#IT NEVER GETS ANY LESS DISGUSTING BUT SOMEHOW THIS WAS WORSE

[heaven4lostgirls]

promises and dreams

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warning: angst, mentions of throwing up and blood, canon typical death and violence included!

summary: finnick odair is your best friend, but somehow you cant find it within yourself to be aanything more. Now that the 75th Hunger Games calls for Victors to be reaped you make it your plan to bring Finnick back home to Annie or you will die trying

word count: 1.3k

a/n: sorry ive been gone for so long! i have just finished uni so i am working on getting some more content out as soon as i can! have this to tide you over in the mean time but i can't wait to get back to posting! part 2?

part 1, part 2, part 3

You were sitting in the victors village of district 4 as you turned on the television to listen to the reaping news for the 75th Hunger Games. Your glass on the table in front of you was filled with amber liquid to quell the anxiety you felt as you hear Snow’s grating voice flood your home. Your hands are shaking as you’re forced to relive the memories of your own hunger games, which you had won at only 16.  

The victors that came after you were mentored by either you, or Finnick Odair, the Capitol’s prince. You had a harder time disassociating from  being a mentor when your tributes were in the games, Finnick always seemed so determined to get them sponsors and help them  in any way he could but for you, it was almost as worse as being in the games yourself.

Finnick and you had always been close, only drifting apart when his womanly companions found it necessary, he spend more time with them rather than you. You couldn’t blame them, if Finnick was yours you too would probably be uncomfortable but that never meant it hurt any less to see your best friend discard you as though you were nothing.

The only person you could never find it in yourself to dislike was ironically the only one of his  partner’s that  never dismissed  you, Annie Cresta. She was the epitome of beauty to you, there was no question about why Finnick fell in love with her. She had  been dealt just as bad of a hand in her own games and the both of you had found solace in one another. She could  not have been a better fit for Finnick and although your heart felt as though it was shattering each time you were forced to watch him look at her the way you longed, he would  look at you, you stayed strong.

That was how you found a paternal comfort in Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss Everdeen’s mentor, he was one of the only people who understood how easy it was for you to turn to drinking in favour of trying to find your tributes sponsors because of your own trauma. He knew just as well as you did just how  hard your games were for you; you had fought tooth and nail to make it back to your family only for them to turn you away in disgust for the atrocities you had committed in the games.

One of them always haunting you, You and 12-year-old George were the last tributes standing in the arena and you knew straight away that there was no way you would  be going home, you couldn’t kill him. That was until he ran to attack you and in a strike of defence you had pushed him, he had landed on one of the spears of the dead tributes. His lifeless eyes have haunted your nightmares to  this day.

As you tune back into the Capitol TV, you hear Snow’s voice state, “…the third quarter quell games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors from each district”. Your heart thuds inn your chest as bile rises in your throat. You can feel your eyes burning with unshed tears as you disconnect from reality.  The only thing that brings you back is the realisation that the other victors may  just as well be in the same predicament.

You get up to go to Finnick’s house, the light is on, so you know he must be at home so as you knock on the door, shaking on the front step in either coldness or fear, you’re no longer sure, you’re greeted with Finnick’s hard gaze as he opens the door to let you in. You whisper a small greeting as your eyes travel to the couch in front of the TV where Annie sits, she’s a mess of tears and you can only hold off for so long before you make your way towards her to comfort her.  

Finnick watches the both of you in pain and worry as you try and keep yourself composed to focus on Annie, you know just how hard it must  be for her, she had never truly been okay after her games so right then you had made the decision. If Annie’s name was ever called, you would volunteer for her, you could not sit at home and watch one of your best friends relive their pain on national television as you sat back and did nothing.

“I can’t believe this; how can they  do this?  After our games we were supposed to live! I can’t go back there” Annie says, and you softly rock the both of you as you rub her back, you look over her shoulder to where Finnick is standing and watching you both as his features tighten in anger.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise, you’re not going into that arena, okay?” Annie pulls away and looks  up at you in shock and she’s shaking her head as she lifts her hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs. “You can’t” She says, and you smile back at her as you tuck her long hair behind her ear as you move to hug her, whispering in her ear, “I will make sure he comes back to you” and Annie  squeezes you tighter.

You realise then that whatever happens in the reaping and the games, that  its much bigger than you. Since Finnick had a high chance of volunteering for any of the younger and older victors you  knew that it was up to you to bring him back home. He had a reason to come back, Annie needed him more than you did, and you acknowledge that even if he had never loved you the same way you may love him, that with you dying breath you would make sure he came back to Annie.

The day of the reaping, you stood in the middle of Annie and Mags as they took out  the name for the female tribute, “The female tribute from District 4 is, Annie Cresta-“ Before the announcer is done speaking your mouth moves without thinking, “I volunteer as tribute.” You state with confidence and hear Annie flinch as tears rise in her eyes. You let go of her hand and walk to the front of the podium, the announcer looks at you in shock and sympathy before she announces, “Our Volunteer in place of Annie Cresta, Y/N Y/LN!” she states.

You feel Finnick’s hard gaze on you as they wait for the announcement of the male tribute. When Finnick’s name is called, your heart clenches in pain at the thought of your best friend having to see you die in the arena. His demeanour instantly  switches to play the part of the Capitol’s  prince as he makes his way to stand next to you.  You both smile at the crowd as you make your way towards the train to say goodbye  to your loved ones.

As Finnick and Annie say heartfelt goodbye’s you realise that nobody has come to see you, you wipe the tears pooling in your eyes as Annie turns to you after saying bye to Finnick, she runs and hugs you and thanks you softly in your ear. You squeeze her tightly and reiterate your previous promise before you’re met with the solemn gaze of Finnick.

You nudge him with your arm and playfully tease him, “That looks isn’t very Capitol Prince of you Finn”, his strained smile does not go unnoticed, but you attest it to the pain of having to relive the games however the only thought running through Finnick’s  mind is how he plans on keeping you safe.

Somehow you both think that trying to save the other might just be your own downfall.

#juliwrites #hunger gaames #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #thg finnick #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair hurt/comfort #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair hc #finnick x oc #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games #the hunger games trilogy

[chaifootsteps]

(Studio Anon here) I saw those screenshots for episode four and… yeah I think I’m about done with everything Viv related.

I love shitting on her as a person and her ‘work ethic’. The fact that I constantly and consistently find more things wrong with her is hilarious and horrible at the same time. Somehow, without fail, she always manages to make herself worse with things like transphobia, zoophilia, and even spending her family’s (and other people’s) money for her own benefit (i.e those goddamn peacocks.).

But… rape? On screen? On episode four no less.

How. How on this goddamn earth did Viv think in her right mind that it was okay to not only have this scene, but to actively make sex jokes along with it.

Viv is a horrible, abusive scum that deserves nothing.

She throws away the people who helped her get to where she is, she takes money from her audience, she manipulates her stans to attack those who ‘just don’t get it’, then turns around and does this.

To not get too personal but needed context, I am a sex-repulsed asexual. I never found any of the sex jokes funny, but I tolerated it to see what a clusterfuck this show would be.

I kid you not I felt like vomiting as soon as I saw those screenshots were real.

You cannot joke about rape or rapists. You cannot introduce heavy themes like sexual violence with a smile and laugh. You cannot and should not ever have themes like this and never expect some whiplash.

I’ll probably still be around your blog, Chai, since I find solace in knowing so, so many people are just as disgusted as I am. I’m about done voicing my opinions.

Fuck you Vivienne Medrano. I hope your broadway demon show was worth it.

That's very fair! Everyone's got their limit, and kudos on even making it this deep into the slog.

Hope to hear from you at some point down the road, but if not, thank you for all the insights and happy lurking!

#anonymous #vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel critical #studio anon #viv stuff #actual blog post

[nicollekidman]

yeah we need an immediate press release from you on ~The Prologue~

i literally do not care about it at all like. you know my stance on the usefulness/health of taylor constantly going backwards and relitigating the emotional reality of her life in the past….. but the prologue just made me really sad and reemphasizes that for the hell the media scrutiny put her through, she made it even worse for herself (i’m not saying that in a way that Blames taylor but, she pathalogically cannot and could not let things go and find out who she was outside of rumors and reputation). imagine being 24 and deciding you can never be seen with men in case it makes rumors worse, imagine building yourself a wall of female friendship while thinking, in the forefront of your mind, this will save me. it’s sad!! but like she did fully feel like an animal in a cage constantly being hunted and that’s traumatizing. so the line everyone thinks is “slamming gaylors” reads to me more like. there was nothing i could do to escape this.

i don’t care to do another whole elementary school primer on how being gay isn’t a bad thing, being straight isn’t the default blah blah blah blah but it doesn’t matter. to her, any commentary or assumptions about her personal life made from her public life was painful. which is an extremely difficult lens to live under for so long.

but at this point it’s hard for me to be like 🥺🥺🥺 about any of this when she’s currently engaged in the most obnoxious PR stint of recent memory, swiftie’s sense of entitlement and boundary crossing has only been ENCOURAGED with the “vulnerability” and retreading of old ground in the re-records, and people on twitter are like FINALLY mother is telling those dykes how disgusting and deviant she thinks they are!!!

i hope that this exercise is somehow healing for taylor, and that she’s able to experience the reclamation she’s talking about. but for me personally? i know this music. i remember who i was and what life was like when i got this music for the first time. i know how it made me feel and how it still makes me feel and all the friendship and love it’s brought into my life. i do not care for the overall project that feels, to me, like torturing taylor’s younger self AND throwing a preemptive eulogy for her. i’ve never wanted to know less about anyone in my LIFE and i hope in general that she gets what she needs from this era so she can move on and look to the future and allow herself to experience new things in both her life and music without like. the aforementioned torture.

but at the end of the day she is a pop star. my relationship to her is as a fan of a musical artist. i don’t need all of This and it’s not my responsibility to engage with the music in a way that other fans thinks will Annoy Her The Least. i am a normal person with a healthy sense of boundaries and as such it is not my responsibility to look out for what other people think is taylor swift’s mental health. so im feeling fine ❤️

#side note nothing in the Statement reads as a denial of anything so like whatever fjdjjjdn #if anything the rabid taytravis people should also look at themselves #taylor swift

[mins-fins]

there's nothing left for you.

&&. being in love shouldn't hurt this much, being in love with your best friend shouldn't hurt this much.

pairing: mark lee x m!reader

genre: ANGST

warnings: mentions of vomit, your good old hanahaki disease, reader is having just the worse time

word count: 0.9k

notes: CLEARING OUT MY DREAM DRAFTS 😆! so um this is less of a mark lee x reader and more or "isa ABSOLUTELY destroys reader and makes them so sad for a good 900 words", i'm not sure how this ended up so sad or how renjun ended up appearing but um yeah.. im so sorry for this ppl (especially you user @junjiie)

you try your best not to make it obvious.

because the idea of anyone noticing is enough to make your skin crawl.

you feel uncomfortable in the moment, you want so greatly to just rip off your skin. you feel like an imposter, like your putting on a facade, as if your a fake, a bad friend, a fraud. your so angry at yourself, why couldn't you just hold on a little longer? why were you so pathetic?

you hate that you made people worry, all because of something so little, you almost wish mark didn't find you, no matter how much worse your situation could've been, you almost wish he'd left you passed out on the bathroom floor, maybe then you wouldn't be such a burden to everyone.

you feel as if he's angry with you, and mark never gets angry at you, so that just makes your situation even worse, because you know how angry he is with you.

you didn't mean to keep it from him for so long, you didn't mean to hide that you were hurt, you just didn't want to worry him.

you consider it's too late for that now.

when mark sits beside you, you almost flinch, but you somehow keep it all together. at this point, you don't know how you've managed to not burst into tears, your life is just so not amazing and you still haven't cried about it! wow you must be tough!

"do you feel okay? you don't have a fever do you?" he asks, feeling your forehead. you curse him for caring about you, because really, what did you do to deserve it? you feel selfish, you feel so undeserving of mark's love and care.

how stupid are you, really?

"i'm fine" you mutter.

your not. how were you even sure that would work?

well— you weren't.

you really do hate yourself at the moment, and marks look of sympathy just makes it all worse.

but what even happened? what did you do that was so bad that your now in this situation?

you fell in love with your best friend.

your best friend who, clearly, through several actions, has shown that he doesn't love you back. he doesn't even have to tell you for you to know that he doesn't reciprocate your feelings.

and you hate yourself for falling in love with mark lee, you want to punch yourself in the face every time you find yourself staring longingly at him.

it's stupid, your stupid.

you tried your best to act like you weren't hurting, like everything was okay. your not sure you did a good job, because once in a while, one of your friends would glance over at you with concerned eyes.

you don't know why you continued to keep up this facade, maybe your just bad at talking about your feelings with people. whenever your friends tried to bring it up, you'd brush it off, saying the same words;

"oh i'm fine".

"i'm fine don't worry about it".

"no need to worry about me, i'm fine".

but you weren't fine, of course you weren't.

and it would only just worse and worse.

maybe you should've known when you started puking those flowers, when you couldn't look at mark without feeling like you would burst into tears, when you'd constantly run away from any interactions because you just couldn't do it.

you don't know why this is happening to you, you feel as if your suffering for no reason. is this really what you deserve for loving your best friend? for having a crush?

you feel like life just decided to rip your heart out and stomp on it.

"y/n! are you okay?"

you sat on the bathroom floor, your back against the door. you felt disgusting, like you'd just committed one of the worst crimes in the world.

and oh renjun, sweet renjun, always asking if your okay, always making sure that your okay. you hate that your lying to him, and you hate that your lying to mark too. "i'm okay!" you yell back, somehow able to sound just great, even with how much your throat hurts.

and somehow, this is all happening because you fell in love with your best friend.

your not even sure if you can face mark without tearing up, you feel horrible, and you have no idea why you decided to lie about being fine.

you have no idea why you decide to make most of the choices you've made in the past few days.

"i don't like it when you lie to me" mark says, snapping you out of whatever zoned out trance you were having. "your not fine, y/n, and you probably haven't been for weeks, i care about you, and you have so many other people who do too".

you close your eyes, knowing you might cry any time soon. "i didn't mean to.." you say, feeling yourself begin getting overwhelmed, you feel anxious, and you hate it. "i just— didn't want to worry everyone".

that was a half–truth, it wasn't necessarily a lie, you hated worrying everyone, but that wasn't the reason you lied about not being fine.

for once, you actually look over at mark, and you hate it. you hate that you immediately notice his pretty eyes, you hate that you love the features on his face, you hate that you don't want to look away from his eyes.

you hate that after all this, your still in love with mark lee.

#mark lee #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct u #mark nct #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct scenarios #mark lee imagines #mark lee drabbles #mark lee scenarios #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #mark lee x male reader #𑁍 ࣪˖ 𓂃 isa's works!

[pezpenser205]

ngl i feel like ever since i came out as a trans dude irl everyone around me has gone further out of their way to infantilize me or just stopped trying to hide that they do. i was already an awkward autistic girl so i was used to this already, but it is So Much Worse Now. its gotten better online specifically since i got on T but irl its the exact same. its as if in their mind emasculating me or putting me down is putting me in my "rightful place" or valiantly contradicting my "delusion" in some way. its like people feel obligated to "humor me" or something like you would a kid saying theyre an animal while playing pretend. or they just stopped trying to hide that they were doing these things in the first place. people still dismiss my ideas and my voice and cut me off and talk over me like they would before when i identified as a woman but dont feel the need to hide that its misogynistically driven anymore because its somehow okay now because i dont identify as a woman so they can just be as blatantly awful as they want without it being a problem. and obviously me getting mad at people who are doing this is just cute or funny to the people who do it and always has been. my emotions are a joke to the people who provoke them. and my family wonders why i dont have any irl friends anymore when at the start of my transition when i was finally gaining confidence in myself and talking to people first both online and irl i was persistently subliminally told to shut the fuck up unless i wanted to be laughed at even when i was just trying to make friends and make friendly conversation.

its disgusting and dehumanizing and ive even had other trans people do it and im tired. like yeah i dont think women should be talked over and infantilized either obviously but people dont even try to hide when theyre doing it to trans dudes like they do for cis women. they do the same thing they did before i transitioned but shamelessly and nobody cares. they would literally just come out and make fun of my voice when i was sad or upset and say i sounded like a 9 year old when they Never Did That for anyone else.

just as an example, the one experience i had where i came into a support discord just wanting to talk and make friends after a suicide attempt when i was around 15 or 16 and immediately got made fun of and harassed and had my problems dismissed and had my buttons pushed and pushed until i cursed at them and got banned was traumatizing just on its own and just because i sound different now because of hormones and dont get that shit from people online anymore doesnt mean those few years pre T didnt wreck any solid confidence i had in speaking to other people completely. i still have to hype myself up before talking to people or joining vcs.

if a guy youre talking to has a "childish" voice and your first instinct is to make fun of him or take him less seriously youre transphobic and a bit of an asshole and you need to reflect on why you do this and how many people youve potentially indirectly told by doing this that their voice and their input is a joke and doesnt deserve to be listened to. Please. not because you should feel bad but because nobody else around you deserves to.

#op

[shsl-heck]

One thing that's had me thinking about Amy lately, is the tension between disgust and desire. She is horrified by the immensity of her desire for Victoria, but the shame and guilt over it can only ever make it worse. Fear and arousal, disgust and desire, all of them bleed into each other (we see this constantly in both porn and horror). It's like she has this splinter at the core of her being and she either cant realize or wont accept that the more and more she digs for it to try to get it out, the deeper she's driving it into herself. She cannot remove this without help from someone else. (Coincidentally, not being able to recognize that her attempts to do/be what she's supposed to are only making things worse is also what leads to the Enwretchening)

I'm aware there's a reading of Worm in which Amy's attraction to Victoria is purely an expression of a kind of morality focused ocd, but I personally think that's less interesting. She definitely experiences some level of that (the urge to fuck up a baby she's healing followed by disgust with herself is like a perfect example of an intrusive thought associated with that brand of ocd), but I think this is a case of *and* rather than *or*. My reading of Amy is that of a deeply lonely and emotionally neglected child clinging to the one person in her life that gives her any form of affection, whose attachment only gets increasingly complicated as she starts to grow up and realizes she is attracted to women.

She has never been treated as part of the family, has always felt on some level that she's only playing at being a sister to Victoria, and she is dealing with that during a stage of her life that is turbulent at best for even people raised in a healthy functional environment. There is a broad cultural taboo around sex and desire, but there's a special sort of self-loathing and fear that you're somehow predatory for finding someone attractive that a lot of queer people experience due to the stigma surrounding their sexuality and/or gender. Homoeroticism and attraction is seen as disgusting and fundamentally wrong by society no matter what. It is especially disastrous for Amy because even though she's never been able to see herself as Victoria's sister, she knows she's supposed to, and that adds a whole new layer of guilt and shame to even a passing thought about Victoria being attractive.

Then she triggers. Suddenly she not only has to pretend to be Amy Dallon the well behaved unintrusive family member, she has to be Panacea, the girl who performs miracles. She doesn't even have a secret identity to fall back on for privacy because of New Wave's gimmick. Any resentment about her role, or desire to live a normal life become more proof that she is a sick, evil person; a parasite who has wormed her way into the Good and Heroic Dallon-Pelham family and is eating away at them from the inside-out.

Even as it forces her to repress more and more of herself, Panacea also offers Amy what is seemingly her only chance to be Good like her family. Healing people isn't just something she has to do in order to avoid being a terrible person, but also how she can atone for everything else that's Bad about her. Saving people is a way to try to purge herself of the desire for Victoria, and to prove that she can be a Dallon in more than name.

Like, as awful and lesbophobic as Wildbow's handling of Amy was, there is something deeply compelling and even relatable about her to me. She perfectly captures an emotional state that I've struggled (and failed) to explain as I wrote and rewrote this post. It's the hunger, the guilt, the shame, the fear, the loneliness that settles on your skin like frost as a child when you accept that there must be something wrong with you, because if there wasn't then you wouldn't have to try so hard to be good.

#i am placing my head in a bear trap by posting about Amy like this but here it is #this post has sat in drafts for months #being periodically chipped away at and rewritten a thousand times #but i think this is as good as it's going to get for now #the real takeaway here is that I think Amy should hang out with Green Eyes from Pact #maybe even start a club for girls who are sosososo lonely and disgusted by themselves that they should eat people about it #wormblr #worm web serial #worm wildbow #amy dallon #worm spoliers

[ineedtotouchgrassrightnow]

Moon,Sun,Earth

”The moon needs the sun to shine but the sun couldn’t care less earth is the one who recieves all the sunlight"

Child of Zeus!!!

You've been friends with Percy for years. You two just clicked from a young age, and nothing could alter that. You were each other's complement – you on his right, he on your left. Inseparable, wherever one ventured, the other followed; an unbreakable bond that time couldn't touch.

Every time he fell sick, you cared for him despite his reluctance, cautious not to make you catch the sickness. Whenever he fought with his stepdad and needed someone to confide in, you were there. Through every bout of poor grades, you stood by him.

Since meeting Annabeth, everything went awry. Initially, he praised her intelligence and agility. But it escalated, becoming a recurring issue in where every conversation somehow revolved around her. Hanging out? "Annabeth showed me-" Your birthday? "Annabeth did the funniest thing yesterday!" Even breaking your arm was tied to Annabeth, as he exclaimed, "I think Annabeth is mad at me." The focus shifted entirely.

It has reached a point where he cancels plans with you to cater to her every need. He promised to assist you with training later in the day but had to cancel due to Annabeth's fever. Even after she reassured him she was fine, he stopped talking to you. He ignores your waves when you cross paths, always choosing Annabeth. Every new quest or important news, he rushes to tell Annabeth. In his constant pursuit of her, he overlooks the one who was there for him from the beginning.

You reached a breaking point after he forgot your birthday again. It was worse than enduring his rants about her last year. Does he even know your birthday? If you were to ask him, 'What's my birthday?' would he mistakenly say July 12th, thinking about hers?

"Why are you acting so stuck up?" he snapped at you, frustrated with your behavior.

"Why am I acting stuck up? Why are you behaving like you're better than me?"

"When did I ever start acting better than you?"

"I don't know? Maybe after you completely forgot about me!? Perhaps it was when you replaced me with someone who is just another facade of me!"

"Don't you dare disrespect Annabeth!" he shouted, his voice clear and sharp, sending shivers down your spine. He had never defended you like this before.

"Disrespect? You disrespected me. What are you talking about? After all I did for you?" You couldn't help but laugh at his demeanor. "I wasted my whole life looking after you!" Your hand gripped into a fist.

"I took care of you every time you got in a fight with your stepdad! I nursed you back to health when you were sick! I walked you home! I tried to help you get better grades. I stayed up late talking to you even if I had a big test the next day!" Your nails dug deeper into your skin as your fist clenched turning white.

"I never asked for any of that! You just wasted your own damn time!"

"I wasted my time being a good friend!?"

"I never asked you to be my friend in the first place! You just came along some random day and never left! Following me around like a lost puppy with no life!"

"I'm sorry for caring about you!!! I won't do it again!" The words hung heavy in the air, a bitter acknowledgment of the unraveling friendship.

"Good, I don't want or need you in my life!"

"I want you!" You yelled without realizing. You quickly covered your mouth, but he still heard you. Percy didn't know what to say in response to that, the pissed demeanor fading to a confused look mixed with disgust. The tension thickened as the weight of your confession lingered in the air, both of you grappling with the sudden shift in the dynamic that had defined your friendship.

"Did you honestly think I would be anything more than friends with you?"

"I don't even like you romantically!" You felt your heartbeat race as you lied.

"I want you back! You were my friend, my other side. I miss you!" You took a deep breath as you felt your lungs giving out.

"I miss listening to you rant about your day, about the girls that bullied you, about your favorite class! I miss you! I miss my friend!"

"Were you my friend or was I YOUR friend? “Was I your friend... or were you my friend?" The questions echoed, revealing.

"Look, can we just call this quits? I have training with Annabeth-"

"Annabeth this, Annabeth that! What about Y/N this and Y/N that? Huh!? What does she have that I don't? What did you see in her that you couldn't see in me after years?"

"Do you want the truth?"

"I don't... I don't know. Something about her..." His face turned a slight pink as the heat rushed to his face, thinking about her. The room filled with an awkward silence.

You couldn't help but start laughing loudly too. "Y-You don't kn-know!?" Your sentences were breaking up due to your unstoppable laughter.

"Bullshit! Y-You, I- I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ANYMORE!" You couldn't take it anymore. All the thoughts in your head were mashing together and mixing to the point you didn't know what to think. The room echoed with the chaotic laughter.

"Fine then! Forget me! Go, leave, go hang out with Annabeth!"

"Thank you." Percy rolled his eyes and left, leaving you standing all alone, dumbfounded.

*"I hate him! I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!"* You knew you could never hate him, but you needed to feel like you could hate him.

You watched as he walked up to Annabeth, and his mood increased right away, the same way it used to when you two would hang out. The contrast stung, emphasizing the void left.

Even if you hated her, you saw what he saw in her – she was smart, sassy, charming, strong-minded, and all the good stuff. She had nothing negative about her! He would be crazy not to be head over heels for her. Yet, you couldn't stop feeling guilty. You knew she did nothing wrong; she was always nice to you, but she was just... so UGH!?

A new pit of rage mixed into your stomach, one that grew bigger and bigger every time you saw them hanging out, laughing, or doing anything together! The conflicting emotions churned within, a storm of resentment and self-blame.

Not knowing what to do, you went back to your empty cabin, cabin 1, and grabbed everything that belonged to Percy: his hoodies, his sweatshirt, the stupid letters he would write to you when you were younger that made no sense since he had bad dyslexia, and the stupid stuffed dog he got you at the fair after struggling many times to get it. In your fit of rage, you went to grab a towel he left a long time ago and ended up hitting your side on an extra bunk bed. All the emotions you had bottled up came pouring out of nowhere; this was the final straw. Tears came down your face like crazy.

“I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HER I HATE HER I HATE HER I HATE HER I HATE HER I HATE HER I HATE HER I HATE MYSELF I HATE MYSELF I HATE MYSELF I HATE MYSELF I HATE MYSELF”

Ignoring the pain in your throat, you shouted uncontrollably. Once you started yelling, you couldn't stop; your breaths became uneven, and you sounded like a distraught child crying. If you were a child, you would probably run to Percy about this too.

Without thinking, you shoved all his stuff into a box, getting ready to leave. However, the stupid bear just stared up at you from the box, a silent reminder of the shared memories.

“…”

You ended up throwing the bear onto your bed and walked off with the box in your hand, a sobbing mess. Your destination: Cabin 3, Poseidon’s cabin—the one where Percy would be.

As you were about to knock on the door, a laugh you knew all too well reached your ears. "I- I love you so much-" The words were abruptly cut off, replaced by the sound of a kiss. It took everything in you not to drop the box; a wave of sickness threatened to overwhelm you at any minute.

Without thinking, you placed the box in front of the door and banged loudly, surely startling them inside. You ran off to the side of his cabin as the door opened. "What is it, Percy?" "Just some stupid box full of my stuff," he sounded annoyed but took it inside.

Alone in camp, with your only friend turned against you and longing for the girl you wished to be, you felt stranded. The wait until you could leave weighed heavily on you.

Feeling a sense of emptiness, you stared up at the ceiling, boredom consuming you. With nothing to do or say, time passed, and as darkness enveloped the surroundings, you remained motionless. No standing, no thoughts, no appetite – just a lingering inertia as you lay there, lost in a void. Despite skipping meals, you knew the campfire was unavoidable, bound by camp rules. Summoning every ounce of strength, you reluctantly stood up, acknowledging that you would have to face them there.

Each step towards the campfire felt like a heavy burden, the weight increasing with every step. As you arrived, the sight of them together, laughing and sharing a moment, struck you. A shiver ran through her, and he offered his jacket, a familiar gesture that once belonged to you. She hesitated, blushing, but he insisted, and you witnessed the echoes of your past now shared between them.

Uncertain of what to do, you sat on the ground, drawing in the dirt with a stick you found nearby. Seeking any distraction to make time pass faster, you focused on the simple act of creating temporary patterns in the earth beneath you. It was a long 30 minutes, but you finally decided on getting up and leaving. You felt her eyes on you – her disgusting, kind gray eyes.

You went back to your cabin, laid down again, and started sobbing loudly. You hated him so much, but how you loved him! You ended up going into a depressive episode. You refused to eat for days on end, refused to train, refused to do your hair—refused to do anything other than lay down. It's been a mess outside; Zeus is fighting with Poseidon again due to this. Percy hurt you, and now the sky is fighting with the sea.

The sky is thundering like crazy, and the water is going wild as well. Hey, this is your fault; you should know better—water and electricity don't mix well together.

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy pjo #percy series #annabeth chase #percy and annabeth #pjo #angst #pjo fandom #x reader #reader insert

[daytaker]

Satan Headcanons

cw: some self-harming tendencies

Some of these are actually anti-canons. I don't know if that's a phrase I've heard before or one that I just invented but I'm going to call things that explicitly oppose the canon because I think they make more sense or fit better "anti-canons".

General Headcanons

Satan doesn't try new things if he doesn't think he'll be good at them from the very beginning. He hates appearing weak or ridiculous, so he tends to absorb as much information about something as he can before ever attempting it, and even then he only acts if having that information is practically useful. As a consequence, he has never played a Sport.

Satan is Lucifer's favorite brother.

He would unironically like Linkin Park.

He can't stop thinking about cats. He can't stop talking about cats. He needs cat rehab. He can't even stop going on about cats long enough to sing us a serious and emotional love song without mentioning cats. Cats are a problem.

He and Levi share cursed memes.

Satan writes poetry sometimes.

Asmo treats him as both a big brother and a little brother.

He can play the piano because Lucifer can play the piano, but he won't do it.

Baby Satan (By Which I Mean Newly Made Satan)

When Satan is very "new", his connection to Lucifer is stronger to the extent that he can more or less gauge what Lucifer is thinking at any given time. He just instinctively knows. This wears off as time goes on and he develops a more distinct sense of self, and there's more time separating him and his creation, but at first, he can track Lucifer's thoughts so well that Lucifer is extremely uncomfortable with it. He'll be sitting there at dinner while everyone else is talking about screaming tomatoes and how terrifying Devildom produce is in general, and Lucifer is trying to figure out what to do about Diavolo and his weird enthusiasm for that demon that just woke up in the middle of the new school, wondering why they're suddenly a founding member of RAD, and Satan turns to him and says, "Lord Diavolo seems to like collecting strange demons with questionable loyalties and making them into his personal entourage. Also, fuck you."

Sensory

He has a lot of sensory difficulties, and the next few headcanons below are offshoots of this one. But basically... have you ever been in a blind rage and felt something touch you gently? Maybe this is just me, but that somehow makes everything worse. Basically, I'm picturing boy fresh from the metaphorical womb, an uncontrollable ball of fury, and SOFT stuff GENTLY touches him? On his BODY? What the ACTUAL FUCK?

His antidote to this discomfort is to have something rough and painful touch the spot that was affected, and this leads to a lot of scabs and sores. They're worst on his back and shoulders. This was a source of stress and conflict for him and Lucifer early on.

He hates clothes. Especially loose-fitting clothes, because of how they sit on his body. He refused to wear clothes at all for the first couple weeks he existed. He'd just roll around and tear them up with his tail. He often finds clothes uncomfortable enough to be considered painful, though that's not exactly what's happening.

He hates to get wet. I know, I know. Very "cat". Pretty basic. But being wet is uncomfortable. And kind of humiliating. And if you so much as smile at him when he's wet, he will interpret that as mockery and absolutely go the fuck off.

So baths and showers are tricky. Why the actual fuck would he subject himself to something like that? Just so other people don't have to smell him? Do they have any idea how little he cares about their disgust? He's born of wrath and shame* and hate! He eats disgust for breakfast.

*As the Avatar of Pride, Lucifer can no longer experience Pride's antithesis (shame) so when Satan was made, he ended up taking his shame as a little present. That's one reason why he hates Lucifer: he knows why Lucifer hates himself, even though Lucifer doesn't anymore.

#satan #lucifer #obey me #text post #hcs #dthc #satan thoughts #lucifer thoughts #obey me satan #obey me lucifer #satan obey me #obey me hcs #obey me swd

[elettralightwood]

Do you know, I’ve realised I’ve never actually told you what I thought the first time we met? You see, for me, memories are difficult. Very often, they hurt. A curious thing about grief is the way it takes your entire life, all those foundational years that made you who you are, and makes them so painful to look back upon because of the absence there, that suddenly they’re inaccessible. You must invent an entirely new system. I started to think of myself and my life and my whole lifetime worth of memories as all the dark, dusty rooms of Buckingham Palace. I took the night Bea left rehab and I begged her to take it seriously, and I put it in a room with pink peonies on the wallpaper and a golden harp in the center of the floor. I took my first time, with one of my brother’s mates from uni when I was seventeen, and I found the smallest, most cramped little broom cupboard I could muster, and I shoved it in. I took my father’s last night, the way his face went slack, the smell of his hands, the fever, the waiting and waiting and terrible waiting and the even worse not-waiting anymore, and I found the biggest room, a ballroom, wide open and dark, windows drawn and covered. Locked the doors. But the first time I saw you. Rio. I took that down to the gardens. I pressed it into the leaves of a silver maple and recited it to the Waterloo Vase. It didn’t fit in any rooms. You were talking with Nora and June, happy and animated and fully alive, a person living in dimensions I couldn’t access, and so beautiful. Your hair was longer then. You weren’t even a president’s son yet, but you weren’t afraid. You had a yellow ipê-amarelo in your pocket. I thought, this is the most incredible thing I have ever seen, and I had better keep it a safe distance away from me. I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire. And then I was a careless fool, and I fell in love with you anyway. When you rang me at truly shocking hours of the night, I loved you. When you kissed me in disgusting public toilets and pouted in hotel bars and made me happy in ways in which it had never even occurred to me that a mangled-up, locked-up person like me could be happy, I loved you. And then, inexplicably, you had the absolute audacity to love me back. Can you believe it? Sometimes, even now, I still can’t.

You shut the fuck up.

I can’t decide if your emails make me miss you more or less. Sometimes I feel like a funny-looking rock in the middle of the most beautiful clear ocean when I read the kinds of things you write to me. You love so much bigger than yourself, bigger than everything. I can’t believe how lucky I am to even witness it—to be the one who gets to have it, and so much of it, is beyond luck and feels like fate. I can’t match you for prose, but what I can do is write you a list. AN INCOMPLETE LIST: THINGS I LOVE ABOUT HRH PRINCE HENRY OF WALES. 1. The sound of your laugh when I piss you off. 2. The way you smell underneath your fancy cologne, like clean linens but somehow also fresh grass (what kind of magic is this?). 3. That thing you do where you stick out your chin to try to look tough. 4. How your hands look when you play piano. 5. All the things I understand about myself now because of you. 6. How you think Return of the Jedi is the best Star Wars (wrong) because deep down you’re a gigantic, sappy, embarrassing romantic who just wants the happily ever after. 7. Your ability to recite Keats. 8. Your ability to recite Bernadette’s “Don’t let it drag you down” monologue from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. 9. How hard you try. 10. How hard you’ve always tried. 11. How determined you are to keep trying. 12. That when your shoulders cover mine, nothing else in the entire stupid world matters. 13. The goddamn issue of Le Monde you brought back to London with you and kept and have on your nightstand (yes, I saw it). 14. The way you look when you first wake up. 15. Your shoulder-to-waist ratio. 16. Your huge, generous, ridiculous, indestructible heart. 17. Your equally huge dick. 18. The face you just made when you read that last one. 19. The way you look when you first wake up (I know I already said this, but I really, really love it). 20. The fact that you loved me all along. I keep thinking about that last one ever since you told me, and what an idiot I was. It’s so hard for me to get out of my own head sometimes, but now I’m coming back to what I said to you the night in my room when it all started, and how I brushed you off when you offered to let me go after the DNC, how I used to try to act like it was nothing sometimes. I didn’t even know what you were offering to do to yourself. God, I want to fight everyone who’s ever hurt you, but it was me too, wasn’t it? All that time. I’m so sorry. Please stay gorgeous and strong and unbelievable.

And you also shut the fuck up

They make me want to curl into a little ball and cry for the rest of my life

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince

[absurdthirst]

Hi Keri! Please feel no pressure to answer this or anything but I know you sometimes do real life kinda advice for people? I guess I’m new to the general Pedro fandom (I’ve known who he is for ages and also been on tumblr for ages but somehow my idiot brain never thought about searching him on here) and it sounds silly but I’m a little lowkey terrified about being here. I know the fandom got a lot of new people recently/since tlou and some people aren’t thrilled with that, which I can understand, and I don’t want to make anything worse (even though my anxious ass can barely make myself watch his interviews—which he obviously agreed to have public as part of his job—because I start worrying if I’m not being respectful of his privacy). I’ve been silently lurking for a while and can’t bring myself to interact or post anything (even though my writing is probably shit anyway ha) because I don’t want to contribute to a problem or make anything worse for anybody and maybe the fandom was sort of “full up” before everything got big this year and I should just leave well enough alone?

Hello love!

Thank you for interacting with me and I hope that you don't decide to disengage from the fandom.

Writing fanfics about characters isn't intrusive. Loving a kind and sweet man who happens to be a very talented and attractive actor isn't intrusive. Wanting to participate in a fandom and scream over those things isn't intrusive.

What's intrusive? Trying to 'out' his sexuality when he has never publicly stated anything. Trying to 'prove' he's with this person or was with that person. POSTING HIS PERSONAL WRITING BLOG. @'ing him rude and disgusting things that shouldn't be said in public. Trying to get close to people who are close to him to get the 'scoop'. DM'ing anyone who happens to meet him in order to try to gain information. STALKING HIS LOCATION. Interrupting friends/family live feeds on IG to ask question about him. Any kind of basic harassing behavior.

That is most definitely intrusive and disgusting. Being a fan isn't being privy to everything that happens in his life and demanding his time. It's about celebrating a talented man's work. At the end of the day, it IS work for him and his private life - unless he offers information - should be off the table.

You don't seem to be guilty of doing this. So please don't leave. The fandom isn't "full up", it's just at times full of people who claim to be fans, but have parasocial relationships with a celebrity and cross the line. We could do with less of those.

Love Pedro. Celebrate him. Scream over him. Go gaga over all this characters and just love him to pieces. Interact with your faves and perhaps post some of those stories you've been squirreling away (I bet it's not shit)

Fans who respect his privacy and still want to love him are exactly the kind of fans that are needed.

#pedro pascal #fandom #be a respectful fan

[atarathegreat]

HELLO :DDD! (If reqs are open) Can I request like, basically any characters you want somehow-someway on some Takemichi type shi, going to the past and seeing their s/o but as a child(like, 8 or or 7). I feel like it’d be a fun concept to experiment with, especially with Koko

(Also, if you take anons, can I be 🍀 anon or 🪄 anon if it’s taken?)

🍀Anon it is! I love it! I've been thinking about how to do this and I hope I've finally got it.

ft: Kokonoi Hajime I couldn't think of any others at the moment that I could spin to make it sound good :p

Being married to a man who seemed overly concerned about how much money he could earn was less than ideal, made worse by the fact that he avoided telling you what he did for a living. Curiosity ate away at you like termites every day. How could you live so freely without a job, and yet Kokonoi still kept you both in a penthouse with a beautiful view? Regardless of your arguments, he'd never tell you and promises to never drop the subject. There were just some things that needed to stay in the dark. Like his tattoo that you always ran your finger over and how he always afforded the silky sheets he kept you embedded in when you thought you were getting the upper hand.

No, he wouldn't let you find out that he was a killer, that he was a dangerous man. Kokonoi dreaded that you could look at him with hatred and disgust. So he keeps it hidden. At least, he thought he could. You were inquisitive, nosey even, and you always found out what he was trying to hide. You were searching again. For what, you weren't quite sure anymore. It started by looking for an old game you were sure you had, then for a stack of towels that you left on the couch, and now you were on top of the fridge, searching in the little cubby cabinets. A small scooch this way, and a bit of a shift that way caused you to fall from the fridge. It was an awful fall, and you slammed your head on the ground pretty hard. "What the hell..." Pain throbbed in the back of your skull as if someone were knocking on a heavy door and hoping to be heard across the road.

A nice breeze ruffled your shirt, your elbow popping slightly as you sat up and looked around. There was no mistaking the huge school building in front of you, or the students around you. You had just been on top of your fridge, hadn't you? Unless you fell and had a whole unconscious episode of your life and marriage.

"Y/n? You alright? How did you fall?" Chiyoko, an old friend of yours, was hanging over you. Her dark, purposefully fluffy hair with thin curtain bangs swung slowly over your head. Chiyoko had always been pretty, even to other girls in the school, but you couldn't help but laugh at her. "That hairstyle is so 2003." Softly grunting as you stood revealed your old school uniform. Shorter, paler, cotton clothes instead of the expensive things Koko had bought you earlier in the month...

"Maybe because it is 2003, asshole." There was no mistaking the annoyance in your friends voice as she slapped your head, "And you have the same style."

That couldn't be right, you had just celebrated Koko turning thirty! She handed you your school bag and you rifled through for your phone. Everything was old, outdated but new for the time. Maybe you were losing your mind. There was no way in hell that you had gone back in time!

"I, uhm..." Students filed past you as you tried to make sense of everything, "I need to go find someone..."

Kokonoi told you once that in his teen years he skipped school often and hung out at some sketchy places. It took all day and a few close encounters with some less than savory groups before you arrived at the last spot. It was the last known location he'd ever told you about. Warehouses bunched together as they held nothing but empty air and gang fights. In the future they would become a fresh food market that you visited often to make Koko's favorite dessert. Right now they were dark and creepy and made you scared for the first time as you felt a heavy hand on your shoulder.

"Now why would a little thing like yourself be searching for a Black Dragons member?" A deep voice accompanied the firm hand on your bag strap. Tall, that's all you noticed as you craned your neck to see who was behind you. Tall, angry looking, and definitely a dangerous teenager. "I'm just looking for Kokonoi Hajime..." The kids eyes widened as you spoke, as if he couldn't believe you had the audacity to speak up and say what you were doing.

"And what do you need me for?" The familiar I'm better than you drawl of your future husband broke through the silence. Kokonoi looked so different. Black hair instead of white, the same lines shaved into the side of his hair. During your marriage, since you hardly had time to see each other, he would allow you to fix his hair and have at least that little bit of time together. Kokonoi looked cute in his younger years, as opposed to the intimidating and handsome way he looked in the future. "I..." And it finally dawned on you that you hadn't even met Koko until 2006, "Uhm...I don't know..."

"Then you should leave." His kind smile hid the malicious intent he always had. As soon as Koko's hand touched your elbow you jerked upwards.

It was dark out, all the lights in the house on as Koko's private doctor crouched next to you. There was no more pain in your head, despite the heavy fall and the bruises on your arms from possibly hitting more than one thing on the way down. "Are you alright, darling?" Kokonoi was leaning against the counter, gun trained on the doctor, "He can't leave until you are."

#tokyo revengers #x reader #tokyo rev #tokyo rev x reader #kokonoi hajime x yn #kokonoi hajime #kokonoi x reader

[thenotsoholyspirit]

✨The Devil’s in the Details ✨ (pt2/?)

Matt Murdock x reader

Part one in here

AN: I wrote the next chapter the same day 😅. Had to publish it 💕 (Also quick note English is not my first language so any correction to my grammar will be more than welcomed).

Summary: Trying to makes end meet as a young woman has never been easy, even less living in the turbulent city that is New York. When (y/n) will have to make an impossible choice, she'll have to decide between the ones she cares the most. It's never safe to fall in love, especially with that mysterious lawyer at the bar she's been working at and the secret she guards underneath.

-/-/-/—/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

“Thanks guys.. see you next week

Reaching three am, Josie pushes the last customers out of the bar as we close up the place for the night. After all that happened, I managed to somehow get through the shift without dropping more orders or spilling alcohol

I finish to clean the last table as I get myself ready to head out. I hear Josie waiting me from the door

“You’ll be ok on your own ?, got a ride back home ?”

I nod at her stepping out of the place, I'd never feel comfortable asking for favors.

“Yea there's night bus that passes just round the corner dont worry for me.

I smile at her, wishing her a good night as I head into the streets. The night was cold, the wind freezing my face. I start to walk alongside the sidewalk, putting my hands inside my jacket as I try to prevent myself from catching a cold.

I should’ve brought my scarf

Suddenly, I hear some steps behind me.

I look back. The street was completely empty, even the surroundings felt slightly more silent than usual, but without the usual buzz the city normally carried within.

Weird

Yet as I decide to turn around, I now see the front lights of a car blinding my sight. The vehicle is not moving, as if it was simply blocking the street.

“Don’t you dare take another step princess, just get in and there will be no fuzz”

I feel the metallic sound of a gun on my back.

I can only do as he tells me.

………………………….-/-/-/-/-//-//—………………………………

I see the nightlights illuminate the city as we drive God knows where, in front of me a man is sitting. He is tall and large, his frame looking almost too big inside of the vehicle.I notice his formal attire and rings on his fingers, his presentation being so neat he couldn’t look further from any kind of street thief.

But I knew he was even worse than that.

“It’s been quite a long time hasn’t it (y/n) ?”

He rolls my name with a malicious smile, as if he was enjoying seeing my reaction to him “It's interesting you thought you could ever escape me”

A shiver passes through my spine. His eyes are so small, yet the stare he gives me is enough to be completely terrifying .

I try to speak.

“I.. I thought the deal was made… I already paid back most of the debt.. I”

The man shakes his head.

“Don’t lie to me miss (y/l/n) we both perfectly know that wasn’t what you promised me”

I suddenly feel the gun reloading once again.

“I don’t want trouble here.. I don’t like having to to do the dirty work but my business cannot work if people don’t respect the deals we make”

I feel myself starting to panic.

“Please, I'd do anything… anything just don’t hurt her”

The man smiles, knowing he had me under his will.

“You have one week to complete your payment miss… or you can say goodbye to the idea of ever seeing your mother getting out of that hospital”

My heart freezes, a mix of fear and disgust filling me.

I wanted to spit on this man, to scream at him for even daring to mention her.

But I was powerless, and dying tonight wasn't something that could save her.

“I don’t have enough money…but I swear I'd do anything.. anything”

Fisk grins, as if this was the answer he was already hoping to get.

“Lucky for you… I do need assistance on some business and I couldn’t think of a better person to do the job than you.”

I’m a bit confused now, I try to carefully ask him the question.

“What.. What job? “

“It’s easy.. there’s this guy that’s been putting his nose where he shouldn’t… I need him out of this city…he’s been quite the nuisance I can say”

I immediately know who’s he talking about

“That vigilante ?”

I’ve read some newspapers talking about this guy preventing robberies around. Nobody knew much about him except he got nicknamed the devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

I see some anger surface on Fisk's face at the very mention of this guy.

“Yes… I want you to help me bring him down..”

“I’m.. I’m not sure I understand…I-“

“You can so easily play the victim..” He seems so satisfied by his petition, “I’m sure you’ll have no problem doing it for me”

I suddenly understand what he implied, as my face becomes livid for a moment.

“You want me… you want me to lure him into falling in under your grip ?”

“I think we’re finally getting somewhere miss”

I’m in disbelief. Fisk gives me a quick run of the idea, telling me what to do. He tells me he’ll let me know when the plan may be executed, and I wonder for how long this has even been already thought of.

“Of course, if I come to discover that any of this conversation has fallen into… untrustworthy ears…”

I don’t need to be explained twice to understand what was in game here. I take a deep breath to gather my courage. I now look at him with more determined eyes, I didn’t want him to see my fear.

“I understand… you have my word sir ”

“Good..Now go take some rest…, you had a long shift at work after all”

I was so taken by the conversation, I didn't even notice the car had parked in front of my apartment.

The message was clear, he knew my routine, he knew where I lived, there was no way out of this one.

I can only nod.

I step out as the vehicle now disappears into the night.

When I see it completely gone, I run inside tears filling my eyes. My whole body felt so heavy, my heart even pounding. My instinct tells me to tell someone that I can’t let one of the only hopes this city has had in a long time fall.

What about her ?

Standing on top of the chimney , a portrait of me and my mother stares back at me.

I couldn’t let her down. I take another deep breath, I couldn’t crack. Not here. Not now

I hope you’ll get to forgive me mom

As I change my clothes for my night ones, I notice a little piece of paper hidden in one of my pockets.

Looking at it, I notice the name “Murdock and Nelson” appearing on its side.

How ironic… justice

I sigh as I look at the phone number on it, remembering the little conversation we had when I brought him a new set of beers

“Hey if you are ever in need of some legal back up my friend Foggy and I just started our law firm and would be thrilled to help any new clients…

Matt smiled at me, using the charm he seemed to know he had. It did work on me that's for sure.

When I came back to clean the table they were already gone, only the card being left.

I cannot help but to wonder if it meant more than just some legal help.

But it’s late. I don’t even take the time to think about it as I’m already exhausted.

Everything is going to be ok

I fall asleep as soon as my heads touches my pillow.

#daredevil x reader #matt murdock x reader #netflix daredevil #daredevil x reader angst #marvel x reader #matt murdock x reader angst #matt murdock

[mysisypheannightmare]

Like a Lightbulb

Word Count: 638

--

Staring up at the light fixture, Logan attempted to ignore the jealous pang in his chest from knowing that the lightbulb inside had a purpose and was serving that purpose, doing its job.

He had done so much to find his own, seeing something so simple and succinct achieve what he could not... It hurt.

He wished he could be as useful as that lightbulb, made to give light to the dark, to bring forth understanding to ignorance and confusion. The smallest of sparks activating a wealth of knowledge, meant to be used daily, to help and guide others, make their lives that much easier.

But instead, Logan was saddled with a group who look up at a lightbulb and fail to see how it strives to help them.

Who argues with a lightbulb as it shines to illuminate the room? Why purposefully shut it off, keep it unused, preferring to wander about in the dark instead of allowing the bulb to do its job?

More and more days go by, and he expected to be used again, as any lightbulb would, but Thomas and the others had somehow become so accustomed to feeling their way around in the dark, they seemed to grow used to it. Why bother turning on the light and just knowing and understanding what's in front of you when it's more 'fun' to wander directly into safety hazards and fumble around until you find what you're looking for?

Surely they'd see the error of their ways eventually, when something bad happened or they stumbled and hurt themselves, right? He didn't want that to happen, of course, but what could he do if he was simply left there, unused, no power flowing through him to do anything at all?

He couldn't stop them from their misadventures. He could only sit and wait, hope to be made useful, hope to do his job. But if they avoided flipping the switch, either out of resentment or habit at this point, what more could he do to help them?

They still knew he was there to help, right? Sometimes someone might find it easier to use the dull light of a phone to find their way or locate a flashlight to guide their way, such an excessive effort when his switch was right there, waiting and gathering dust. It would take so little, yet they made it harder on themselves...

He didn't fully blame them, either. After all, there were times when lighting up a room could be unnecessary, he supposed. Sometimes it was more fun to turn the lights off, sometimes it helped keep things calm and less vibrant, and there were certainly times where light was excessive, getting in the way. He knew that, he understood... But to not be used at all? Why bother having the whole mechanism installed, ready to fulfill its job at any moment, only to never use it?

He could only hope that the others had not grown so disgusted or mistrusting of what he could provide them that they were actively avoiding him. It had to be out of habit that they had forgotten his usefulness, nothing more.

But was it worse to be hated or forgotten?

Either way, he's still left unused.

Logan's eyes adjusted as he continued to stare up at the light fixture. Lightbulbs often lasted a very long time, whether they're used or not. So long as they haven't burnt out, they could be relied upon for years.

But once they've burned out, there's nothing left to do but to toss them out.

Perhaps it was better to be left unused, ready to fulfill his purpose once that chance finally came, rather than to no longer be able to serve one at all, destined only for removal and destruction.

Maybe this was the better option.

#logan sanders #logan angst #fanfiction #ts logan #sanders sides #long post #always a good time for an angsty metaphor

[joshslater]

The Cards

Attempting to repost stories previously flagged as too risqué for tumblr. This is some sort of story based on captions made by Himbo Heaven. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.  

"And it has to be one of these four?" you ask the man in the armchair across your coffee table. "We've been over this already. Just make your decision," he says, not even looking up from the device in his hand. You make a defeated sigh and pick the top card from the stack.

Thank God it comes with dumb, you think as you can't imagine living like that and keeping your wits about you. Deep down you wouldn't mind looking better, you know that. It's not like you are remarkably ugly. At worst you could be described as unremarkable, but handsome people have always behaved in a way that annoyed you. Like they got this genetic gift and act like they are better than everyone. The irony here is to get it literally gifted, or forced rather, to become the ultimate end of vain entitlement. No, you correct yourself. There was that "made to fulfill" part too, which makes you conflicted because it somehow makes it better holistically while also being worse personally. An ornamental slut eager to please. Frustrated you throw the card down on the table and pick the next one.

This is even less appealing to you. The first one at least had some air of luxury, but this is just crude. Even the description doesn't bother with any sophistication but simply states "Dude, bro". You've worked hard to never be anyone's dude or bro. There should be a comma after "socks" shouldn't it? And another one after caps. Why did it have to say "dumb"? Actually, that whole last run-on sentence sounded pretty horrible. You throw the card on top of the first one in disgust, though it glides almost to the middle of the table before it settles. You're trying to shake the mental image of socks, caps, and a locker room with sweaty athletes having sex with each other.

"Do they all have to be so vulgar?" you ask, but the man ignores the question, still staring at his device. You pick the third card from the stack and suppress a laugh.

That's not going to happen, is it? Just imagine being one of those sex-obsessed people, always trying to score, always making innuendos and flirting. Such a life would be so lacking, with no art, no literature, no real human connections, no science, no awe for the wonders of the world, no plans for how to make the world a better place. Just...

"One more minute then I'll pick one for you," the man interrupts. You throw the card next to the other two and pick up the last one.

Finally something without sex in the text, but then it has "Slut" right there in the title. In a way this is just the jock again, but worse in almost all aspects. None of the aesthetic part, no hints of any life outside of the gym or team or friends, and unlike the jock text an unqualified reduction in intelligence. If the last one's life sounded empty, this one is even more tragic.

"Fuck it! I'll take..."

Trophy Boy

It's the one with the softest landing after all. Sure, some people would be weirded out by a meticulously sexualized and objectified man, but there must be so many who'd love to care for him.

The man in the armchair nods and makes a slight motion with his hands. You recognize the scent of lavender, no its cum, no bubblegum, no lube. It's over so quickly you think you must have been mistaken. You feel warm, not in a feverish way, but as if you've been out in the sun a tad too long. You're thirsty but can't resist licking your lips. Your lips feel different. Your mouth feels different. Did the transformation already start? You're just about to ask him when your clothes turn to powder, perhaps more like sand than flour, because it falls off you cleanly to reveal the smooth, tan, perfect skin of your toned arms. A swirl of pride, horniness, and disgust wash over you as you trace the rest of your meticulously toned body with your gaze.

You lick your lips again. Your mouth is lacking something. Shouldn't there be something happening to you? Some sort of change, for some reason you can't quite recall. You think of bubblegum. Your mouth lacks bubblegum! There's a man you don't recognize getting up from an armchair, reaching for some cards at the table next to you. Or a lolly. A pink strawberry lolly to suck on. "Who are you?" you ask the man. He's fit, dressed in plain but expensive clothes. You stare at his groin as he collects the cards. A dick! Your mouth is lacking a dick to suck on. "It doesn't matter. You won't see me again," the man says and heads towards the door. "Aww," you whine and try to make a sad face, pouting your lips. There's a big glass bowl with strawberry lollies on the table though, so you stand up, adjust your thong, and head over there to find something to suck on. If only they made them cum flavored.

Jock

Once the transformation is done, this must surely be the best option. To be surrounded by teammates that support each other. Bro culture may be toxic from the outside, but as a dumb member it must be great.

The man in the armchair nods and makes a slight motion with his hands. Your eyes widen as knowledge rush into you, rules for sports you barely knew existed, famous players, games from history, not just who won or lost, but where it was played, who was in it, the notable swings of fortune. You know not just the rules, but how to apply them in practice, what to do differently when the grass is wet or when the sun is in your back. You know how to save every second when putting on football pads. You know what underwear chafes, what fabrics are good for running, how to pour out the contents of your training duffel on the floor so all the sweaty clothes dry over night. You know how to pace yourself in beer pong to come out winning more often than not, and how to cure hangover the day after in time for training. You know how to suck your bro's dick to keep him on the edge for as long as possible. You know how to recognize how many shots into the evening the teammates will let you make out with them with sloppy kisses. You know how to move your body to keep your bros inside you for as long as possible, and have them come back for seconds once they've creamed inside of you and recharged.

"What the fuck!" you gasp, as if gasping for air. As if you were drowning in knowledge you didn't want in the first place. You're panting heavily, frantically scanning the room with your eyes as if you've just woken up from a nightmare. You see the man across the room, sitting in the armchair, and suddenly you're reminded of what is happening. The cards, the choice, the transformation. Only you haven't transformed. You look the same as when you came in through the door from school. Doing what though?

You struggle to remember anything that happened during the day. You can't even remember what school you are attending, or what subjects. You glance at the wall clock and know there is basket on ESPN in 40 minutes. You desperately don't want to know that. You look around the room for any hints of what you are studying, of who you really are. You only see a line of football gear strewn on the floor, giving off a faint odor of sweat and liniment cream.

Your panting isn't coming down though, but instead is intensifying as if you were sprinting. You've been too confused and preoccupied to notice just how profusely you're sweating. You feel it one of the legs first, but within seconds you are cramping all over your body. Not just like a big ball of tensed muscle, but fading in and out all over the body seemingly randomly. You try to get out of your seat, but collapse on the floor writhing in pain and convulsions. Eventually the cramps begin to subside and you are aware that the only remaining discomfort is where your too tight clothes cut into you when you move. You're also aware that someone is walking around above you, getting ready to leave your apartment.

"Dude. Fuck me..." you exhale as you roll on your back, exhausted and soaked in sweat, waiting for your heartbeat to go down.

"Many will," you hear someone answer before he closes the door behind him.

Cumdump

It's the only one where you don't lose your smarts if the texts can be trusted. A smoking hot body and boosted libido must be possible to work with.

The man in the armchair nods and makes a slight motion with his hands. You feel both your butt cheeks spasm quickly, as if you flexed your muscles there for half a second. Then it happens again. And again. Every five seconds or so there's a contraction of your butt muscles. Then the fourth time it's followed by a quick clenching of your sphincter. Same with the next one. It's like involuntary kegel exercises. You can feel the contractions getting deeper each time, as if you are clenching harder or more muscles are involved. By the tenth or so contraction it's like a wave that travels from your butt muscles through your ass and out your dick. You can feel an erection slowly building, but the whole thing doesn't feel sexual in any way. It's just like an annoying hiccup. One you imagine would prevent you from walking.

It goes on for minutes and you are just about to ask the man how long this would take, if something is wrong, or if you were required to do something, when the contractions suddenly expand both up and down. You feel your thighs flexing as well as your abs. Every contraction is reaching further away into your body, like a ripple of flexing muscles, always starting from your butt cheeks. You're starting to feel fatigued around your ass and shift around to get more comfortable when you hear a short, ripping sound. It's your underwear you realize. Standing up would be unthinkable with the incessant muscle contractions, so you are limited in what you can do in between the increasingly violent flailings, but you manage to discover that your ass has been growing into a bubble butt, explaining the wardrobe failure. You scoot down into a half-sitting position that is at least closer to comfortable.

You don't know if the frequency had been increasing all along or not, but the thrusts throughout your body happen much faster now, every two seconds or so. The ripple of contractions has extended to basically cover your entire body, all the way down to your feet and all the way up your chest, neck, and out your arms. There's barely any time between one wave being finished and the next one starting. While your dick started out just getting hard it is now radiating horny energy. You're making a small, short moan for every contraction, more of a yelp really, but it is when the wave hits your dick you make the sound.

Then suddenly one wave, once it hit the throat, bounced back down the chest. It goes on a while like that until slowly, slowly the contractions drift out of sync with each other that it's really two different waves. One from the ass and out and one from the throat and down. They are timed differently and drift in and out of phase with each other.

This just goes on and you lose track of time. If asked you wouldn't be able to tell if it had been an hour or four. At some point you just gave up on trying to do anything about it, other than inching into the best possible position. You stopped trying to make sense of it, why it was happening, when it would stop. You just are.

"This is the one I enjoy the most," the man in the armchair says.

Startled you look at him, snapped out of your trance, and everything stops. No more waves of contractions. At some point you had shifted position to just lie on your back with your bent legs up in the air, arms behind your neck. You're confused to see silky smooth legs, shaved cock and balls, and smooth abs glazed in precum from all the droplets have have been flung around. You're just as much confused because you are naked as the fact your body looks like it does. But most surprising of all is the emptiness your feel from the lack of the pounding in your ass and your throat. The deep craving you feel to have that continue and the pervasive horny feeling that is like nothing you have ever experienced before. You know of course what was done to you. You selected the card.

"Why?" "All the other options are just stupidly content with what they become. You on the other hand have a whole journey of coming to terms with it at your own pace. That's why nothing in your apartment has changed." "Perhaps I am content?" you say as you sit back up properly on your new, plump ass and tentatively try to squeeze them to get back the feeling of being thrusted. You reek of sweat and cum after what essentially were hours of being ghost fucked.

He smiles a wry smile. "Well, you can stay with this decor if you want. Or, if you want me to fuck you, I can give you the cumdump interior and wardrobe." "Fuck me!" you say without hesitation.

Muscle Slut

It wouldn't be the first time someone would be fixated on getting the perfect body, and there's a lot of money to be made if you just play your card right. It's the only grown-up decision really.

The man in the armchair nods and makes a slight motion with his hands. You feel a flash of heat, like when stage pyrotechnics go off at a concert, but without any blinding light. No light at all, just a quick, searing heat that instantly begins to mellow out. You look at one of your arms and see it is deeply tanned, not quite hazel nut, but not far off, and completely smooth as if you've waxed it. It almost looks shiny to you as you turn the arm in the soft light of the apartment. You can easily imagine how it would look with some oil on, how it would bring out the contrasts. Heck, even a moderate sweat would send you glistening like a well-polished wood carving.

Fascinated you open and close your hand, watching the tendons and muscles work just beneath the skin on the inside of your forearm, creating ridges for the light to play with. One of the veins catches your attention as wraps around to the other side of your arm. You turn it and are surprised by all the veins snaking up and down the arm. It's exciting though, and mesmerizing. While still looking intently at the arm as you twist and turn it and your hand, you begin stroking your groin. Your arm never interested you this much before. Clearly not, because you never realized before how beautiful your veins are, or that you even had them.

You start to tension the muscles in your arm, as much as you can. You have never flexed before in your life, so you are not sure how to do it. To your disappointment not much happens. Perhaps you are imagining it, but the veins on the arm look even more pronounced. You make another attempt to flex the arm, this time with a bit more proper technique and your eyes widens as you see the response. The bicep bulge is like you've never seen it before. You fumble with your other hand to get it into your pants and underwear to fully grip your erect cock, but you don't want to look away from your arm. You don't want to miss a thing, as you relax and flex it again. This time it grows even larger than the last. Transfixed you flex and relax, flex and relax over and over, just admiring how the skin moves over the muscles, the shape and size of the football sized bulge, and how the light gives it all the most beautiful shimmer you've ever seen.

Suddenly a fear wash over you that you are just focusing on one part of your body, and not looking at the whole. How all body parts should be in proportion with each other, and balanced between both sides. Almost in panic you stop jerking off at inspect your other arm. "Fucking ace!" you shout as you see your other arm is just as muscular, just as bronzed, just as vascular, and just as beautiful as your first arm. You flex both arms into a front double biceps pose, and just wished you had a mirror in front of you.

You look down at your body. Your naked torso shows large pecs jutting out over a strong core with abs that look good even sitting down in this position. Below that your rock-hard dick hangs out of your body hugging trunks that cling to your ass and massive legs. You see a lot to be proud of, but just as much that needs work.

But you do have a mirror in front of you. There's one in each room of the apartment save for the kitchen. You tuck your dick back into the trunks, jump up and approach the mirror. You want to go through your competition program before hitting the gym.

"I trust you'll be all right then," said the man you had forgotten about. "No, I'll be the best," you answer, not looking away from the mirror and your side chest pose.

[super-hero-confessions]

I've seen some discussion on Homelander's character duality and have been doing a lot of thinking about it lately. I find some of it strange and some intriguing, and I just wanted to share some thoughts on it.

There's some ideas that Homelander is who the character wants to be or is proud of being currently, but I think it goes much deeper than that.

There's an implication in the Diabolical series with Homelander's debut and first mission as well as the episode with 'Mirrorlander', and of course they don't cover everything. But I do think they tell quite the story.

The other thing is the often missed duality in Homelander's character, not to say that people don't notice he has more than one side to him, but more like they don't realize just how divided he is from the inside out.

He used to be a boy named John Gillman. Which Vought then tortured, never allowed to grow up, and convinced to be their chosen god puppet and 'perfect creation'. The Homelander.

But I think what people forget is that becoming Homelander was never really a choice for him. It was the path they set before him and told him he was going to be, while creating an image he not just wasn't prepared for, but couldn't possibly meet the standard of with the upbringing they gave him.

And this might be controversial, but I don't think Homelander is the real him.

I don't think John Gillman is the real him either.

I think they're both vital parts of him we see in the episode where he speaks to himself in the mirror. I think John Gillman is the little boy forced to be in a body far too powerful for even himself, that was able to admit that he wanted to be loved and does, more than anything. And I think Homelander is the part of him created by what Vought forced him to be that was yelling at him from the mirror, and is angry at the world for his circumstances and wants to take that feeling Vought stole, of having power and control back, through fear.

I think the real him is caught somewhere in a limbo between these two parts of him as there were a couple things that really struck me when I took a second look.

Annie January, or Starlight has a conversation with her mother at the end of the first season where she screams out, "No wonder I don't know who the fuck I'm supposed to be!".

The conversation is about Compound V and how her mother controlled every tiny little aspect of her life, down to her daughter never getting a real choice on what she wanted, based on a lie she was told.

Obviously, this isn't to say that Starlight went through anything close to what Homelander did, but the parallels of the situations can be seen, if much less severe, and there is still validity in the grief she has.

And that's the thing. I think Homelander doesn't know who the fuck he's really supposed to be. He wouldn't admit it, but I don't really think it's reasonable to think that with how badly Vought fucked him up, that he would somehow be certain of who and what he wants to be. And that just makes it worse.

When we see him in Diabolical during his debut, he is bewildered and in absolute awe. So far, only seeing the adoration from people. Something he's never had before in any capacity most likely. And those people understand him to be The Homelander, to be a new superhero that is there to save them.

There's even an immediate reaction of jealousy when the attention is switched to Black Noir because up until that point, Homelander has never had those feelings from people. Just fear and disgust.

Already, he's preconditioned to think extremely lowly of himself due to what Vought has done to the boy named John Gillman. And he doesn't realize he is a victim and that John never deserved those things, which works perfectly to manipulate him into being enamoured with this new persona that Vought created for him. Because it's new. It's different. And so far, it's not painful.

Understandably, his first mission goes terribly wrong. Especially when he is called a 'monster' as 'The Homelander'. Suddenly reliving his memories as the feelings against what he never chose to be come boiling up to the surface. He completely loses himself and kills every single person he is supposed to save, despite having initially tried to help. So we know that he wanted to be good, he wanted to be the hero, and he wanted to be loved. Even before being The Homelander, it was John Gillman who wanted all of those things.

But what happens instead? He is manipulated, first by Madelyn Stillwell into fighting Noir when he knows he's messed up and believes Noir will terminate him, and then Noir turns it around and makes him realize he can and will be loved by everyone as long as they never know he's imperfect.

And The Homelander is supposed to be 'perfect'.

So he latches on to that image and 'god' created by Vought while simultaneously using it to protect the and bury the boy he used to be.

And it continues like this. Eventually he begins to embrace the 'monster' that he can keep veiled while he takes power back through fear, and he can be loved so long as people never know about that 'monster'. Solidifying his path and duality of who he is from that very first mission. If he can get away with anything, why wouldn't he? Vought never taught him different.

The internal conflict won't simply disappear, but his comfort is having his cake, and eating it too. Even if he knows it will never be real...

#confession #homelander

[silverwolf1249]

The pjo show has been super interesting so far, and I'm wondering what the show plans to do with Gabe at the end of the quest. And, I get they most likely made him less of a disgusting asshole to make it more kid friendly and possibly less triggering to people, but I still think they could've made him a worse person in the show without the implications of physical abuse like in the book. I also have a whole mini essay in my head bout the different portrayal of Sally in the show compared to the book and how that changes the dynamic between the two(and I love both portrayals), but I digress.

In any case, as it is, I can't currently find a reason why Sally would kill him by beaming Medusa at him like in the book. Like, he's still an asshole for sure, but not to the point where I can see Sally killing him instead of just divorcing him? Like apparently they watch/listen to the Knick's games together and Gabe's out here saying please and stuff(which made me have to pause and gape at the screen for a second because book Gabe would never, also the way Sally was like don't you talk to me like that was absolutely iconic) but like it seems more like they have a dysfunctional relationship rather than an abusive one, which I think is an important distinction from the show vs the book.

Maybe this will change as we get farther into the show, but right now I'm still wondering if they plan on following the book and turn Gabe to stone or if Sally will just go and serve him divorce papers after Percy comes back and she no longer needs him. Or if in some weird twist they'll somehow combine Gabe and Paul together and give him some sort of redemption arc and they stay together (unlikely but just throwing out ideas). The show has already made several plot, dialogue, and slight characters changes and I'm excited to see how this impacts things down the line.

#bit of a long ramble but kudos to those who get all the way through #pls let me know if I missed something crucial that would make Gabe more of an asshole that what I think the show is currently showing him a #Idk why I'm stuck on this particular change when there are other interesting changes but here we are #percy jackson #pjo #pjo tv show #gabe ugliano #sally jackson