#*weeps melodramatically*

[yourfavepookiebear]

I really need a new friend tbh

It's not that I don't like my friends rn, but they just never answer me

The irl ones too. Like I text them but they never answer. I text my bff (I honestly don't don't know if I can call her that anymore) and she never answers, not a day later not a week later not a month later not a year later. Never. She wasn't like this before, and she's not that busy at all, so obviously it means she must be doing it on purpose for whatever reason she has.

You never asked nor did anyone else, but the reason I text so much is because I need to distract myself from the present.

But when no one, absolutely none out of all the 9-10 or so close friends I have answer, it leaves me pondering. My thoughts inevitably wonder, and I find myself drowning in them. I don't like that. I don't like thinking. I don't like pondering. I don't like being silent. But I have no choice.

I finish my work, my studies, my homework, my chores, and everything else, but realizing I have no one at all leaves me wondering, pondering and wandering endlessly, infinitely.

And, just as expected, the conclusion my mind comes to is that 'no one likes me' hence 'the reason why they never answer is because they do not appreciate you, nothing about you is good or particularly pleasing, which means you are not worth their time.' And eventually leads to me distancing myself and ghosting them just 'like they did to me'.

Therefore, I stay silent. As much as I hate to, I keep silent and my gaze stays downcast. I don't listen to anyone or anything, I don't answer any question or message, I don't talk, I don't smile, I don't laugh, I don't joke around, I don't draw, I don't write. Nothing. At that state of mine I am only vast nothingness, completely empty and devoid of any emotion whatsoever.

If you knew me, you'd also know that when I am 'sad' (silent), everyone else around me is sad as well.

I do not need to focus to notice how my ears are ringing and no one needs to put me under a microscope to know that silence is my way of weeping.

[phasewashere]

i feel like. im regurgitating but. theres a line with antagonistic characters where people just. refuse to look at them and see. a character. and either go in the direction of complete woobification and ignore everything that makes the character antagonistic and therefore taking a lot of there depth OR they rid them completely of humanity to be the end all be all of evil. again. ridding the character of depth.

[hyperfixation-tangentopia]

@mythicalmagical-monkeyman Smth smth Shadowpeach

"Old friend" is a gayass thing to call someone

[yourlocalmissingtexture]

Yes, you’re right, I could be writing, but instead I’ll be consuming fruit, queerly pining, and thinking about old dusty cathedrals

[yayll]

~ a little something about Dazai and his tantrums ~

"... Hmph. I hope you crash this car and we both die."

The moody brunet mutters under his breath as he looks out of the car window, his arms crossed over his chest, refusing to look at you. He was awfully cute whenever he did this, and oh so vexing at the same time. You learned to acclimate to this very early into your relationship with him.

"What? All I said was that I was going to be driving us, Osamu!"

Your laugh is light hearted as you focus on the road ahead, dismissing his whiny behavior for another one of his... Melodramatic performances, his co-workers once called it. He finally turns to glare at you, but a wicked glint in his narrowed eyes betrays him... You can tell he's more unserious than anything. Playful, even. And besides, he would never actually be upset with you, he just can't stop thinking up schemes to make you roll your eyes at him. Your smile alone makes his thoughts impure, shame on you!

"Yeah, well... I feel dehumanized! overlooked! neglected..." He feigns offense, sighing heavily as he slouches into the passenger seat. He places a bandaged arm over his face, groaning softly but still side eyeing you to check if you're looking at him or not.

"You do that all on your own, silly."

"Excuse me? I'm expressing my grievances and you're calling me silly? Oh, so that's what this is really about. You don't love me anymore! What a cruel beauty you are..."

He gasps, now burying his face into the crook of his elbow, pretending to weep as he mumbles incoherent nonsense about how much you mistreat him. In actuality, he was giddy as hell. You park the car, and turn to face him, a coy smile flashes on your lips.

"Nobody said anything about not loving you. Now, what can I do to fix this, Mm?"

He lifts his head up, suddenly composed and shrugging his shoulders as if nothing ever happened, speaking in a matter of fact voice that somehow deepened.

"Well, definitely don't let me drive. I don't even have a license. I'd kill us in an instant."

"... Then why argue about it?!"

"Because you look so beautiful when you're yelling at me. And you make me feel alive. Anddd, because I'm bored~"

He flashes you a cheeky grin, it's dreamy and sickening. His eyes twinkle with mischief as he leans over the seat and flicks away a stray hair from your face. Dazai then taps the tip of your nose, slowly dragging his finger down to your plush bottom lip, gently flipping it over to expose your teeth. The pad of his finger gently swirls against your canines, and finally, retreats... He knows there's a time and place for his worship prodding. His eyes travel back up to yours, and you can swear they look darker than usual. If only the Port Mafia could see what became of the Demon Prodigy... A new man reborn! A man who loves!

The rest of the day is spent with you indulging Dazai, something along the lines of 'reparations' is what he calls it. Only he knows how much it means to him that you can handle him during his calculated outbursts... or rather harmless tests to prove you won't leave him at the first sign of trouble. He needs you to be in it for the longhaul, just like he is. It's deceptive, but no one has to know! He just loves you and these are simply counter measures. You'd probably call him selfish, but as long as you call him at all, he doesn't give a shit. Because in the grand scheme of things, he really can't drive, and you two are inevitably endgame.

You're the ball, and he's your chain.

[soup-mother]

forever crying and weeping that in my time at a snooty Christian private school i never got to realise I'm trans and seduce someone's hot mum while I'm secretly taking estrogen under my family's nose and slowly she realises that this polite androgenous young man she's fallen in love with isn't actually a boy and she realises some things about herself and seeing me as a girl is what makes her realise I'm more than just a fling and she leaves her husband and tells everyone I'm her daughter or something when they ask why she's living with a girl 20-30 years younger than her (vital part).

i firmly believe that miraculous healing of my disability aside this is the only thing that would fix me. but instead i merely have to write about it on Tumblr to deal with what I'll never have (being melodramatic)

[narratively-complex-refuse-heap]

Will Wood wrote Yes, to Err is Human, so Don’t be One so emotionally distressed melodramatic non-binary teenagers who look like they haven’t slept in three days and get gender envy from the pathetic, the damp, and the undead could max out the volume and sink to the floor of their room with a hand outstretched like a dying martyr on the line “IF YOU DONT HATE ME, THEN REANIMATE ME” in a moment of astounding hubris and gender euphoria that would make Phaethon blush and god weep.

[racke7]

Corporate War

So, I started thinking about this post.

Specifically, about what a setting with "a corporation of petty lunatics ruining the lives of their rival-company" would look like.

And then I realized:

Fentonworks.

Obviously, a small-time family-business like that won't actually accomplish much of anything, so we're roping in Vlad for this.

Vlad is a billionaire with a massive company, and an unfortunate tendency to come up with hare-brained schemes to seduce a married woman.

What I'm saying is that it's entirely in-character for Vlad to come up with some scheme of "merging" their companies together, and for Team Phantom to do the plucky-teen maneuver and switch the paperwork before he signs it or something.

Thus resulting in Fentonworks suddenly being the owners of Dalv-Co.

Now, obviously, this would upset Vlad quite a lot. But he gave it to Maddie, and now he can't take it back. (Both because of his obsession with her, and because they're always wearing ghost-proof gear, and it would never occur to Vlad to "ask nicely".)

So, now Jack and Maddie Fenton are the proud owners of a massive tech-company. They obviously have no idea what to do about that, beyond "continue inventing cool shit".

But since they're now a filter against Vlad's constant tendency to meddle and make enemies, this actually makes them into a much more successful company (Vlad is silently weeping blood in a corner).

This success finally culminates in the Drs Fenton being invited to a gala by Bruce Wayne, owner of Wayne Enterprises. Everything is going great, and then Jack meets Bruce.

Jack meets Bruce with all of his regular jolly enthusiasm, and Bruce responds with the Brucie-persona of a vapid but probably-good-hearted individual. (He might make a joke about ghosts? I dunno)

Jack comes home to Amity Park a changed man. He comes home with fury and anger and a terrible desire for vengeance.

Maddie thinks that Jack is being melodramatic, but Jack isn't listening. Jack is going to make the greatest invention ever, and then he'll shove it up Bruce Wayne's ass and fire it into space.

Vlad of course takes Maddie's side on this, because he always does that in a desperate hope to score points with her. However, he keeps getting distracted from Maddie by how vicious some of Jack's schemes end up sounding (they're terribly unrealistic, but such enthusiasm).

Vlad ends up giving in to Jack's deranged cackling of vengeance soon being at hand, because this is amazing. Vlad keeps forgetting that he's supposed to be resentful towards Jack for getting "everything Vlad wanted", because Jack shoots him gleefully vicious smiles and it's just-...

"What the fuck, Vlad?! My dad too?!" "I can appreciate a variety of things in life, Daniel. Do try to keep up."

Danny and the rest of Team Phantom quickly decide that they should stop this feud before it gets out of hand.

Sam, having access to rich-folks, gets them invites to a gala with Bruce Wayne in attendance.

And things... don't go to plan.

Tucker comes face-to-face with Tim, the genius CEO of Wayne Enterprises, who compliments Fentonworks for their "quaint" and "retro" designs. Tucker has to be physically dragged away before he can actually declare an open blood-feud to his face.

Jazz has a brief conversation with Dick (the oldest son), and immediately cottons onto the fact that Bruce is... probably not the best dad. As in, if someone drags the man's name through the mud a bit, instead of lauding him for "adopting orphan charity-cases"? He'd have it coming. Jazz washes her hands of this conflict.

Sam manages to corner Bruce, but gets distracted (as always) by some kind of comment about pollution and rights, and-... And Sam is now convinced that Bruce is setting their pollution only barely "below his competitors", as a way to have Poison Ivy attack his rivals. Sam is outraged about this, and now wants to burn down his company around him.

Danny stumbles across Damian, is immediately scoffed at, and promptly decides that, you know what? Actually? Fuck the Wayne-family.

So they return home, and suddenly? Suddenly they're very much on Jack's side in this conflict.

This of course results in them doing a bunch of petty pranks towards WE (same as in the video that inspired this whole AU). But it also results in Batman going insane, trying to track down the "villain" that's targeting WE, and find out if the reason that WE is being targeted is because somebody knows his secret identity (they don't).

Also, I feel like Dani should be allowed to return at the first rumor of a "fun feud" she can participate in. With Maddie doing the Bruce-thing and going "when the hell did we have another daughter?" (Jack is too focused on Vengeance to think too deeply about it, and Vlad keeps actively distracting her whenever she starts trying to question it).

And Jason?

Jason took a long sip of coffee, his eyes not moving from the dark-haired girl who'd just phased through a solid wall. The girl stared at him for a moment, before holding up her finger to her lips in a gesture for silence. "It's for a prank." Jason raised an eyebrow, then glanced at the bag she was carrying with her. A bag filled with what looked like lots and lots of toilet-paper. "To plug the toilets with." The girl explained. Jason imagined that that would cost a lot of money to fix. He took another sip of his coffee. "Don't forget the private toilets." The girl threw him a salute and a wide grin, and then she flew through a different wall. Jason made a personal note to remember to lace Tim's coffee with laxatives.

He's living his best life.

[y-rhywbeth2]

I am once again complaining in a terrible and overly melodramatic way about the way the Slayer is depicted in the games when I could've had the original tabletop version.

There is an image in my mind's eye: a divine corpse levitates, motionless and silent in the dead sky, haloed by the shattered and broken bones of the murdered dead - a jagged ring of daggers that spins and twists. Blood like tar drips from its eyes, its ears, the corners of its mouth, every laceration on its pallid flesh; it weeps this divine ichor upon the ground below, where the legions gather beneath it - the growing number of lurching corpses and horrified souls of those it has murdered, chained to its will; those who hear its call, maddened with hate and bloodlust - a growing army marching forth to bring violence and death upon the world, as those it kills join its ranks.

But nooo, I get a fucking lizard with too many teeth and I'm expected to think it's in any way powerful or impressive when I could have been an eldritch abomination angel of horror commanding an army of the damned and spreading hate like a plague wherever it goes.

The brain is OK and had a similar look, but it's not the same thing. Illithid just lack the charisma of the undead.

[cassyapper]

Haiii just wanted to send u this wwm/ta fanart that I made. You write so beautifully and I think this fic is genuinely one of, if not my favorite fics on the planet! Ur a rockstar, keep up the amazing work!!! :3c

I'M GONNA EXPLODE I'M GONNA EPXLODE I'M GONNA EPXLODE I'M GONNA EXPLODE I'M GONNA EXPLODE I'M GONNA EPXLODE I'M PGONANH 8 BS JUW ;W Q0 ;A U

PLEASE I AM HYEPRVENTILATING SO BAD IN REAL LIFE (ABSOLUTE FUCKING POSITIVE) ARE YOU FUCKING KDIDING ME DUDE WHAT WHERE THE FUCK DO I BEGIN WHERE CNA I EVEN BEGIN I WANT TO CRY MY EYES OUT. I AM GOING TO CRY MY FUCKING EYES OUT

okay um. okaylet's focus on the elephant in the room THIS ART IS FUKCING GORGOUES!!!!!!!!!!! OH MY FUCKING GOD. oh this is so fuckig goreous. the posing is basically EXACTLY what i had in mind while writing and god jsut. their expressions. kakyoin's hands held up almost in surrender...he has nothing left to give...i never wanted you to die. jotaro jsut sitting and staring AND HIS HAT OFF AND JSUT UGHGL i know i literally. wrote it so his hat is off but STILL. THANK YOU FOR INCLUDING THAT DETAILS. RAUGH. the vulnerability both of them are displaying here AUGH. AND UGH THE SMIDGE OF LIGHTING SHINING ON THEIR FACES IM SO SICK Oh my god . oh my god. it jsut adds so much atmosphere and depth to this piece it's so fucking gorgeous. AND THE DEISNGS oh i love ur p4 kakyoin design to death i love how u translated p4 jotaro's design to ur style. UAHGGH. this is so fucking good

okay second I WANT TO CRY MY FUCKING EYES OUT FOREVER THAT LIKE. YOU EVEN GAVE MY FIC A CHANCE i know i say this to basically Everyone but my god it is SOOOOOO LONG AND MELODRAMATIC and it's not even done yet so that fact people give it a chance at all is astounding to me LET ALONE LIKING IT AND THEN LIKING IT ENOUGH TO SPEND EVEN MORE TIME AND ENERGY DRAWING SOMETHING, ESP SOMETHING SO BEAUTIFUL, FOR IT?? DUDE YOU HAVE. NO FUCKING IDEA. HOW MUCH THIS MEANS TO ME look i just want to cry until i throw up IT MEANS EVERYTHING. FUCK. im so sad i didnt see this sooner IM SORRY IVE BEEN BUSY ALL DAY JSUT RAUGH. oh my god. dude. UGH GOD AND JSUT THE PRAISE OF BEING ONE OF UR FAV FICS I JSUT. CRYING. CRYING. CRYING. it's over for me ive never been more elated

JUST. THANK YOU. SO SO SO BEYOND MUCH DUDE pelase god. please god i will weep. thank you so so so so much MORE TO COME SOON...I HOPE YOU ENJOY oh my gosh. crying crying crying

[pegasusdrawnchariots]

CYRANO, as CHRISTIAN: I can gladly die knowing that it is

my words that make you tremble in the blue

shadow of the tree. For it is true,

you do tremble. You do.

ROXANE: Yes, I do

tremble, and I weep, and I am yours.

I love — you have made me.

CYRANO: Ah! To die!

Death is all I need now after this

summit gained. I ask one thing—

CHRISTIAN: A kiss!

~~~

this one goes out to my melodramatic OT3 truthers

why did they replace the jasmine vine Cyrano kisses with him squeezing Roxane's actual hand. AND. AND. have Christian embrace him at the same moment. as Roxane tells Christian/Cyrano "I am yours. I love — you have made me." Kevin Kline's little moan. hi for the love of god hello is this thing on. when I catch you David Leveaux. David Leveaux when I catch you

[mattalit]

Belated Beloved

Gaz x Male!Reader.

CW: alcohol consumption, swearing, light sexual content.

Established relationship, dom reader.

Like most bars on a Tuesday afternoon, Bottle Grounds Pub was empty, and (M/N), like most aspiring alcoholics (of which he was not), was sucking down his third shot. Whiskey from the bartender’s well—the cheapest option if you can suffer the taste. Oddly oaky, (M/N) thought, ceremoniously slamming the shot glass back onto the bar.

He doesn’t wave down the bartender, but she takes his empty shot glass regardless.

“I’d offer you another,” she starts, looking in pity into the red-rimmed eyes of her patron, “but I really think you could use a cup of water.”

(M/N) waved her off. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.” She offers him a small smile  before going off to sweep some unused corner of the bar.

(M/N) rested his head on his hand, sighing, and checked his phone. Almost 4:15 p.m. and no texts, no calls—hell, not even an email. He said he’d call, (M/N) thought, rolling his eyes. So much for that. Of course, the sun was still up, so he couldn’t be too upset… but it was the nature of the beast, (M/N) considered, to be at least disappointed. Besides, this wasn’t the first time that Gaz had (allegedly) stood him up. He was a busy fellow, and his schedule was never consistent.

Like a cloud on a windy day, 4:15 came and went, its shape long forgotten—then 4:20, 4:25, 4:30, 4:35…

Well, this is bullshit, he thought. I’m going home. He left two crumpled $20 bills on the counter.

“Are you sure you should be driving?” the bartender called as he stood to leave.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I don’t even feel tipsy.”

He drove home at a leisurely pace; it wasn’t like he was expecting anyone anymore. Fucker’ll show up when he’s ready, he thought, easing his car into his apartment’s designated parking spot. Whatever.

When he entered his apartment, he kicked his shoes off rather violently—they weren’t cooperating—and threw himself onto his sofa, facing the ceiling. His checked his phone. A notification..! Ah, a spam email. At least scammers love me, he thought, dejected, throwing his phone to the floor. He heaved an impressively melodramatic sigh.

Welp, sleep it is, he thought, laying one arm over his eyes to block the light and the other onto his stomach.

He dreamed sweetly of his first date with Gaz—a rather cliché mid-day summer picnic orchestrated by yours truly, (M/N). Flowering chrysanthemums and weeping willows, ducks gliding along a freshwater pond, and behind in a bush, shielded from the prying eyes of children and adults alike, (M/N)’s tongue halfway down poor old Kyle’s throat and hand shoved down the front of Kyle’s pants. The good ol’ days, he remembered, only half asleep, when he got home on time.

In the bliss of loving memories, (M/N) missed the sound of his door being unlocked, opened, and consequently closed again. He also missed the heavy footfall of a tired soldier and the quiet call, “(M/N)?”

He did not miss, though, the heavy body haphazardly falling on top of his own.

(M/N) jolted at the sudden weight. He threw his arm off his face and looked down.

“Gaz,” he groaned, “you heavy motherfucker.”

“I’m not that heavy!”

“It’s all muscle, babe, don’t worry.”

Gaz smiled, content. “I missed you.” He wrapped his arms around (M/N)’s torso, a gesture (M/N) returned.

“I missed you, too.”

He sniffed. “You smell like alcohol.”

(M/N) deadpanned, pulling his head up to stare at Gaz. “We were supposed to meet at Bottle Grounds at 3:30,” he said. “You said you’d call if you were going to be late.”

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. “We got back later than I thought we would and I forgot to call.”

“It’s whatever,” he replied. “At least you’re here now.” (M/N) kissed his forehead and traced a hand down his spine, sliding it into Gaz’s back pocket.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Gaz asked, teasingly.

“Nothing.” He placed a kiss behind Gaz’s ear. “I was thinking about our first date. In the park.” He could feel the temperature of Gaz’s head rise under his lips. He squeezed his ass; Gaz squeaked. “And we did some risqué, rather gay, activities…”

“I remember,” he breathlessly responded, tilted his head to face (M/N). (M/N) feverishly kissed him, tongue easily gliding past his lips. He licked his teeth, tasted his spit, sucked on his tongue—a soft moan. His or Gaz’s? He couldn’t be sure. (M/N) pulled away and rested his forehead on Gaz’s.

“Let’s recreate it.”

[tanoraqui]

5, 9, 19, 23 for the russingon asks!

[ask meme]

5. "Lies came between them": what are your thoughts on the relationship between Fingon and Maedhros during the fraught period of the Unrest of the Noldor?

As a rule, day to day, if the animosity between Fëanor and Fingolfin is at a 10, the animosity between Maedhros and Fingon is at a 4 or 5. This means that often it's no more than a background tension, an awareness that this friendship is a pointed choice and public act as much as it is a genuine expression of entirely organic affection... But they're both loyal sons, and even more than filial piety and family loyalty they're both convinced that their own side is right, so...

After Fëanor draws the sword on Fingolfin in the king's hall, but before any judgement has been passed down, Maedhros grits his teeth and goes to Fingon to try to smooth over the events of the day, because that is what they do, the two of them. But both their tempers run high - it's not like Fingolfin didn't insult Fëanor back, with impeccable passive-aggression - and they have the worst fight they've ever had. They do not speak again before Maedhros leaves for Formenos. They do not speak while Maedhros is at Formenos, though they both start and stop several letters.

In the lingering shadows of Darkness, Fingon finds Maedhros soaking wet in a stream near Formenos, after the entire family has ridden there pell-mell and while Fëanor is still vanished somewhere with the untempered madness of grief. Maedhros had finally slipped away from his brothers to have a moment to himself, to bathe, and is scrubbing his feet raw where he'd stepped in Finwë's blood unknowing. They end up holding each other and weeping, and promising to see this through (though neither has any idea what "this" is yet, and neither wishes to specify, lest any argument restart).

They don't actually talk anything out until a hospital tent beside Lake Mithrim, though - not the old grievances, not the numerous new ones that have burst up in the interim.

9. Share some headcanons on what the day-to-day of their relationship was like: what were their favourite things to do together?

They really enjoy sparring together, with fisticuffs or wrestling or, preferable to both, swords. There was a while where swords were just an exciting if dangerous new sport, and they regularly competed and did exhibition matches. Then it became increasingly politically fraught for the two of them to be doing so... Not that this always stopped them, because they weren't always wise about trying to maintain the bonds of friendship amid the House of Finwë...

They're both happy to be able to spar once more when united in Beleriand, for all that it's no longer a game at all. After re-incarnation, they'll eventually resume the habit, though it'll be some time before Maedhros can hold a sword without being overwhelmed by soul-searing guilt.

They also both enjoy walking into a fancy event knowing that they are the prettiest motherfucker in the room and have the second prettiest motherfucker in the room on their arm. Maedhros is the one who really makes an art form of personal beauty - he was given natural talent in this direction; he might as well hone it! - and will happily spend 2 hours primping before so much as a family dinner (when not in a constant state of war, that is). Fingon is more casual day to day, but does enjoy dressing up for an event.

19. Share three of your favourite Russingon fanfictions (bonus: tag the authors if they're on tumblr!).

NSFW: Enthroned by @arofili (warning: explicit) is my favorite fic for russingon fealty kink. By which I mean, they have sex on Fingon’s throne and forget halfway through who is melodramatically playing King and who is Liegeman. It’s ideal. Their ability to comfortably switch that is one of my favorite things about this ship, and more fic should portray Fingon as just as horny for the idea of High King Maedhros as Maedhros is for High King Fingon.

justonelastdance is my favorite author in the “Post-Rescue from Thangorodrim” tag, which btw is a GREAT tag for hurt/comfort. They write Maedhros is various shades of extremely fucked up and traumatized frames of mind, but in a way that feels…plausibly impermanent? Some fics portray Maedhros as back on his feet too fast for me (I want whump!) and some as too broken (he was being poetically sarcastic about Thingol’s attempted geopolitics within a year!). With justonelastdance, I get to be the sicko in the window cackling as I watch his worst days, while acknowledging that he has many better days than this over the stumbling course of recovery.

This IS a fandom in which the flexibility of canon begets a glorious sandbox of infinitely varied headcanons, so… Once we move beyond pwp and self-indulgent angst, the only person who gets the characters 100% right To Me is, in fact, Me. Everyone read Celechwes Fixes the Noldor! The title is ironic; they cannot truly be fixed except maybe by millennia of time and slow forgiveness!

23. Tell us about any Russingon WIPS or ideas you have.

I’m not going to do it, because it would require more genuine care than I’m interested in putting into this silly au, but it would be fun to continue this idea from the superhero au. Because what would be fun to write and interesting to read is exactly what would be tricky to write: maintaining a balance at all times between 3 simultaneous stories:

The melodramatic cliche plot of “Hero is captured and recruited by Villain, using amnesia and mind control, and must escape both literally and mentally/emotionally while rediscovering who they are, aided by friends (ft. at least one “I know you’re in there!” fight) and confused by incredible sexual tension with the Villain and getting to see them as more emotionally vulnerable and casually, sympathetically human than usual”, which the general public are witnessing in pieces and generally assuming, as well they should.

The behind-the-scenes where the above is kinda happening, sure, except also it’s an elaborate public act because Maedhros and Fingon have been secretly married for like a decade, they have a house in a decent part of town for their civilian identities and a lab-grown 4yo son and everything; only about 4 people outside the House of Finwë know this and they’re all very trusted friends. It’s obviously the heroes’ job to Save This Day (and Fingon Valiant), but you bet Maedhros also has people working on fixing it asap. His villainous subornment of Valiant includes calculations of how much evil to make him do in order to be both publicly dramatic and genuinely useful for his own schemes in ways he couldn’t ordinarily achieve, but also that Fingon won’t be too angry at him or feel too guilty about later.

The adventure that amnesiac!Fingon is having, which mostly resembles Story 1 because nobody is telling him Story 2, because he’s too amnesiac to know how much to keep secret. He’s going weirdly hard (by trope standards) (which he’s vaguely aware of, though not as they apply to his own life history) on the “sexual and emotional attraction to Villain” part, because he can’t remember any facts about his life but he still intuitively recognizes Maedhros as “most favorite, trusted-ish person in the world”, and Maedhros is at some point going to swear Fingon to absolute secrecy then little Ereinion to see him, because when you’re 4, there’s a big emotional difference between “Dad’s not coming home for a few days because he’s on a work trip fighting/saving aliens in outer space” and “Dad’s not coming home for a few days even though he is in the city and you might see him on the news; he just doesn’t remember you right now.” Better to let Erein see him, with the amnesia explained, and get some good reflexive Dad Hugs in.

I think I’d mostly write it in Fingon’s POV, so Stories 1 and 2 are implied in the background. The “I know you’re in there!” fight would probably be with Fingolfin, because it has to be someone so badass that Fingon cannot fight only to disarm and disable, even when his opponent is doing that; it’s kill or surrender—and Fingon is very, very, good in a fight. But he won’t kill. Maedhros Phoenix sent him out with orders to “Do whatever you have to do in order to [crime]”, which technically does include killing, especially of someone trying to stop him from [crime]—but Fingon hasn’t killed anyone but willing minions of Morgoth since the Battle of Alqualondë, and a little amnesia and light mind control isn’t going to make him start now.

[letters-unsending]

No. 25

/////

Superhero tries to stop Supervillain from sacrificing himself to save the city/world.

It’s all very melodramatic and kind of similar to Prompt 22, sorry.

////

“No, no, no. You weren’t supposed to come!” Supervillain shoved Superhero, pushing him away from the sealed door of the reactor room. “I have it handled,” he spat, “and you—you should be away from here. You should be safe.”

Superhero stayed fast to the ground, unwavering as stone as Supervillain seethed and slapped at his collarbones. He reached out and squeezed Supervillain’s shoulder.

“I can cut off the explosion with my shield. We can both make it out,” Superhero urged. The slight weight of his palm, feathery over Supervillain’s rage, seemed to stop the crazed light in Supervillain’s eyes. Sighing, Supervillain stepped back.

“No, you can’t. I know what this thing does and neither you nor me can stop it and leave breathing. I understand your need to fix everything,” Villain turned toward the glass screen and stared at the pulsing, spitting reactor core beyond, “but this, this is my fault, not yours, so leave. Leave while there’s still time left.”

Superhero sucked in a breath. The sound was harsh and scraping against the silence, the dread that hung like a mourning veil across the deserted laboratory halls.

“Supervillain-“

“-just let me have this,” Supervillain cried, “let me make the one good decision I’ll ever make in my goddamned life. Why are you stopping me from doing the right thing?”

Superhero strode forward and Supervillain recoiled, staggering closer to the glass and the molten heat it perfused. It seemed that they would waltz as they always had. Superhero would chase, Supervillain would flee, but as the reactor’s warmth stoked Supervillain’s spine, he stood straight, facing Superhero head on.

Around them, the metal walls creaked, aching against the pressure of the unstable core. Supervillain’s blood boiled in his ears. Superhero paused in front of him.

“Why now?” Superhero asked.

“Now? What do you mean by now?”

“You always wavered, always questioned the [Villain Organization] you fought for.” Superhero’s speech was so impassioned, so mesmerizing, that Supervillain hardly flinched as Superhero reeled him in by the back of his head and forced his cheek against his shoulder. “Why have you defected now, after all this time? Why do you have to go and die to finally do what you think is right?”

Superhero swayed back with Supervillain, leading him away from the fiery glass and stinging heat. The cool air breezed along Supervillain’s hair and the sweaty seams of his suit; the relief was so potent he almost sagged down against Superhero. Superhero caught the stutter in his step with a supportive hand to his back.

“You said you saw the good in me,” Supervillain whispered, “it’s not a surprise.”

“No, it wasn’t a surprise.”

Tension, all welled and coiled in Supervillain’s chest, unstrung with a crack of air, with a cry that Supervillain smothered into Superhero’s skin.

“You sanctimonious shit,” he cursed, bringing an arm around Superhero’s shoulders and holding him fierce. “Don’t take my fucking credit. I always, always envied you. I envied how people revered you, how they loved you. I wanted that—I wanted to be a hero so much.”

“And you can be. We can do this, save the city. You are good, so good.”

“I’m not risking you.”

“Helping you is my choice,” Superhero passed his hand through Supervillain’s hair, a cruel kindness.

“The choice is mine too and I want to do this alone,” Supervillain insisted, not knowing whether to weep or to yell. He kept his body away from Superhero now, holding only his forehead and the tips of his fingers still against him. Behind him was a growing hell. Heat licked at his heels and brought salt down his temples.

“Please, go.”

[duskbrook]

You were just a baby

That they held in their arms

You were a sign of brighter times

Who became the beginning of the end

You were everything and became nothing

And how is that fair?

That you should get to die and I should have to live in your shadow?

I don't really think about the what-ifs with you

I never met you and you only existed for a brief two weeks

Why should that matter?

Why should you matter?

My grandma could have convinced me the baby girl in the photograph was me or my cousin or a stock photo they found online

You were just a baby

But you were a baby my parents had

That symbolized their cursed love

And I'm not saying you were meant to die but I'm not surprised because their love did too

Did it die alongside you?

Either way from your death came my life

A replacement for the irreplaceable

Right?

That's what I am, or was, or always will be

Nothing more than a new plaything for wounded lovers

And how could I be anything else?

Their love died with you but it certainly wasn't reborn with me

And how could it be?

I'm not being fair but none of this is

You were just a baby and I was just a baby and I don't think either of us deserved the life we were given

Still though I can't help but think about how I'll never be you

Know that it pained our parents

Know that it made them weep at night because no matter how hard they tried to fill the void it was a black hole

That was formed

The moment that you died

And how could I?

I can't help but feel that you're lucky

That you didn't have to see what became of our parents

Then again

If you'd lived, perhaps things would've been different

Perhaps I wouldn't have been born at all

And not to sound melodramatic

But maybe that would've been for the best

You could've enjoyed your life and I wouldn't have had to deal with the burden of your death

[fudanshiatlas]

just here for a good time and chilling... perhaps with some melodramatic weeping in the middle. still mostly chilling