#with his dedication to survival above all else

[softnow]

currently suffering from cordyceps brain rot so maybe this is too niche but i’m imagining a tlou x txf crossover, because like imagine. when the outbreak happens, mulder & scully would be p valuable to fedra for their knowledge in the uncanny. the fbi & txf would be subsumed into some fedra department. maybe not on the front lines, but somewhere behind the scenes. trying to figure out What Happened. scully’s medical knowledge would make her especially valuable.

but like. i can’t imagine either of them going along with fedra for very long. corrupt government? trust no one baybey. i think they would break out on their own, bonnie & clyde style, because i can’t see either of them fully trusting any revolutionaries either. until they eventually run into the fireflies, maybe marlene herself, and learn about an immune girl and the possibility for a cure. again, scully’s medical knowledge and her desire to help would be powerful motivators. but when they realize what the cost would be…i think it would be more than just joel breaking ellie out of that hospital lol

[mourn-and-watch]

no but essek's abnormal behaviours in the last arc and especially in episode 140 are my roman empire. which is ironic because aeor is something of a roman empire itself. but in all seriousness, it was the episode that made me realise i love essek and his development so much and it kinda summarised it even before caleb's epilogue.

and i mean the "it's not fair" scene specifically. it's like, an epitome of his whole character progression from a person who put An Objectively Important Goal above all else without hesitation to someone who can't help but care for people around even more than his goal, no matter how big and relevant it is.

the mighty nein - and he alongside them - pretty much saved the world and freed an ancient city from thousand-year-long suffering. they defeated nine extremely powerful menacing entities who managed to stay out of everyone's sight for years and were so close to achieving their goal and dooming exandria in the process. they did the impossible and became heroes and somehow, they survived, even though they had bidden farewells a couple of hours ago because they had already understood what they had been facing. and nevertheless. they made it.

and none of them was celebrating.

mighty nein are basically essek's only friends. he knew them to be very unusual people, to put it lightly, loud and stubborn and completely inescapable once they consider you to be one of their own. and they showed him so much kindness and put so much faith in him, they were here playing the most atrocious music ever and digging clay in his backyard for a spell they invented just to help one of theirs and asking him if he could bring them pastries the day after they found out he was lying to them and had started a war. they were chaotic and weird and sometimes unbearable but most importantly they were carrying so much hope with them all this time - a hope they could end the war, a hope they could stop the angel of irons cult, a hope they could get better, a hope he could get better, and now, finally, that they could save their lost friend.

and that hope shattered, just like that, the moments after they'd already made the impossible. they saved so many souls - and then could not get back just that one.

for essek "my intentions were never good they were important" thelyss it just. shouldn't have mattered. they won. it could have been worse. people die and when they die they rarely come back. they should've been happy everyone else barely made it alive.

but for some reason, mighty nein being so defeated after they saved the world exposed him to that overwhelming feeling of injustice and unfairness. and i mean, there were many things essek considered to be unfair, but when i watched his first appearance and his interactions with mighty nein later on til their reunion in aeor arc, i wouldn't dare to guess that one of the things on that list would be something that personal. and personal not even to him.

the thing is, essek didn't even know who that guy was. why mighty nein cared about him so much. he had an idea, i guess, that he was their friend once, or someone in that body was. it was also a person who wanted to unleash a terrifying horrific aberration onto the material plane. it was a person very dedicated to killing essek and his friends - and they still didn't take any pleasure in fighting him. essek didn't feel strongly about lucien or molly, because he never knew them.

i don't think he mourned his death and failed resurrection. he mourned mighty nein's hope, the one they put in him when they had no reason to, the one they offered yasha in the cathedral and the one they kept after the spell for veth failed and the one they carried til the very end because they wanted it to reach molly. they had saved people with this hope. they had saved nations. they had saved the world. but they ended up feeling like it hadn't even been worth anything.

how desperate would it feel, witnessing people who for some reason always saw good in you when they absolutely shouldn't, who made literal miracles out of nothing, who ended wars and fought gods and tricked the hags and freed cities from horrors beyond anyone's comprehension purely because they thought it was the right thing to do and also loved their friends this much, silently crying over a dead body they couldn't bring back to life? how desperate would it feel to realise that with all your knowledge about time you dedicated your life to and threw away any principles for, you can't undo this? no one can. some things are left to fate alone and this time it wasn't kind to them. no matter how much good they did, they still got slapped in the face.

and it was, i think, such a genuine moment of empathy. like, essek is the character who prefers to put up a facade and act distant and self-composed but this time he just. walked away unable to watch this. the could only say to fjord that it wasn't fair. even when he was caught off guard in nicodranas he was able to explain himself and his motives to an extent even though he was a nervous wreck whose extra important plan went to hell the second the only people he cared about appeared. this time he had nothing to elaborate on. it just wasn't fair. it wasn't fair his friends didn't get what they wanted the most. it wasn't fair he couldn't do anything to make it right.

it is such a sad and beautiful and even cathartic scene because it is about person who started a war that destroyed so many lives - and then met this ragtag group of weirdos who saw a lonely stand-offish guy and said "hey, let's be friends!" and didn't even wait for him to answer. he saw them being serious and calculated and he saw them being ridiculous and extremely stupid, he saw their mistrust to outsiders and their loyalty to each other, he made spells with them and paid a visit to their hot tub, he ate their stale pastries and drank their hot chocolate mixed with whiskey, he was welcomed amongst them and in their wonderful home, both in xhorhas before they even found out what he had done and in the tower when they already knew - and then, he saw them mourning their loss, defeated and helpless, and he, a person who believed there were things more important than whole nations, let alone just one life, couldn't help but share the pain they felt. a pure display of compassion from someone who detached himself from it, who didn't believe he could grow into a better person capable of it again, but became one nonetheless without even realising it

[mariacallous]

(JTA) — Vivian Silver, a Canadian-Israeli peace activist who had been presumed kidnapped by Hamas, was declared dead after her remains were found at her home.

Her death was confirmed to JTA by multiple activists who said they were in touch with Silver’s family. Shifra Bronznick, a prominent Jewish social justice activist and lifelong friend of Silver’s, learned from Silver’s son that her remains were identified via her DNA. 

“Vivian was always persistent in the pursuit of peace and justice,” Bronznick told JTA on Monday evening. “She was a lifelong feminist, a committed activist, a fearless leader, an exceptional friend and a loving mother, wife and grandmother.”

Until Monday, Silver, 74, was assumed to be among the more than 200 people held captive by Hamas. She is now among the approximately 1,200 people murdered by the terror group in its Oct. 7 attack. Hamas terrorists killed more than 100 people at Silver’s home community, Kibbutz Be’eri, in one of the day’s worst massacres. 

She is one of several peace activists to have been killed or captured by Hamas on Oct. 7. Hayim Katsman, 32, who worked with Palestinians in the southern West Bank, was killed in his home in another community on the Gaza border. Yocheved Lifschitz, who helped ferry Palestinians from Gaza to medical care in Israel, was taken captive by Hamas and released in late October; her husband Oded, also involved in peace work, remains missing.

“A woman of infinite, deep, ongoing compassion, humanity and dedication to Arab-Jewish partnership and peace. Yes. Peace,” Anat Saragusti, an Israeli writer and feminist activist, wrote on social media in a post announcing Silver’s death. John Lyndon, the executive director of the Alliance for Middle East Peace, wrote that “she wanted to be free & at peace. Rest in power, Vivian.”

Silver’s sons, like the family members of many of those presumed hostage, lobbied extensively for her release, traveling the country and speaking to journalists around the world to call attention to her story. One son, Yonatan Zeigen, stood out for his calls for a ceasefire, an unusual position in Israel. He said he had learned from his mother to seek peace above all else.

“I would tell her, ‘Israel is dead. It’s hopeless,’ and she would say, ‘Peace could come tomorrow,’” Yonatan, a social worker in Tel Aviv told the Washington Post in a story published last week.

Chen Zeigen, her other son, is a doctoral student in archaeology at the University of Connecticut. She is also survived by four grandchildren.

On the day of the massacre, according to the Washington Post story, Silver took a call with a radio station where she pushed back against the idea that the Palestinians were “insane.” In messages with Yonatan, she expressed fear, frustration and love. “I’m with you,” he wrote to her. Her last message back to him was, “I feel you.”

Born in Winnipeg, Canada, she was the longtime director of  the Arab Jewish Center For Empowerment, Equality, and Cooperation, which organized projects joining communities in Israel, the Gaza Strip and the West Bank. In 2014, after the last major war between Israel and Hamas, she helped found Women Wage Peace, which promotes peace-building actions among women from all communities and across the political spectrum.

Speaking to Forbes in 2021 for a series on women who assist the vulnerable, Silver said she remembered feeling relief after the government built bomb shelters in Kibbutz Be’eri, which had been subject to rocket fire from Gaza for more than a decade.

“In 2009, the [Israeli] government only built shelters for communities that were four kilometers from the border. The community I live in is four and a half kilometers from the border, so we didn’t have shelters then,” Silver told Forbes. “Now we do, so psychologically we feel better, and we feel safer, and in fact, we are safer, we’re a lot safer than the people in Gaza.”

At a 2018 Women Wage Peace event on the Gaza border in 2018, she said that the Israeli government needed to change its approach in order to bring peace to the area. “Show the required courage that will bring changes of policy that will bring us quiet and security,” she said then, addressing the government. “Returning to the routine is not an option.”

Appealing to women across the border, she said, “Terror does not make anything better for anyone, you too deserve quiet and peace.”

Bronznick first met Silver in the early 1970s when both were involved in organizing a national conference of Jewish women. They remained friends and, for a period of six years, took an annual trip together — the last one was to Santa Fe, New Mexico. When Silver would stay at Bronznick’s home, she would prepare an Israeli breakfast, Bronznick recalled. 

“She would be passionately advocating for peace right now,” Bronznick said, referring to Israel’s war against Hamas, launched following the Oct. 7 attack. “She never gave up on bridge-building. She never gave up on making change. She never gave up on people… She always focused on people, children, what motivated them, what meant something to them.”

Before Oct. 7, Silver was due for another stay at Bronznick’s home in New York City in early December. On top of each of the days in Bronznick’s calendar, she had written “Viv.”

[sothasil]

Short comic on Dagda's youth! Notes below :)

I've always found it strange that he is an accomplished fighter given his career path, and this is my personal explanation for why this came to be.

This takes place very soon after he was caught by the troupe, and he's still getting used to how things are. The man with the sword is the same guy who caught him in the first place and gave him a nasty beating on that day, this before they decided to keep him, of course

Dagda's around 15 here and in the middle of his angsty noodle phase. He's fine, just moody and in a drastic transitional period. Being surrounded by kind people and having to worry less about seeing the next day will mellow him out slowly

In medieval Europe and Japan both, swords were exclusive weapons of the nobility. While this doesn't seem to be the case in WHA, and we do not know anything about the weapons they use, I've taken the assumption here a sword would be considered above Dagda's social rank (and age in this case). He's seen using a knife as a child which he likely knew how to use well, and is seen using a sword as an adult which he's ridiculously good at. Because we don't know him any martial training, I imagined this.

Sword guy I made up for the comic. While he does not mistreat the kid beyond their initial dramatic first interaction he is a bit of an ass to him. This would NOT be the case for the rest of the troupe which I believe treated him kindly! Maybe someone else told him to spare the kid and he took it as an affront to his pride and is being a cunt in response? Who knows.

Sword guy is a guard. He would not be the only person on guard duty, but he'd be in charge of it all and fully dedicated to that, compared to other members who would do it as a secondary job.

Seriously tho I'm not sure if the author ever intended to make Dagda this good at fighting because casually holding up to a Knight with better material and life style and actual martial training + surviving a 1v5 where he does not have the advantage. is nuts. He's a musician who's probably not eating enough not a warrior

[cellbitupdates]

🟩 Ordem Paranormal postou no Twitter/🟨 Ordem Paranormal publicó en Twitter/ 🟥 Ordem Paranormal posted on Twitter:

🟩 Combater o Outro Lado é uma batalha mental acima de tudo.

Sobrevivendo ao Horror apresenta o Bibliotecário, um especialista que dedica a sua vida a obter a vasta sabedoria necessária para combater as Entidades.

Na arte, Paulo, um dos maiores estrategistas da Ordem.📚

🟨 Combatir contra el otro lado es una batalla mental por encima de todo.

Sobreviviendo al Horror presenta al Bibliotecario, un especialista que dedica su vida a obtener la vasta sabiduría necesaria para combatir las Entidades.

En arte, Paulo, uno de los mayores estrategas de la Orden.📚

🟥 Combating the Other Side is a mental battle above all else.

Surviving the Horror introduces the Librarian, an expert who dedicates his life to gaining the vast wisdom needed to combat the Entities.

In art, Paulo, one of the Order's greatest strategists. 📚

[Note: thank you to @/thingsmayy on Twitter who added this context:]

🟩 Pra quem não sabe. Esse personagem é uma homenagem a um youtuber/streamer chamado Paulo Machado q faleceu em 2020. Ele tinha poliomielite e viveu a vida inteira no hospital. Ele era bem conhecido no mundo geek br e era amigo do Cellbit. Ele aparece no episódio 1 de Desconjuração.*

🟥 For those who don't know. This character is a tribute to a YouTuber/streamer called Paulo Machado who passed away in 2020. He had polio and lived in the hospital his entire life. He was well known in the BR geek world and was friends with Cellbit. He appears in episode 1 of Deconjuration.*

*correction from may: he appeared in episodes 4 and 15 of desconjuração

[captainremmington-13]

A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova.

SUMMARY: The 10th Annual Hunger Games begin, and things quickly dissolve into chaos. Bellova grows increasingly furious about Coriolanus’s dedication towards Lucy Gray Baird. When she realizes he has cheated just to keep her alive, she decides to ruin him once and for all.

Warnings: spoilers for TBOSAS, death, violence, cursing, overall dark stuff (it’s the Hunger Games franchise so that’s sorta a given)

A/n: I am using a combination of the movie and book version of the events that occur in this chapter. I sort of streamlined the events to make the chapter less boring. Also, I highly recommend listening to “…Ready For It?” and “Look What You Made Me Do” while reading this chapter.

Other than Sejanus throwing a chair at the screen and screaming that everyone in the room was a monster, Lamina killing Marcus in an act of of mercy, and Lucky’s stupid commentary, nothing much had happened yet. 

Bellova was disappointed that her tribute was dead. Not because she cared about her, but because it meant she was missing out on the mentor experience. The thrill of having a say in someone else’s survival seemed quite exciting. 

If she wasn’t so pissed at Coriolanus for his behavior towards Lucy Gray, she would’ve reconsidered his proposal to work together. 

When the day was coming to an end, the majority of Academy students started to leave for their homes. Only a handful remained, consisting mostly of the mentors.

Bellova stifled a yawn, leaning back in her chair. Things has gotten dull, with the tributes doing nothing but finding places to hide from each other. She hoped that Dr. Gaul had something exciting in store for them soon, or people would start switching to Billi Bumble’s horrible comedy channel.

She picked up her Academy satchel and stood up from her seat. She noticed that Coriolanus was still present and slumped over on his desk, his head resting on his hand. He looked so peaceful asleep, his long golden lashes fluttering slightly. The light from the ceiling made his light blonde curls glow ethereally.

He looked like an angel. 

Bellova suddenly felt a strong urge to wake him up. She had avoided him for the entire day out of spite, but was starting to miss interacting to him. It was routine, bantering and bickering every day. Not talking felt…weird. And lonely.

She sighed. On rare occasions, she wished she could go back in time and change the way they formed their relationship. Instead of it being based on competition and rivalry, it would be full of support and affection. 

Then, an unpleasant thought hit her. 

He had only stayed so late to ensure nothing happened to Lucy Gray while he was away.

Now utterly furious, she slung her bag over her shoulder and started towards the door. ‘He’s such a pathetic sap,’ she thought. ‘He’s acting like a fool, I really should stop associating myself with him.’ 

But she found herself glancing over her shoulder to look at him one last time. And she knew, deep down, that she’s always come back, no matter how much he pissed her off.

She’d never be able to stay away from him. 

Not for long, anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bellova passed out as soon as she climbed into bed, and didn’t wake until nine hours later. She hadn’t slept well in nearly a week, as she was still recovering from her injuries. This was the first time she was able to achieve an uninterrupted night of sleep since before the bombing.

When one of her maids woke her up, it was already 8:00. Usually Academy classes started promptly at 8:00, but because of the Games, the schedule had been loosened a bit. And Bellova, who didn’t feel like interacting with anyone, was in no rush to arrive on time.

After eating a breakfast of fruit and assorted pastries, she slowly pulled on her uniform. She has always hated the Academy uniforms, but with the right accessories and makeup, she had learned to make it presentable by her standards.

Bellova checked her makeup one last time in the mirror and then headed downstairs to meet her driver at the front of her estate. He opened the passenger’s side door for her as she slid into the seat. 

“How are you this morning, Miss Bellova?” he asked, starting the engine and taking off towards the main road.

“Fine,” she said, leaning against the window. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope that once the Games are over, you can rest up properly.”

She nodded. “That would be nice. As much as I like the Games, they’ve caused quite a lot of stress this year.” 

He laughed quietly. “Most certainly. Everyone was so worried about you when you were hospitalized, your father most of all. I haven’t ever seen him so upset in my twenty years of working for him.” 

Bellova sighed. She and her father, Julio Augustus Reginelle, had a nice relationship. But he was rarely home, for he worked almost ten hours a day and often didn’t come home until Bellova was asleep. She cherished the rare moments she had with him. He had taught her to be proud of her wit and her combative nature, even if it sometimes got her into trouble. 

“You are much more like your father than you realize, Miss Bellova,” her driver said. 

“How so?” she asked.

“You are both kind until someone disrespects you. You are incredibly intelligent just like him, and pursue your goals relentlessly.” He paused for a moment. “And, you seem to have the same disdain for certain other Capitol families.”

Bellova raised an eyebrow. “Which ones?”

“Well, he’s not fond of the Cardews, as you know. He thinks they hold too much power for how little work they actually do.”

Bellova laughed. “That’s true.”

“He has never gotten along with the Creed family. He finds them irritating and foolish.”

She smirked. “I’m not surprised. Festus can be insufferable. Who else?”

Her driver sighed. “He despised Crassus Snow.”

Bellova felt her stomach twist. “Really?”

He nodded. “I don’t know exactly why he hated him so passionately, but I’ve heard they were rivals during their Academy days.”

‘I suppose I really do take after him then,’ Bellova thought, remembering her and Coriolanus’s worst arguments. ‘Crassus’s son gets under my skin nearly every day.’

Her driver pulled onto Scholars Road and stopped in front of the Academy’s main building. He stepped out of the car to open the door for her, and she gave him a nod of thanks. 

“I’ll see you later, Miss Bellova,” he said, bowing slightly and getting back into the car to drive off. 

As Bellova walked to the auditorium where the mentors were undoubtedly already at work, she pondered what her driver had said about Crassus Snow and her father. She was eager to know more about their history, but didn’t want to pry too far. Her father had a temper just like her, and she didn’t want to be on the wrong end of it.

When Bellova reached the room and walked through the doors, she immediately noticed three things: one, that Coriolanus looked exhausted and distressed, two, that he has brought his cousin Tigris to watch the Games, and three, that Sejanus was missing. 

She grabbed a spare chair and sat next to Coriolanus. He didn’t greet her or even glance look at her.

“What’s wrong with you today?” she asked, looking at the large television screen in front of them. 

He scowled. “I’m not in the mood for your snide remarks, Bellova.”

“Clearly something happened. Either tell me or I’ll figure it out on my own.”

Coriolanus gave her a sharp glare, but sighed in defeat. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Satisfied, Bellova turned her attention back to the Games. According to Lucky Flickerman, one tribute, Bobbin, had died overnight. However, there was no footage shown of him perishing. 

Bellova found that awfully suspicious. There was such a lack of action in the arena that the gamemakers would have undoubtedly shown the death of a tribute. 

When Bobbin’s death was announced, she noticed Coriolanus tense ever-so slightly. The average person wouldn’t have noticed, but she had learned to read his body language as well as the back of her hand. Clearly, something about his death made him nervous.

She decided to cast it aside for the moment. She’d pry the information out of him later. 

“They aren’t showing us what happened to that little boy,” Lysistrata Vickers said. “He clearly was killed right there. There’s cameras everywhere. It doesn’t make sense.”

“They said they were old cameras, Lyssie,” Festus responded. “Probably just another one of Coral’s.”

“Festus, sit down,” Lucky Flickerman ordered. “Same seats.”

Festus scowled but did as he was told. He and Lucky clearly had some animosity, and it was quite amusing to witness their petty interactions. 

Suddenly, after a few moments, Lucy Gray appears on screen, looking horrified. Bellova had to bite her lip to refrain from grinning. It seemed that the songbird’s luck was finally running out. 

Jessup emerged a second later. He was clearly not well, he looked much worse than he did before the Games.

“What’d you do to me?” Jessup shrieked, backed Lucy Gray against a pile of rubble.

“Nothing!” she responded, her eyes wide with fear. 

“Lyssie, what is he doing?” Bellova heard Coriolanus asked frantically.

“Something’s wrong,” Lysistrata replied, bewildered. “He wouldn’t turn on her like this.”

“Jessup going after Lucy Gray,” Lucky commented. 

“Stop running!” Jessup demanded. “What did you…” He groaned mid-sentence. “What did you do to me?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Lucy Gray insisted.

“Both tributes from District 12. The same district folding in on itself.” 

“Wait, look. The foam,” Coriolanus said. 

“I think it’s rabies,” Lysistrata said, clearly disturbed. “That bite. From that train.” 

Coriolanus stared at the screen, looking helplessly at his tribute who was nearing her inevitable doom. Then, he turned back to Jessup’s mentor.

“Send him water.”

“Wait, what?” Lysistrata asked.

“You remember the posters in the war? Rabies. It makes you afraid of water. Send him a drone.”

“That’ll scare him,” she protested.

“Yes. Away from her,” he insisted.

Bellova stood up. “Coriolanus-“

“Bellova, be quiet,” he snapped, not even bothering to look at her. “Jessup is done. Lyssie, you’re the only one that can get it right to him.”

Lysistrata clearly didn’t want to, but with a few clicks on her computer, water was being sent to Jessup by a drone. 

“Thank you,” Coriolanus whispered.

Within minutes, Jessup was dead, and four lethal tributes were cornering Lucy Gray. 

“Oh, look at this,” Lucky Flickerman said. “The Pack doing what they do best. Packing it in. Lucy Gray is swarmed, cornered. Mizzen, propellering his net.”

It looked again as if she was done for, but then-

“Mr. Snow going for his communipad,” Lucky continued. Bellova saw him send nine - no, ten drones towards Lucy Gray. 

Bellova knew exactly what he was doing. He was using the drones to give her a chance to escape. 

The drones came flying into the arena, causing The Pack to scatter. A few of them got hit, causing them cry out in pain and tumble to the stone-covered floor. 

“These drones are not very good,” Lucky commented, as if it weren’t obvious. Some of the students who had caught onto Coriolanus’s plan started to jeer at him.

“Hey!” Vipsania Sickle said indignantly. “You can’t attack the tributes.”

“I’m just sending water,” Coriolanus said casually, as if he was completely innocent.

After gathering her bearings, Lucy Gray scrambled into a tunnel with Coral on her heels. She managed to pull the vent closed just in time, the metal door nearly crushing Coral’s fingers.

Bellova positioned herself a few inches away from Coriolanus. She was seething, but it didn’t show on her face. She simply looked indifferent, despite all of the violence that had just occurred in the Games. 

“Snow, do you that time before the Dark Days when you pulled on my pigtails, so I slammed your face against my school desk?”

“Yes,” Coriolanus said, furrowing his eyebrows. “What about it?”

Bellova smiled crookedly, the violent glint in her eyes making Coriolanus visibly uncomfortable. “I’m about to fucking do it again, and this time, you’ll have more than a bleeding nose.” 

He straightened his posture, smoothing out his Academy blazer. 

“I’d like to see you try.” 

Bellova’s hands twitched. She knew that decking him in front of the majority of the student board would get her in severe trouble, but it was very tempting.

Instead of punching him, she started to storm out of the auditorium. 

“There goes Miss Reginelle. Clearly, the violence on screen has finally gotten to her-“

“Shut the fuck up, Flickerman, before I snap your microphone in half!” Bellova hissed. She threw up open the doors, and made sure to slam them behind her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bellova sat in the hallway outside of the auditorium, leaning her head against the wall behind her. Her anger was threatening to spill over, and her father would be very disappointed in her if she murdered someone on Academy grounds.

She had vowed to make Coriolanus pay if he pulled any more strings for his little songbird. And he had by sending that fleet of drones after her attackers. But clearly, nobody batted an eye at that. He had not been punished, or even reprimanded.

The thought of Coriolanus thinking longingly about Lucy Gray was almost enough to drive her mad. 

Before she could do anything drastic, she heard the speakers inside the auditorium amplifying Dr. Gaul’s voice. Curious, she stood up and pressed her ear to the doors.

“Capitol citizens, I’m afraid I must interrupt our Games to announce a tragic loss, one that affects us all. Felix Ravinstill, son of our beloved president, has, this morning, succumbed to his injuries sustained in the rebel bombing.”

Bellova felt her heart drop. Felix wasn’t all that bad, when he wasn’t bragging about his life at least. She had even gone to the end-of-year Academy gala with him a couple of years ago. They had a wonderful time, and she was gifted a priceless gold necklace by him at the end of the night. She had worn it for a week straight afterwards, which delighted the young son of the president.

“Out there in the districts, they will be celebrating this young boy’s death as a triumph. I will not allow my Games to give our enemy such a victory. I swear to you, here and now, before the sun goes down tonight, a rainbow of destruction will engulf our arena. Even if it means there’s to be no victor in these Games.”

She gasped. She knew Dr. Gaul well enough to know she was completely serious. If she wanted someone gone, she’d stop at nothing until they dropped dead. 

Mere moments later, Coriolanus burst through the doors, nearly slamming right into Bellova. 

“What are you doing out here?” she asked, scowling at him.

He sneered down at her, beginning to walk away. She followed him, despite knowing he really didn’t want her to. “As if I’d tell you.”

Bellova sighed. “I told you earlier, Coriolanus, if you don’t tell me, I’ll figure it out on my own-“

“Fine!” he huffed. “I’d do anything to shut you up at this point. You’re insufferable.”

“The feeling is mutual, Snow. Now spill it, what’s going on?”

Coriolanus, against his better judgement, told her everything. Well, almost everything. He told her about how he retrieved Sejanus from the arena, but omitted the part about killing Bobbin. He explained that he needed to see Dr. Gaul immediately, for the stitches in his back from the previous evening were coming loose. 

Bellova frowned. She briefly felt bad that he was in pain, but couldn’t bring herself to actually care. She was still angry at him. 

She also noticed he said was being very vague with his details. He was definitely hiding something.

“What’s that face for?” Coriolanus asked as they approached the Citadel, which housed Gaul’s laboratory. 

“What face?”

“That scowl. You’re clearly not pleased about something, so what is it?”

She smirked. “As if I’d tell you,” she said, mimicking his words from earlier. 

Coriolanus’s jaw clenched, which satisfied Bellova immensely. She loved seeing his patience waver, it was strangely addicting.

“Will you ever learn to keep your bratty mouth shut?” he asked, his voice raising a touch.

“Bratty?” Bellova scoffed. “I’d prefer it if you called me a bitch.”

Dr. Gaul’s lab was just a few corridors away at this point. Bellova knew that causing a scene here wouldn’t be wise, but she honestly did not care. She could easily talk her way out if it.

Coriolanus glowered at her, his blue eyes icier than ever. “Go back to the auditorium, Bellova. I know you love watching the Games, and you’re probably missing all of the action.”

She laughed. “So all of a sudden, you want me to be happy. Seriously, Snow, if you want to get rid of me, just say so.”

He smirked at her condescendingly. “Then I will. Get out of here, you have no place in Gaul’s lab anyway. It’s too much for your pathetically shallow brain to comprehend.” 

Bellova stared at him for a moment. It has been awhile since he’d said something quite that harsh. It was normal for him to question her intellect, but calling her dumb? That was low, even for him.

Coriolanus was obviously anticipating a slap to the face. He was not prepared, however, for Bellova to swipe her claw-like nails across his face like a wild animal.

Stunned, he watched Bellova walk away as the new gashes on his face began to sting. As she reached the end of the hall, she screamed “You’re such an asshole!” before disappearing from Coriolanus’s sight. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bellova sat in the stands instead of with the mentors, watching as Dr. Gaul’s “rainbow of destruction” engulf the remaining tributes in the arena.

She had no idea that when Dr. Gaul said “rainbow”, she was referring to hundreds of colorful, deadly snakes. 

She watched, entranced, as the beautiful mutations smothered the tributes, picking them off one-by-one. She had never admired the “mad” scientist more. Her work was truly beautiful. 

Wovey, Reaper, Mizzen, and Coral were soon dead, lying lifelessly beneath the swarm of snakes. 

“Now, all colors lead to Gray,” Lucky Flickerman said. 

Coriolanus stood watching the screen, amazed at his own success. “She’s… She’s won. It’s over, she’s won.” He looked over to Dr. Gaul, who was standing to the side. “She’s won, let her out.”

The doctor smiled. “Afraid that’s not your call to make, Mr. Snow.”

Bellova bit back a laugh when Lucy Gray began to sing. At least she’d be able to get in once last performance before her vocal chords went slack.

“Dr. Gaul, she won!” Coriolanus repeated, desperation seeping into his voice. “It’s over, let her out.” 

“Why aren’t they attacking her?” someone asked.

“Must be the singing,” Coriolanus replied. “It’s calming them.”

He really was a terrible liar.

“She can’t sing forever,” Festus said. 

Bellova noticed some of the students around her begin to cry as they watched Lucy Gray sing shakily. ‘Pathetic,’ she thought.

“Dr. Gaul, please,” Coriolanus begged. “Get her out. Get her out!”

One by one, the Academy students began to chant “Get her out! Get her out!”, almost overpowering the sound of Lucy Gray’s singing. 

‘No,’ Bellova thought desperately. ‘Don’t. Just let her die.’

Then, Coriolanus said, “Who will watch the Games if there’s no victor?”

The chanting came to a halt.

Dr. Gaul looked around, seeing that she was vastly outnumbered. “Get her out,” she murmured just loud enough to be heard. 

“She’s won! Lucy Gray!” Lucky Flickerman cried over the roar of the student body. “Coriolanus Snow is the winner of the 10th Annual Hunger Games!”

Bellova’s face burned with fury, her patience finally snapping after days of wearing thin. 

She was no longer willing to overlook Coriolanus’s behavior. She had let him get away with too much. 

It was time that he faced some real consequences.

As she exited the hall quietly, she smiled, a cruel, twisted smile. She knew exactly how she would make him pay.  

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! This was another decently long chapter, and I believe it has been the most intense one yet. Stay tuned for Chapter Six!

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

[undermounts]

and other forgotten things

Summary: One year into his imprisonment, Aerin receives his first visitor.

Or alternatively, my version of the ch. 2 prison scene because I wanted more angst and anger <3

Read it here on AO3

-

Aerin is no stranger to envy.

He has spent his life wanting. Knowledge, affection, attention, power. Things he coveted but could never have from a family that did not want him, a kingdom that would not have him. Such was his lot in life, from the very beginning. He is Aerin Valleros, second son of the Gentle King, brother to the Crown Prince.

Or at least he was.

Now, Aerin is… well, he no longer knows what he is. A nobody, perhaps. Or worse than that, he is forgotten. He is a dark stain on a long and questionable legacy, the corrupt end to a line of corrupt rulers. He is an afterthought, a bad memory, an unwanted trinket that had long since lost its novelty, just another object to be tossed away with all of the other lost and broken things.

Aerin Valleros, brother to no one, heir to nothing.

And still, he wants. 

The thirst for knowledge—a most noble pursuit, his tutors had always said—has never waned. But affection, attention, power!—his ambition, his hunger, has been dampened. He has lived without each before, and he shall live without each again. He will do so gladly if it means he can have the one thing he now desires above all else: freedom.

A small window, set in cold, grey stone—his only connection to the outside world. The mingled chatter of people crossing the streets far below drifts up through the bars, too distant to be distinguishable. People, his people, living. 

In the hallway outside his cell, Aerin hears the scuffle of boots against ancient stone, the clink of armor, the whisper of fabric; his guards moving in another rotation. So soon? Aerin cannot help but wonder, questioning his own perception of time. How reliant he has become on the routines of his keepers, the punctual rotation of their shifts serving as his only means of marking the passage of time since he was left–discarded–in this cell a year ago.

Softly, distantly, he mourns, A year…

His name day–twenty one years now, he has lasted–came and went, alone in his cell. His father never even sent word, no acknowledgment that his second son–his only son, now–still existed. 

A metallic, shimmery noise, a dozen keys rattling together and then–click!

Aerin blinks as the door to his cell swings open. Too early for mealtime, his mind races, a tasteless bowl of sludge. 

All thoughts trickle out of his head as a figure enters his cell, clad in black leather armor, the scent of ash heavy in the air. For a moment, Aerin recalls volcanic fields and the constant presence of fear and agony all around him, but then his impossible reality reforms around him and he stares, slack-jawed .

“Iliana.”

Aerin does not mean to say her name, had vowed to never speak of her, never think of her again. But she is here, miraculously, cursedly, before him, in his blasted cell, a sight he never thought he would see beyond his dreams, his nightmares.

But it is in his nature to be wary, and life in court has taught him that deception is a means for survival. He stands, establishing equal ground, and lets his mask fall over him like a shroud.

“I wondered if you’d ever come and visit me,” he says evenly, each word pleasant but caustic. “It certainly took you long enough.”

How often, in the early days of his imprisonment, had he thought of this moment? At first, he dreamed that she would come to him, beg for forgiveness–how she had wronged him!– to proclaim her dedication to right this wrong, to free him, to undo the damage she had done. Then, as the days dragged on into months, and despair, desperation, and regret–the hurt!–set in, his visions of her shifted. She was vengeance: her blades, her bow, her fists–the arbiters of a swift and terrible justice, acting on behalf of herself, her brother, her friends, and Morella. Some nights, he even begged–let it be quick. 

It is hatred, it must be, he thinks, that threatens the stability of his bones now. And fear of her, the woman who had been his undoing. Everything that has come for him after is well-deserved; this he cannot deny, no matter how much it stings. His betrayal and hers, they are wounds he will never heal from.

And yet, Aerin is not prepared for the way Iliana winces. She had deceived him so thoroughly in the Dreadlord’s throne room, he sometimes forgets that she was not trained as he was to hide her emotions. They flit across her face now, pain and grief. Then, anger.

“Apologies, prince,” she snaps, her black leather gloves groaning in protest as she clenches her hands into tight fists. “I’ve been a little busy this past year.”

Aerin scoffs. “I’m sure you were. Celebrations and banquets in your honor must be exhausting.” He rolls his eyes, flinging the words at her like knives. “That’s the price you must pay for leading the life of a hero, I suppose. A heavy burden, you poor thing.”

“That’s not what I–” Iliana cuts herself off, eyes narrowing. She tilts her head and, oh, Aerin does not like that one bit, the way she studies him, as if she is looking right through him. Then, shockingly, pity clouds her face. “No one told you.”

Unease, slick and oily rolls through him. If the words come out a little harsher than he intended—well. Word from the outside world has not breached these walls in months. He is tired of being kept in the dark. “Told me what?”

Iliana takes a deep breath and turns away, her attention straying to the small window of his cell as she folds her arms across her chest. The silence drags on long enough and Aerin feels tempted to shatter it, to demand that whatever information she withholds be released. But then her eyes slide to him and she breathes heavily again, fingers curling against her arms. It occurs to Aerin that her posture looks less guarded and meek almost, like she is embracing herself, comforting herself.

And, damn him, his voice goes soft and careful. “Tell me what? What happened?”

To you. What happened to you? 

Iliana drops her arms to her side, then lifts one hand to her hip, searching. But whatever she is looking for, she does not find it, and her hand hangs limply in the air. “I was gone. In the Shadow Realm.”

Fear, shock, intrigue–it is a heady blend that races through him. Aerin takes a shuffling step forward, then halts. He does not know what he intends to do. Go to her? Comfort her? She certainly does not want that, not from him, and he does not know if he can bear it either.

“Why?” he demands instead, drawing a line down the center of his cell, a boundary he will not cross while she remains. “How?”

“Valax,” she answers, and the name clangs around Aerin’s skull with no small amount of dread. He knows it and knows to be wary of it. “She captured me. Experimented on me.”

“To what end?” he breathes out, blinking rapidly as spots cloud the edge of his vision. The Empire of Ash, playing their hand already. “Why you?”

Iliana’s gaze sharpens. “You know her.”

“Know of her,” Aerin corrects, shaking his head. “I never had the pleasure of meeting her.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Iliana says shortly and turns away again. She drifts to the window, keeping her back to him as she says, “Before you ask again—I do not know why. I don’t remember much.”

Her falsehood rings clear in the air, Aerin can see it in her rigid posture, defensive and bracing. How? How had she ever deceived him, this orphaned elf from Riverbend, when she cannot even look him in the eye to lie?

He knows the answer: because he wanted to believe her.

Remember that night together in the forest glade? Our kiss? That was real, Aerin. And it’s still real.

He banishes the thought, grinds it under his boot, but something in him still aches, still yearns. She looks so unsettled that he decides to let her lie hold, something he will circle back to later. 

“Are you…” It is difficult, still, to force the words out. To ask this, it feels too much like an admission, an exposure of weakness. He swallows. “Are you well?”

Iliana whirls, and her eyes, glittering ores of emerald, cut through him. Whittling him down to the bone. “What do you care?”

Indignation flares up in him and he glares. “Do you think me incapable of compassion?”

She laughs, a cold and jagged thing, and slashes her hand through the air. She paces back to the entrance of his cell, her steps harsh. “Incapable? Perhaps. But I know better by now than to believe anything you do or say after you lied to us all.”

“Do not forget that you lied to me as well,” Aerin snaps, distantly aware of the guards shifting just beyond his cell. They are listening, he realizes. To report back to the king? To intervene and rescue Iliana if they deem him too dangerous, too volatile? They are listening, and political training be damned, he does not care. “That you would still have me. That we—it was real. You lied.”

He expects Iliana to shout at him, wants her to—her anger, he can bear—but she only sucks in a sharp breath between her teeth, her face at once stricken and furious. When she speaks, it is to the ground, the dusty slab of stone that spans the space between them. “It wasn’t a lie, Aerin.”

He barks out a laugh, full of anger and bitterness, because that is all he has, all he is, all that he can give. Anger, bitterness.

And regret. So much regret, he could drown in it.

“You don’t believe me, I don’t believe you,” he says coolly, forcing his voice to even out, despite how wildly his heart races. “Let us leave it at that.”

Iliana opens her mouth, then clamps it shut, looking for all the world like she might protest. But in the end, she only shakes her head, resigned, and leans back against the metal door of his cell. “Fine.”

“Fine,” he echoes and they lapse into an uneasy silence. It is the closest thing, perhaps, they will ever have to an accord.

Aerin takes their momentary cease-fire to truly study Iliana as she stands before him, glaring at her feet and refusing to meet his gaze. He still cannot believe that she is here, after all this time. Her black leather armor, he notes with grim consideration, is standard issue for Ashen warriors. Her blue skin is pale, but otherwise unmarred, save for the scars she already bore. No signs of physical abuse, or just the work of a really good healer.

An entire year in captivity. Gods… Despite it all, he is grateful that she does not remember much. There is no way to tell how she might have changed, how her spirit might have dimmed. No matter what he feels about her—hate, anger, sorrow—Aerin finds that he does not wish to see her harmed.

“When did you return?” he asks, breaking the silence between them with an easy question, a tentative olive branch.

Iliana eyes him warily. “This morning.”

“This morning?” Aerin starts at that, forgetting himself. For a stupid, pathetic moment, something flutters eagerly against his ribcage, although he squashes the feeling down. “I must be one of your first appointments, then,” he remarks dryly, tilting his head. “What brings you here?”

Iliana’s gaze hardens and her expression shifts into something like grim triumph. Aerin does not know where he misstepped but he gets the impression that they have entered a game and she already has the winning move.

“Tell me everything you know about the Ash Empire,” she demands, hands framing her hips. “And don’t pretend you don’t know anything. You already admitted to knowing about Valax.”

“Why should I?” Aerin waves a hand through the air, dismissive. “What would you offer me in return? You are clever enough, I’m sure you could find answers on your own.”

“Or I could get answers from you and stop wasting time,” Iliana bites out, pinching the bridge of her nose as she squeezes her eyes closed in frustration. Then, she drops her hand and fixes him with a look that speaks only to her exhaustion—with him, with the Shadow Realm, with everything. “You owe me. You owe me this much.”

He… supposes he does.

Aerin sighs heavily. Sharing knowledge is a task Aerin has always taken a shine to. Few things are more important than learning more, and helping others to learn. This attitude, he thinks, may be the best thing his tutors ever taught him. But the Ash Empire… The dark kingdom is a topic he does not relish remembering. 

Still, Aerin shares what he knows, some of it, at least. Foundational knowledge. The Ashen Empress is the true ruler of the Realm and the Shadow Court had been but a fledgling resistance to her reign, one whose hopes of success had been bashed repeatedly by failed attempts to take over the Realm of Light. He speaks briefly of his own role in the Dreadlord’s bid for power against the Empire, doing his best to tamper down any rancid feelings he still nurses about the entire ordeal.

Anything more, he must keep for himself. Future bargaining chips. Perhaps, if he can remain useful, well… Maybe not all is lost for him.

“With the Dreadlord dead, I imagine the Ash Empire is already hunting down any remaining members of the Shadow Court,” Aerin hedges as he wanders over to the window, drumming his fingers against the ledge.

He feels Iliana at his back, her attention heavy on him. “Sounds like the Empire will be coming for you next.”

She is right, he knows. It is a reality he has long since come to terms with, but still, the reminder sends a bolt of fear into his spine. His fingers go still against the stone.

“If the Ash Empire makes it to the Light Realm, they’ll probably take special care in how they eliminate you.”

What do you care? he wants to snap, spitting Iliana’s words back at her. Instead, he only shrugs, keeping his gaze trained on the city outside the window. Something like yearning tugs in his chest.

“So,” Iliana continues, her irritation with his disinterest bleeding into her voice. “It would be in your best interests to tell me everything.”

Aerin arches his brow, glancing over his shoulder. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

“Knowing you for more than five seconds.”

A dry laugh slips out of him and he turns around, leaning against the wall with his hands laced before him. “Planning to protect me, are you?”

“I’m planning to protect everyone,” Iliana corrects, rolling her eyes. “If I am to stand a chance protecting the Light Realm against the Empire, then I need to know everything.”

She is so… She is everything he read about, everything he dreamed of being as a child. A hero. 

He pities her. For her naïveté, for believing that she can fix every problem that comes her way. Almost as much as he envies it. She has never known true failure, not yet. When she does—and it is inevitable—then, she will understand. What she has now, her determination, her purpose—it cannot last.

Aerin looks away, running his hand through his hair. One more bit of information, he supposes, he can grant her. In his best interest, as she said. 

“There’s only one other thing, and to be honest, I didn’t believe it until I saw it myself,” he admits slowly, gauging her reaction. “The Empress has a terrible creature under her power. I caught a glimpse of it in the distance when I was bringing Nia to the Dreadlord.”

At the very mention of Nia’s name, Iliana’s expression looks almost murderous, like she might strike him down just for mentioning the priestess, but miraculously, she refrains. “What was it?”

Despite himself, Aerin shudders, recalling the undead creature, crafted of the seven hells itself. “Massive. Skeletal. A beast from nightmares.”

“How vague,” Iliana remarks, but Aerin knows the information has taken hold. She looks unsettled, certainly. Maybe even afraid. 

His answering smile is wry and almost apologetic. “I know. But it is unlike anything I have ever seen before.”

Iliana nods, seemingly satisfied with this information. “Thank you for telling me what you know.”

The look in her eyes makes it abundantly clear that they both know it is not everything, although for now it is enough. Maybe—Aerin curses himself for even entertaining the thought—she will come back for more. The idea lights something within him, although he does not want to think about what it means, what it says about his feelings toward her, everchanging and impossible to curb. It isn’t freedom, but it is something. How nice it would be, to have just a piece of the outside world come to him.

Desperation claws its way into Aerin’s chest and he hates himself for the way he caves, for how small his voice sounds as he throws out a lifeline, begging her to take it. “I don’t suppose… you might visit me again?”

Iliana’s expression is guarded, her response measured. “Maybe. I doubt I will even have a moment to breathe since the world needs saving. Again.”

That is… something.

Aerin tilts his head. Always playing the hero. “And must it always be you who saves it?”

He is not prepared for the way her shoulders slacken and she glances away. Gone are any traces of the bravery and determination she had brandished at him moments ago. What faces him now is only solemn acceptance, weary resignation to service. “Apparently.”

Aerin wants to tell her to stop, that it isn’t her problem to fix. But he would be a hypocrite. After all, didn’t he behave the same once, long ago? Believing that the realm’s problems were his to fix, if only he had the power.

And look where that thinking got him. Trapped in an old cell.

“Look, I can’t make any promises,” Iliana begins, her eyes flicking around the room as if she can’t quite look at him, but cannot settle her attention anywhere else. “Things between us are… I don’t know what they are. But I’ll try to visit again. I may need more information. So.” Her tone hardens, all business once more. “If you conveniently remember anything else?” She gestures to the guards outside. “Send word. Maybe I’ll come.” 

Aerin suppresses a smile, amused. “Sure. I hope you do.”

Iliana shoots him a look he can’t quite decipher, then turns away. As if expecting her, the guards unlock the door, revealing the torchlit corridor beyond. Aerin takes a steadying breath and is about to retreat to his cot when Iliana pauses in the doorway, looking over her shoulder at him. Aerin watches her hesitate, mouth opening and closing, and then—

“Do you regret what you have done?” she asks softly. “Wish that you hadn’t…”

Wish that you hadn’t betrayed me? Betrayed all of us?

Betrayed your brother?

Aerin’s breath is hard in his chest, something solid he cannot get out. Yes, he wants to scream. Yes to all of it.

“Would you even believe me?” Aerin asks earnestly, but he knows it is a fruitless endeavor.  “Whatever my answer.”

Iliana is quiet for a moment, thoughtful. But then she answers, “No. I suppose not.”

Aerin nods, closing his eyes as she slips out of the cell and the metal door slams shut behind her. He knew better than to hope for anything else. They did not trust each other. He did not think they ever would again.

The lock slides into place with a finality that quakes through his bones, sealing him back into this forgotten place, made for forgotten things.

[yandere-paramour]

How would our yans react to a Chronically Ill!Darling?

I've got fibromyalgia and a few other things that the doctors can't figure out, and I practically live off Tylenol and ibuprofen, how would they react to finding it out or how would they take care of them?

Before anything, Vivien is a caregiver. He is an amazing partner to have if you're chronically ill. No matter how bad it gets, you could be bleeding, puking, diarrhea-ing yourself into oblivion all over him and he would clean it all up with no protest and then bring you a cold drink. Obviously, he doesn't want to deal with puke and shit, but if it's you, it's worth doing. No matter how gross, tedious, or annoying a task is, you're feeling worse and it's his responsibility to help you feel better. He doesn't mind if you snap at him or push him away, he knows everyone gets snippy and frustrated when they're sick or hurt; he'll just go take a walk until you text him to come back. He won't mention it, but he will accept your apology with a kiss if you offer. Above everything else in the world, he lives to serve, love, and care for you. As long as you're letting him in, he's in ecstasy. He hates seeing you in such a state, but he loves taking care of you. It's okay, you'll be better soon. He can be patient.

Atalanta loves caring for you, but she also has the money to do more. She will hire only the most knowledgeable doctors and researchers to study you and your case only. Expect the longest doctor's appointment of your life as they examine every part of you. They will run labs and study your condition; there will be an entire university floor of research dedicated to improving your health. Atalanta has to run the company so she simply cannot be by your side every minute, but she will hire a rotating cast of nurses to be by your side at any and every time (think Marta from Knives Out). The nurses will all be great companions, too; she can easily match their personalities and interests to yours, and they will be friends as well as caretakers. Depending on the severity of your condition, she might get a nurse or three to live on the floor below the apartment so there is always at least one person nearby to always ensure your health and survival. Atalanta isn't for the messy parts, but she will always be only a phone call and a 10-minute drive away from love and support. You will improve from all the illegal medications and painkillers she can smuggle into the country, and you will be the healthiest you've ever been from the nutritionist carefully planning your diet. Need a hospital stay? Atalanta will personally accompany you to a stay at a private hospital and stay calm and steady the whole time, even if she's worrying herself to death internally. Anything you can need or want is yours, and you will feel the best you ever have. You might even be cured via some experimental treatments she funds. She's not above throwing on a suit and blackmailing all the bigwigs in the entire city into donating hundreds of thousands at a "Fibromyalgia Research Fund" gala. No expense is too much for you.

[sureuncertainty]

so as a former employee of RMS Titanic Inc, I have some thoughts I need to get out about this whole current situation, or I will literally explode.

for context, I worked for RMST Inc. for a year and a half as a tour guide and artifact specialist. The company owns the salvage rights to the wreck site, and partners with Oceangate and other companies to retrieve artifacts. the artifacts are used for educational purposes only, in the museum that I worked at, although they weren’t above selling little bits of coal from the Titanic in stupid little tchotchkes like snowglobes and hourglasses.

i dedicated so much of my life and passion to that company and that museum and was treated like absolute dirt lol. and I didn’t even get the worst of it, I had friends and coworkers whose safety and wellbeing was consistently disregarded for the sake of profit, fighting desperately for corporate to stop pretending to care about the legacy of Titanic when all they really cared about was making money

so despite my initial shock at reading about what was going on with the missing submersible, I can’t say I’m surprised. This is what fucking happens when you cut corners and put profit over everything else. If only there was some big historical event that we could look to that would show us just exactly how dangerous that can be...  oh wait.

Jack Thayer, who was 17 when he survived Titanic, said that “the world woke up on April 15, 1912″, which pretty much sums up how SURE people were in 1912 that they would never make those same mistakes again. They realized had gotten complacent and swore things would be different. They enacted safety laws, pointed fingers at survivors, created conspiracy theories to try to explain what happened, all out of fear of it happening again. And yet, history always repeats itself

and now people are fucking OBSESSED with the Titanic, they find it fascinating,  they won’t fucking leave it alone, and the company I worked for, and Oceangate, and others, capitalize on that because they’re greedy and want to make money off of it. all they care about is how to profit off of it. they PRETEND to care about Titanic but they don’t. They never did.

I also actually have a personal connection to one of the five members of the team in the submersible. I met P.H. Nargeolet at the event our museum did commemorating the 110th anniversary of the sinking, I spoke to him and heard firsthand some of his accounts of dives to the wreck site, I even took a picture with him. He cared, he cared so much about Titanic and its legacy, and so do I and so did so many of my friends I worked with. The company we worked for took advantage of our caring, it took advantage of how passionate we were about it in order to line its executives’ fucking pocket

I’m horrified, I’m devastated, I’m vindicated.

on the one hand, I hope this ruins them. i want to watch the company die. there’s a satisfaction in that. but the shitty thing is how much suffering has to happen for things to change. i just wish good people didn’t have to die to make change happen. I wish people cared first, before tragedy strikes. I wish our world wasn’t so fucked up and shit like this didn’t happen. But it did. And it does. And money won’t save any of those people any more than it saved John Jacob Astor or Benjamin Guggenheim, or any of the other rich greedy assholes who died on Titanic. I’m not celebrating their deaths. But I won’t ever forget who suffers the most. The coal trimmers and the stewards and the minimum wage guest service associates at the museum I worked at.

I’m glad I don’t work there anymore. But some of my best friends still do. And I don’t want them to suffer more because of this. All I can hope is that it enacts meaningful change that actually lasts. But I know that’s just wishful thinking.

[weeb-polls-with-pip]

Autistic Anime Boys Side B Round 2 Match 2

Propaganda:

Kim Dokja -

"His entire existence is based on loving one webnovel that he is the sole reader of for 10 years. Before he can read the last chapter, he is reverse isekai’d and now knows like everything about this new world and all the characters from the novel and interacts with those characters like they are still characters rather than people. He entirely misunderstands his friends intentions and words so much that it’s like he’s having a different conversation.

Ex. KDJ: in order to survive the scenario I have to die so everyone will live. No one will be upset because they don’t like me and don’t need me :) KDJ’s loved ones: all we want you to do is survive and be happy. please don’t die we will do every possible thing for you to live (And they quite literally go above and beyond but that’s spoilers) KDJ: oh they must mean someone else. It’s ok if I die. They’re lying or joking obvs

He literally has a library in his head about the webnovel he’s based his life around. His entire ability in this world is based on reading and becoming closer to people. He masks so hard his face is literally blurred in the novel (ex. Referred to as the ugliest king but he’s just a normal guy. People can’t see his face bc of world censors). When KDJ company (his friends) make a scenario to force him to slow down and spend time with them, he tries to solve their grievances (of which is pretty much just “stop dying”) and doesn’t understand that they love him.

I won’t include more stuff bc it’s huge spoilers, but he’s my favorite hc autistic guy character."

Zoro -

"His special interest is sword and he's very dedicated to his goal of becoming the world's best swordsman! Loves learning new techniques, working out and is incredibly determined. Doesn't care that much about stuff that doesn't affect him or his crew directly. While not a super common autistic trait, he also has zero sense of direction and will get lost anywhere even with a map."

[helluvaoutlaw]

Striker's Family

Here's my version of Striker's family, a canon-divergent one.

And yes, they're all dead.

Each character I created has their own art piece made by

GardenGoyle on Twitter.

The commission took her a long time (understandably so, since I asked her to draw five different characters), but she was extremely professional and talented, and overall did a wonderful job.

Enjoy!

Anvil, Striker's father:

Anvil was a stoic and reserved man.

Half imp and half reptile demon, he used to be a blacksmith, and he embodied hard work, dedication, and an unyielding spirit.

Anvil was a demon of few words, letting his actions speak for him. He showed his love and care not through words, but through his protective nature and small, thoughtful gestures. His strong sense of duty and responsibility made him a dependable figure, someone who was always there when needed, even if he didn't say much. Despite his tough exterior, Anvil had a good heart, and his iron will was matched by the depth of his quiet love for his family.

I took inspiration by @umnokorito works about their version of THICC!Striker, which you can find here:

(and yes, I asked them permission to use her idea of a more crocodile version of Striker, wanting to use the same concept for his father)

June, Striker's mother:

June was a lively and spirited Wrathian imp, full of energy and wit.

She was smart, sassy, and always brought a sense of cheerfulness to those around her. Before marrying and becoming a full-time housewife, she worked at a diner, but her passion for life extended beyond work; she loved dancing and singing, often filling her home with music. She taught Striker how to play guitar, passing on her love for music. June was also very protective of her family and was quick to defend them, especially when anyone criticized them. Unlike her husband, she was more expressive, both in her joy and in her anger, showing her fierce love openly.

Cole, the Mentor:

Cole was a laid-back imp, often appearing drowsy and slow, but beneath that exterior, he was an extremely skilled gunslinger with quick reflexes and incredible aim.

He possessed sharp wits and a unique sense of humor, especially fond of puns. Cole lived by his own code of honor, valuing justice above all else. When he took Striker under his wing as a child, he became both a mentor and a father figure, teaching him everything about cowboy life, gunslinging, and survival.

Cole had a strong sense of justice, particularly against the rich and powerful, whom he despised for their mistreatment of lower demons. His rebellion against oppression, along with his unmatched skills, deeply shaped Striker's worldview and abilities, making Cole an essential influence in his life.

Ember, Striker's wife:

Ember was a rowdy, passionate, and tomboyish imp woman who loved having fun and was always ready for action.

Before settling down on a small farm with Striker and having a child, she worked as a bounty hunter, thriving in the thrill of the chase. She was also an expert mechanic, proudly owning a motorcycle and a dune buggy, preferring them over horses, much to Striker's amusement. Ember's vibrant energy and adventurous spirit made her a perfect match for Striker, and she remained his great love, bringing excitement and joy into their lives together.

She's the reason why Striker has a gold capped fang: they were chasing the same criminal, and she punched Striker in the face so she could get the bounty first.

Jackson, Striker's son:

Jackson was an intelligent and curious child, far ahead of his age in terms of knowledge.

He had a deep love for reading, especially sci-fi and fantasy, and dreamed of becoming a veterinarian when he grew up. Despite his bright mind, he was very shy, often preferring the comfort of his books and the company of his pet horned lizard, Felix.

Jackson adored both his parents and shared a close bond with them. He also had a passion for collecting minerals, spending hours examining and categorizing his finds. His gentle nature and love for animals reflected the kindness and curiosity that defined him.

There we go, I'll probably add more details later, but for now this will do.

If you want to know more about my Striker's origins, follow the link.

Please let me know what y'all think!

@keenie-bopper @second-wife-playbook @grandma-susan

@umnokorito

@ultio-angelus

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

-The World's most Multiversal DND Party!-

(featuring @danganronpasurvivoraskblog, @a-student-out-of-time, @finalverse and @despair-to-future-arcs)

[MORE INFO UNDER CUT]

//So there were a lot of talks about the main protagonists of mine and three other well-known Danganronpa ask blogs forming a DND part together on Mod Bubbles blogs, and as an artist, and a major DND fan, I could not resist.

//My little autistic cogs in my little autistic brain got turning and I basically made full on character sheets for all four main protags of each of the blogs; Kuripa from Survivor, Hajime from ASooT, Nagi from NWPM, and Aliza-chan from Finalverse

//I won't post the full sheets because I don't know how many people would want to see that, plus it's a shitton of information that I just don't want to bother with. But outside of the character cards above, here's a brief summary of every character in this "AU" shall we say.

Hajime - The party leader. Was once a young boy who never stood out, but gained the gift of a prophecy that showed him a dark future wrought by dark lord Junko Enoshima. Now with the power to reset himself every time he dies, the number of times depicted in his magical left eye, he dedicates his life to the journey of stopping the prophesized dark future. Sometimes he can be a bit cold and distant, always acting like the fate of the world rests squarely on his shoulders despite his teammates by his side, but he is capable, kind and a true leader.

Aliza - Aliza has a power with a similar origin to Hajime, which gravitates her towards him, and eventually is the founding reason she becomes his ally. Unlike him however, power is that to see and explore other universes parallel to theirs, where everything can be different, and she struggles to control it. The goal of her journey is to learn to use her power for good, and to escape the lofty expectations and cruelty of her family. She's a little bit clumsy and inexperienced as a result, with her wild magic sometimes landing her team in deeper trouble than they were originally, but she always means well and if nothing else, serves as the heart of the group.

Kuripa - He was originally a well-known artist and sculptor who lived a quiet life until a rogue in a steel mask raided his village and murdered his sister. For those who frequent this blog, you know how this story goes. He dedicated the rest of his life to hunting down the murderer, learning black magic arts and becoming a blood hunter, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone, including his own body, if it meant achieving his goal. He's a bit of a loose cannon and more violent than his peers when it comes to executing plans, much to Hajime, Aliza and Nagi's chagrin, but it's made up for in the fact that when he gets the job done, he REALLY gets the job done, and it makes them glad that he's an ally and not an enemy.

Nagi - Nagi was an Aasimar who was the guardian of a realm in the sky known as "Neo World" until she was attacked by Junko Enoshima's evil paladin right-hand, Mukuro Ikusaba, who was ordered by Junko to kill her and bring back a part of her body to show that she'd finished the job. After this encounter, Nagi miraculously survived, but Mukuro successfully tore her wings from her body. Nagi joins the party out of revenge, and despite her trauma, is still the most mentally sane member of the group, acting a lot like a team Mom of sorts.

//I'll also but transparent renders of the characters here if that tickles your fancy. Thank you for letting me pour my little nerd heart out.

[sukugo]

i have to ask because i adore you and i want to know about your new blorbos- who are they and what are they and why are they always soaked in blood

JDHSJFHJFDDJFFSDFDF, oh man where do i start cassie.

they're from the anime/manga jujutsu kaisen, and they are:

gojo satoru. love of my fucking life. my fucking everything my boy my man, i am so so in LOVE with this man i cant even begin to tell u. he consumes my every waking thought, my life is dedicated to seeing him get fucked. (he's the guy in my header humping his all into the other's arm)

and (ryoumen) sukuna. beautiful sexy evil man.

(can u tell who's my fave)

so in this world, we have jujutsu sorcerers, who are people with special powers that they use to defeat/exorcise curses, which are basically evil spirits born of negative human emotions

gojo is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer alive. he is insanely strong, not a single person can go against him. his powers make it so that u literally physically cannot touch him. he controls "infinity" and can warp space, and he also has pretty special eyes that let him perceive things at a much deeper level than a regular person. those two things combined make him quite literally untouchable. and insanely powerful.

as for sukuna, he used to be a human who lived thousands of years ago, who used to be the strongest sorcerer of his time, and is considered to be the strongest sorcerer in history. he is the King of Curses, no one could ever defeat him, or destroy his soul, which he divided into his 20 preserved fingers so it would survive through time, even after dying.

so itadori yuuji

this lil baby boy (literally the babiest sweetest boy to exist btw) (he's actually the main character haha)

due to some stuff, he ends up eating one of sukuna's mummified fingers and sukuna reincarnates inside him. yuuji becomes a vessel for sukuna, who lives inside yuuji's mind now and sometimes takes over his body (reason why they look the same)

and now, yuuji is sentenced to be executed bc he holds the most evil sorcerer in history inside him, but gojo goes nope! wait a minute, let's not do that. and manages to convince the people in charge to postpone yuuji's execution, saying that they'll get yuuji to find and eat all of sukuna's fingers and then execute him, getting rid of sukuna all in one go.

ok so that's the context (that's actually what the anime's about haha), but as to gojo and sukuna.

THEY ARE IN LOVE

well, they're there. sdkkhfkjdkfdf

ok no, so like they do their things right. gojo is a teacher (tho we never actually see him do any teaching lmao) and sukuna lives inside yuuji and causes trouble sometimes. they don't really ever interact in the story (they literally meet and have a lil confrontation, decide to kill each other and never talk again djshjfdasdadfd) (until they actually have their Fight, more on that later)

BUT!!!!!!!! they may not interact, but they are completely tied together narratively.

as u can see, they're both the strongest from their respective times, so they have a lot of links when it comes to their characters themselves and what they are referred to in the story. specifically that, in being the strongest, they exist in a plane above everyone else, literally untouchable.

now, in the story, this position of strongest is coupled with solitude, being the strongest meaning u're alone and no one else understands you bc of this

and SO they have their fight. bc plot reasons right. this is obv what it was all gonna lead to. fight of the two strongest.

and the fight, consequently, revolves around that idea of solitude, and understanding each other.

which like. ok. yeah we saw that coming. ofc. no big deal.

EXCEPT, to make reference to their relationship and that idea of understanding each other, the term that is used is, and i kid u not, love.

there's a very specific phrase that is used multiple times between them. which is actually used originally with a character who shows romantic feelings towards sukuna.

she challenges sukuna to a fight and sukuna promises to marry her if she wins. her goal in this fight is to share in sukuna's solitude and show him love (read R→L)

but she says this to sukuna and this. this is his reaction.

SUKUNA KNOWS LOVE ALREADY

to which she gets super pissed bc that's not!!! love!!!!!!!

sukuna defeats/kills her. and u know when the next time that exact fucking phrase is used? when sukuna and gojo finally meet again and set up the date to have their Fight, where sukuna remembers her words

which tells us that.

sukuna was.

thinking about gojo when she said that.

*screams into hands*

BUT IT DOESN'T STOP THERE. this phrase is then repeated. multiple times.

1. right after gojo punches the fuck out of sukuna:

2. said in reference to gojo, when he realizes there's a chance of him losing:

3. gojo reminiscing about their fight:

so, as u can see, they were going to teach each other love. their fight is. canonically. about teaching each other love. what the FUCK.

but ENOUGH love talk (or else i'm at risk of going crazy insane)

LET'S TALK ABOUT HOW THEY'RE LOADED WITH SEXUAL TENSION

this was in their first meeting where they fought (for quite literally 10 seconds)

like... why he do dat.... .......... . ....

next day sukuna goes "hey im gonna kill u first <3" and gojo just goes "teehee omg really? *hair twirl* <3"

they also decide to have their final battle on dec 24 which is like a super romantic date in japan (explicitly said so by another character)

and their FIGHT. it is LITERALLY just them flirting and touching each other

LOOK AT THIS SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i fucking lost it. i still haven't recovered. that is the hottest thing i've ever seen in my life. gojo wants that dick so fucking bad

not to mention thigh grabs and hand touchies

and the entirety of the fight is just them having fun 😭😭 they're supposed "enemies" on opposite sides and the fate of the world is at stake here, but they actually don't give a fuck about that.

they're literally smiling and having a great fucking time. this fight for them is just play. their fight is just for them to have fun as the strongest and to connect with each other. they're enemies but they don't hate each other or anything, they only search for that sense of fulfillment in each other OTL

AND ABOUT THAT, oh my GOD

sukuna wins. he defeats gojo. and at the end, this. is what sukuna says to gojo at the end of the fight:

FUCKING. I'LL NEVER FORGET YOU. SCREAAAAM THAT'S ROMANCEEEEEE.

and the soft smile? the fucking petals falling all over them? oh GOD they're trying to kill me

but that's on sukuna's side, what about for gojo? well

HE GENUINELY TRIED TO REACH SUKUNA, GAVE IT HIS ALL TO CONNECT WITH HIM. TO TEACH HIM LOVE AGFKDHSKFHFKJFHDF (BUT HE FAILED HE COULDN'T GIVE SUKUNA WHAT SUKUNA GAVE HIM 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭)

HHRRRRGJFHSJDFHDSJFSDFA KJHDKFJSFKASLDKS ADKJKFHEWRKJEKRKTRELRW

and if i start crying OTL

but alas *deep breaths*

even without all that they're just very fucking sexy. two insane powerful men going at it? come on. how could u NOT want them together. they both hold the same title of the strongest, might as fucking well fuck nasty about it.

and oh god, when i tell u gojo is a fucking brat and he's so strong and untouchable, but then sukuna is capable of putting him down which is. insanely sexy. and i need it. i need gojo obliterated. and i know sukuna won't let me down (AND HE DID NOT. HE OBLITERATED THAT MAN) can he now obliterate his holes too

agdkhfhdkhdhs, anyways.... yeah.. that is the situation.........

im just gonna end this by saying

SUKUGO MY LOVES

[lesinquietes]

Kinda salivating like a wild animal at the thought of Pirate!Levi, who keeps a tight ship and also has his eyes on your booty 😏

Tw; fluff, misogyny, smut

—

Pirate!Levi has known you for a few years. He first took you in when his crew docked in a harbour town. Like various other residents, you resorted to crime for survival. You reminded him of a younger version of himself, before he found the sea. When you approach him and his crew and they’re about to depart, you implore him to take you along. He’s as shocked as his first mate when he doesn’t hesitate for a second.

“Welcome to the crew, then. Don’t cause any trouble and pull your fucking weight. If you fuck around, I’ll heave you off the ship myself.”

Pirate!Levi thinks it’s asinine how dedicated you are to each and every little detail. You’re clean. You’re proper. And you’re both of those things while simultaneously being a pirate, yourself. Everyone else smells and looks like shit. You care about your appearance. A few mock you for it. He respects your consistency.

Pirate!Levi doesn’t know how to talk to people he likes. He’s unintentionally abrasive. He can’t keep a conversation without long lapses of silence. You probably think he hates you. Unfortunately, he’s especially bad at confrontation. It turns out “what the hell are you so afraid of?” isn’t the correct way to reassure you. Thankfully, his first mate Petra is around to give him advice. You respond much better to, “you’re one of the best bodies I have on this ship.” And yeah, when he says that, maybe he’s talking about your physical figure, too.

Pirate!Levi fucking hates that some of his crew members don’t know how to keep their dicks in their pants. They see you or Petra or Mikasa or Sasha, and all they want to do is get their cock wet for an evening. They won’t appreciate you the way he would — the way he will.

Pirate!Levi beats the shit out of Eren Yeager after he sits next to you below deck and tries to get cozy. He doesn’t replicate the punishment for any of the other female crew members. From that point on, everyone is careful around you. Whisperings of “the captain’s girl” meet your ears and brings a flush of heat to your cheeks. Flustered, you elect to ignore them. A man as stoic as Captain Levi — dread pirate of Paradis Island — wouldn’t feel anything at all for the likes of you.

Pirate!Levi meets you on the deck one evening, after the others have gone to bed. It’s chilly. He gives you his large overcoat. Next comes an arm around your shoulder, reeling you in closer to him, as the two of you hang off the side of the ship. Your legs freeze mid-kick when he takes your chin in the careful grasp of his thumb and index finger. His lips hover above yours, and he wonders whether he should kiss you. He’s your captain. You might only consent to his advances because you think he’ll punish you otherwise. Of course, his belief changes when you close the gap between your mouths and seal the deal yourself.

“Shit… I’ve wanted this for months. Let me have you tonight.”

Pirate!Levi makes love to you. He’s not gentle with anything else in life except your body. He hopes you can feel the passion coursing through his palms as he covers every inch of you, exploring your skin. His fingers wisp across your nipples, hardening them into perky peaks for his hungry mouth. He doesn’t stop tending to them until you’re panting and mewling and dripping through your trousers. He wants you to make his pant leg wet by grinding on his thick thigh. He won’t let you up until you follow through. He needs to see how desperate you are for him.

Pirate!Levi watches your pussy engulf his cock as he bounces you on his lap. He murmurs something about how beautiful you are in the candlelight. You can’t reply. All that flies from your lips are moans and gasps. Praise fills your mind. You love this. You’ve wanted this, too. Your fingers stopped being enough weeks prior to this delicious fantasy that’s come to life.

Pirate!Levi decides you’re his when you rouse the next morning and give him more of his fix. He doesn’t make any announcements to the crew. They find out when he has you move into his chamber. Your role goes unspoken. If anyone gives you grief, it’s the plank.

Pirate!Levi isn’t in love with the concept of you want to participate in raids and battles. He understands that you’re also a pirate, and that plundering for riches is part of your duty, but he hates how dangerous it is. Sometimes, the rich that he targets fight back. Someone pulls a gun and it’s curtains; that’s precisely how Farlan and Isabel died. He’s very well aware that, albeit strong, he’s not a god. There will be times where I you’ll have to handle yourself. He just hates how difficult it is to trust that you’ll be fine.

“Listen. If you don’t come back from this raid, I’m going to gut everyone in this fucking town until I find the one who killed you. Don’t use this as an excuse to get careless. Got it?”

Pirate!Levi gives you more passionate hugs and kisses when you return to him. The sex is filled with desperation and fear, as though he’s funnelling all his anxieties into his motions, intent on dispelling them with his ferocity. Your legs are wobbling by the time he finishes with your poor, throbbing clit. The amount of love he pours into pleasing you is unparalleled; he didn’t know he could reach these heights of intimacy with anyone. He needs you forever. He won’t accept anyone else.

Pirate!Levi vows to dock his ship on land one day so he can start a family with you — if that’s what you want, of course. He thinks he’s up for anything with you by his side. He’s lost many things in his life. He thought the one thing he’d always have was the sea; he’s satisfied that you’ve become much larger than that in his heart.

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

📖 🔫 🩹 ? Love ur writing btw :)

Use Your Sharp Claws to Hold Me Gently - Murdoc/Reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, gender-neutral reader, no use of Y/N, pet names, lonely!reader (he fixes that don't worry).

Wordcount: 2354

Summary: You were alone, he knew it the moment he entered your apartment and saw only you in every inch, but you were also interesting, and that was something he couldn't let go of.

Notes: Thank you so much QwQ I was SO tempted to make the reader take care of Murdoc as I was song hunting to set the mood, so if I get this combo again know that I won't be able to resist hehe I ended up going with this song, full disclosure, and it fueled me so much that I blacked out and when I came to this was written so I hope you enjoy, cause I really like this one a lot 💗💗💗

He was in town again, his only warning the single text from his unlisted number, the other end going dead as soon as the message was received, no number to save to your phone and reply back to. You’d been doing this for a long while now, your arrangement to keep him close carefully discussed behind closed doors the night before he had to hop on a plane and become scarce again. You understood completely why that was, it didn’t scare you like he’d expected, but then again, he’d expected a lot of things to scare you, things that would scare anyone else for very rational reasons.

Not you though, not once you’d stared down the barrel into those brown eyes and fallen hard.

You were never supposed to be on his list, your presence a prime example of Wrong Place Wrong Time as you’d stumbled upon his hit just moments before he’d pulled the trigger. His target had pleaded with you for help when he’d seen you, money offered in sums you couldn’t dare to imagine owning, tossed around like it was nothing as he put a price on his own life. You never accepted, knowing that if you did then you’d be putting that same price on your own as well, wanting to risk your slim chance of survival as you just stood there, blocking off the alley so no one else would find themselves in the same situation.

He’d shot the man in that same instant, the gun pointed at you next without a hint of mercy.

You’d just stared him down, knew it was inevitable the moment you interrupted his carefully planned work, everything about him gave off the essence of preparations and structure and purpose, you were a fly in the wheel of all that to him, nothing more.

‘Just get it over with,’ you told him as you shut your eyes, trying to hide the fact that you were trembling and it wasn’t from the downpour currently soaking you to your now very tired bones.

He never did, wet footsteps approaching until you felt cold steel against your forehead. ‘Why aren’t you afraid?’ he asked you, eyes seeing right through you, down to your soul as he tried to find the answer. You opened your eyes then, his voice so much softer than the gun held in his leather gloved hand, rain dripping from his ginger-dyed bangs, the colour almost fully grown out from what had to have been a past disguise, and running down his face in streams. He was beautiful, you thought even as the thunder roared high above, the sounds of the city telling you that you still had a chance to run, salvation was only steps away, but you didn’t move, you couldn’t.

‘I am,’ you confessed, but it almost felt like a lie.

‘You should be,’ he replied lowly, and it held the same weight as your confession.

You took the back ways to your apartment, unable to miss how he dedicated every way to get inside without being noticed to memory, a silent promise that if you survived and told someone what you saw then he’d know exactly how to find you. You told him which window was yours, the fire escape leading right up to it, that fact the only reason you’d bought it in the first place; those metal stairs meant freedom for you in case of emergency, something you’d never had before as you moved to the big city and lived through too many unfortunate events to count.

He was taking that away from you as he jumped up, hoisted himself onto the stairs with such ease that you knew you’d never be able to outrun him even if you started now, no amount of window latches able to keep him out. You used the front door and met him upstairs, the security cameras sparsely spread throughout the building only catching you heading home, drenched but not giving away a thing. He hadn’t waited outside as expected, the window unbroken but still wide open as he dripped water all over your hardwood floors, shoes tracking mud over the thrift store rug in the living room.

He was seeing what you had to lose, but it wasn’t much he was soon to realize, your walls and surfaces bare of photos outside of the rare empty frame you’d bought but forgotten to fill, the default photo showing strangers looking happy behind the dusty glass. He lifted one of them up, knew they weren’t yours, and you heard him laugh at your loneliness, the sound so hollow like he didn’t even know what a laugh really was and was simply acting the emotion out. 

Maybe he was lonely too.

You offered him tea or coffee, not knowing what to do to fill the time until the gun would surely reappear again but he refused, his attention now on you like he hadn’t even noticed you come in. He walked over to your tiny kitchen, searching through your cupboards until he found a glass; he went to the fridge and pulled out the pitcher of filtered water, poured himself some without asking, left everything out for you to clean up later if you’d even get the chance. ‘Expecting anyone?’ he asked casually, eyes looking for any sliver of a trace that you shared your life with anyone, the answer in his head before you could even open your mouth. ‘No, you aren’t… don’t you know it’s dangerous to live on your own in a place like this?’

It held no real concern. You offered him no real worry as you just shrugged.

The lights remained off as he let you get on with your night, his eyes always on you as you grabbed a towel to pat yourself and your clothes dry, the takeout you’d gone out to get reheated as you sat at the table and ate. He was never out of sight but he never approached you either, the only other thing he grabbed being one of the kitchen knives from the hand-me-down block you’d stolen from home when you moved out. You wondered if he might throw it at you like a circus performer, maybe it’d hit its target, maybe it’d fly right past and embed itself in the wall behind you, a trick to be applauded for either way, but it never left his hands, the blade occasionally catching the light as he spun it in his fingers.

You thought he might be coming to slit your throat when he walked behind you as you tried to cut through the too tough meat, his arms around you and making you still as the knife was pressed down and sliced through with ease. His movements were so delicate like that of a dancer, he was well trained in what he did, and when he was done he lifted the knife up to his mouth to lick away the sauce before going back to the kitchen. It was tossed down loudly into the sink now that he’d dirtied it but you didn’t jump at the sound, your eyes on him as he then strolled over to the couch and sat down, recently dried mud flecking off his shoes and onto your coffee table as he got comfortable.

He let you finish eating in peace, your last meal no doubt, before taking the gun out again and motioning for you to go to the bedroom, your body freezing cold but surprisingly calm as you did as you were told. There was no rush at all as you both walked in, the door wide open and letting you know that you weren’t trapped, and you waited for his next command when the gun was set down in plain sight on top of your dresser. It was perfectly spaced between the two of you, only two steps away with the grip facing you, an open invitation to grab it and defend yourself.

Images of trying flashed through your head. You didn’t act on them, his eyes shining the longer you just stood there; there was no point, you didn’t have much of a life anyways, the empty photo frames reminded you of that every day.

‘Aren’t you an interesting one,’ he thought aloud, your hand twitching only once towards the dresser before you fell still again. ‘My job is done tonight, and I might have a bit of time free in my schedule if you’d like to hire me, little rabbit,’ he then told you, his eyes meeting yours even as half of his face was shrouded in shadows, the light from your bedroom window making the only parts visible practically glow between his dark hair and even darker outfit.

‘What do you do?’ Your voice didn’t tremble, he was impressed.

‘I make problems disappear, for a price.’

‘Can you make more than problems disappear?’

This interested him even more, and he took a few steps closer to you, your head tilting back so you could look up to him. ‘What did you have in mind?’

You couldn’t say it, he already knew the answer already, and he considered what you wanted before taking off his coat and folding it up, the slightly damp leather creaking as it was placed on your dresser next to his weapon. He opened his arms to you, the gun still just in reach as he waited, and you could only stare at him as you walked forward; he wrapped his arms around you as you let your head fall against his shoulder, and the hug held nothing but the transaction as he attempted to make your loneliness disappear. He was warm as the rain continued to fall outside, his controlled breathing rustling your hair ever so slightly as the trembling began, your shaking hands reaching up to cling to his black sweater.

When you’d awoken the next morning you’d found your apartment empty again, although there was a text from an unfamiliar number on your phone telling you, ‘Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful,’ the line pulled directly from your copy of Frankenstien, the book open to the page and waiting for you to notice it on your dresser where the gun had been.

He’d returned to you a few months later, another new number with a quote alerting you to his arrival before you’d heard him tapping on the window, this time waiting for you to let him in. This situation repeated many times over the year, each time with a text, each time the two of you just retreating to your bedroom where he held you and stole your loneliness for hours at a time, never once telling you about where he’d been or what he’d done. Your frames were still empty all the while, and with every visit he’d hold you closer, share his warmth with you as he threaded bare fingers through your hair, let you lay there in silence or cry into his chest if you needed to.

He slowly filled all your empty spaces, even if just for a little while, and you wondered how large your bill must be getting with each press of split lips to the top of your head and bloodied knuckles tracing the curve of your flushed cheeks. You never asked for something of his to remember him by until the night you finally spoke, your body completely in his lap as he held you, your fingertips brushing over fresh bruises spreading over his bare chest.

‘I might not be able to afford you at this rate,’ you murmured, and when he breathed out a laugh it didn’t feel like he was acting anymore.

‘I do the jobs that interest me for free, you know,’ he whispered into your ear, hand coming up to run over your jaw until you couldn’t help but look up at him. ‘That was just the first time, though.’

‘What about now?’ Something inside of you told you to be afraid as you looked into brown eyes so dark they almost looked black, the red and purple painting his eyebrow to his cheek warning you of the danger, but you weren’t afraid, you never had been.

He didn’t answer you, his mouth finding yours as colours shone through cheap curtains and shrouded you both in a halo of store neons and street lights.

That was months ago, his latest text reading, ‘There are darknesses in life and there are lights; you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.’ Bram Stoker, tonight, Dracula. You screenshotted it as you did with all his quotes, it saved to your phone with all the others before deleting the now useless chat and unlocking the latch over your window. He arrived less than an hour later, the smell of cheap takeout making him smirk as he looked at the feast laid out for him. ‘Hello again, little rabbit,’ he said into your neck as he wrapped his arms around you, his gloves already removed so he could feel you against his hot skin.

‘Hello, Murdoc,’ you greeted him back, his canines grazing over your skin and warning you of the danger as they always did before he noticed the frame you’d placed by your TV, front and center in the gap between the device and the edge of the stand they rested on. He let go of you and walked over to it, lifting it up and laughing genuinely at the sight of himself in your bed, a secretly stolen photo you’d taken when he’d fallen asleep in your arms.

‘You really are interesting,’ he mused as he put it back, still shrouded in darkness as he turned on his heel to face you, the sight so familiar as he filled up every last empty space inside of you.

Maybe he really had been able to make your loneliness disappear that first night, but he’d have to figure that one out himself as you pressed yourself against his chest and kissed him.

He smiled against your upturned lips like he already knew.

[blackspies12]

Wow I really thought that if there was one thing purgatory couldn’t ruin it would be spiderbit because of their dedication and love for one another BUT THEN THIS FINALE HAPPENS

Of course Q!Cellbit stays on the island and doesn’t tell Q!Roier until the last moment.

Of course Cellbit stays behind on the island, the island his son is at. The only other being he would give up the world for.

Of course the man with the martyr complex wouldn’t tell his husband about staying on the island because he KNOWS that his husband would stay and follow him. But the thing is, he can’t let Roier stay because he doesn’t know if they’ll survive if they stay. And Q!Cellbit above all else wants to prioritize the safety of the one he loves. He can not let Roier die. He almost did once and Q!Cellbit felt his heart shatter. He wants to save Roier just like Roier has saved him countless times. He wants to save Roier once.

And he did Roier survived… with a broken heart. Roier believes his entire family is gone.

See Q!Cellbit doesn’t realize his worth. He knows Q!Roier loves him utterly and completely, but he believes his husband will be able to go on. He knows that Roier will be sad and that hurts him but he’s sure that he will take care of himself. Knows he has suffered through so many losses but his Guapito is strong and remember Q!Cellbit doesn’t know who’s on the boat for all he knows Roier isn’t all alone, Foolish might be there.

However, Cellbit never saw him when he was kidnapped by the federation. Never saw how deeply that affected Q!Roier. He doesn’t understand how this “death” will break Roier.

I saw another post that said that Q!Roier will interpret this as a mini betrayal because well Q!Cellbit broke his marriage vows. He promised that as long as Cellbit’s here he will never be alone.

And while that may be true Q!Roier will always love Q!Cellbit. Even after the Abueloier incident he forgave him. Love comes with pain after all.

I don’t know how the QSMP scheduling will work from now on. I know CC!Cellbit is taking a break to play other games but I don’t know how Experimento Hardcore will impact CC!Roier appearing on the QSMP.

But I’m sure these CC’s will cook up something. Secretly, I hope that if Q!Roier arrives at Quesadilla Island before Q!Cellbit’s return then I hope he picks up right where Cellbit left off.

The murders of the federation workers.

He’ll finish what his husband started. They promised they would support one another in this.

Watch out fed workers the original killer may not be on the island, but there’s a murderous husband seeking revenge and retribution.