#<- i want to hit them with a hammer and see how many pieces they break into. <3 theyre best friends your honor

[varteeny1234]

sbk doodles! today is wip purge day :D

[carolmunson]

you be the spoon, dip you in honey (older!modern!eddie)

part three of who knows how many. orange colored sky set list we finally make it to our real date at the park. dj finally doesn't have us falling in love again at trader joe's. let's do it for real this time. :) inspired by @loveshotzz older steve series: all i really want is youtw: age gappy (reader is late 20s, eddie is late thirties), brief mention of suicide, discussion about columbine, eddie puts clothing over reader's shoulders, eddie talks briefly about family trauma.

“So do you dye all your black clothes to the same depth or do you have a really good eye for color?” you ask. He peers up at you from his book, hair tied up in what looks like a pen – his grays catch the light, so does the wire on the glasses perched on his nose. His lips spread into a grin, tip of his tongue sliding over the tip of his pointy canine, “You look pretty.” 

songspiration: daylight | harry styles

He lied – it is swampy and it’s hot hot. It’s Uber to the park hot. It’s ‘can’t stand in the boiling subway’ hot. It’s thigh chafing hot. It’s ‘Why did I make a fucking icebox cake for this picnic date in the park?’ hot. You dressed as cute as you could for this weather, too sweaty for a skirt or dress, too hot to need to worry about how you’re sitting. Your cropped peasant top flutters at the sleeves when an unforgiving breeze of hot air blows past at the entrance to the park. You feel beads of sweat drip down your back and pray it doesn’t leave a mark on the gauzy cream material of your shirt. Your sandals crunch through the grass, following the pin he dropped when you told him you were on your way – suddenly the band on your high waisted shorts feels too tight. You swallow and shake your head, just a little further while the cooler with your cake swings next to you in your hand. You spot him five minutes later on a big knit blanket, snacks freshly taken out and set up prettily in their containers. His silver jewelry glints in the sun, freshly shined. He sits coolly, cross legged in black shorts, clean chucks tucked under his thighs that same damn carabiner hooked to his front belt loop. Your eyes trail upwards onto his black tank with an equally black linen short sleeve left unbuttoned, sleeves cuffed and loose against his tattooed arms. You can see a little more of his chest piece now that he’s not as covered up and it’s clear there’s very little of him that’s not inked up. 

“So do you dye all your black clothes to the same depth or do you have a really good eye for color?” you ask. He peers up at you from his book, hair tied up in what looks like a pen – his grays catch the light, so does the wire on the glasses perched on his nose. His lips spread into a grin, tip of his tongue sliding over the tip of his pointy canine, “You look pretty.” 

The hammering in your chest from his compliment makes you feel a little hotter than you were before. Eddie notices, smirking when he puts the book down to stand up and take the ice cake from you, transferring it into the Yeti cooler to the side. “Thank you for making this,” he smiles, “I’m excited for it.” "These are for you," he says sweetly, pulling a small bouquet of fresh flowers out from the cooler, "I didn't want them to wilt but now they're probably all wet." "It's actually kind of nice," you laugh, taking the cold bouquet from him. The water on the stems offering you some relief as droplets hit your toes. You sit down while he sets up your late lunch for you on a plate – he wasn’t kidding, he made bruschetta. Toasted the bread and everything. Meats, cheeses, cut up fruit, even Tajin. Was he a serial killer or something? Guys don’t actually do this, right? This is like…the witch from Hansel and Gretel energy.  "Thank you," you say, taking your plate, "For this and the flowers." "You said you thought picnic dates only happen in movies," he shrugs, "Wanted to make it nice for you."

“What book did you bring?” he asks while he pulls out two bottles of Pelligrino – the glass kind, dripping in condensation. “You’re not gonna judge me?” you ask. 

“Nah,” he grins. You reach into your bag to pull out the book, wincing when he looks at it with a quirked brow, sitting across from you. His cologne hits you, dark and leathery, woody and spicy -- you haven't smelled this one yet. Spit collects under your tongue when you see the chain peaking out from under the collar of his button down. Why is this old man so fine? “Bummer read, peach,” he laughs, taking the book from your hand, “Columbine by Dave Cullen? You wanna read about Columbine?”

“I’ve tried to get through it twice and I just never finish,” you shrug, snatching the book back, "You said you wouldn't judge me." “Probably can’t finish cause it’s a bummer,” he teases. He looks at you and the plate of food at your knees, “Go ahead, eat.” “What’re you reading?” you ask through a mouthful of cracker. 

“I’m halfway through The Two Towers,” he says, pulling the pen out of his hair and shaking it out, “I read the trilogy every summer.” “Lord of the Rings?” “Yeah,” he smiles and it lingers, it’s hard to stare at him for too long, “Also, yes – I do have a really good eye for color.” “Noted,” you nod, “Thank you for telling me. I’ll have to call you next time I wanna paint my walls or something.” “Don’t talk me up too much,” he says, leaning back and popping a mini pretzel into his mouth, “I think it’s just for matching blacks.” 

You've settled a lot after eating, both bottles of Pelligrino sitting empty on the blanket, snacks still out but the main courses fully devoured. You talked about work and he talked about clients and you both talked about how silly it was that you met at Trader Joe's because it is silly. The icebox cake stays in the cooler while you take your books out and digest. Time passes while you both read, Eddie leaning back on one arm and you laying down with your knees up. You’ve found the perfect position of the book blocking the sun from your face in a way that is still comfortable to hold it -- but the sun has moved some in the couple hours you've been at the park. “So what’s it about?” he asks after a while, “The book.” “Read the title,” you reply, turning your head to see him looking at you. “You know what I meant,” he sighs, nudging your sandaled foot with the toe of his Converse, “Don’t be so mean.” 

“It’s basically a recount of events, debunking some stuff – like the ‘Do you believe in God?’ exchange between one of the girls and Eric. Shows their journals and talks about the kind of kids they were – definitely not bullied I’ll tell you that much,” you explain. He marvels at you while you do, brown eyes raising and lowering while you yammer on.  “Was it weird for you? Like, did people think you were weird since you were into metal?” Your question brings him back to himself, away from your pretty lips and eyelashes, the way your face lights up when you talk, “There was a lot of overlap of satanic panic from the 80s – especially since graphic video games and shit were on the come up, too. I was out of high school by then but definitely got a lot of side eye for having, like, a Megadeth shirt on at work.” 

“What were you doing for work?” “I was a mechanic for a bit, started working there when I was a kid up until I left Indiana to work on music,” he reaches for another pretzel and you hold your hand out for one, already missing the bruschetta that you both destroyed in minutes. His fingers graze your palm where he places two of them, the salt bits falling onto the blanket. You take his fingers gently before he can take them away, finally close enough to read the tattoos on his knuckles. “G-W-E-N,” you spell out quietly. Your heart sinks at the realization – of course there’s some other woman, “Gwen, huh? Does she know you’re here?” “My mom?” he asks with a laugh, brows raising, “No, she died in 1990. But when I go visit her at the cemetery I’ll let her know all about it.” 

Your face burns, sitting up and letting your book fall to the wayside, “I’m sorry – that was – I’m so sorry.” “It’s okay,” he assures, noticing you haven't let go of his hand yet. His fingers delicately tracing over yours, thumb dragging softly over the heel of your palm, “The other hand is her middle name. Really lucked out on them both being four letters.” He shows you his other hand, hidden behind a few silver rings was R-O-S-E across the knuckles. You take that one too, tilting his hands to the side to look at the tattoos by his wrists and forearms, “Her full name was Gwendolyn, but obviously no one called her that. My uncle always called her Gwenny. Gwenny Rose when he was drunk – they woulda made a much better pair than her and my dad.” 

“Your dad still around?” 

“Murder-suicide,” he says quietly while your eyes take in the art all over his skin. “Jesus,” you hiss out, eyes snapping up to look into his. His face softens assuringly, lines on his face becoming less apparent, “Don’t worry about it. It’s been years and a shit ton of therapy. I’m very healed – and y’know, we all have our shit. That’s mine.” He takes your hands and flips them over, thumb now gliding over one of your gold rings, “What would you get tattooed on your knuckles?” You can feel the calloused edges of his finger tips while smoothing up to the edge of your wrist and down again like you did to him. Your throat nearly closes up with how it feels to be touched so softly like this, like you’re delicate. You shiver despite the heat when he flips them again, feathering meaningless shapes onto your palms. “Oh um,” you swallow, forgetting there was a world around you, not even noticing that clouds had blotted out the sun, “I don’t think I’d ever get my knuckles tattooed.” “Why’s that?” “I’m not a sort of rockstar like you are,” you grin. He clicks his tongue, warm hands gently circling your wrists while he shakes his head in disappointment. “So mean,” he chastises, “I’m a real rockstar, I prom – oh, shit.” A few drops come down in spits, and then a patter and before you know it the rain is coming down in sheets. You and Eddie quickly cover up the snacks in their tupperware, tossing everything haphazardly into the cooler, even the flowers. You take both books and put them in your bag while he wraps up the blanket now covered in grass and rain. You both peer at each other through squinted eyes as droplets collect on your eyelashes, his curls deflate and coil the wetter they get. “Hey um,” he starts, “You of course don’t have to, but I live pretty close by if you wanna just run to mine and dry off.” 

A familiar fear bubbles in your chest, “Uh…” “It’s okay! Let’s get out of the park and I’ll get you a car home,” he offers, hand outstretched for you to take it. You can feel the buzz between your hands when he laces fingers with you, the same electric current you felt when he held you steady at the store yesterday. He holds it strong and certain, knowing exactly where to go. You let him lead you out while the cooler drags behind him, eyes half closed as the rain hits them. You look down at your shirt as you get to an exit close to the library, completely see through now that it’s soaked. You let go of his hand when he gets his phone out, crossing your arms over your chest, already missing the buzz. “If you’re really close by I’d actually love a chance to dry off,” you say before he even gets the app open. He looks you over, seeing how your shirt sticks to your skin, the tone peeking through. “Oh, honey, here,” he says hurriedly, shrugging off his wet linen button up and putting it over your shoulders, “I'm like, less than a ten minute walk. You sure?" You nod while the rain continues to pelt you both, wincing with your shoulders up by your neck as if that'll protect you from the never ending downpour. “Prospect Heights, huh?” you ask with a raised brow, “Maybe I should put you in my phone as Money Bags, instead.” 

“Don’t start,” he laughs, wet curls bouncing when his head turns to you, offering his hand again, “C’mon, peach.” 

You take it without any hesitation.

prev | next

[undercover-marshmallow]

For a few moments, all Adam could do was stare numbly as the crimson liquid traced a thin line down the side of his finger, forming small droplets on the edge of his knuckle.

Was that... blood? his brain wondered. 

Not knowing what else to do, he licked it. Yep, definitely blood. But whose blood? Where did it come from? He was the only one in the kitchen, and he would have noticed if someone had started to bleed all over him.

So where did it...

The realisation hit him like a hammer to the gut. He felt his legs give way under him and next thing he knew he was on the floor, his bleeding finger still held up as if he was pointing an accusation at the sky.

Red blood. He knew what that meant. Everyone did. Angels' blood was golden, hellspawn bled black, and red was for - red was for - 

'Demons'. The word echoed through his mind like a wicked laugh. 

Adam suddenly felt old.

Just how many millennia had it been since Eden? Could he even remember? He scrunched up his eyes tight in concentration but he knew it was useless. He'd given up counting long ago. 

How many of those years had been spent killing, he wondered. How many lives had ended at the edge of his blade? How much blood had he spilled? Sinners' blood. Red blood. Red like his.

He was one of them now. The first human, the once-proud leader of one of the mightiest  forces in Heaven, was now just another cursed soul in a land bursting with them.

"Dammit!" he yelled, slamming a fist into the side of the counter he was sitting against.

The counter shook, there was a hum of something rolling across the top, and then with a thud it landed neatly in Adam's lap. It was a single, bright red apple.

Adam felt a smile begin to creep across his face and then, unable to help himself, he burst out laughing.

"Oh I see, is that how it is?" he said to the empty room.

With a grunt he pushed himself back up to his feet and waved the apple to the sky.

"Let me guess," he said, still laughing so hard his sides were beginning to hurt. "This is another one of your tests, huh?" 

He was in absolute hysterics now, the tears streaming down his cheeks and blurring his vision.

"Just another test, right? This is some cryptic vision, or prophecy of the future, or... or part of your big, cosmic plan, that totally exists."

The laughter died down as suddenly as it arrived. In its place came anger, an anger so hot that it threatened to burn Adam from the inside out. 

"Well you know what?" he hissed. "I am done playing your stupid fucking games."

He glared up at the ceiling, as if his anger was enough to pierce the heavens above.

"I did everything you asked, didn't I? I followed your rules, I looked after the garden, I did what you told me to."

A dam had been burst and now there was no stopping the words that raged out Adam's mouth. 

"And don't bring up that fucking tree, you manipulative piece of shit. You knew we'd eat it eventually, didn't you? You don't dangle something like that in front of your kids and expect them not to try. No, you knew exactly what you were doing!"

He hurled the apple he was still holding against the wall as hard as he could, and grunted in satisfaction as it exploded in a pulpy mess.

"Oh but that wasn't enough for you was it, you sick freak? You then had to go and act all high and mighty, like you hadn't planned all of this from the beginning. You took everything from me, do you hear? Fucking everything!

"You took Lilith, you took Eve, you took our home, you even took my fucking kids! What else could you possibly want with me, huh? What else do I have to lose before it's enough?"

Silence.

"Well?" he yelled. "What's the matter? You too scared to even look me in the eye, you chickenshit?"

Silence.

"Answer me, you coward!"

Silence.

Adam fell to his knees once more and buried his head in his hands. Before long, the sound of muffled sobs could be heard through his fingers.

"Please," he begged. "Please, just tell me what you want. That's all I'm asking. Just tell me what I have to do."

Silence.

---------------------------------------------------

Inspired by this comic by @rius-cave

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Place in the Sun 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Summary: Trouble in the big city follows you back to your sleepy village home.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You’ve been to the city once in your life. Your parents were never really well off. Your dad works at the lumberyard, still, and your mom sells some crochet gloves and hats here and there, or tailor a few pieces for the neighbours for a buck or two. It isn’t much but they work hard and you can’t want for much. Life is simple but not unhappy. 

Your second trip to the city isn’t much different than your first. You were a kid then and only came with your dad so he could get new work boots. You don’t remember much except for the very tall people and the honking cars. Now, it’s just as chaotic and you feel just as small, but you’re all by yourself. 

There’s a gathering at the mall. You’ve never been to a mall. They don’t have any of those in Hammer Ford. As you steer the beaten-up Bronco into the lot, you shift the stick and check your mirrors. The cars here are all tiny compared to the mammoth truck you borrowed from your dad. He only let you take it after you filled the tank, and with a little coaxing from your mom. 

You don’t see why it’s a big deal. You’re an adult. You make your own money. Enough to help out. You do what you can with your seasonal pay but they don’t need a custodian at the school when there’s no classes. 

Still, you scrounged enough for the collector’s edition. You pre-ordered and everything. It’s so limited they only let people pick it up in-store. 

You park and shut off the engine. You watch a group of teenage girls giggling as they enter the mall. You should’ve brought some friends but you don’t have many of those. Everyone you knew in high school is married or busy growing up. There is that girl you see now and again, she lives with her grandma, but she’s always got her head down. She’ll see you waving one day. 

You open the door and hop down. As you do, the keys jangle out of your grasp and hit the pavement. You huff dramatically and swing the door shut. You go to grab the keyring but it’s swiped up by someone else. You stand and face the man as he holds them out. 

He’s taller than you and older. You think. He has the boldest blue eyes you’ve ever seen and a shadow of stubble across his square jaw. His hair is neatly trimmed and he wears a dark blue suit with a white button-up. He outshines your brown khaki skirt and gingham blouse. 

“Oh, hi, thank you, sir,” you chime, “clumsy me!” 

He nods and narrows his eyes, “keep those close. Someone else might just run off with the truck.” 

“Ha, this beat up old elephant,” you take the keys and slap the side of the Bronco, “I doubt it, but thank you, sir. I appreciate it.” 

You smile brightly but he hardly seems impressed. More confounded. His mouth slants and his eyes roll to the side. 

“Another piece of advice,” he intones as he leans towards you, “don’t smile at strangers.” 

“Oh, uh,” your mouth straightens, “right. Sorry, sir.” 

His brows rise and fall but he doesn’t reply. He brushes by you and you turn to watch him go. Your ma warned you that city folk weren’t very friendly. You spin back and lock the truck up, taking his warning to heart. You never know and your dad would never forgive you if someone did decide to highjack the rusting beast. 

You head towards the mall and follow a rabble of children with their moms into the air-conditioned space. It’s nice compared to the thick humidity outside. You think back to that man and wonder how he could be wearing a jacket in all this. He must be on the way to somewhere important. 

You look around, your heart pumping as the bright marquees and shining shop windows refract through your lenses. Oof, you didn’t expect it to be so big! You search around, walking along with your knitted purse clutched tight. Oh, a map! 

You go over to the touch screen directory and search for the bookstore. Right, a left and then straight, and another left. You recite the directions to yourself over and over as you continue on. You barely dodge out of the way of your fellow mall patrons as the criss cross the wide hallways and mill outside the booths and windows. 

Finally, you spot the familiar logo of the bookstore. You only really see it on a screen but you know it well. You stroll in through the broad open archway at the front and once more, you’re struck by the flurry of activity and expanse of the space. You trail after a pair of girls toward the service desk, delineated by the floating sign above. 

You bounce on your feet as you join the queue. You overhear the girls talking about the same book you’re there for. You curiously lean forward to eavesdrop and the redhead cranes to glare at you. You retract and give an apologetic look. You weren’t snooping, you’re just excited. 

When it’s your turn at the counter, you give your name and wait. A figure approaches the next till and sighs. You glance up at the sign; Returns/Exchanges. It’s the man in the blue suit. He taps a plastic card on the wooden countertop. 

As the associate searches for your order, you stare over at his agitated expression. He doesn’t seem very happy. His blue eyes drift and he meets your gaze. His cheek dimples in recognition. 

You give a small wave and smile and he shakes his head. He turns back to the till as a woman nears the other side. 

“Back,” he flicks the card up between his fingers, “should be the one I paid with.” 

You return your attention to the order counter. You shouldn’t be so nosy. You’re there to get your book and go. Oh, and maybe a soft pretzel at that place you saw on the way in. It’s a good day and you’re going to enjoy it. You peek over once more as the man snarls at the credit card machine. You hope his gets better too. 

[silverryu25]

i would love to see sci-fi day 6 star wars with the prompt “Have you forgotten how it all ended last time?” :)

Nonny... I have so little knowledge of Star wars but... this kinda hit a plot bunny so I hope you like! XD

DAY 6 - Star Wars + “Have you forgotten how it all ended last time?”

Tag warnings: implied suicide (briefly and in a "I should have done it" way)

---------------

It was peaceful.

Nothing was happening today. Just like yesterday. And the day before. And before that.

It's been years, though it felt like eons, since anything changed here. No one ever came to this place, not since he got here and made it his home. His aura permeated into the ground and the air, making it inhospitable to anyone and anything.

It was exactly what he wanted.

What he deserved.

What he imposed on himself.

But today... today he felt the emptiness. It slithered into his thoughts, his mind feeling as if it was crawling with his past sins. He could even feel them crawling down his back, making him feel restless. So instead of meditating or just trying to sleep through the fog of negativity that enveloped him, he decided to expend some energy.

The loneliness and emptiness was replaced by rage as he swung his lightsaber.

The flashes of red spread all around him, digging into the piles of old abandoned wreckage of AT-AT walkers, AT-ST transports, cloud cars, AAT's, AAC-1's and many, many more. A graveyard left after many battles. Abandoned to rot and decay, just like he was. Just like he earned through his own stupidity and greed.

Now here he was, adding to that destruction. If he let himself think deeper about his actions he might have realized how symbolic the destruction he was spreading around him was to what he was doing to his own mind and soul. But he didn't. He never did. Thinking would mean acknowledging the guilt that festered in his soul and that would break him because he would have to think about.............

With a roar of rage he swung his lightsaber, splitting the largest piece of wreckage in front of him. He continued swinging until he couldn't anymore. Until all his energy was depleted and all he could do was fall on his knees and pant. Breath coming in harsh desperate gulps, air his body didn't really need to live but his mind needed to drown out his own thoughts.

He wouldn't let himself think.

He couldn't let himself think.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans for him

Just as his breathing stilled and he started focusing on the rage that he forced to burn inside himself, he felt it. A stab in his soul, as sharp as a lightsaber slashing through his ribs and directly into his corrupted soul.

Dread. Fear. Guilt. Fear. Anger. Fear. Hate. Fear. Longing. Fear. Desperation. Fear. Need. Fear. Lo- Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear.

He could feel his eyelights extinguish as the fear took over everything else. He was spiraling so fast, so hard, so completely, that he didn't even notice the soft footsteps making their way slowly towards his kneeling form from the back.

The soft taps of slippered feet felt like hammer strikes into his soul.

He wanted to flee, but he couldn't. His legs wouldn't move. Wouldn't lift him from the desolate ground he deserved to dust into.

Then they stopped and there was only silence left.

Silence except for the rush of his magic into his skull. It was screaming fear to him.

'run away!' His mind screamed at him. 'hide! don't let him see you! don't let him see what you became'!

But he couldn't.

The silence stretched forever, neither of them moving. Neither of them wanted to speak first. Neither of them knew exactly what to say. He didn't know how much longer his soul could take this silence, how much longer he could keep himself from falling apart. Or worse.

Thankfully, mercifully, the other spoke first.

'red.' His tone was gentle but carried the weight of Red's world in it.

Red felt his whole body shiver from that one word as it came from his mouth. It was like lightning struck his very soul, making his whole body quake. It was time...

"heh," his voice cracked, he hadn't used it for anything but screaming in rage for years. "yer finally 'ere."

There wasn't an answer, only calm silence and cool refreshing magic combined with a powerful force washing over Red's frame.

"wha'? not gonna talk ta me before ya finish me off?" Red barely kept his voice from cracking. "ya changed sans."

The name felt so sweet as it left his teeth, even as bile rose behind them at the implication of his own words. Sans was here to do the one thing Red couldn't make himself do. The one thing Red should have done to atone for his crimes. The one thing he should have done to save Sans from himself. He should have ended it before Sans had to dirty his hands.

There was no reply and Red didn't expect any.

So he just sat there, accepting.

Waiting for the final blow that would free him of this horrid world that took the only thing that he ever truly loved from him. The one thing he was cursed to love but not have. The only thing that made living worth it but was forbidden to him.

Waiting for Sans to end their curse forever.

Waiting for his final judgment for daring to love.

Love wasn't allowed for a Jedi. It would consume them. But Red was weak, he let love enslave him, let it make him want more than he was allowed. It was a crack in his soul that left him open to his inevitable fall into the dark side.

Red loved Sans and he would love to die by his hands.

He waited for the sound of the lightsaber, for that gorgeous blue glow to shine from his back and stab through his soul.

Instead, a pair of skeletal arms grabbed him from the back and pressed him into a bony chest.

He froze in place, unable to process what was happening.

The warmth from the embrace felt both incredibly painful and wonderfully familiar. He could feel his magic gathering on the edges of his eyesockets. Was Sans trying to torture him before he ended it? He wasn't that cruel before, but Red definitely deserved it after everything he had done.

Suddenly, he felt Sans' body shake as it pressed impossibly closer, hugging him even tighter. Was Sans... crying?

"s-swe-," Red almost slipped up, but he wasn't allowed to call Sans pet names, not anymore. "sans?"

All he got in return was an unintelligible mumble from the teeth pressed into his shoulder.

"wha'?"

"..." Sans moved his head to the side, facing away from Red. "you idiot."

"...?" Red was too stunned by the emotion in Sans' voice. What was happening?

"why did you leave?!"

"wha'?" Red tried turning around, but the arms around him held him firmly in place. "wha' da ya mean? ya know what i did an-"

Sans grabbed his shoulders at a speed not even Red could keep up with and twisted him around. Their feet tangled as Red's body was twisted and Red fell backward, Sans landing on top of him, still holding his shoulders. Their faces were close. Too close.

"i don't care about that!" Sans yelled and Red's sockets snapped wide open. He never saw Sans yell before. "why did you leave me behind you moron?!"

Silence followed Sans' question as they both stared at each other. Sans' eyelights dug holes in Red's, emotions Red didn't think he would ever see in them burning like two supernovas.

It didn't feel real.

“sans," Red was almost sure he was hallucinating. "have ya forgotten how it all ended last time?”

Instead of a reply, Sans glared at Red, eyelights burning impossibly hot with an emotion Red would never have dreamed he would see in those beautiful white eyelights. But before Red could fully process what he was seeing, Sans leaned down and pressed his teeth to Red's.

A spark of magic spread from the contact and through Red's whole body. He could feel his own magic and force ignite. His whole body felt as if it was burning. As if it was alive again.

The moment Sans pulled back Red let out a whine. It wasn't enough. He needed more.

"i don't care." Sans breathed out, before he closed the gap between them again and deepened the kiss.

It felt magical.

It felt unreal.

It felt like a lie.

But Red didn't care. 

Reality could go fuck itself.

Sans was here and Red would never let him go.

---------------

This got a bit long >.>

For anyone confused about what the hell is going on (cause I have no idea how clear I managed to make it ^_^;;;): Red was a Jedi, he fell in love with Sans, the dark side noticed and used that love to get Red to work for them. Red did some very bad things for the Sith... but when he ended up in a battle where he almost hurt Sans he ran away. And hid on an abandoned planet. But Sans found him >:3

Hope you like this! And I hope I didn't butcher the Star Wars lore too bad XD

[fishfishiee]

shatter.

summary: In which you're an adeptus made of Noctilucous Jade. How would your companion react when they saw you shatter during a fight?

characters: Traveler, Zhongli

warning(s): body horror(?), gender-neutral reader, reader is a gem person, their relationship can be viewed as platonic or romantic

a/n: my first time writing characters! I was going to add more characters, but I can't think of anyone else. It's… quite alright, I guess. Hm. Writing characters is hard.

You were one of Liyue's best jewel smith. While you usually worked with whatever precious stone that caught your eye on the market, there were times when none of them were up to your standard. In times like this, you had no choice but to mine them yourself. The problem was mineral nodes are often teeming with enemies. While your body can easily withstand a few blows, you will eventually shatter, and be left defenseless against those who want to collect your precious shards. This was the reason you avoid fighting alone. So, you asked one of your friend to accompany you to mine the gems you need.

Like you suspected, you and your companion were attacked when you began mining. Battle was inevitable, so you and your companion brandished your weapons and attacked back. In the heat of the battle, you lost count of how many times you were hit, and one of the enemies slammed you with their hammer. One hit was all it takes to shatter your torso. Welp, at least your head was still intact…

Traveler The moment they heard the shattering noise and Paimon's horrified shriek, they knew something happened to you. They didn't expect to see you literally broke to pieces, each of them glittered a familiar luster. They were horrified to see some hoarders start putting your body parts into a bag despite your head's protest. After all the hoarders were knocked out cold, Traveler quickly took your head out of the bag.

“Phew, thanks for that. Being shoved into a bag is not nice at all!”

"Y-You-- How are you-- Are you okay!?"

"It's fine! Happens all the time when I fight. Can you please gather my pieces? Madame Ping should be able to put me back together, so don't worry about it!"

As Madame Ping put you back together, you explained that you were essentially a living gem made out of noctilucous jade. You apologized that you didn't tell them before, since you really thought you're not going to shatter with them fighting with you. Traveler marveled as Madame Ping put some powder that made your 'skin' looked human.

"Ooh, so that's why you always decline when we asked you to eat together! You can't eat since you're literally a living rock! Wait, then can Paimon have a piece of you? Just a piece--ouch!"

"Paimon, don't be rude!"

Zhongli He was the one that commissioned the jewelry in the first place. When you asked him to accompany you, he agreed without hesitation. That way, he can also assure the quality of the stone himself. During the fight, Zhongli knew you were fighting quite recklessly due to his shield tanking most of the damage done to you. Once his shield went down and you didn't seem to notice, he quickly took care of his share of enemies and went to your side. It was still too late. You were shattered, and Zhongli can only sigh as he put you back together.

"You were careless."

"… Yes. I'm sorry. It's just… It's really nice to go hard on them without worrying about my body sometimes! Your shield is really dependable, Zhongli."

"I am glad you find my assistance reassuring, but please pay more attention the next time you fight. After all, I won't be here every time you put yourself to pieces, lustrous one."

[messedupfan]

Chapter 1

Summary: An incident occurs in Wanda's house.

A/n: Hello!! I am back with yet another series. Listen, I have been given many oneshot requests and ugh, I always want to turn them into series. Like, Comment, and Subscribe hahaha Enjoy!

Masterlist | All Chapters | All Stories Taglist

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Tommy and Billy run around the house. Billy is chasing his screaming brother with a ball he’s threatening to throw at him. It was a baseball that Tommy had thrown at Billy in anger. Billy was upset but he was used to his twin's outbursts and he wasn't going to do anything about it until Tommy started laughing at him for complaining that it hurt. And claimed he was a cry baby and that it wouldn't hurt if it hit him. That their dad wouldn't have started another family if he was better at catching a ball. So, Billy picked up the ball and demanded, “Apologize!” 

Tommy was screaming that his brother couldn't take a joke and Billy asked him to apologize. To take back the claim about their father. “Gosh you're so sensitive!” Tommy screams as he stops in front of a wall. Seeing red, Billy lunges the ball at his brother. He dodges it and the ball flies through the wall behind him. 

Wanda hears the loud noise from her home office. It snaps her out of her work daze. She was in the middle of measuring the model pieces to the blueprint she had drawn up. She drops everything and runs to find out what is happening in her house. She walks in to find her two boys yelling and blaming each other. She sees the gaping hole and a broken picture frame on the ground. It was a family portrait. 

The last one before everything in her family had fallen apart. It was taken two years ago. She was a naive woman in that image. Her husband was three years deep in an affair. Shortly after this photo, he revealed that he got his teaching assistant pregnant. That he was leaving to be there for his new family. He claimed that Wanda had been cold and distant with him since their daughter was stillborn. He said that he was a man and had needs that she couldn't meet anymore. 

Wanda sighs and the boys stand still, terrified of what she's going to do and how she's going to punish them. Instead, she walks away into the garage and returns with a sledge hammer. She swings it against the wall, creating a bigger problem. She remembers when he painted the wall the color she didn't like and made her feel guilty that she didn't like it. “You never appreciate when I do nice things for you,” he complained. “You should be grateful I did it at all.”

As she whacks the wall, she hears every complaint and condescending comment her ex-husband ever made. When she's exhausted, she drops the head of the hammer on the picture. Destroying the frame further. She turns to her flabbergasted boys and offers them the hammer. “What? You don't want a turn?” The boys remain silent and Wanda shrugs and drops the tool on the ground. “Go get cleaned up, we're getting take out for dinner tonight.” She walks through the living room, leaving her kids behind to grab her things. 

A few days later, Pietro is visiting his sister as well as giving his daughter time to bond with her cousins. He sips his beer and stares at the destroyed wall. He looks at his twin and asks what that is. Wanda pops open a bottle for herself. “I’m renovating,” she says and after, she takes a long drink. 

“You know that's not up to code, right?” He says, eyeing his sister with concern. Wanda shrugs without a care. She knows all about the proper ways of construction. Their father taught the two everything he knew about construction. She didn’t need her brother’s input. He knows that, but he didn’t know how to get his sister to open up to him. It seemed that since her marriage fell apart she has shut everyone out. “Do you have a plan for it? You can’t leave that wall like that for too long. It isn’t safe for you or the kids.”

Wanda takes another swig as she stares at the broken wall. “I’m drawing something up. Don’t worry about me, brother.” 

“I am worried about you, Wands. What’s gotten into you?” Pietro asks, desperate to connect with her. 

She looks at him with empty eyes as she shrugs again. “I wanted a change so I’m making one. It’s no big deal.” She finishes her bottle and gets up to retrieve another. There aren’t any left. She sighs as she grabs her keys. “I’m going to go pick up some more drinks, do you mind watching the kids?” 

“Wanda, I don’t think–” he stops as soon as he looks at her and sighs. “Okay, yeah, I’ll wait here. Just,” he starts and fails to come up with the right words that won’t set her off. “Be careful,” he finishes and Wanda nods once as she leaves. 

She drives around a bit longer than she needed to. There is a supermarket around the corner from where she lives. But she didn’t want to be recognized by her neighbors. She didn’t want the questions of the hole in the side of her house. She didn’t want the threats of the complaints to the HOA. She just wanted to get her beer and head home. 

Wanda finds a little liquor store at the corner of some street she isn’t familiar with. She pulls into one of the parking spaces in front of the small business. She grabs her purse and keys and locks the car on her way in. She browses the market for more than she was on a mission for. She finds a few brands she used to have handy for her ex-husband and she wants to smash them on the ground. She can see herself, dropping every bottle on the ground. The glass splattering around the store. The liquid pooling around her feet and seeping through the cracks under the shelves, making it almost impossible to clean up. She would keep going until the cops are called and she has to run away. 

“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re actually going to buy that,” you break her thoughts with a disgusted look. 

Wanda looks between you and the bottle, “What’s wrong with this?” 

“Well, if you like a very bitter taste, then by all means. I just think your tastebuds deserve better.” You pick up a brand that Wanda actually enjoyed but hardly ever got to have since Vision usually made her feel bad about ever spending money on herself. “Here, try this. I’ll buy it for you and if you hate it, you can meet me back here in a week and tell me off.”

Wanda takes the bottle in her hand, “And if I love it?”

“Hmm,” you look around the store for an idea and snap your fingers when one finally comes to mind. “You can buy me a drink,” you state in a friendly manner. There didn’t seem to be some ulterior motive or red flag about you that was alarming her at the moment. But why were you being so kind to her when she looked like a mess? Did you think she needed your help? Like she was some helpless damsel? Her thoughts start to upset her as they continue to run down a very negative path. “Your choice too,” you offer, getting a little concerned by her silence. Almost wanting to take back the offer. 

All of the loud angry thoughts come to a full stop and Wanda is left with an empty head. “Um, okay, deal. This time next week?” She asks and you nod as you reach for the bottle back. She releases it to you. Knowing that she will be buying you a drink next week.

“Yes, if that works for you,” you tiptoe a bit now. She looked like she could use a friend, you weren’t sure what she was going through at the moment but it didn’t look like she was in a good place. 

“It should be fine,” she states a little softer now. You smile at her and offer your hand to shake on the deal and she hesitates before accepting. “I still need to pick up a few things to take home. So,” she looks around the store awkwardly. “I guess I’ll get that from you outside?” 

You nod, “Yeah, for sure. I have to get a few things too. But I’ll uh, yeah, I’ll see you outside.” You walk away to allow her the privacy she was clearly asking for and you grab the beverages you came here for. Your ex-wife Jean had called you in a hurry. She was making dinner for her new in-laws tonight and she didn’t have time to pick up the wine that they liked. You told her not to worry about it and offered to bring it by when you came to retrieve your daughter. She even invited you to stay for the meal so that the older couple could spend some time bonding a bit more with the little girl. It was going to be somewhat awkward but you figured that the better connected you were with this family, the better it was for your daughter in the future. 

They were very involved parents when it came to their daughter, Jean’s new wife, so that meant they wanted to be very involved step-grandparents. You were going to have to encounter them at birthdays and special events. Is what you keep telling yourself to make you feel less awkward about going. You pay for the bottles of wine and the extra purchase and grab a pack of cigarettes while you’re at it. You light one as you wait for the stranger inside. Hoping the nicotine calms your nerves even though you know Jean is going to be upset as soon as she smells you. 

“You know those things will kill you,” Wanda says as she exits the store. She doesn’t know why she said it. There is a pack sitting in her bag as well. It had been years since she had touched a cigarette but lately, she was feeling as reckless as she was in college. Why not complete the behavior with a terrible habit? She had negotiated with herself when she saw the wall of smokes behind the counter. 

You drop the cigarette and put it out with your foot and look at her. You notice a familiar label poking out of her bag and smirk. “I’ll quit when you do,” you say as you point to the box poking out. Wanda shuffles to hide it. 

“I wasn’t going to,” she says defensively, “I have kids.” 

You tilt your head to the side as you look at her. “Then why get them?” 

“Not that it’s any of your business,” she starts and you put up your hands before she can continue as the words have snapped you in your place. 

“You’re right, my apologies. It’s not any of my business.” You hold out the bag with her bottle inside. “Here you go,” you say with a smile. “I’ll see you in a week.”

Wanda is taken aback. That line has never stopped anyone from imploring more information out of her before. How is it that you have shown her more respect in the last five minutes than her husband ever showed her in their nine years together? “Uh, yeah,” she takes the bag. “I’ll see you then.” 

“Take care…” you laugh as you realize you have no idea what her name is. “I am so sorry for my terrible manners. I'm Y/n. I guess it just felt like we'd met before."

"Oh!" Wanda hadn't even realized that she hadn't introduced herself yet either. "I'm Wanda."

“Wanda,” you repeat with a kind smile. “Well, it was enchanting to meet you, Wanda.” You offer your hand for her to shake again and she does. Feeling a little flattered by your choice of words. The two of you part ways. She blushes all the way back home to her brother and the kids. You drive to a house that was once yours to your ex-wife, daughter, and the extra family you didn’t ever think you would ever have.

Chapter 2

Taglist: @princessprudy @sayah13 @agaymilflover @awkwardmandalorian @bentleywolf29 @evenbeingcrazy1998 @olsensnpm @artisannat @thisischaismagic @wqndanat @madamevirgo @likefirenrain @tearsofglitter @feltlikethat @the-writer-arcane @natashasilverfox @karsonromanoff @aloneodi @lovelyy-moonlight @red1culous @jovialsublimecomputer @natasha-maximoff @iliketozoneout @doudouneverte @druggedduck @notbornbutforged @when-wolves-howl @lifespectator @justyourwritter69 @wandaromamoff69 @awesomelygayasf @nekoannie-chan @diaryoflife @wuwu96 @wandanats-goodgirl @sincerely-indi @blueredg52 @sisiwritesfanfics @lizziesplant @fuzzyuniversityeclipsefriend

[darkcacaocookieandfriends]

Okay, since people seem to want them, here are some of my random headcanons - broken down by character. Dark Cacao

I heavily base Dark Cacao after the culture he represents. I know a bit about Korean culture and had Korean friends in the past and once you understand a few things you start to see how Dark Cacao kind of works. At least, it's a lot of my approach to his character. A lot of what he is has been my understanding of tradition and old customs. Customs of warriors as well.

That being said, Dark Cacao is the kind of person who is very respectful, even with someone he loves or is even in a relationship with. Public displays of affection are merely a hand hold, an arm around the shoulders or just standing closer to someone than he would. It's reflective of his culture. Kissing and things of the sort are usually just things couples do in private.

That being said, those in a relationship with him would be gifted matching clothing, as it signifies loyalty and unity as a couple. It's also common for Korean couples to do.

As someone who's very traditional in a lot of ways, I don't feel Dark Cacao would like modern technology too well. Would he even know how to use it? Military equipment, sure but other things are...debatable.

At his core, Dark Cacao is a deeply troubled and sad person, but doesn't like to show that in front of people. He trusts few and can be quite trigger happy to those who cause suspicion. If he questions you, it's incredibly hard to gain his trust. He's going to question you and probably stare a hole through your soul the whole time he's around you.

Since he leads such a battle-ridden life, I feel he enjoys quiet hobbies and activities or just resting in general. Sitting around with a nice cup of tea while the freezing cold keeps him alert.

As cold as he can be, Dark Cacao does have empathy. He may be stubborn and distant but he can be understanding and even kind at times. He's not the best at expressing it, as those feelings are quiet and even subtle at times. More than likely, when it's just you and him he'll let them slip out.

Schwarzwalder

If Schwarzwalder likes you, he will wag his tail when he sees you. If he's content around you, his tail will slowly wag the whole time he's around you. Unless you upset him or make him angry.

If you make him angry enough he growls.

Scratch him under the chin and he's yours forever.

When it comes down to it, he really is just someone on a journey of self-exploration. However, as confused as he may be, he's very honest about who and what he likes and seems rather confident about certain aspects of his sexuality.

As far as fighting goes, I see Schwarz as a heavy-hitting tank. He's slow and powerful and can hit especially hard. He can be outsmarted, out sped and tricked into wearing himself down. I doubt many can really match his sheer physical strength. I know when he first came out as playable in Kingdom he was insanely busted. A friend of mine actually asked how I was even going to gauge him in battle and this is the best I can come up with. I feel it provides fair enough weaknesses. I don't see him as weak, not even in the slightest but I don't see him as the most powerful guy out there, either. He's a big, burly bruiser and that's the way I'm gonna write him.

If he befriends you and you're close enough to him, he'll be protective of you, maybe even a little possessive. He's not going to be toxic about it, but if one day your muse is in a situation they don't want to be in or they're being harassed, Schwarz will step in and promise to smash the aggressors to pieces with his mighty hammer, or he'll pretend to be your boyfriend to scare them away. Who doesn't fear the mighty Choco Werehound Brute?

Speaking of weapons, that hammer is probably crazy heavy. If it takes three cookies to lift the Grapejam Chocoblade, I'm very certain it takes more to lift that hammer.

He really only tells his real name to people he trusts. Unless you find it out on your own, then he's going to cry about it probably.

Schwarzwalder has bull in a china closet energy. When he gets excited, he more than likely destroys everything he comes across. Sometimes, he does on accident without meaning to. He's the equivalent of a destructive child who's had way too much sugar at times, especially when he's happy or excited.

A lot of these are just small things I've discussed on discord with rp partners, but here you all go! A peek into uh... an unhinged cupcake man and a sad dad.

[lillywillow]

Left Unsupervised

Summary: After a night of heavy drinking, Bucky tries to piece together everything that happened. He vows never to get that drunk again

 Written for: @buckybarnesbingo

 Words: 978

 Square Filled: U5- Never Again

 Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader  

 Warnings: Alcohol consumption, mentions of pain/ discomfort

 From the moment Bucky woke, he felt like he had been hit by Thor’s hammer. Everything ached, his stomach was ready to be violently ill if he moved and someone was playing the drum solo to Wipeout on the inside of his skull. Judging by the groans around him, there were other victims from last night’s festivities or zombies had invaded the tower. Bucky didn’t really care if it were the latter as long as they made his death a quick one and put him out of his misery. He tried to ask if anyone else felt like melted death but it only came out as a garbled sound. It clearly must have been enough to illicit a response.

 “Shh,” Clint hissed, clutching his head.

 “Shut up, you’re practically screaming,” Tony groaned.

 “What… what happened last night?” Bucky asked, swallowing the bile that had risen in the back of his throat.

 “Don’t you remember?”

 Bucky tried hard but there was a huge chunk of last night that was missing. Maybe if he followed the breadcrumbs backwards, they might lead a trail back to the beginning but that would have to wait until the pain behind his eyes subsided. There would also be a level of panic once he realised his metal arm was no longer attached to his body.

…

 By the time Bucky’s hangover had turned bearable, he was finally starting to remember what had led to him drinking so much. Tony had a little party for all you Avengers which Thor had brought Asgardian ale to. It was fun for a little while but then someone had suggested a drinking game and that was the last part he could remember. You and Bruce had wisely turned in early for the night but with the group’s last two braincells leaving them, they got rather… stupid.

 “Morning everyone,” you greeted.

 The hungover Avengers greeted you like a vampire to garlic.

 “I see we haven’t fully recovered from all the fun of last night,” you commented, making your coffee.

 “Yeah, about that… What… what exactly happened?” Bucky asked.

 “You don’t remember? No, that doesn’t surprise me. You would be horrified if you did that sober,” you giggled.

 Bucky went white. What exactly had he done? As if reading his mind, you decided to start filling in some of the blanks.

 “Let’s start with the voicemails, shall we?”

 “H-how many did I leave?”

 “It’s hard to say… between the voicemails, the text messages, and the videos, I lost count…”

 “V-videos?”

 “I’ll show you them after this,” you replied, playing the first message from earlier in the night.

 Bucky: Hi, Y/N. I just want to say that I think you’re really smart for going to bed early and you’re also really pretty and…

 Sam *in the background*: Dude just ask her out already!

 Bucky: I can’t just ask her over the phone

 Sam *in the background*: Ask her!

 Bucky: No!

 *Sound of thudding*

 Bucky remembered Sam tackling him, trying to get him to confess his feelings for you. He wanted to confess, really he did but he didn’t think it’d be appropriate when he completely plastered. Bucky looked over at you to see you giving him a sly grin.

 “What?”

 “Nothing. Let’s move onto my favourite video…”

 Bucky wasn’t sure he liked the way you said that. He could watch in horror as you played the video.

 It started off with a little bad camera work before it came into focus on Bucky who was standing up on the bar.

 “This one’s for you, Y/N,” he slurred, pointing to the camera.

 The song The Stripper came on and Bucky started taking off his shirt. The others all cheered and catcalled and Nat cackled from behind the camera. Bucky took his shirt off and twirled it above his head before flinging it off to some unknown corner. He next tried to undo his pants and managed to get them open but then fell off the bar.

 “You okay, Barnes?” Nat called.

 Bucky gave a thumb’s up before falling back down.

 The video ended there. Bucky felt absolutely mortified.

 “Wait, so when did I lose my arm?”

 “Hold on, I think I have the video where you were showing off…”

 Bucky placed his hand on yours to stop you scrolling. Suddenly, all the stupid things he did last night in an attempt to win you over came back to him. Nobody stopped him, instead, they only encouraged it.

 “I… I feel like I should explain…” he began but you placed a finger on his lips.

 “No need. Often when we’re drunk, our most honest selves are on display…”

 “Well, I am never drinking Asgardian ale and getting that drunk again,” Bucky sighed.

 You kissed his cheek, making him look at you in surprise.

 “I thought it was cute. A little misguided maybe but I guess you needed a little liquid courage to confess your true feelings,” you baited, hoping now that everything was out in the open he would tell you what was on his mind.

 “Y/N, I would really like to take you out sometime…” he softly smiled.

 “I’d like that too, Bucky,” you smiled back. “I’d kiss you but you smell like a dumpster fire…”

 “No, no, I get it. We’ll go when I’m not feeling like death warmed over…”

 “It’s a date,” you smiled, heading off to check on the damages left by the carnage that was last night.

 Bucky was glad he could finally confess his feelings for you but he promised himself he would never get that stupid drunk again.

[minorfamilysupremacy]

some scattershot vegas thoughts from discord the other day, collected in case i want to reference them again

(f/ @lu-sn, who’s always up to listen to me ramble)

i think it is reductive and/or a gross simplification to reduce vegas to simple sadism, which may be overeager woobifying but to me it is infinitely more compelling to see vegas as a warped version of a curious and intellectual child who was fascinated with how things worked and could be taken apart, which could allow him to, under the systematic dehumanization of himself and others around him, become interested in how people work and how to take them apart to get the desired result. it could then become a pleasure over the years through the constant repetition and reinforcement that this is his use, to the point where it would be a satisfying job well done to rip out a man’s cochlea. someone can take a clock apart with a hammer to see its inner workings but they will just see broken pieces because there was no care or subtlety taken; someone with specialized tools can see the clock and disassemble it and leave as much or as little intact as they so choose. and vegas would be trained to have no more regard for a person than for a clock to be dismantled, because there wasn’t any use in teaching him that. he has no regard for himself as a person, only as a weapon.



which further is why it would make sense that vegas would want to go into something in his post-minor family era that allows him to work with his hands and take a complicated process and break it down into many steps. he enjoys the challenge of learning new skills and figuring out how the sausage is made and doing something like cooking or gardening is a series of instructions, testing, troubleshooting, and perfecting, just in a less destructive way. the care he takes with bandaging pete is not only the result of so much experience looking after himself, but a step towards learning how to be a fixer and not just a destroyer. cooking for pete is, again, another step on that journey, but it isn’t practical for a weapon to know how to do things for the sheer pleasure or kindness of it, which is why gun reacts so negatively



i think there is absolutely a part of him that is trained to take joy in the pain and that is a direct response to abuse — not just learned behavior from gun, but a desire to have control over a life he has never had control over.


it’s nature vs nurture and i think any joy he derives from pain is absolutely not intrinsically part of his personality but was so deeply instilled he cannot tell the difference and won’t be until he is able to remove himself from that environment and figure out what he truly wants in life



gun is nowhere near capable of doing the minor family’s dirty work, so he has to shape his son into the model necessary to keep the empire going


@lu-sn: yeah!!!!! this is the ultimate question, how much of his glee in the face of pete's pain is learned vs his own


me: i do not think it’s his own. i think he tells himself/convinces himself it’s genuine but i think sustaining it in the face of pete’s refusal to break really demonstrates his core discomfort he strictly refuses to allow himself to access



i think at first he has the rush of power that’s a normal/expected reaction and that carries him through, and pete’s defiance/refusal to break is a challenge that he has to meet. his glee in the face of pete’s pain is knowing that he’s getting closer to breaking pete and thus winning (aka not failing/being worthy of punishment himself and having to deal with the agony of his own mental reactions, let alone gun’s)



which is only true up until gun hits him in front of pete, at which time everything becomes an exercise in desperate bravado and saving face because pete saw his mask slip first. pete heard the scared little boy voice and saw this formerly-terrifying creature cower. it stopped being about pete and started being about vegas needing to run from himself at all costs



which, again, maybe i am woobifying, but the fact that he falls apart into a soggy mess at the slightest bit of kindness shows me that a lot of this is a shield and/or learned behavior he will have to slowly undo over the years. and i think he will certainly have things that will continue to tip over into the sadism side, esp in bed, but i don’t think he is truly the unhinged sociopath that his image presents 
 i think the sadism that feels inherently true to him is the sort of thing that goes more into power, control, and trust. he’s intoxicated by the idea that pete would hand him the ropes and trust that vegas wouldn’t hurt him. at its core, it’s about being treated as enough of a person to have your fearsome image seen through but still bought into to some degree


in other words, i am putting myself in your hands because i trust that you will hurt me only in ways i wish to be hurt and no more

(they’re an exchange of humanity. pete wishes to forget himself and vegas wishes to remember the authentic core of himself)


@lu-sn​: I think there's also a lot of appeal in the fact that pete might react positively to pain. then it's more about giving pete what he wants in the most controlled and intimate manner. but i bet his wires are all crossed about this kind of thing. does he enjoy pain? does that make him a monster? or does he enjoy the act of taking pete apart, bringing him to the highest points of human emotion and sensation, and then putting him back together? (and does that still make him a monster?) pre-safehouse, he definitely wouldn't know the difference



me: absolutely — he wouldn’t even have the language to parse out his own thoughts/emotions

@lu-sn​: he could really benefit from knowing that some of his urges are in fact not that abnormal, even if the depth of the kind of pain he can cause is greater because of his mafia background



re: cochlea extraction me: i think so, so much of it would have to come down to pete learning to speak up about his own wants and to say, yes, i like this but not that



it would be very much about pete submitting and being able to take that pillow princess role, but also being the one who takes the reins as required to reassure vegas that he’s not wrong or bad or freakish and guide him away from a lot of the negative self-talk

@lu-sn​: and as we all know pete is so good about vocalizing his needs



me: but it does him no good to hide from vegas because vegas will reach into the very bones of him and extract what he needs to know



which i think is both terrifying and awful for pete AND satisfying to have someone else do the heavy lifting and to pursue your honesty


@lu-sn​: unless vegas is scared to pursue that honesty inside of pete, because it's a reflection of truths about himself



so sometimes it'll be pete pushing vegas, and sometimes it'll be vegas cracking pete open



me: absolutely. and i think pete knows how to do it in a line


i think pete can call vegas out with pinpoint accuracy BECAUSE of his deep-seated hypocrisy 
 pete can nail vegas’ ass to the wall with one statement and vegas will be so busy speedrunning the stages of grief about this world-upender he won’t immediately peg that pete is speaking from a place of experience



(or immediately be able to turn the tables)


pete sitting back and getting emotional catharsis by watching vegas flounder through his fourteenth mind-bender of the morning: all according to keikaku

@lu-sn​: the constant one-upping on who can expose the other person's psyche first skdkhdldhdlhdkd



me: this is basically what i assume their entire early relationship is like



vegas is a way easier nut to crack bc pete will tell him one (1) mildly nice thing and he’ll have to excuse himself to NOT CRY in the bathroom thank you



but this is what i mean when i talk about psychological vore!! because vegas just wants to entirely consume and dissect and understand this puzzling fascinating enigmatic creature


pete can basically dismantle him on the atomic level with zero effort


vegas has to work harder


[titanicfreija]

"Hey-hey, New Light!"

Freija dismissed the call, not recognizing the voice and not wanting to deal with anyone that could tell how young she was. It didn't help. The Hunter caught up to her and slapped her back with a clap of armor. "Hey, hey, hey, I saw the score, and I wanted you to know that I only did as good as I did because of you, okay?"

Freija blinked at the ground, eventually daring to lift her head when the Hunter didn't vanish.

"Are you new? Or returning after a long absence?" asked the Hunter, putting a hand on Freija's pauldron. "I'm Lin Po," he said then, and he took his helmet off to reveal a fair-skinned dark-haired human head. "Me and Delta over there are headed out for drinks, wanna come? We wanted to catch as many as we could on the way out, we've been in the same pool for a while now. Gives me a sense of camaraderie when we end up fighting with and against in the same runs, you know?"

Again, Freija blinked at him, not sure how to respond. Mostly she wanted to shower and ask Rise to remog all her armor so no one would recognize her on sight-- being reassured and invited out didn't feel real for some reason.

Lin Po saw someone behind Freija and she turned before he even moved. "Hey!"

"Oi," they replied, and Freija looked over to see a black-clad Hunter still in their Knucklehead. "Hey, it's you," they said to Freija, pointing. "How do you cap points like that? You came out on top every match, even when I was running with you."

"I died twice as often," Freija pointed out. "That's part of the trick," she sighed then and she buried her head under an arm. "I haven't recovered from the loss of an old piece of equipment. Shaxx said it was boring and unfair."

A sympathetic look crossed the bunch, and Freija felt much better about accepting the invitation.

"Hang on, I'll message the guys I was with," said the new Hunter.

~

The bar set a room aside for what they predicted would be a fairly big crowd, and the Guardians milled in to pay for a round each and hover around to discuss "business". Freija's misery led to an exchange of stories around rule changes, bans on devices and tools, and various other means by which Shaxx kept the Crucible from being unfair, and the fighters slowly learned names of their killers after recognizing the causes of death strapped to their back, and got to know them over discussions of the morning.

"You're the Warlock with that damn Igneous Hammer!"

"Getting shot really knocks your spatial awareness, I can't find the doors anymore."

"Wait, you're that Stasis Hunter with the void scout, aren't you? Green glowy Ghost?"

"Man, what happened? I felt kinda bad for shooting you that time."

"You! You're the one that ruined my twenty-streak!"

"Hell, I tried to tag along with you but you move like lightning! And I'm the Striker! You're... what, Void?"

"Yeah, you got me, but I got you back, tap for tap."

"Hey, you know you've got a gun, right? You kept trying to hit people instead of shooting them."

"Some dumbass kept storming the point by themselves, taking on like five of us at a time. Practically suicide. I wish Shaxx wouldn't do that to the Kinderguardians. Back in my day--"

"Back in our day, you spent a lot more time hungry and sober. Enjoy the luxury."

Freija enjoyed listening, even when someone was clearly talking shit about her or whining. Her comrades were pretty good about keeping talk about each other civil, and a few of them were stuck-up and proud of themselves (they were good but that didn't give them room to be assholes).

Except there'd been a Titan in blue circling the room, which was odd, until Freija spotted why he was circling-- Two other Titans following-- or chasing-- him.

Pretty obviously, he wanted to be here but couldn't find a way to escape the only reasons he apparently didn't want to be here. The other two Titans in matching steel armor followed and usually didn't directly interact, but he'd still get unsettled and move to the next group or next seat.

"Hey," she called to him as he passed. He let the helmet down out of manners, a purple Awoken with purple eyes and blue hair. She gestured at the seat next to her, so she'd be between him and his pursuers. "What's up?"

"Ah, nothin' much," he said airily, pretending nothing was wrong. If she hadn't just come from the crucible, she'd have missed his nervous glancing. "Had a big morning, this sounded like a nice, chill way to cool down. I don't recognize you, what's your guns?" He glanced at her hip at the Survivor's Epitaph. "Ah. I think I remember you."

She glanced over him and didn't recognize anything. "I'm running a hand cannon and grenade launcher right now, but I'm scooting kits. Name's Freija, I've been bottom of most of the scoreboards I'm on," she admitted.

The Titan flinched for her and laughed as he took the seat, turning it to face the room and keeping a nervous eye out. "I see. I spent a lot of time dead, pretty sure half the memories from this morning got blasted into Infinity's sands."

"That sounds a lot more poetic than it sounds," chuckled Freija. "We probably never ran together 'cos Shaxx was using us to weigh down our teams."

He reviewed a scoreboard projection on his datapad and frowned thoughtfully. "You're not bad-bad, though. You cap points. One time you got ten, that's nothing to slouch at." He smirked slightly and glanced up and relaxed. "Seemed directly inverse to your K/D, in fact," he added, scanning back through.

"I'll cap a point with my dying breath," Freija chuckled. "It's one of my favorite things to do, really, I'll sneak around back while everyone's fighting over B. Sometimes I just die, especially if they all die at once and come back around their point-- I'll get surrounded by five pissed off and freshly reloaded Guardians fast. But then that's leaving B and our point clear for those few seconds. And then if they don't, I have point C. Even if they claim it right back, they had to stop to do it." She grinned at the Titan and glanced around for the ones in gray, too, failing to find them. "You said you had a rough morning. How rough was it?"

The Titan slouched heavily and ran his hands through his hair to pretend he wasn't hiding his face. "I got a real zero."

Freija sucked air through her teeth and put a hand to her heart. "Ooof, ow. What'd happened that you got an ass-kicking like that?"

He didn't bother sitting up to gesture wildly with one arm. "It was just a bad game! First one of the morning, trying a new gun, called on the wrong grenade half the match 'cos I got into a habit in the field-- just a really bad match!"

"It happens," Freija laughed. She scraped at least three kills a match, today, but she would never forget her starting point.

"Ugh," he moaned in response, finally lifting his head. "I'm Tam. How long you been in the crucible?"

"A few years, off and on. Been on hiatus lately."

"That would be why you don't recognize this waste of Light," said a tenor behind Freija. She missed her helmet when she glanced at her "radar", and she turned to face the pair.

"What didn't he tell me?" she asked. They let their helmet down to reveal an Awoken with blue hair and green eyes that bore into Freija like bullets. He looked like he'd eaten something sour and was trying not to spit it out. The dark skinned blond human standing behind him seemed more easygoing but concerned nonetheless. Freija didn't pick up much hostility from the pair, not even from the grumpy one, but for some reason she still felt the urge to defend Tam. She wasn't sure she could, but she wanted to.

"He's been sabotaging matches for a week," the Awoken man stated, voice hard as steel.

"I'm changing my equipment," Tam objected under his breath.

"Yeah, actually," agreed the human casually. The Awoken shouldered between the human and the other Titans and he crossed his arms firmly, using his size to intimidate effectively.

"He's been sabotaging all week," he repeated, gaze on Freija.

Freija rose to her feet but it didn't help-- she might have stood as high as his chin. "Okay, so? If you know it's because he's trying something new, the fuck is your problem?" She set her feet and shoulders, but he had to be fifty pounds heavier-- it took effort to stand strong. No guns for sake of bystanders, plain old fist fighting was the rules, and Freija was embarrassingly bad at it.

"He sucks," the Titan declared.

Suddenly, Freija's capacity for fist fighting didn't matter-- Tam shot past her, fist raised and glowing with Arc Light sending sparks down his arm.

The other Titan caught his hand easily, twisted his arm until he bent off balance, then pulled and lifted so quickly that even Freija didn't see exactly how Tam hit the floor.

"So?" Freija asked, dismissing the mound of Titan writhing next to them.

"So he sucks," the Titan repeated. "I'm sick of it."

"Fuck you," griped Tam as he finally untangled himself from himself and got his feet under him.

Freija gave Tam a dry half-smile. "I won't say you deserved that. But you did ask for it."

Tam stopped brushing himself off and lunged at Freija, fist raised. "You shut up!"

Unlike the other guy, Freija wasn't good at this. Despite her lack of skill, Tam's armor was even clunkier than hers and while she couldn't block his punch, it didn't hurt much-- badly placed with poor form. Planting her heel and returning the blow to his chest sent him staggering into a table full of drinks.

"Hey!" shouted the tenders as the rest of the room turned to look.

"Fuck off, guy. We have to suck to get better," Freija told the new Titan. The human went to help clean up.

"I know." Tam got to his feet and tried to get away, but the big one grabbed the back of his armor to pick him an inch off the floor. "He's coming with me," the Titan rumbled. "Gonna get some practice. No more fucking up matches for himself and everyone else, he's gonna learn to shoot straight."

Tam, previously kicking and attempting to crush the forearm of his perceived attacker, stopped. "What...?"

The massive man lifted and twisted Tam in his grip to put them nose to nose "You. Me. Training grounds. Practice." He looked to Freija with the same hard scowl. "Coming? You need it, too."

"Go fuck yourself," Freija grumped, but she looked to the ceiling. "Sunny?"

@annieruok94

[thekit-katniss]

Ninjago Fic Vagabond

I saw some interest in me posting the first bit of my new Ninjago fanfic so here it is. And here is a little background on it without spoiling much:

It takes place during the Merge in this part specifically; the rest is Post-Merge so Dragons Rising is happening. My OC is named Wisteria, she is the current Master of Illusion. You get introduced to her and her parents pretty much in this part.

Something wasn’t quite right today. The sky above Ninjago was painted like an unknown fire. It pulsated with an eerie glow through the cracks in the windows. Kasumi hadn’t been in Ninjago long. She had come up to visit her daughter who she wished would come home. Ninjago City wasn’t considered the safest of places.

Kasumi kneled upon the cushion, just watching the menacing sky. She seemed to have forgotten about the tea cup in her hand as it had gone cold. She broke her gaze and sighed. Rising stiffly from her seat, she placed her cup in the microwave and reheated the tea. She heard a shuffling approach.

“Are you seeing this?” A familiar voice blurted.

“If you’re talking about the sky, yes.” Kasumi replied.

Wisteria was standing beside her now, gazing out across the line of rooftops. “What does this mean?” She heard her whisper under her breath. 

Kasumi wasn’t sure what to think either. It wasn’t unusual for Ninjago to have such occurrences. The city was starting to become a hot spot for the weird and bizarre, not to mention battles, giant snakes, evil lords - it was even underwater once. The list was long, and it felt as if another thing was on the horizon. And it was just waiting to strike.

-

As the day went on, the sky would not improve. It would grow darker as the wind too was starting to pick up. Many locals just thought it was a storm brewing. The news implied that there was nothing to worry about despite the fact the colors weren’t normal. It was starting to look like space itself had broken the atmosphere.

Kasumi and Wisteria would join a group of onlookers just outside. There was a rather strange static charge in the air. The duo could feel it latch to their souls. This was what Kasumi feared would happen. But she knew it wouldn’t help change things for them.

The wind was rapidly growing in strength now. Then suddenly, a thunderous snap was heard as the sky rippled and morphed. It started to shatter into pieces like glass hit with a hammer. Cracks expanded until they’d open up to another dimension. They were portals to other realms, places and some even to possibly nowhere.

Panic broke out in the crowd as people were starting to be vacuumed in. This was not how they were picturing their day to go. The duo shared a look with one another before nodding. They each took a group of people. “Link up everyone! And keep the children in the middle!” Kasumi barked at the few who would listen.

They were starting to get groups more safely indoors. Many they couldn’t save though. People were starting to fly around like ragdolls. It was starting to become uncontrollable chaos. Things that weren’t bolted down like construction signs would whirl pass your head, causing you to finch. The image of being impaled crossed Wiseria’s mind. That wasn’t the way she wanted to go.

“Wait, where’s my daughter? Sarah? Sarah?!” A terrified mother cried out. 

Kasumi had to plant herself in front of her. “You shouldn’t go out there.” She hissed, trying to hold her back from pushing past her.

“I’ll find her.” Wisteria proclaimed, her hair caught in the wind.

“Absolutely not! You’ll stay right here.” Her mother grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

Wisteria yanked her arm away. She recognized that crunch in her face when she was upset. “I can do it, mom. Just let me-”

“Let you what? Get sucked into one of those portals - alone?” Kasumi disapproved. She had seen this behavior before. “Just as stubborn as your father.” She mumbled under her breath.

“Thought you’d at least try.” Wisteria spat back. She was about to walk away, only to be dragged back by a hand gripping her tightly. Wisteria glare hardened as her mother’s head was down.

Kasumi knew she couldn’t let things get this way between them. This was her daughter. She raised her to be a warrior, just like how she was. Now she held her powers. She was the future. But that was hard to accept.

Master Wu would be disappointed in you both. She recalled his teachings very well. Her powers were all new to her. Her own mother was kind of a wild child, so she wasn’t surprised it was one of the lesser known elements. But her element wasn’t the concern for her daughter - it was what her father had gifted.

She recalled him. He did help raise Wisteria, but he wasn’t always there when he needed to be. Not to mention the lying he was so fond of doing. It didn’t concern their relationship like most normal couples. It was more of the fact he was in disguise, looking human but very much something deeper and darker. 

Wu had advised her that something wasn’t right about him. But she chose not to listen. You don’t just ignore the literal master of creation. He was the son of god in a sense. Probably should take anything he gives you.

“You’re right.” Kasumi replied. “I need to start believing in you more.”

She saw the glimpse of a smile on Wisteria’s face before releasing her grip. “Go. I’ll stay with the others.” She paused. “Just be careful.”

Wisteria gave a confident nod, disappearing out into the storm.

-

Whatever was happening, it seemed to just grow worse. Wisteria might be crazy trying to find a little girl out here. She was heading deeper into Ninjago City now. There were people still scattered about, many trying to find ways into some sort of building. However, the screams for help echoed down the streets still. It made you tense up hearing its uneasiness.

When she got closer to Borg Tower, there was a massive group of people frantically pushing and climbing over each other. Her eyes snapped immediately up to the top of the tower. The elongated red hull of the Destiny’s Bounty hovered above. Its shadow engulfed the whole block. No wonder there was chaos among the crowd.

She scanned the crowd, finding a terrified little girl with pigtails crying out for her mother. Wisteria quickly made her way over, crouching down to her. “Are you Sarah?” The little girl nodded. “It’s ok. I know where your mom is.” She offered her hand. “I’ll take you to her.” The little girl immediately took her hand.

“T-thank you.” She sobbed, rubbing her eye with her free hand. Wisteria smiled softly before pulling the girl along. She knew she had to find the safest and fastest route back.

Many of the backstreets were trashed. Carts were pushed over, merchandise littering the sidewalk. Anything from food to cheap Ninjago City souvenirs were scattered about. The homeless were having a hay day, gathering as much as they could. One would glance up at them and kind of hiss, which startled them both.

Wisteria moved them away quickly. The girl remained glued to her hand, looking up ever so often. The wind was starting to pick up again. Wisteria tried to keep pushing forward, blocking the wind with her arm. A sudden snap was heard as an illuminated crack formed near them.

Wisteria instantly scooped up the girl and ran. It was only a matter of seconds before the crack ripped open. The wind started to howl around them as the suction pulled at her jacket. Wisteria had to dig her heels in, trying to anchor herself. But her feet were giving out below her.

This is it, she thought. Her eyes would move down to the little girl she held so tightly in her arms. I’m sorry. I tried. Tears started to well up in her eyes and she squeezed.

Suddenly, there was a faint sound of wings approaching from above. At that moment, she didn’t recognize them. Wisteria thought she was losing her mind. But the thud that followed snapped her back. With an uneven breath, they both looked up at the thing.

It was bracing itself against the suction of the wind. It's dark claws grinding deep into the concrete. It was difficult to see the coloring, but Wisteria was certain there was a deep gray with accents of white. Their gazes met for a moment. The eye was soft blue and it looked glazed over with a scar that zig zagged across. Its form was the shape of a dragon, but a different kind.

A deep, gruff tone rose from the dragon.“We need to keep moving.”

Wisteria honestly wasn’t expecting it to speak. Normal dragons don’t talk. She glanced down towards little Sarah who took her hand again, squeezing it with uncertainty. I guess we don’t have any other option. They would go toe and toe with the dragon, staying at its side as it blocked them from the wind.

“You keep staring.” It commented. Wisteria was staring. There was something about this dragon that kept bothering her. It seemed oddly familiar.

“Who are you?” She finally asked.

The dragon would stop, its horned head came around to face them. It scoffed. “I’m surprised you’re asking me that. You’ve seen this form before.”

“Form-” The word trailed off from her lips. Then the moment struck her. Images of her father came flooding into her mind, a slight smile growing. She let out a sharp gasp.

“Dad?” He confirmed with a nod. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you and your mother are safe.” He replied as they proceeded forward. “I sensed something was terribly wrong. So I came to Ninjago-” Wisteria went stoic. He noticed this almost immediately and groaned. “I already know you’re going to blame me for this.”

Wisteria didn’t reply. Her father had a track record for being a liar. But it wasn’t your typical lying in a relationship - you know cheating. It was more of the fact he had concealed his true identity for years. When that truth came to light, her mother packed the bags with Wisteria in toe. She was only about twelve then.

Wisteria frowned. “You are a bringer of chaos, dad.”

Her words sounded more like an insult in a way. But it was true. He has dubbed a chaos bringer for years - whatever that may actually be. He was a creation of Garmadon after all. It wasn’t taken lightly when people found out and that’s exactly what happened with Kasumi. He regretted lying to her for all those years. Weird to think he actually cared.

“We’ll discuss this later.” He said bluntly, not sharing eye contact this time. He could feel Wisteria’s eyes bore into him. She was going to be upset with him and he expected such. So he ignored it, adjusting his wing up to block the powerful gusts.

The building they had retreated with the group inside was now in view. The image of her mother was obscured by the frosted glass. “Open the door!” She called out, hoping to catch someone’s attention. Kasumi quickly made her way over, another bystander helping with the door. They were greeted by not just Sarah and Wisteria, but a dragon as well. Kasumi’s eyes widened before narrowing. She knew who it was instantaneously as she let out a shallow breath.

“Kasumi.” Him saying her name made her tense up. She wasn’t quite ready to forgive him, that’s for damn sure.

“Balor.” She addressed him similarly. Wisteria shared a glance with her as she brushed her way past inside.

There was an awkward silence between the two flames. Kasumi kept contemplating shutting the door in his face and not looking back. But she wasn’t about to let him in as his current form. Balor wasn’t expecting much from her. She hated his guts.

“Ironic how you show up when the sky is falling.” She hissed.

Balor growled under his breath, shaking his head. “Expected as much from you.”

Suddenly, her face changed, her eyes wandering off for a moment. “You didn’t cause this-” She felt a hand try to lock with hers as she drew it away quickly. Their eyes met. 

There was no dragon anymore, but a man. His eyes were two distinct colors, the right one was cloudy blue with a raggedy scar running down. He was known to be blind in that eye. He never said how it happened, but it was the one thing he was recognized by. His dark hair was a messy shag, peppery in color with a scruff to match. 

Kasumi never forgot his rough complexion. It was a part of the appeal she had for him. She had to admit, he knew how to attract the ladies. It worked on her after all. Even if it was just a mirage of a human form.

Kasumi sighs, the rage dissolving in her eyes. “Do you know what’s happening then?” She asked with sincerity to his surprise.

Balor just shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t.” He then would glance behind him. “This is beyond us.”

-

Just as Wisteria was about to join her parents, the room rumbled. It rattled the windows, the doors and the souls around her. Panicky mumbling and sharp gasps rose from the others. Many of them quickly clamored to the wide windows, trying to get a glimpse. Wisteria cupped her hands up to the glass. The wind hadn’t calmed in any sort, the skinny trees a few feet away still bent in its force. 

Wisteria had been listening in on them. She knew she shouldn’t. But with how rocky their family dynamic has been, she had hope. It was a very slim hope, but it was there. She let out a sigh, leaning up against the cold beam. Her eyes would go to the little girl she had saved. Her mother was so thankful that she just straight up hugged her. Let’s just say, it was kind of an awkward hug.

Wisteria remembered being her age. She was a playful son of a gun. She loved her imaginary adventures outside. She’d come trudging in covered in mud, her mother’s brow furrowing when it stained her favorite rug. Her father, on the other hand, encouraged it. That’s probably where her adventurous side comes from now that she thinks about it. She smiled.

They all were scanning for the source of the tremors still when someone beside her cried out. “It’s the ninja!” Everyone looked up. 

Out of the raging, shattering sky, the carved dragon appeared. The same red hull Wisteria saw earlier flew over at rather rapid speed. Its shadow engulfed the whole block in darkness for a moment as it went past. The shape of a mech followed closely behind. You could barely make out the vibrant blue painted upon it.

Wisteria glanced over toward Balor and Kasumi. She noticed her father tense up suddenly. He only ever did that when his powers tightened on him. Something was wrong. Just seconds later, the wind abruptly stopped. The trees straightened and silence creeped in.

“Balor?” She heard her mother say ever so softly before - boom!

-

It felt like time itself was shaking - or was it her shaking? Wisteria couldn’t tell. She felt miles away though, her ears ringing and sight blurry. She was struggling to even think. Little did she know, chaos was ensuing around her.

The building had changed. It was no longer some office building in Ninjago City they had taken shelter in. It was a sad skeleton of itself, barely hanging on to its existence. The sky had literally imploded with realms breaking the barrier. It swallowed them all whole and then spit them out somewhere - anywhere. Her father had reached for them but then he was just gone. 

Everyone was gone.

Wisteria gasped, her eyes widened as she gagged on her dry spit. It was like she snapped back to reality in that instant and it hurt. Had she - died? The thought did cross her mind. She couldn’t remember a thing though. She only remembered where she was before. That’s weird.

Her body creaked when she rose up, letting out a rough groan. Her ears weren’t ringing anymore nor was her sight blurred. She had been on her back for however long. It was no wonder it pinched when she tried to stand. She waited a minute or two before attempting it once again.

Once on her feet, she scanned the surroundings. Where the hell am I? She asked herself. It was a rather eerily quiet field and she was smack in the middle of it. The shape of it kind of reminded her of a crop circle. About a yard away, there was a ledge that seemed to make a rather good overlook.

Wisteria would mosey her way over. She was not expecting what she saw. Thick clouds of dust and debris caused her throat to go dry. When the dust clouds slowly dissipated, you could barely make out Borg Tower and a few of the skylines. The city had survived - for the most part. 

Much of the south side however, was in shambles and nearly unrecognizable.

The ledge she stood on was nothing more than a sandbank, carved into the side of the hill. The desert had started creeping into the city, along with a bit towards the Wyldness. It was the ghost of the event after the realms filled the sky. But Wisteria was unaware of this.

Wisteria was lost for words. She just stood there, atop this unstable bank, the wind pulling at the fresh rips in her jacket. She fell to her knees, digging her hands through the sand. She didn’t know where anyone was. Her mother and father could be dead for all she knew. Tears started to well up in her eyes as her sharp sob pierced the faded sky.

What now? She thought. Was there even a point to stay here? No. At some point, Ninjago will rebuild itself. But until then, she didn’t belong here.

Wisteria mind was made. She would search for her parents. Travel into the unknown. For how long, she didn’t know. But at some point, she did return to Ninjago City. And that’s where the true story begins.

---

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you did, I'll happily post more of it, maybe on my A03 too in the near future 😁

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Untitled DJ x Reader Soulmate AU - Ch 2

EDIT: This is now being updated on ao3!

Throwing this up here for now. I have an ao3 but I don't know that I want this to be the first thing posted in it. Also it's in need of editing because the first chapter is in a different tense than the second chapter because I'd intended it to be a flashback-ish thing but that's not really clear in the finished writing. Alas.

Might delete these posts when it this story eventually makes its way to ao3, but we'll see.

[ Ch 1 ] [ Ch 2 - You are here ]

CHAPTER 2

It was either the best time to start or the worst time. That’s what your mentor had told you as she walked you through the atrium towards the West Arcade. 

Your predecessor had quit unexpectedly, which is why there had been such a fast turnaround to get you in the door. And why they don’t have that many resources to devote to training you. Your mentor is not unsympathetic. She’s at least managed to convince the upper management to let the dance hall stay closed for at least a week, giving you plenty of time to get your feet under you.

“You’ll know more about DJ Music Man than the rest of us by the time you’re done, at least,” she chuckles, giving you a supportive clap on the shoulder before leaving you in the dance hall with only a cart of supplies, a tablet full of documentation, and your own gumption.

You nod uncertainly as she leaves. You slip through the small opening in the metal shield that blocks the dance hall from the rest of the West Arcade. The sound squeaky wheel on your cart echoes through the empty space.

And there he is. The gigantic mechanical DJ Music Man, the biggest animatronic in the world. He lays on his stage, apparently in rest mode, since he doesn’t seem to register your presence as you approach.

You frown at his broken eye. Even without the lights up, you can see a few wires behind the shattered glass have been pulled loose somehow.

You climb onto the stage, circling the animatronic and surveying the damage. You’d been briefed on it of course. Broken eye, broken elbow joint, lots of graffiti…but you still wanted to take a look at it yourself before you got started.

You regard the elbow joint, figuring that would be a good thing to fix first. Between this, the eye, and the damage to the stage, you’re shocked at how much a group of kids can damage such a gigantic piece of equipment. But that’s what a few lucky shots will do, you suppose.

“They really did a number on you, huh?” you say, stepping towards his elbow and lightly touching the joint.

DJ’s optics switch on abruptly as his head shoots up. Those words! Those sacred words! Somehow he’d convinced himself he’d never actually hear them. He’d been aware of you coming in, but hadn’t bothered to actually look at you.

Now you find yourself scrambling back from a flurry of arms and hands as the DJ rights himself, dragging his bad arm as he quickly turns to see who spoke to him.

As his massive head swings toward you, you vaguely register a look of alarm on his face at the same time you register a distinct lack of ground beneath one of your feet.

Your stomach jumps into your throat as you fall backwards off the stage. You close your eyes, already imagining the eight foot drop that’s going to see you land flat on your back if you’re lucky…or on the back of your head if you're unlucky.

But it’s not the hard dance floor you hit. It’s something soft and padded. Your heart is hammering as you slowly open your eyes.

Once again you’re staring at the face of the DJ, now more worried than alarmed.

He caught you, you realize. You’re in his hands.

“Th-Thanks…” you manage, your voice thin as you resist the urge to peer over the edge of his gloved hand. You can’t tell how high up he’s holding you, and you realize you don’t want to know. Just pretend you’re only a few feet up. No more than that.

He scoots back, his bad arm scraping against the stage. He gently sets you down, but keeps his hands cupped behind you like a wall. You hope he’s only doing that to keep you from stumbling off the stage again.

DJ tilts his head, looking at you in concern.

You glance nervously at the massive gloved hands behind you. “I-I’m…okay. I won’t fall off again…” you say. Maybe he’s running some kind of safety protocol. That kind of thing usually requires some kind of positive affirmation from the human to release the robot from their obligations.

It seems to work, and his hands lower, coming to rest on either side of you. You had expected him to go back to his resting state, but he just continues watching you. Expectantly? Curiously? Despite being capable of emoting to some degree--moving his eyebrows, shuttering his eyes, and changing his mouth shape--his current expression is hard to read.

Probably because DJ barely knows what to think himself. He’d just been suddenly presented with his soulmate, and before he could process that revelation, you’d been in his hands. Though you hadn’t seemed too happy about it. He’s well aware that most humans wouldn’t be happy to find themselves in the hands of a giant robot, of course…but…

But what? What had he thought your first meeting would be like? He had already accepted that there was no way you’d know he was your soulmate when you met.

You finally find your voice, and manage to stammer out your name. The DJ perks, smiling and leaning forward eagerly, as if waiting for you to tell him more.

You have a lovely name, at least in DJ’s mind. It’s the name of his soulmate, he was destined to adore it!

You don’t bother to ask his name. You know it already, and you also have no reason to assume he puts much weight on the ritual of introductions. So you continue, “I’m…the new tech. Here to fix you up?”

Realizing he was encroaching on your space, he pulls back slightly, nodding at your statement.

You smile awkwardly up at him. Your mentor and the other techs made it sound like he wouldn’t move until you told him to. You step around his head to get to his arm, only for him to start circling with you, keeping you in his view.

“H-Hey!” you say, surprised as his bad elbow was dragged away from you.

DJ froze immediately, lowering his body to the ground and staring at you guiltily.

You frown wonderingly at the expression. Did he feel chastised? A robot shouldn’t feel anything…but you felt a bit guilty that he was programmed to act chastised for being scolded. Not that you had meant to scold him, exactly.

“S-Sorry…” you say, holding up your hands. “I was just surprised. Th-They uh…said you mostly…held still…”

He didn’t respond, continuing to watch you. You’d also been told he had no voice, so his lack of response was hardly surprising. Maybe he just didn’t understand what you wanted from him.

“I’m going to look at your elbow now, okay?” you say. You wait for him to tilt his head in a nod before you once again move around him to get to the broken joint. This time he stays put, though turns his head as far as he can to watch you from the corner of his eye.

“I know you probably want your eye fixed,” you say, taking a screwdriver from your pocket and starting to undo the fastenings of the purple orb joint of his elbow. “But I think every time you try to move your elbow, it gets worse. So I want to at least look at it first.”

It feels more natural to speak conversationally, instead of giving clipped orders like the voice commands you would give to a digital assistant. The DJ has a face. He emotes. Even though you know he’s just an AI inside a machine, the urge to talk to him as if he’s a human is winning out.

You suppose it’s harmless. Besides, you were already told that if you’re ever in front of customers, you need to “stay in character”, and talk to the animatronics as if they’re your friends. “Because everyone’s your friend at Freddy Fazbear’s!”

The DJ nods again, and you take that to mean the information is of some value to whatever processes he was running in that AI of his.

You get the casing off, tossing it aside. No need to be careful with it--you can already see it’s damaged beyond repair. You’ll have to send for another one from Parts and Services. 

You flinch a bit as you look at the joint mechanism. It’s worse than you thought. The stage light falling on the joint had warped it considerably, and apparently DJ’s frantic movements afterwards had actually caused the connecting wires to get tangled in the shards of the warped joint.

“Hm…looks like these wires are going to have to be cut off and replaced. Do you think you can straighten your arm enough so that the joint is on the ground? That’ll make it easier for me to work on.” The bend in his elbow currently had the joint slightly above your eye level.

DJ grimaces, both from the bad news and the command. But he nods, albeit with a slight bit of reluctance. His body shifts as if he’d taken a breath to steady himself, and then he slowly begins to straighten his broken elbow.

He gazes blankly ahead, seeming focused as his brow knits and his lips press together in a grimace. If he could sweat, surely a sheen of it would be coating his forehead now.

He’s only lowered the joint a couple feet when you say, “W-Wait…” That look on his face…as if he’s in pain. That…can’t be right.

DJ stops, looking at you questioningly.

You hold up your hands, your fingers flexing slightly as you consider your question. “Wh-Why do you…look like you’re in pain…?” you ask.

DJ’s head tilts slightly, one brow raising.

You flinch. Of course he can’t answer. Stick to yes or no questions. “...Are you in pain?”

DJ frowns slightly before nodding. Nobody has asked that before. Not even Karter, though DJ had assumed that was because Karter already knew he could feel pain, and DJ had gotten the impression Karter had at least tried to avoid causing him pain.

You blanch. You’d heard of some robots being given pain sensors for various reasons…usually as an incentive to keep them from damaging themselves, or as an exercise in trying to make them more “alive”. But the DJ didn’t seem like the type of robot that should have them.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer out. “Th-They didn’t tell me you felt pain. I-If I’d known…”

DJ’s expression softens. You’re worried? About him? He’s flattered, but…he also hates to see you so distressed. There’s no need for you to be upset…as you said, you didn’t know. He lifts one of his good arms, lightly brushing the back of one finger against your shoulder.

Your mind had already drifted to trying to figure out the least painful way to treat--fix--the DJ’s broken joint, so when you felt something brush against your shoulder you jumped slightly.

“Wh-What?” you ask, eying the large hand somewhat nervously. You’ve never worked with a robot this large before. Not even close. You can’t help but be a little intimidated.

He regards you silently. He looks worried, though it doesn’t occur to you he would be worried about you.

You try to smile encouragingly as you pat one of his fingers. “It’ll be alright. It’ll hurt for a bit, but you’ll feel better afterwards. But I’ll try to keep it as painless as possible.”

DJ pauses, but then forces a small smile of his own. His lack of voice had never bothered him before. He had never needed to say all that much. The few sounds he’d adapted (yes, no, and his querying chirp), along with occasional pointing or waving had always gotten across whatever point he’d wanted to make. At least until Karter’s last day. And now this.

You didn’t understand he was trying to comfort you. That he didn’t want you to be upset. And he didn’t know how to make that clear. So he had to simply let it go.

Your own smile fades just a touch, as you get the sense that you didn’t actually address whatever his concern was. But you don’t know what to ask to prompt him to clarify. So like him, you have to simply let it go.

“Alright, let’s see…” you say to yourself, lightly resting a hand on his upper arm as you examine the broken joint. You glance over at him. “It doesn’t hurt if I rest my hand here, does it?” you ask.

He’s resting his chin on one of his good hands, still looking at you sideways with a look you can only describe as fondness. You must be seeing things; he has no reason to be fond of you. Maybe he’s just…friendly? But he shakes his head no, so you turn your attention back to his elbow.

DJ’s surprised you thought that gentle touch would hurt…but more than that, he’s moved that you even thought to ask. That you’re so worried about his comfort even though you’ve just met.

“Okay, I’m going to need to remove the casing on your upper arm here,” you say, patting the casing where your hand was already resting. “Will that hurt you?”

He shakes his head again. That, at least, is what you expected. Generally unscrewing and removing swappable components didn’t cause pain in robots. Making routine maintenance painful was, at best, missing the point behind giving robots pain sensors in the first place or, at worst, just plain cruel. You tended to lean towards the latter. Though you rarely admitted it--calling any treatment of robots “cruel” was controversial and generally not something the higher ups who owned said robots liked to hear.

You began unscrewing the small screws that lined the casing. You had to hunch your shoulders at a slightly awkward angle, but you’re sure it hurts less for you than it would for him if you asked him to keep moving the broken elbow. Still, you occasionally have to straighten up, roll your shoulders, and crack your neck before continuing your work.

DJ watches this with some amount of guilt. He appreciates that you’re trying to spare him pain, but he wishes it didn’t come at the cost of your comfort. If he could speak he would tell you to stop a moment, and he’d just deal with the pain of repositioning his arm. But he knows that if he starts moving unexpectedly you’ll fret over it, or maybe even think he’s being uncooperative.

The casing is starting to come loose, so you have to hold it in place with one hand while you unfasten the last few screws. This casing is undamaged, so you don’t want it to crash to the floor or start warping as the weight of the unfixed portion pulls at the screws that are still attached.

You see a movement out of the corner of your eye, and see DJ’s backmost hand reach over your shoulder and hold the casing of his bad arm in place for you.

You glance over at him, letting out an awkward laugh. “Right, you uh…have five other arms, huh?” you say.

He grins charmingly, his eyes closing briefly as he nods.

You quickly turn back to your work, something about the smile leaving you a bit flustered.

After unscrewing the last remaining screws, you keep your hand on the casing, glancing up at DJ. “Okay, I’m going to lift this part here, then you lower your end. This part of the casing seems undamaged, so I wanna keep it that way,” you say with a light smile.

He nods, and together you two carefully open and remove the casing, and you guide him to set it behind him where you won’t trip on it.

“Okay. Now…these wires are going to need to be cut,” you say, lightly tapping the now exposed wires along his upper arm. He’s already flinching before you can ask, but you ask anyway. “I…take it that’ll be painful?”

DJ nods, but waves an arm in a “go ahead” gesture. There’s no way to replace his joint without cutting the wires that are now tangled up in it.

“Will covering the ends help?” you ask.

At his nod, you give a small sigh of relief. You suspected as much, but you’re glad to get confirmation. You make your way off the stage (via the stairs this time) and rummage around in your cart until you find the electrical tape.

From what you understand of robot pain, it’s having the conductive part of the wiring exposed that triggers the pain sensors. A strong incentive for robots not to let their wires become frayed and potentially dangerous. So if you cover the ends with electrical tape shortly after cutting them, that should keep the pain to a minimum.

You climb back onto the stage, wire cutters and tape in hand. “Okay, ready?” you say, readying the cutters.

DJ nods, then quickly closes his eyes and turns away.

Well damn if that isn’t heartbreaking…

You quickly cut the wires, doing your best to ignore the shudder that runs over the DJ’s body. Not out of callousness, of course, but you need to stay focused and get this done as quickly as possible.

You toss the cutters to the floor where they land with a clatter so you can quickly get out the tape and bind the ends of the wires. As you press the ends of the tape down, you glance back up at the DJ. “How’s that feel?” you ask. Remembering the yes/no rule, you add, “Does it feel alright?”

His eyes peek open and he nods. 

“Alright. Let me detach the joint…then I think you’ll be feeling a bit better,” you say, giving him an encouraging smile. 

He nods, then turns away again. The sight of his exposed endoskeleton and the wires hanging limply from it, as well as the ruined joint were uncomfortable to look at…but despite that, your kindness was keeping his spirits high. He smiled softly, letting you work.

You unscrewed the bearings that were still intact, only to flinch when you realize some the joint is too mangled to detach conventionally. You’ll need the mini circular saw.

“Uh, hey, DJ Music Man?” you ask.

DJ glances back at you, a bit surprised to hear you use his full name. Though he supposes you have no reason to be as informal with him as Karter was.

 “Can you put a hand under here?” you gesture to his forearm. “I need to get the saw, but the joint is a bit unstable right now and I don’t want the weight to pull on you too much.”

DJ nods, once again graciously using his backmost hand to hold up his arm while you fetch what you need.

You don a pair of work gloves and safety glasses, and then you’re back to work, sawing off the bolts too damaged to remove any other way. In a moment, the last bolt breaks free.

…Leaving DJ holding his own severed arm.

You didn’t think this through.

You quickly set the saw aside, pushing the glasses onto the top of your head as you stand up. “Here, DJ Music Man, lemme take that…I-I’m sorry, I…I wasn’t thinking when I asked you to--”

You take his arm, grunting as you lower it to the ground. It’s not exactly light. You glance up at him. He doesn’t seem all that troubled, in fact, he almost looks worried as he cants his head.

You let out a nervous laugh. “I-I…guess you’re not…that squeamish, huh?”

DJ shrugs his first set of arms, then lifts a hand and wobbles it in a “so-so” gesture. Ah. So, perhaps he is not exactly unphased by having his arm removed, but it’s still far from traumatizing? At least you hope it’s far from traumatizing.

You remove the gloves, tossing them down next to the saw and wiping your hands on your pantlegs. “Is it…less painful now, at least?” you ask.

He nods. The pain sensors being triggered by the small bits you had to saw off is far less than what was being triggered by the mangled joint and tangled wires, though even that had been mostly bearable as long as he kept still.

You sigh in relief. “Good,” you say. “Then…I think this is a good time for me to break for lunch. If that’s alright,” you add.

He blinks owlishly, quirking a brow. If it’s alright? With him? You’re…asking his approval for your lunch break? As you continue to watch him expectantly, he finally tilts his head in a nod.

To his continued surprise, you thank him before once again taking the stairs off the stage. When you said you were going to lunch, DJ assumed you were heading to the atrium, or perhaps leaving the ‘Plex entirely. He didn’t expect you to grab a brown paper bag from your personal backpack within the cart, and he certainly didn’t expect you to bring it back on stage.

“I get a little shaky if I forget to eat,” you explain, sitting criss-cross in front of his face. “Nothing too bad,” you say quickly, noting the look of concern on his face. “But…probably not the best when working with wires and such,” you say with a bit of levity.

DJ gives a small nod of understanding, having no other way to respond. He’s only known you a short time but he’s constantly surprised by your kindness towards him. You’re spending your free time with him. Time you could be spending with other employees. Other humans.

But you’re here with him.

You watch as the DJ folds his hands on the stage floor, resting his chin on them and staring at you with a smile that hovers somewhere between fond and dopey. You weren’t expecting him to be so friendly…The pictures you’d seen of him from his performances made him appear a bit more aloof. Usually in those, he wore a cool smile and partially lidded eyes as he focused on his music.

You can only assume he just acts a bit different when he’s not focused on performing.

You eat your sandwich in relative silence, looking over his broken eye as well as whatever other graffiti you can see from where you sit, formulating a rough order of tasks in your head. You wish you had a way to ask his input, so you could fix what’s bothering him most.

“I…don’t suppose you know any ASL?” you say as you pick at your bag of chips.

DJ cants his head slightly. He would have played his querying chirp if the speakers were on.

“American Sign Language?” you clarify.

DJ shakes his head. He knows what sign language is, and even if he didn’t, the term itself is pretty telling.

“Hmm,” you murmur in thought. It’s strange they didn’t give such a complex robot the ability to communicate. Voice boxes aren’t the end-all, be-all of robot communication, of course, but no ASL? No text display? Nothing except nods, gestures, and cute little head tilts?

…You feel a bit rude for thinking of his head tilts as cute, given he wouldn’t need to do them so much if he’d been given a better way to communicate.

“I took some ASL classes in college. But I haven’t used it in years,” you say. “Let’s see…” You set the bag of chips aside, holding up your hands as you prepare to sign. “‘Thank you’, ‘sorry’...uh, ‘yes’, ‘no’...” You smile weakly. “‘Broccoli’,” you speak-sign, with a small laugh. “But I don’t know how useful that one would be to you.”

He grins at that, shaking his shoulders as if laughing. He repeats the signs back to you, and you say the words aloud as he does.

“You learn quick,” you say, leaning back as you look up at him. Your smile turns a bit awkward as you add, “I…guess photographic memory helps with that…”

DJ grins excitedly at you. Your small bit of praise means the world to him. He’s never been complimented like that, not directly to his face anyway. He’s overheard some people on the dance floor complimenting his music and occasionally even his overall design, but nobody ever came up to him and directly told him he was doing well at anything.

And, for the first time, he can actually start to tell you how much it means to him.

“Thank you,” he signs.

You smile up at him. “Sure…” you say.

He twirls a hand in a “go on” gesture.

“More?” you ask. You hold up your hands, pausing briefly to make sure you’re remembering the sign right. “More,” you speak-sign.

“More,” he repeats.

“Well…I guess most people start with the alphabet. You can spell out any words you don’t know the word signs for,” you explain. “Or names,” you add. You spell out your own name, saying each letter as you do.

DJ repeats it perfectly. If he had a heart it would be beating out of his chest right now. He’d never understood that phrase until this moment.

He can say your name. He can call you by your name.

“And D-J-M-U-S-I-C-M-A-N,” you sign.

He repeats it obligingly, then pauses before signing just. “DJ.” 

It takes you a moment to realize why he only signed part of his name. “Oh. You…want me to call you DJ? Instead of DJ Music Man?”

DJ nods eagerly, happy that you got it so quickly.

“Um, alright, sure,” you say, a bit bemused. You’re a bit surprised a robot would want a nickname…though maybe it’s less of a nickname and more equivalent to just calling him by his first name, instead of his first and last name. You suppose you’d probably get a similar reaction if you called Freddy “Freddy Fazbear” all the time.

“Oh, I’ve got an idea. Hang on a second,” you say, pulling out your phone. He watches you curiously as you double check your memory of a few signs. “Okay, here we go,” you say, setting your phone aside. “My name is DJ Music Man. Call me DJ,” you speak-sign. 

DJ repeats it eagerly. He’s not sure when he’d have the chance or the need to use it…but he’s happy to know it.

“Pleased to meet you, DJ,” you speak-sign. 

“Thank you!”

You don’t know why the little exchange has made you so giddy. Maybe the robot’s bright smile is just infectious. But he does also seem…genuinely happy. Excited even, to have a new way of communicating opened up to him.

You crumple your lunch bag and toss it aside. “Back to work,” you announced. “But…maybe sometime I could teach you more signs? If you want?”

DJ nodded eagerly. Of course he wanted to learn more! To be able to have actual, full conversations with you! Conversations about--

About what, exactly?

There’d be time to figure that out later.

[midnightkens]

tw: eating disorders, mentions of sleep deprivation/dv, self-hatred, and paranoia

--

"This is so stupid."

Ken glares at the plate as he spears the pasta with his fork. The clock ticks in the living room, a taunt that grows louder by the second. It's been nearly an hour. The pasta is probably cold by now and it won't even taste good, so maybe he should just -

"It's not stupid." Ken closes his eyes, inhaling sharply through the nose. He'd nearly forgotten about Colt. He hasn't looked at Colt since they sat down for dinner. Colt entwines their fingers, but it's a cold comfort. "It's okay, dollface. Look at me for a sec. I have an idea."

Ken hesitates before he turns his head to face Colt. When he opens his eyes, he fully expects to see anger, irritation, maybe even mockery, but there's none of that. Colt smiles softly at him, no hint of judgment. Ken doesn't deserve him. "Um." He swallows and jiggles his leg, trying desperately to calm his racing mind Don't eat that, it's not safe, but I haven't eaten all day and I'm so hungry, you're disgusting, stop that. "What was your idea?"

"I take a bite, and then you take a bite. We can do it together."

Guilt and shame curl deep in his belly. Colt's plate is untouched, pasta primavera long gone cold. "You didn't have to wait." Ken mumbles. "You could've eaten."

Don't wait for me. I can't eat normally. We're going to be here all night, can't you see that? I'm not worth your time.

"I know," Colt says airily. "I wanted to." Colt lifts his fork, and the smell of pasta, bell peppers, pepper flakes and so many vegetables Ken likes hits his nose. Resentment boils under his skin, always so close to the surface. As with most things, there is before and there is after.

In this case, before four and a half days of sleep deprivation and after four and a half days of sleep deprivation. Not being allowed to close his eyes for even ten minutes broke something inside of him. All he remembers is being irrevocably convinced that Patrick was poisoning him.

He wasn't. But from that moment, even when he finally slept, food was unsafe. Everything started innocently enough - Ken made sure that either he cooked, or they went out for dinner. So long as Patrick steered clear from the kitchen, it was safe. But then only certain foods were safe. Safe from what? Ken doesn't even know.

All he knows is that the list of safe foods got smaller by the week. He stopped having people over for dinner. Couldn't let them see how he ate, right? If there were plans to go out to eat, he wasn't allowed to eat until they got to the restaurant. Ken thought he was making the decisions at first. It's a funny thing, isn't it, the illusion of control? One minute you're eating without a care in the world, you're cutting zucchini into perfect symmetrical slices because it has to be Just Right, and of course I know what I'm doing, I'm fine, don't worry about me!

Then someone brings home pizza, and then there's the quickening of breathing, heart hammering away, palms sweating - finally, the illusion shatters.

There is no control.

There never was.

Now he's here, trying to recover and put the broken pieces of his life back together.

"Come on." Colt coaxes him with a gentle smile and knocks their shoulders together. "We're in this together."

Ken exhales slowly and lifts the fork to his mouth. If he doesn't try, he'll never get better. But being brave enough to try is so hard. "Together," he repeats. He quickly shoves the pasta in his mouth before his brain jumps at the chance to talk him out of it. He doesn't even taste the food before he swallows it. The fork falls onto the plate with a clang, and Ken buries his head in his shaking hands.

Stupid idiot, fucking worthless, why would you do that? Do you know what you just did?

Colt pulls Ken into his side, and Ken shudders. Colt shouldn't touch him. He's filthy, disgusting, and the dirt will spread and Ken can't do that to Colt, he can't -

But then Colt presses a kiss to his temple and utters a soft, "Good job." Ken doesn't pull away, even though he knows he should.

He's always been weak. What else is new?

[hcfiles]

"Agree. Evidence she showed none. But, maybe there was no time. After the statement that impressed and called attention to the page, someone else could have assumed her place before shutting the page down."

How can someone else have assumed her place? I'm sorry girl but that's a big reach. The Account is gone but if the Woman was real why didnt she make a new account and post EVIDENCE as soon as possible? Was she ever "seen" again on any platform? No she wasn't and there was never a picture or any evidence. I'm trying to stay calm and be nice to you because you have a right to your thoughts but dont you think these thoughts go a bit too far? How many celebrities have to deal with made up accusations? Justin Bieber, Ricky Martin, Johnny Depp, Nick Carter and his brother, Michael Fassbender, Armie Hammer (partly), Drake Bell, Jonathan Majors, Chris Evans and his Wife and so many more, there are "expose accounts" for almost all celebrities....When Warhammer was announced I remember a tweet from a female Journalist, she said "many Journalists will dig deep into Henry's Life now to find something controversial, something they can "expose" him with". Because Warhammer doesn't fit Hollywood's agenda and new woke politics. Nothing was found so far!

Toby Emmerich wanted to get rid of Snyder and the Snyderverse ( including Henry as Superman) since 2017. After the Justice League failure. But Henry had a movie left on his contract...Emmerich offered him a small cameo in Shazam. Dany Garcia declined the offer because she, and that is my personal opinion its not a fact, wanted Henry in Black Adam for years. There was a rumor Emmerich was furious about it, he apparently said " as long as I'm running WB, Henry will never be Superman again". Emmerich is a pos, btw like all Studio Bosses. Warner Brothers used some news outlets to do hit pieces on Zack Snyder, Ezra Miller and Ray Fisher ( after Ray accused them of racism). The Superman recast was always a problem for WB because the fans are very passionate about Henrys Superman and the Snyderverse and yet WB, Emmerich, Journalists never found anything on Henry. There was never a hit peace against him from Warner Brothers. After he left the witcher someone (nobody knows who) tried to smear him but why was it done anonym? On a shady platform like demoux? It is proven they post stuff all the time without checking for facts first. If there is something on Henry why has nobody been able to expose it yet? And Im talking about the official way with an actual person behind the accusation not some "anonymous sources". Henry's Team and Management isnt that powerful to prevent something from coming out trust me. Henry may work in Hollywood but Hollywood never liked him because he never fit in. Most of the time he stays in England not in the US. He doesn't attend much Hollywood Events, After show parties, red carpet events and so on. He's getting work in Hollywood but look what kind of work it is, with directors he already worked before. Directors who like him and want to work with him again but he doesnt get a role in a Martin Scorsese movie for example. Henry doesnt belong to the inner circle of Hollywood. He left a "popular" show on Netflix, wants to do Warhammer that is full of everything Hollywood hates, he stood up for fans.....! Do you know Stephen Baldwin follows and likes Henrys posts on IG? He's exposing Hollywood for quite some time now but he seems to like Henry. Long Story short, there are definitely people ( certain WB Executives, Witcher Producers (Lauren)) who would love to see Henry getting cancelled. I think Lauren would do anything to save her show but coming out with an accusation means you need to have evidence of your claim and so far...nobody seem to have anything on him. If the Witcher smear would have been true why was it not stated by Lauren herself or her producers or the writers or even Netflix? Why was cast and crew coming out speaking well of Henry as they did for all these years? He even got a goodbye ceremony with Netflix flying in Henry's Superfan, Rory. Anonymous sources can not be trusted and not be taken as facts thats for sure. Nobody knows if in the near future someone with a face and name will accuse him of something BUT that didnt happen yet and it's more than wrong to hope for it like you do. And please dont deny it, all your posts are clearly hoping he did something wrong and thats why he needs this pr relationship, you desperately want to be right about him. That there is a dirty secret but you dont see that you literally hope hes a bad person, maybe even an abuser just because you can't stand his relationship. Im just a fan, i dont know him personally either but at least I dont hope hes a horrible dude. I want to believe in the good in people and as long as there is no serious accusation with evidence against him I and many other Fans have a right to believe he's a good Person, a right to believe he didnt do anything wrong.

Wow! I have a lot to answer:

a) "How can someone else have assumed her place?" - Simple. Once his team got to her (or him - we naturally assume it's a woman, but it could be a man), they could have bought her silence, assumed her page for a while to discredit it until it was taken down.

b) " Why didn't she make a new account" posting evidence? - If her silence was bought, she probably signed a non-disclosure deal. But, evidence...? Of what? The "accusations" she made were related to his Character and attitudes mostly and talked about a supposed freaky sexual taste. There's nothing criminal about it nor to be turned "evidence". Unless, other real lovers come public.

c) "I'm trying to stay calm and be nice to you." - What does that mean? Is that a threat or you just have a short temper? Losing your mind for a celeb you say you don't know? Careful! If you are so convinced of your favourite celeb's perfection as you say you are, why lose your temper with "nonsense" from a stranger in T? I am really surprised how people go so far to defend a celeb they say they don't know based only and exclusively on his public life. Honey, it's Hollywood! Nothing is what it seems. If you don't know the guy there's no way to know anything about him, only what he wants you to know. And these people have a different mindsetting. They don't care for bad publicity as long as they are in the spotlight.

d) "Don't you think these thoughts go a bit too far?" - Not really. Henry Cavill opened the Pandora box when he agreed to be put in this situation. He was always dubious motivating doubts in his fandom and gave us quite a show to entertain. We are just giving him the feedback. Of course, it wasn't the one he expected. You can manipulate the crowds, but there's no guarantee it will react the way you expect.

e) You name a few celebs here saying they had to face "made up accusations". Well some of the ones you named aren't saints and not all the "made up accusations" are actually "made up". Celebs are not God's above good and evil. We have been having many examples of that, lately. And "expose accounts" are part of the deal of being a celeb.

f) You say journalists (I say just curious) said they were going to dig Henry's life to find dirt and that nothing was found. I disagree. To work in this Entertainment Industry you need to be aligned with its mindsetting. If you are not a freak, you, at least, see what goes on, you deal with the freaks, you know who is who and you know who does what, remaining silent, for you don't want to lose your celeb status nor the fame and money that come with it. And being a Hollywood escort promoting promiscuous to boost an image is not exactly an example of dignified professionalism.

g) But, yes! I do believe there are abusers, CEOs in this Industry pissed with Henry, because he doesn't bend easily to them. I know he's a different kind of celeb and that's why he is restricted to action movies and directors he knows and has worked with. That's why he's fighting to become a producer (or, at least, have the title). But, that doesn't mean he's a perfect saint, a God above it all, because it's clear he accepts being subjected to a few ... How to say,... Not very decent stuff in this Industry, for real roles.

h) And, Yes! Agree with your observations on the Superman x BA cameo deal, the resistance of some in production of Supes.

i) Again, I also agree with you about his behavior on the TW set. I really don't believe the rumours about him being offensive to colleagues somehow. He might have flirted with someone, though. He's a man, human. I also think that leaving the series was a decision involving a lot, such as the possibility of making another Superman movie (promise Garcia made him, allowed him to believe and announce without a signed deal).

j) And, yes! There are a lot of absurd rumours about him. But, that doesn't mean every single rumour is a lie. Again, celebs are not above the good and evil, they are not God's. They are humans with flaws, fighting desperately to create and keep a FAKE image to the public. A fake image they come up with to be adored, to gain a fandom that will make them relevant and boost their career. They only show fans what THEY want them to see and know. Their private life can be very different.

k) And the cast and crew will always say good things about colleagues. That's part of the job to promote the production positively and the environment they work in as healthy and cool. That's part of the job. If there's a suspicion of a problem among cast and crew, the production is fated to fail.

l) "Anonymous sources cannot be trusted and taken as facts." I agree. But they can be questioned and discussed. And that's what we're doing here.

m) " Nobody knows if (...) someone will accuse him of something, BUT it's more than wrong to hope for it like you do." - Apparently, you are hoping that doesn't happen, what indicates you are insecure in your beliefs. Don't suppose you know my intentions. You say I hope someone accuses him of something. No! I don't! First, 'cause I doubt there is something that terrible, like a big deal there. But, I do believe he's not the guy he sells. Behind cameras he, by free will, accepts ... Let's say, dubious deals performed as dignified in front of cameras to sell the image of the model Character. What I do believe is that he's a hypocrite, a pretender who used immoral PR strategies against his fans trying to manipulate the media, motivating hate on the internet by exposing a woman to public execration, to avoid accountability and negative exposure, only to protect and keep his fake image. I don't see such behavior as dignified.

n) I don't need to hope for anything. Reality speaks for itself. What's been happening for four years screams what I put here. I don't need to prove anything nor convince anyone. The situation speaks for itself: The woman chosen for the PR, her rep and exposure on the internet versus his rep and the image he sold for years, the immoral strategies used by his PR team, the desperate attempts of damage control, the intentional teasing posts they adopted, their insistence in motivating fans' negative reactions to, later, point fingers accusing fans of their stupidity, his lack of attitude towards it, his participation in this circus (true or false) that HE COULD HAVE KEPT out of social media, out of the tabloids and out of the spotlight to avoid all this, BUT DIDN'T.

o) "You hope there's a dirty secret, that he's a bad person, an abuser just because you can't stand his relationship". You couldn't be more wrong! And, I see you are here as a minion criticizing a page you actually don't follow. If you have read all the posts with an open mind and attention, you would know that's not right. The dirty secret can be a deal he accepted behind cameras that reflects his real Character, the way he thinks and really is, not necessarily a terrible misconduct. And, I don't believe he's a bad person, just a vain dude who put his vanity before his moral standards making bad decisions; that he was corrupted by the Industry he works for, because he was weak. Concerning this relationship, I really believe it wasn't a relationship, just a PR and I couldn't care less. He had gone through PR stunts/dates before and you have never seen me react to them, have you? He is free to date whoever he wants. And I even believe they got sexually involved during these years of shenanigans. After all, he needs to fulfill the escorting contract and it was necessary to be convincing. And, the baby belly was the cherry of the cake. They made so much effort to prove the relationship was real (and they are still trying unsuccessfully, with the help of stans like you, who can't stand the idea it is fake). Why? Don't they believe their own love affair? Why care for what we believe? Yes, because it was quite a show they prepared for us.

p) You are a believer. I'm happy for you. I hope you continue believing and fighting for him as I once did. But, unfortunately, events that were obvious to me, made me change my mind about him. There isn't any serious fact that makes him a bad person or a criminal. But, there's enough to have his Character and image questioned. Henry is not a brave, self-confident man. He's insecure and that makes him avoid being involved in criminal or very bad acts. But, if there's a chance to slip a little to boost his image and sell it as a man he's not for vanity, he will. Such as lying and pretending to be a promiscuous' boyfriend and her baby father, just to avoid exposing the biggest PR mistake in history.

[undertheopensky]

No One Will Find You (i can find myself) 2

Whumptober Day 18: Alt #10 Shaking

Characters: Four, Minish

Trigger warnings: Minor injuries

Read on Ao3!

Missed the first instalment? Read here!

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He jolts awake to ringing silence.

It shouldn’t be silent he’s never silent there’s always someone breathing nearby or knocking shit over in the kitchen or hammering away in the forge way too early in the morning and his head is so empty it’s like everything was scooped out –

It’s dark. It shouldn’t be this dark did he hit his head –

Pain, from his head; mild. Pain, from his leg, not mild, holy fuck what happened there – his ankle’s a tight lump in his boot and something in his brain finally connects and he remembers canyons shattering running falling hands on skin and head screaming apart and his hands are shaking and his breath is gasping and it’s making his head hurt so much worse, fuck, he’s gotta calm down but it’s so hard when he keeps reaching for an outstretched hand in the dark and missing.

After far too long of being curled up in a shaking, agonised ball, Four’s breathing steadies. His head hurts. His foot hurts, broken glass-hot. For a long moment he’s tempted to just - lie down, and hope he falls asleep again. Let someone else deal with the problem that is existence.

(But there’s no one else, and no one will find you, and he’s never been one to expect others to do things he can do for himself.)

From close by his hip, a chittering sound rises up from the dark.

Four’s too exhausted to startle. Instead he just blinks, slow and confused, as the Minish chatters on about how excited they were to find out their hero was visiting, and how cross they all were when they realised the people who lived here had hurt him! That was terribly rude of them and no one was going to do nice things for them for ages! Imagine! The Hero of the Minish, and they throw him in a cell!

Bemused, Four listens to the diatribe winding down, as more little feet scurry across stone and more Minish join in the scolding and promise to help however they can.

There’s nowhere for him to change down to their size, they tell him, and the bad people took the key with them when they left. But they can still bring him other things! What does he want?

He wants his head to stop hurting. He wants his leg to stop hurting. He wants his brothers. He wants to see.

He wants, he wants, he wants.

…if he had something to strap up his ankle with, he’d be more mobile. “Is there any - rope, or old fabric nearby?”

Yes! they say, and many tiny footsteps go scurrying off. How many of them are there? Four wonders, briefly distracted.

One of them stays with him. They hop up on his leg and perch there, chittering about how Irie and Maty had been going around retrieving all the useful things they’d hidden in the bedrooms. They were very upset about the bad people hurting their hero! It’s nice, not thinking about the pain or the dark or the lurking emptiness for a few minutes, until the gathering party starts returning in twos and threes, dragging their finds behind them.

Four blindly measures the strips of fabric and the one piece of rope they’d found, considering the problem. If he pulls his foot out of his boot now he’ll never get it back in. Instead, he loops the fabric around the outside of it in a series of figure-eights, locking it into place with the rope over the top.

It still hurts like hell, but the extra support keeps it from shifting while he crawls, unselfconscious, to the door. Then he has to get up again, because he can’t reach the handle from here.

He stands there confused for a few seconds, before slowly realising - locked. Of course it’s locked, stupid.

For a second despair and confusion make things hazy, before he remembers his tiny allies. “They - they took my sword and pack. Do you know where they put them?”

Yes, yes! They put the hero’s gear in the storeroom not far from here. But - Minish are too small to carry a sword.

Their regret is so intense Four can imagine the apologetic look on tiny mouse faces. “It’s okay, I don’t need my sword right now. But in my bag, there’s a rolled strip of leather with small metal pins inside. Do you think you could bring me some of those pins?”

As it turns out, they can. Piece by piece, Four’s lockpicking kit reassembles itself on the other side of the locked door.

This time, Four thinks to ask, “How are you getting these things in here?”

There’s a window in the door, they tell him, barred to prevent escape, but with gaps more than large enough for Minish to scurry through.

Four takes another moment to regret there’s no portal in the cell. Maybe next time he’s home he should ask the elder Minish if there was any way to make the shrinking spell more portable.

Still, he has his picks now. And he has to work by feel anyway, so the still-heavy darkness doesn’t matter. It just makes figuring out which piece of his kit he’s holding a little trickier.

The lock is stiff, because of course it is, but Four perseveres. If he could just get a little more leverage -

The pick slips, biting into his fingers. Four swears.

It’s okay, the Minish on his shoulder reassures him, they believe in him! Try again!

Four hunts through his picks for the thicker one with the L-crook. The fresh blood on his fingers makes them slippery; he ignores it, grips his tools that little bit tighter. It’s just this one stubborn pin. He’s so close to getting out. Working the heavier pick into position, he tries again to push it aside. Again, it resists, but he can feel it’s close. He just needs that little bit more force! Careful not to lose his tension with blood-slick hands, Four wedges the pick on top of another that’s already in place, gives it a wiggle and presses -

The pin gives way with a loud and resentful ‘click’ Four resists the urge to cheer and instead rotates his handful of picks, each holding down their own part of the lock and needing to stay that way even as he changes their orientation - and the lock clunks loose and the door swings inward, nearly knocking Four back down the stairs.

The Minish do all the cheering for him.

Sadly, it’s no brighter outside in the hall. Four vaguely remembers there being lit sconces or maybe those old fashioned torches hung from metal hooks in the walls, but the cultists must have taken them with them when they left. Fortunately Minish have better night vision than he does and are delighted to steer him.

Like. Seriously delighted. There’s at least three siblings roughhousing in his hair over who gets to tell him where to go next, two balanced on each shoulder, and several scrambling in and around his clothing, while the one clinging for dear life to his ear gives him actual directions.

Four loves Minish so much. Even when they’re murder on his headache.

The cultists don’t use this place often, he learns, so the Minish are usually left undisturbed. It used to be a military outpost, where soldiers who went out to fight monsters could come back to rest and be healed. It had fallen to dark forces so many years ago that the monsters had moved on, but no Hylians had come to reclaim it. Now, it belongs to the Minish, and to cultists who apparently use it as a hiding place for things they don’t want found.

Including people, which is concerning. The Minish say it doesn’t happen often, though.

Take this left turn, they tell him, and there’ll be a door under your left hand. It isn’t locked!

Indeed it isn’t. It follows the trend of being poorly lit, but his earring-Minish directs him to his gear. They’d just dumped it in a corner, apparently, not even going through it. A few things had shifted or been knocked aside by the Minish hunting for his picks, and they’re eager to help him collect them all again. He still wouldn’t have complained about losing the pouch of trail mix or a handful of seeds, if they hadn’t made it back in. Four’s just glad to get the Four Sword back, and his most valuable pieces of equipment. There’s no replacement in the world for the Cane of Pacci, and losing it would have been a massive blow. Maybe he should start looking into how to replicate some of the more useful enchantments?

He slowly limps along, using the wall more and more for balance, as the Minish direct him to the exit they assure him he’ll be able to use. The main one has a bar lock no Minish could open, and injured Four won’t be able to, either. But there’s a hidden door set off to the side, and that’s where they lead him. Four can almost feel the iron grip on his heart start to ease as he lays a hand on the sun-warm wood.

Some of the younger Minish belatedly realise this means Four is leaving. Noooo! one wails. Couldn’t he stay a little longer?? They didn’t get to show him around yet!

“I’m sorry. My friends will be worried about me,” Four says.

The hero also needs medical attention, one of the elder Minish explains. The Hylians who use this place hurt him, and he needs more help than Minish are equipped to give.

The youngster huffs. When they come back here we’re were gonna hide all their rupees!

“Just keep yourselves safe,” Four warns, though he knows it’s incredibly unlikely anyone will be able to see them in the first place. He still doesn’t want any of them to come to harm. They did their best to help him, and there’s so little he can do in return.

They were simply glad of the opportunity to meet the Hero of Minish, the elder tells him when Four expresses this. There were stories of heroes who walked through time, but who could say for sure if their own Hero was one of them? To see him in the flesh, and aid him in some small way - that was a dream come true for them all.

It’s sweet, if a little strange, to have Minish from such a faraway time regard him so highly. Four wonders if the Minish in other eras have similar stories of him. He’s never asked - never had much opportunity. The black-blooded monsters keep them all busy, and he has few chances to sneak off undetected. Some eras, he doesn’t even know if Minish still exist.

He’ll try harder, from now on.

Four bids them farewell, and opens the door.

After so long in the dark, the light is blinding.

Something deep within his mind aches. It’s like a bruise, bone-deep; barely visible, but painful, with no way to ease the pressure.

Through squinted, streaming eyes, Four makes his way out of the ruined fort.