they were way more calm about everything.

Would your OC ostensibly be able to get away with murder?

God absolutely not they would turn themself in.

Do you have a specific lyric or quote which you associate with your OC?

Not sure, but I feel like Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Tears for Fears, and Thumbnail - Louie Zong & BDG are very Calixtus songs.

My songs for their siblings are Alien Blues - GAWK for Calfuray and Presser Diamond Co. - Teddy Hyde for Calbhach.

What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC?

Human au, though I just got the idea of a Rain World Iterator au and thats gonna be in my brain for a while... and a Gem (SU) au... theyd be like some kind of color change gem i think.

What is your OC's weapon of choice? Have they ever actually used it?

I said this before but i think its 1/4staffkind. aka rodkind i guess.

Is your OC self-destructive? In what ways?

My oc tore out three of their eyes out of guilt and continually sacrifices their mental stability for two people who really do not seem to care for them, and do not treat them well in the slightest.

If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

I don't know... Hm. I'd try to be friendly, I think we would end up like most of my classmates where they know me and kinda like me but we arent really friends?

How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

Impartial, or not at all. They're agoraphobic. They have alexithymia like 1340s Europe had the black death, their exterior is just an extention of their inner self though and they just... can't deal with the horror of being perceived, especially by their siblings. They can't perceive their Self, so they don't trust any of their gut instincts on what is right or wrong or correct or not, they just accept what people say about them, hold it as fact. Calfuray says they never treated her caringly, so that must be true.

Does your OC have a faceclaim? If so, who?

My oc's faceclaim is... YOU!!! under all that skin :0)

What is your OC's pain tolerance like?

Bad.

What is the worst thing you have put your OC through story-wise?

Yes.

Is your OC more cold and detached or up close and personal?

They try to be as detached as their siblings are, but uh. Fail.

How does your OC behave when enraged?

This is the first time I have ever considered Calixtus experiencing this emotion...

I think Calixtus is scary when enraged.

Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest?

I think they do. I think they get kind of clingy.

Does your OC have any illnesses or disorders? How do they handle it?

OCD, they don't handle it very well, I don't think they realize its a problem until Continua at the least. I feel like Lykoii would recognize it as something and they'd end up trying to become ok with unbalanced, unresolved, and nuanced situations. and also not flipping the lightswitch an exactly equal number of times in both directions. Stuff like that. (they cannot handle asymmetry in their own actions, experiences, and living situations, if they lose track of if they opened the last door with their left hand or their right hand they might have a panic attack)

What character alignment would you consider your OC to be?

Lawful Neutral.

What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

Guilt. also guilt. points at their blindfold...

What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

They could have decided that the Pressure of Calfuray's inevitable predominion didn't need to be on the scales...

What is your favorite thing about your OC?

I fucking love cherubs. I love horrible nuanced sibling situations, I love lateral hermaphroditism in sexually dimorphic species, its such a fun design structure, I just love this creature.

[rubykgrant]

Some (not-holiday-related) things the RVB characters do in Winter~

Grif; has the perfect excuse to just stay inside, avoiding the cold, and make an entire cozy kingdom out of blankets and pillows (claims he is “hibernating”). If he is bribed with hot chocolate after, he can be convinced to venture out, and make a snowman or two (he’s oddly good at balancing each giant snowball as he stacks them). Movie-marathon is also an enjoyed activity

Simmons; likes the idea of taking a pleasant winter stroll IN THEORY, but usually has the bad luck of either finding all the drops buried by snow and keeps getting stuck, or steps in an ice-patch (and turns into Bambi before falling on his butt). Mostly winds up staying in and taking the time to complete puzzles and gets focused on beating all his old high-scores in games

Donut; ready to throw-down in a snowball war, LET’S GO. Lives the dream of getting into a hot-tub outside while it’s snowing. Also, he gets all choked-up over the sad animal commercials, and even though he can’t adopt them all, he’ll volunteer a lot and help find homes for rescue pets

Sarge; hikes out in the woods, usually just to get some tree branches and sticks for whittling, but claims he also built a log cabin and ‘rassled a few bears. Continues to embrace his inner lumberjack by making GIANT Paul Bunyan sized flapjacks with lots of maple syrup every morning. Eventually, he will build a HUGE SNOW FORT, and loudly inform the Blues that it is so awesome and cool and they aren’t allowed in here

Lopez; as long as he doesn’t get wet and his joints don’t freeze, he likes being outside at night in winter. It’s sort of peaceful, even in big cities. Unlike humans, who miss little details, he can stand outside for hours and literally watch as frost-spirals form in windows

Church; COMPLAINS, about this-that-and the other thing, absolutely hates when his feet or nose get cold and would rather make the whole place warmer than keep adding layers. In his better moods, he has fun re-watching his favorite shows and playing video games. He also discovered he’s pretty good at cooking, so he makes lots of treats and warm meals (he creates delicious soups from powerful broths). He’ll collect various mugs he thinks are funny/have cool pictures, and then use most of them to keep other things in (like marbles or buttons or whatever). If he can brave the cold, he kinda likes the times he wakes up early, seeing the sun begin to shine on the snow

Tex; enjoys kinda just people-watching in the city, and likes finding places that do horse and carriage rides (Tex is a horsegirl in a dude way. yee-haw). She’ll also go places that are more typically visited in warmer weather (like the beach) to see how different it is in winter, appreciating cold beauty and what-not

Tucker; likes playing games and watching shows/movies while being cozy inside like some of the others, but is also really into sledding! He’ll get a whole run going, packing up snow to make turns, and finds stuff like cushions to help soften the stop. Sometimes sets up a rope swing so he can fly over the snow. He enjoys eating something hot outside when it’s cold out, and likes finding places that do special winter treats. He’ll also have fun sitting around a fire-pit at night making s’mores

Caboose; helps with rescue animals too, and enjoys going somewhere outside to see what kind of winter critters show up in the wild (or maybe just squirrels in the park). When lots of snow falls, and he can clearly see how clean it is, he gathers it up in large cups, mixes it with juice, and makes his own “slushies” (and will sometimes eat the snow plain... it’s good!). Will find large areas of snow that is mostly flat with small hills, and COVER the space with the BIGGEST snow-angels (if you look at them from high above, they make crop circle patterns... nobody is sure if he does this on purpose or not)

Wash; also helps with rescue animals, and WILL try to keep more kitties. Surprises everybody by being a snowboarder dude... he can go down huge hills and even do tricks. Loves hot apple cider, and drinks it almost every day. He has fun doing puzzles, playing board games, and cards with the others

Carolina; enjoys all the outdoor activities with everybody, and is also fond of star-gazing at night (the stars seem so much brighter in winter). She has fun going to things like concerts at night, seeing cool light-shows on the snow ( it reminds her of the Northern Lights). When she wants a calmer activity, she’ll find herself a book to read (maybe something really emotional with a sad theme, but a happy outcome, so it isn’t depressing)

Kai; visits various ice-skating rinks and will anybody that listens about the time she feel through some ice and TOTALLY met an actual MERMAN under the water (no really!). Finds places that have rides/attractions so she can go on indoor rollercoasters and ferriswheels inside while watching it snow through large windows. Intentionally goes out wearing “minimal clothing”, then visits several stores, buying something from each place, until she’s finally finished wearing multiple layers (if she doesn’t shop fast, she can get VERY chilly)

Doc; likes getting chocolate iced coffee drinks, regardless of how cold it is. Also likes to find something to read, but picks out old classical literature (some he’s read before but it’s been a while, others he’s only aware of but hasn’t read himself). O’Malley likes to find big chunks of ice frozen outside and smash them on the ground (he’s at least nice enough to pick a place not surrounded with people, so nobody gets surprised or accidentally hurt). Doc also INSISTS all his friends listen as he goes over various winter safety tips

Locus; tags along with the others to try and figure out what normal-people-things he enjoys. On his own, Locus kind of likes going to unique craft stores, getting wood-work and crocheted items. If he can gather up enough energy to deal with a crowed of people (and somebody he trusts comes with him), he gets a kick out ice hockey and motorcycle ice racing (Tex had no idea there was a whole sport where people put sharp screws in bike tired and shredded around on ice, it’s brutal and she loves it)