#GIVE ME ARLO OR GIVE ME DEATH

[shorthaltsjester]

yes arlo black is Easily one of my favourite shortform cr pcs Yes i think her dying tonight would be a very neat very cool story beat

[sunnysidesevenup]

SSR - Arlo Wake - Moonlight Attire

Groovy [Locked]

Summon: Siren’s used to lure sailors to their deaths—don’t you think something like that is fitting?

more voice lines under the cut!

Groovification: That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Set to Home Screen: Did you need something? Find someone else to help you with it, then.

Home transition 1: It’s nice to be in the ocean again, I suppose.

Home transition 2: Don’t scold me for laughing at your attempts at swimming. It’s only natural.

Home transition 3: Piranha’s eating humans is largely a misconception. Whether or not this applies to merfolk, well….

Home, after login: Good, you’re here. I need you for something—don’t look at me like I’m going to eat you.

Home Tap 1: Wearing jewelry is common for merfolk, but you have to make sure it won’t fall off and get lost. Only fools lose their expensive items.

Home Tap 2: If you think my appearance right now is shocking, then I’m concerned how you’ll react to other merfolk…

Home Tap 3: If you start drowning, I guess I can help you. You’ll give me something in return though, right?

Home Tap 4: I haven’t given you permission to touch my tail, you know! Just because it’s shiny doesn’t mean you can—what are you, a bird?

Home Tap 5: I’m certain my siblings are up to something, but you’ll side with me, right? It’s the better option.

Duo: Vil

Duo Magic:

Just because you’re the expert doesn’t mean I’ll always let you take the lead, Vil.

I’ll hold you accountable if we fail, then.

[readychilledwine]

Hiraeth

Summary - After your husband dies, Lucien fills a void you and your son never thought possible.

Warnings - death of a partner, single momming

"Jump, Arlo," Lucien's arms and hands were reached up, waiting for the young male to throw himself into them. "I have you, bud. I will catch you."

Your son watched him, one little hand steadying himself on the thick rough bark of the solid oak tree, the other in his mouth as he chewed on his fingers from nerves and stared down at the redheaded male.

He had managed to climb several feet into a tree while Tamlin had been checking in with you. He was constantly asking how you two were holding up since Andras' death, asking if he could provide anything, asking about Ro.

Lucien had been watching him, but Lucien, raised in the rough Autumn Court, had always allowed your son to explore beyond what you and Andras had been comfortable with.

He had been around more since your husband's death, playing with your son, talking to him, teaching him about the forest and different skills. He had taught him to fish, to cook on a camp fire, they even sword fought together with little wooden swords the Autumn male had made.

At first you had thought it was Lucien acting on something he felt obligated to do, but you had realized slowly it was out of love for Arlo. His little buddy, as Lucien affectionately called him. They had begun to dress in matching outfits, style their hair similarly. Arlo loved Lucien almost as much as he had loved his father.

"I'm too scared," his little voice pulled you back into the moment. The soft tremble of his lip as he looked at you wide-eyed. He was only 5 feet up. For a grown fae, it was an easy jump, or fall, for a child it had to be terrifying, though.

"Arlo, I promise you I will catch you," Lucien spoke softly to him. "I will not let you fall and get hurt. I am right here." Your hand shot to Tamlin's wrist, squeezing tightly as Arlo adjusted his stance with a nod. You refused to look as his little knees bent and he leaped, throwing yourself into Tamlin's chest and hiding in the High Lord's arms.

Soft giggles and laughter, from the tree had you glancing from between your fingers. Arlo was in Lucien's arms, held tight against his side as the old male praised him for his bravery. Tamlin looked down at you, brows raised, and you back away with a soft apology.

You two watched as Lucien held your son high above his head, letting the little boy hold his arms out as if he could fly. "I heard Feyre is home from the Night Court. How is she?" Tamlin typically avoided the topic of his love with you, but news spread fast in Spring of her long awaited return. You had known he was hurting, and were happy, if he was.

"She seems happy, like she's been freed from something." Tamlin answered plainly. "I should return to her. It looks like Lucien and Arlo are going to play for a while. He missed him constantly while we were gone. Kept asking how much longer we'd be staying, mentioning how he promised to take Arlo on a camping trip soon." Tamlin kissed the top of your head. Holding a hand up to Lucien in farewell before moving to go back to the manor.

You watched as he chased your young son through the clearing before finally catching him.

Their laughter became one, as they laid down in the soft plush grass. "Are you going to join us or just stare?' Lucien asked over his shoulder. "Your mom is weird, bud." Arlo laughed and nodded eagerly. Enjoying watching the male tease you.

The three of you laid there, watching the clouds drifting and pointing out different shapes in them. "Are you going to have dinner with us tonight?" You say next to Lucien, his head immediately coming to rest in your lap.

"Are you inviting me to dinner tonight, my lady?" His tone held insecurity in it. "I know you two are-"

"I can feed you, Lucien." You interrupted quietly. "Tamlin has been giving me more gold lately than I know what to do with, especially because he keeps paying for things on top of that out of guilt. It's been so long since you've joined us. Please." Arlo had fallen into a sleep against Lucien's side. His soft breaths comimg out in little snores. "He misses you so much."

Lucien looked up at you then, and it happened. A deep burning sensation setting into your soul as that string appeared. Lucien felt shock hitting him as his breath hitched. "You're my mate." Shock fell into his tone as your own eyes widened.

He sat up slowly, eyes studying you cautiously and laying Arlo gently on the ground. His hands were on your face almost instantly. "Still want to serve me that dinner, petal?" Your breath jumped into your throat. "Because even the Gods know how deeply I burn for you."

"Arlo," you whispered. "He's missed you so much. We-"

"We will talk to him about it tomorrow and just enjoy the night together. The three of us." Lucien kissed your nose, sealing the offer. "I've missed him, too. Going into the woods isn't as fun without my little buddy."

You smiled at him, eyes sparkling. "Guess I can't be mad when you take off with him for days at a time now, huh?"

Lucien leaned his forehead against yours, "I need to teach my son how the world works, petal." His tone was light and joking. You stared into his eyes, lips flicking slowly to his plush lips then back up. "Well, if you insist, darling."

Lucien pulled you to him, kissing you softly before pulling back. "Let's go feed our little guy." You nodded, hands laced into his shirt. "I promise you a thousand more kisses when he's in bed tonight."

He lifted Arlo carefully, carrying him into the stone house you and Andras had built together. "Give me sign this is okay," you whispered into the wind. "Please, Andras."

A butterfly landed on your arm, fluttering it's wings gently, before chasing after Lucien and landing on his shoulder. Then on Arlo's nose.

Chaos ensured hours later as Lucien and Arlo ran and screamed through the House. They were on a warpath to save the kingdom from invaders. A deep voice replayed in your mind, the last words spoken to you by your husband. If I die, go to Lucien, lean on him. He will love you as I have. Both of you.

A soft breeze rustled your hair pushing you towards Lucien, towards the house. Go, it seemed to whisper. Lucien stood in the door way, looking back at you and waiting, his face falling in concern. You went to him, kissing him again and closing the door behind the three of you.

And Gods he did. He smiled at you as he spun Arlo, the bond almost radiating between you two as if it was the sun itself. I love you, y/n. Andras' voice said again in your mind. Be happy, my love. If I don't come home to you. That is my only request.

Lucien and Arlo moved to the table, setting it before running upstairs to wash up for dinner. Hands found your hips and a kiss was snuck before your son came back down. "You seem happy," Lucien whispered.

You nodded, eyes welling slightly with tears as he started to grab food to take it to the table. "I am."

As the three of you settled at the table, a feeling of home came back to you. A feeling you didn't know you had been longing for since your husband's death. Lucien moved to hold your hand as if he sensed it, "Me too, y/n."

[lesbianjudasiscariot]

I'm also trying to find new artists, do you have any recommendations? You seem to have good taste in music and I'm also disappointed with lesbian playlists so I understand

tyty ♡ okay quick disclaimer idk for 100% certainty that all of these artists are lesbians but they sure did make some lesbian songs and i'd love to recommend them to you ♡

Alix Dobkin - I Only Want to be With You

Ana Egge - Dance Around the Room With Me

Arlo Parks - Impurities

Between Thorns - Brainwashed

Bitch and Animal - Boy Girl Wonder

Brandi Carlile - Josephine

The Butchies - Insult to Injury

Catie Curtis - Kiss That Counted

Cappell Roan - School Nights subtle flex i was a fan pre-trapfoamp

Childbirth - Since When Are You Gay

Daddy Issues - Veronica

The Degenerettes - Truck Drivin Girlfriend

Doria Roberts - Perfect

Gina Young - So-Called St8 Grrrl

Girli - Can I Say Baby

The Greeting Committee - She's A Gun

The Gretchens - I Met A Girl

Heavenly - P.U.N.K. Girl

Indigo Girls - Country Radio

Janis Ian - At Seventeen

Julien Baker - Rejoice

K.D. Lang - Constant Craving

Kehlani - Honey

Lady Lamb - Little Flaws

Lesbian Bed Death - Vampire Lover

Lipstick Homicide - Rockerchick

Lowell - Tell Me What You Want Me To Do

Lucy Dacus - Christine

MICHELLE - Oontz

Mitski - My Love Mine All Mine

Nova Twins - Athena

Oh Pep! - Tea Milk & Honey

Orla Gartland - Oh GOD

Raveena - Temptation

Rett Madison - Emily

Semler - Don't Tell Anyone

Shura - Religion (u can lay your hands on me)

Sofya Wang - Found Love

Syd - Fast Car

Tracy Chapman - Give Me One Reason

Tribe 8 - Butch In The Streets

Two Nice Girls - The Queer Song

Vetta Borne - Girls

Zolita - Holy

[bullet-prooflove]

A quick round up of updates on the blog including new characters added to the ASK LIST and a list of fics that went out last week:

New Fics:

Chicago Med:

Keys - Crockett gives you a safe space to work through your grief.

Bali - A vacation in Bali leads Jack to make some life changes.

Sunday Morning (NSFW) - You give Sean a very memorable Sunday morning.

Cobra Kai:

Masks - Terry realises you're uncomfortable at an event.

Stranglehold - Terry begs an unlikely duo for help.

Haven:

Domescity - You always seem to fit perfectly into Dwight's life.

Nightmares - Dwight has always had nightmares.

On The Rocks - Dwight finds you on the beach after a fight about Wade Crocker.

JAG:

30 Minutes - Mic decides to give you another thirty minutes in bed.

Law & Order SVU:

Bitter - Mike lashes out after a traumatic event. (Mike Duarte x Terry Bruno x Reader)

Mayans:

Wakeup Call - All Bishop wants is to stay in bed with you.

NCIS:

Show Me (NSFW) - A late night with Jimmy results in a video being sent.

NCIS - Hawaii:

Part Four:  PSYOPS - Charlie finally tracks you down in Mexico.

NCIS - LA:

Underneath The Stars - You and Harm have a unique wedding night.

Six AM - Marty watches you sleep after the accident.

The Call - Arlo calls you at three in the morning expecting to get your voicemail.

NCIS - NOLA:

Roses - Dwayne realises your being courted by another man.

Waiting - Dwayne can't stand to see you with another man.

The Storm - Dwayne and you take shelter together during a hurricane.

NCIS - Sydney:

History - Deshawn fears for the future when you into a face from his past.

You & Me - After the death of your ex, your relationship with JD is brought to life.

The Rookie:

More Than Life It's Self (NSFW) - John reminds you of his feelings for you at a crucial moment.

White Collar:

Light The Match - You and Keller share a kiss after you liberate your grandmother's ring.

Will Trent:

Trust - You realise that Will's been keeping a secret from you.

Yellowstone:

Texas - Travis and you make a realisation about your relationship.

[doberbutts]

OK so I keep getting asks asking me for an update on my music adventure I started before the new year and, based on your suggestions and also people I already had on my playlist:

[obligatory disclaimer: some of these artists I have already deleted because I'm mad about their non-musical actions, others have followed me since childhood, and some I had well before I knew they were black or had black members in the band]

Alex Boye - black, kinda everything but the ones I have are pop - already had

Alicia Keys - black, r&b/soul - already had

Allison Russell - black, pop - still deciding

Amaare - black, r&b/soul/afropop - still deciding

Amythyst Kiah - black, folk/alt-rock/blues - still deciding

Angel Haze - black, rap/hip-hop - still deciding

Angeline Morrison - black, alt/folk/indie - still deciding

Anjimile - black, alt/folk/indie - still deciding

Anna Field - black, alt/folk/indie - still deciding

Arlo Parks - black, indie/pop/folk/r&b - still deciding

Ben Harper - black, raggae/alt/indie - still deciding

Beyonce - black, pop/r&b/soul - already had

Birds of Chicago - black (wife, married), folk - still deciding

Black Eyed Peas - black (mostly), alt/r&b/pop-rap/EDM - already had

Blanco Brown - black, country/hip-hop - already had

BOB - black, rap/hip-hop - already had

Bone Thugs N Harmony - black, hip-hop/rap - already had

Brittany Howard - black, alt/indie - still deciding

Candi Staton - black, r&b/soul/pop - deleted, this is more my dad's music than mine tbh

Carolina Chocolate Drops - black, pop/folk - not exactly what I was looking for but I like it

Cee Lo Green - black, r&b/soul/hip-hop/EDM - already had

Chris Brown - black, rap/r&b/hip-hop - already had, deleted long ago after he beat the shit out of Rihanna and then released Fine China, but I do like the sound even if the guy singing it is a piece of shit

Ciara - black, r&b/soul/pop/EDM - already had

Clipping. - mostly nb (black rapper), hip-hop/rap/EDM - deleted immediately, this is way too far into the Just Noise territory and several songs give me a headache

Damita - black, gospel - already had

David Jordan - black, metal/pop - already had

Dead South - mostly nb (black cellist), folk/bluegrass - already had

DEATH - black, proto-punk - honestly debating deleting, not a huge fan

Death Grips - mostly nb (black rapper), hip-hop/rap - same problem as clipping, too far into Just Noise and deleted immediately

Destorm - black, EDM/pop/hip-hop/rap - already had

Devil and the Deep Blue Sea - mostly nb (black vocals), jazz/funk - still deciding

DJ Casper - black, EDM/hip-hop/rap - already had because cha cha slide

DJ Mehdi - black, EDM - still deciding

Fall Out Boy - mostly nb (black bassist), alt/indie/pop-punk/pop-rock (collabs) - already had

Fatoumata Diawara - black, folk/afro-pop/blues - liked her in Gorillaz collab, still deciding for her by herself

Flowerovlove - black, pop/indie/trap - still deciding but mostly favorable

Flying Lotus - black, EDM - still deciding

Gary Clark Jr - black, blues/raggae/r&b/hip-hop/soul - not exactly what I wanted but favorable

Genesis Owusu - black, punk/rap/hip-hop - also not really what I wanted but favorable

Gloria Gaynor - black, r&b/soul/disco - already had because I will survive

Iniko - black , alt/soul/EDM - still deciding

Iyaz - black, raggae/pop/r&b - already had

Jackson5 - black, r&b/pop/soul/disco - already had

Jake Blount - black, blues/folk - still deciding

Janelle Monae - black, soul/r&b/EDM - incredibly favorable, probably keeping

Jason Derulo - black, pop/r&b - already had

Jordin Sparks - black, r&b/soul/pop - already had

Joy Oladokun - black, pop/folk/r&b/rock - still deciding

JP Cooper - black, alt-rock/soul/house - still deciding

Kaia Kater - black, indie/folk - still deciding

Kanye West - black, rap/r&b/hip-hop - already had because he has a handful of Christian songs my dad likes, deleted long ago because it's Kanye.

Kid Cudi - black, EDM/hip-hop/rap - already had

Laxcity - black, EDM/lo-fi - still deciding but incredibly favorable

Lil Jon - black, hip-hop/rap/crunk - already had because get low

Lil Nas X - black, hip-hop/pop rap/country - already had

Lizzie No - black, folk/blues/country - still deciding

LMFAO - black, EDM/hip-hop - already had

Lou Bega - black, mambo/hip-hop/ska - already had because mambo no. 5

LustSickPuppy - black, rap/EDM - deleted, immediate dislike

Magnolia Park - black (mixed group), pop-punk/alt-rock - THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WAS LOOKING FOR!!!!!!! Whoever suggested it, thank you!!!!!!!!

Mangodog - black, pop - still deciding

Maroon5 - mostly nb (black keyboardist), pop-rock/soft-rock - already had

Mavis Staples - black, r&b/soul/folk - still deciding

Me'shell Ndegeocello - black, soul/jazz/hip-hop/raggae - again this is mostly Dad Music and not Jaz Music so it was deleted

Michael Franti - black, hip-hop/raggae/jazz/folk - already had a few because I love his sound and didn't realize he was black, whoever recommended him thank you for the new info

Michael Jackson - black, pop/soul/r&b/rock/disco - already had , it's also Dad Music but it's fun

MikeQ - black, EDM - still deciding

MNEK - black, EDM/pop - THIS IS ALSO EXACTLY WHAT I WAS LOOKING FOR!!!!!!!!

Mon Rovia - black, folk/r&b/soul - still deciding

Morcheeba - mostly nb (black vocalist), hip-hop/rock/folk - deleted, Dad Music

Moses Sumney - black, soul/jazz/alt/indie - still deciding

Nelly - black, hip-hop/rap - already had

Nicki Minaj - black, pop/hip-hop/rap - already had

Nico & Vinz - black, pop/pop-rock - already had

Nightmares On Wax - black, hip-hop/techno - still deciding but highly favorable

Nova Twins - black, alt-rock/punk/nu-metal - deleted, Just Noise

P. Diddy - black, hip-hop/rap - already had, I'm aware of Diddy's deeds however they sang this version of I'll Be Missing You at my grandfather's funeral and it makes me think of him and cry

Plain White T's - mostly nb (black drummer), alt-rock/indie - already had

POD - mostly nb (black guitarist), Christian nu-metal - already had

Pussycat Dolls - mostly nb (black vocalist), pop - already had

Queen Omega - black, reggae - deleted, not my genre. sorry Odie, she doesn't stray far enough into the genres I do like for me to hold much interest

R Kelly - black, r&b/soul/hip-hop/rap - already had, literally the same thing as Diddy I Believe I Can Fly was played at my grandfather's funeral so I've held onto it

Rhiannon Giddens - black, folk/country - still deciding

Rihanna - black, pop/EDM/hip-hop/reggae/r&b - already had

Rusted Root - mostly nb (one black member) , rock - already had

Santigold - black, EDM/hip-hop - EXTREMELY favorable, very very close to what I was looking for

Shannon Funchess - black, alt/EDM/punk - still deciding

Straight No Chaser - mostly nb (black vocalist) - already had, it's an acapella group that did parody mashups of christmas songs that I find hilarious year after year

Stromae - black, hip-hop/EDM - EXTREMELY favorable, very very close to what I was looking for

Sunny War - black, folk/punk/pop - still deciding

Tanerelle - black, r&b/soul/pop - still deciding

Tank and the Bangas - mostly black, soul/hip-hop - not really my genre but I like it well enough

Teebs - black, EDM - still deciding

The Weeknd - black, alt-r&b/pop/EDM - it's weird bc I either hate the song or I really like it with no in-between so far

Thurston Harris - black, r&b/soul/rock - already had

TLC - black, r&b/hip-hop/pop - already had

Todrick Hall - black, r&b/pop/hip-hop - already had - this particular song of his (Beauty and the Beat) re-opened my relationship with one of my black aunts so I kept it

Toro Y Moi - black, EDM/pop/indie-rock/hip-hop - still deciding

Tray Wellington - black, folk/jazz/blues - still deciding

Tricky - black, alt/indie/EDM - still deciding, but favorable

TV On The Radio - mostly black, pop-rock/indie-rock - still deciding, but favorable

Usher - black, hip-hop/r&b/rap - already had

Vagabon - black, EDM/indie-rock/pop - still deciding

Valerie June - black, folk/blues/gospel/soul/country - still deciding

WHOKILLEDXIX - duo with one black member, punk/rap/rock - I also either hate the song and delete it immediately or really like it with no in-between

Whole Wheat Bread - black, rock/punk/reggae/rap - still deciding but favorable

will.i.am - black, hip-hop/pop/EDM - EXTREMELY favorable

Witch Prophet - black, r&b/soul/jazz - still deciding

Wiz Khalifa - black, hip-hop/rap - already had

Yola - black, r&b/pop - this is also Dad Music but I like it and I think her voice is beautiful so I've kept it

[beehiveofblorbos]

VERY interesting line out of someone whose ability is capable of “Rewind”.

I’ve spoken before about how John’s ability is symbolic of his mindset of giving as good as he’s gotten, and Arlo’s ability is symbolic of his refusal to let anyone in. So that kind of led me to wonder about the meaningfulness of the other main cast character abilities.

So when I saw this, I was literally gutted with surprise. What a starting point.

in a way, i wonder if Sera is speaking to herself as well as John? After all, she spent a lot of time wishing she’d never lost her ability, and early in the King John arc she often derides herself for believing John’s words and luxuriating in a lie.

just as John saw himself in Seraphina when they first met, throughout John’s breakdown Seraphina begins to see herself in John - her old self, who was blinded by everything around her and didn’t use her authority for anything of importance.

A big theme of Unordinary is moving forward. Another post I was thinking about while writing this is this one, by @unordinary-diary

And there’s more, too. Remi and John have both repeatedly endangered themselves due to their inability to move on from the deaths of Rei and William (not that either should be expected to: it’s been months or weeks). The entire problem a lot of high tiers have had, and that a lot of John’s development is centered around, is the inability to move forward from their pasts or fixations (Seraphina’s perfection, Arlo’s order). And even Blyke’s rapid improvement and ascension to high tier was a result of his inability to move on from the powerlessness he felt during Joker, and later John’s, reign over Wellston.

So what if Sera is the character meant to embody that theme through her ability? I mean, her ability’s got a few more parts to it other than Rewind. She can freeze time, so literally sink back into the past and reflect on it, but even that’s mostly talked about as her moving faster than everyone. And when she loses her ability, she spends more time dwelling on her situation than ever… which is actually beneficial to her. And it is a nuanced topic, it’s not like Unordinary is saying you shouldn’t self reflect either

[argowrites]

Love and Legacy, Epilogue Part 1!

By the second month of their working together, Viktor could only manage six hours before his eyes grew heavy and his mind muddled. It was frustrating for them both. Still, Viktor came every day. They had a shared goal, after all. It also marked Viktor lasting longer than the direst predictions. A milestone neither of them acknowledged but Singed took as a sign they were doing something right even if the last variant had left Viktor so nauseous he hadn’t been able to eat without vomiting for two days straight.

“I will miss tomorrow,” Viktor said somewhere around the four-month mark.

“Why?” Singed asked pointedly.

If Viktor was giving up, he’d be angrier than he had been about the imprisonment. He had raised him better than that.

“I am…moving in. With Jayce. I need to pack my things and–”

“I did not realize it was so serious,” Singed replied evenly.

He knew about the relationship and was unsure about it. Jayce Talis was intelligent, so they said, but he was a distraction. Singed knew. His own wife had been one, years ago, before she had died and then her death had been a bigger one.

“It is not…well it is, serious I suppose, but it is not because of that. I fainted. Again. Not as bad as the first time, but he worries and I can see that it would be better to have someone know if I was lying unconscious on my bathroom floor,” Viktor said with a shrug.

“When did you faint?” Singed asked.

“Yesterday. Not long after I left.”

“He was quick to move you in with him.”

“He found me.”

Singed considered that for a moment. He knew how Jayce Talis must have felt. Six months before her death, he had seen his wife faint for the first time. He had thought his heart would stop.

Act IV of my Viktor Quartet

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Rating: Mature

Chapters: 25/26

Characters: Viktor, Singed, Silco, Jinx, Ekko, Jayce, Mel, Heimerdinger, Caitlyn, Vi

Relationships: Jayce/Viktor, Jayce/Mel, Jayce/Mel/Viktor, Singed & Viktor, Silco & Viktor, Jinx & Viktor, Ekko & Viktor, Jayce & Caitlyn, Silco & Jinx, Minor Cait/Vi

Additional Tags: Angst, Viktor-centric, Author knows a little about League lore, Divorce Era (but short)

Next Time: Ekko, Arlo, Jayce, Viktor

[kiirer]

Tell me about your ocs >:3

WJSJSJS I PANICKED WHEN I FIRST SAW THIS ASK /pos

cw: alcohol, death/murder, sexual assault (not in detail - but it's there), grooming

okok i have a lot of ocs but ill talk about my three silliest guys!! i have two main oc universes, one called ataraksja/ataraxia (the one ill talk about in a moment) and terra del sole (late medieval fantasy kinda thing)

ataraxia was one of two main ideas epicurus, a greek philosopher, was known for - the other being epicureanism. ataraxia is state in which full peace of mind is achieved, it is an unreachable ideal state.

The "protagonist" (it used to have a plot but it changed so many times theres basically nothing now. im better at characters' personal life stories and relationships than coming up with plots) of ataraxia is Inka Zając, a young adult struggling with an addiction! I came up with his name when i opened a cupboard and saw the child-appropriate coffee tube

Inka is rather reserved and aloof, he does not speak unless spoken to and his social skills are mediocre at best. He's also narcoleptic; he takes meds, but then stops at one point.

As a barely 12 year old child he once helped his friend's sister by assisting her in disposing of a dead body. This is not important at the moment

After the death of his mom an unspecified amount of time ago (probably when he was around 16-17?), Inka's mother's drinking gets worse. Dagmara would occasionally drink recreatively, especially with her wife, Joasia, but now she uses it as a way to drown her sorrows. After prolonged exposure to her behaviour Inka takes after her, his mom's death impacted him greatly as well, and he doesn't want to feel useless and depressed all of the time. A little after his 18th birthday his only friend, with whom he had a sort of weird codependent relationship with, left him. Before this Inka would often steal from his mother (which often ended in her scolding him or sometimes, as her state worsened, physical violence even), but now he could buy alcohol on his own. (How did he afford this? I don't know. There's multiple ways i think.)

Now he's about 20 and he meets his longtime friend again, at a funeral - hyperthyroidism increases the risk of a heart attack and so does alcohol. Inka was hiding in his room at the time it happened, not wishing to have anything to do with Dagmara at the moment.

He recognizes Arlo's stupid face almost immediately. They both have to be there early, considering Inka was currently Dasia's closest relative, as she had no siblings and her parents were long dead. Considering Inka's state Arlo was supposed to give a speech instead of him. As a child he spent a lot of time over at the Zając family's house.

Arlo himself is rather charismatic and friendly, he's easy to make a conversation with. However he has a quite short temper and tends to get overly emotional easily. He's easy to fluster or embarass as well as to irritate, all three commonly used against him.

For his background - he grew up in a very.. tense household. When he was maybe 4 or 5 years old his parents had a divorce and he and his sister stayed with their father while their mother, Karina, left for good (she still had to pay child support, of course, but she just didn't want to contact any of them anymore. Neither did the dad). I won't get into the reasons because there's a lot of.. weird, maybe even a little creepy, behaviours included...!!! but!!! basically their mother was not a very good person. the dad wasn't neccessarily an angel either but he was way less bad at least. Arlo's sister, Alla, is 8 years older than him and she still remembers all of the abuse (from Karina) she had to endure. Arlo barely remembers her. He only really knows her face from the paintings hanging on the walls of the very empty now house.

Alla silently feels envious of her brother for having it way easier than her, but at the same time she reminds herself that he wouldn't have deserved that either. It was worse when she was younger, but considering she is almost 30 at the moment she has long realized that it was just misdirected resentment which was supposed to be aimed at Karina.

Arlo deeply admires Alla, going as far as copying her style, her hair, and even her name, when he came out, around 6th grade. Their father didn't really care and Alla was supportive and except for maybe a bit of trouble at school it went well (in my country elementary school lasts for 8 years, so - Arlo probably sent someone to the hospital once by headbutting them or something and no one really felt like bothering him anymore). There was another incident about 8 years before the funeral stuff - Arlo was assaulted and for about a year he struggled to do anything, he was just a child, and so the support from Alla, Dasia and her wife, Joanna was very important.

Back to the present - Inka was suprised at how tidy Arlo looked. His hair was unnaturally straight and his bangs were parted evenly, he was wearing a proper suit and tie as well. All that didn't fit was the horns that decorated the top of his head. Inka would lightheartedly offer to cut them off, perhaps using a saw, to which Arlo'd react with mock-shock, telling him he's crazy, etc. Then he laughs for a little too long, sending himself into a coughing fit while Inka watches absentmindedly. As Arlo coughed up ooze he simply turned away. Seeing that, Arlo reassured him it was alright and that his throat was just a little dry. Inka rolled his eyes before leaving to join the other guests in the church.

Inka fell asleep halfway but was later abruptly woken up due to cold water being splashed in his face by his dear old friend! He caught a cold later probably. After paying respects to the dead woman it was time for repast, during which nothing relevant happened, Inka just had to make small talk with relatives, which was annoying, but doable. The harder part was pretending to be fully sober, especially as the repast went on.

Pretending to be sober also proved quite difficult as Arlo tried to get closer to Inka again, to Inka's dismay. He felt bad when Arlo praised him for not letting the addiction take over his life and Inka felt guilty knowing that he still drinks, just not as much when he's supposed to meet up with him.

Inka inteprets all this as Arlo simply wishing to be friends once more, and partially that is right, though he did have an ulterior motive as well. That is trying to invite him into this definitely-not-a-cult thing, this being an occasion for Arlo to prove himself

Arlo's mother left and his father was emotionally distant - it wasn't long before he started viewing one of his mother's old acquaintances as a sort of new mother figure. She taught him virtues that she had learned from her mother before. She taught him religion, she taught him fear, she taught him love and she taught him hope. Alla couldn't take care of him when she was in university, he thought he was all alone against the world and so it was not all that hard for him to believe her when she said she wanted to help.

Tatiana taught him about the saviour to come from beyond the stars, to blind all creatures of the day and to fill the world with eternal darkness.

This fairytale did raise questions in Arlo eventually, all of which Tatiana gracefully answered with careful half-truths or dismissed. Most important of all, every time he did this she reminded him that he is special.

Special, special..

She said there would come one day on which the saviour would be born, some day soon even. Arlo doubted this, but seeing it bring Tanya joy and most importantly, hope, he decided to entertain this idea.

Tanya's family had been guarding a seemingly meaningless relic for generations; a simple family heirloom, a flower yet to bloom, though it was like no other.

What happened next is kind of hard to explain, mostly because of it being an uncomfortable topic, but to sum it up Arlo is soon forced to eat the aforementioned snakefruit. It is full of ichor and the outside's texture is very.. fleshy and off-tasting. It's repulsive, to say the least. Like a pulsing piece of meat. He asked for it himself when he heard Tanya mention that it's special, just like he is, but he soon regretted ever agreeing upon this. Arlo's mind was hazy, fuzzy, and all he could remember vividly from this was the fact it was disgusting, it was hard to swallow and he almost choked a couple of times.

Arlo did his best to convince himself that it was his own idea. That all was well. He tried to make it seem, to himself, like he was (still) in control.

(He did it to impress Tanya. She wanted him to do this. She wanted this to happen. Tanya still cares for him and his wellbeing, though her way of thinking is incredibly flawed. Despite caring for Arlo, she vowed to punish him for this heinous act of disrespect against the saviour from beyond the stars.

Inka knows that he's probably boring, that he's hard to talk to, especially considering he is grieving and struggling mentally. Half of the time when Arlo tries to visit him Inka simply sleeps trough the sound of the doorbell. The other half of the time he is drawn out of his house forcibly by Arlo, who keeps beckoning him to spend time together. He doesn't understand what Arlo wants because he feels numb and he knows he's not very fun to be around. He doesn't provide much to their conversations, it's like talking to a wall. Normally he'd be talkative, especially with someone he knows so well, but now even if he was able to get a word out he wouldn't simply because he felt like Arlo abandoned him consciously.

Inka did not blame him for his condition, of course, but he felt betrayed when his best friend of so many years left so suddenly with seemingly no regrets.

Little did he know, Arlo had many regrets! Though that's probably a topic for another time!

Over the course of many months Inka opens up more, slowly, as Arlo continues to pester (/affectionate) him with his presence. Inka still drinks, but a little less (mostly because he can't afford it😔😔 but he'd probably tell Arlo it's due to some way cooler sounding reason like nobility or morality), a small step in the right direction! However, as he drinks less and as the months go by he can easily tell Arlo's mental and physical condition is getting worse. He exhausts himself quickly and he gets coughing fits more and more often. He tends to lean over, especially when sitting, as if he is in pain. A few times he (nearly or actually) throws up or passes out, even if just for a moment.

Finally, sometime, Arlo is able to coerce Inka into joining the weird faith group, unofficially led by Tanya (and a bunch who aren't important atm).

Tatiana declares that Arlo is to be sacrificed for the saviour from beyond the stars. To prove himself as well, she appoints the newest member as the executioner

Arlo's frozen in fear and Inka's terrified as well, he asks whether he really has to do it, whether someone else can't.. to which Tanya simply responds by saying she'll find a different trial for him then. Arlo's even more uncomfortable with the idea of being brutally executed by someone else. As for what happens next I feel like it is summed up well here

As he sits over the dead body, Inka watches something pulse inside Arlo's desecrated body. He watches an unfamiliar white mass tear it apart further as it slithers out in the form of a winged snake

For the first time in her life Tanya experiences true regret.

And now Inka's stuck with a weird star thing that has somehow gotten attached to him.

Weles is a shapeshifter - it's hard to define what they are and the closest is to say they're simply a star. Like the sun.

They can change colour and shape. They can speak, hear, see, taste, feel... when they want to. The bigger their form, the further the "organs" are scattered, the harder it is to be able to keep their senses!

Inka relapses. He tries to sleep trough most of the day, occasionally interrupted by Weles desperately trying to get his attention. Sometimes they'd intentionally take on Arlo's form to just toy with him. Sometimes they'd pretend to be a book, a fork, an apple, whatever! Just to play with Inka, to get a rise out of him.

There's a lot to say about these two specifically but i don't want it to be twice as long as it is right now

At some point Inka becomes used enough to their presence to not react so negatively, maybe. He just grows numb to everything, pretty much, just wanting his moms and Arlo back. Sometimes he'd beg Weles to take on Arlo's form on purpose, to apologize, to hug and to kiss, to just be there...

Weles does have a main physical form that's not supposed to resemble anyone, it's the fully white one with wings and long hair! It does bear some purposeful resemblances to Arlo (in their refs specifically!!) but i'll talk about it another time

ahdjssfj this is so long already but umm i can talk more about their relationships/dynamics! weles and inka actually get married at one point canonically. and i have a happy au where theyre poly and happy - an au where Weles somehow just. exists anyway. if Arlo was alive somehow after Weles left his body he would resent them. if Inka and Arlo switched places Arlo would resent Weles to hell and back.

[1ore]

ive been playing pokemon go recently. and i put my avatar in a funny mask and then the rng treated me to a series of events and i was like. aha. what if this resurrected my pokemon gijinka fixation after 10 years of dormancy.

little dude doesn't have a name, but he's like if a guy turned into a zoroark instead of the other way around. they absolutely mystery dungeon'd his ass. 　

i keep thinking about that Love, Death, & Robots short about people who pilot monster meat mechs to pitfight recreationally, except the twist is that one of the monster meat mechs is actually a sentient creature piloting a human lesbian instead. and I think to myself. ohhhh. what if this is what shadow pokemon are like. so I think our man is an early shadow experiment that went wrong, a fusion between the dude and the vat-grown husk they were supposed to pilot. 　

can pass for human and pretends to be a pokemon trainer (poorly.) their "team" is a rotating cast of, like, starlys and bidoofs and whoever else they meet in the dirt and convince to play along, plus the pokemon they impersonate in costume. they are not above tossing up an illusion of themself and then getting into the ring. they don't have pokeballs, training equipment, or money, and they have only a nebulous concept of giving commands, so they typically get furthest in battle on their own sweat. 　

is a public nuisance to Team Rocket because comrade shadow zoroark is going back to liberate his fellow monsters 　

　 　

poking arlo's body with a stick. poking arlo's body with a stick. p

[permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88]

Old Town Road | Halbrand/OC (part 6)

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple arrangement. Give up her freedom, and save her family home. The ultimatum was one Tilda had grown to accept, given that she could stay as far from her would-be captor's presence as she wished. But when chance forces her into closer proximity with the man known as Halbrand, she will find that her patience is not the only thing being tested. Particularly when what he seems to desire most, now, is her heart. (Yellowstone-ish AU).

Warnings: alternate universe, original character(s), house fire, death of a parent, burn scars, toxic relationship, Stockholm syndrome, angst, allusion to smut, unrequited love, enemies to lovers.

Other: Please let me know if you would like to be added to a tag-list!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Sitting on the hard bench in a holding cell at the precinct, Bain allows his aching head to drop like a stone held between both hands.

How in the hell had it come to this?

Through the thick sludge of thoughts vying for dominance inside of his mind, he tries to piece it all together. He tries, but he cannot seem to move past the heart-rending pain that each attempt provokes, bringing with it the sensation of an icepick being forcibly stabbed into his skull. All that he can think of clearly is the fact that his mother is dead. Gone. Burned, in a fire that had consumed their family home, and had nearly robbed him of his father, as well.

Everything he had ever known—ever loved—is just gone. Gone, and there had been nothing he could have done to stop it. Nothing he could have done to change the reality of what his life has become.

And the worst part of it all? He has next to nothing to go on when it comes to finding the person or persons responsible.

It had been relatively simple, after that particular discovery, to seek solace, or what little he could find of it, at the bottom of a bottle at the bar. The alcohol had numbed his thoughts, even if only by a little, and for a moment, things were simpler. Easier. The knot of pain squeezing like a vice around his heart had dulled a bit, and it had become somewhat less excruciating to simply breathe.

Desperate to hold onto that feeling, however fleeting it may be, Bain had kept a running tab, ordering shots, beers, hard liquor, and everything else in between. His thoughts had never left him, but they had grown quiet, at least for the moment. They had become more—bearable—than they had ever been while sober.

Not quite content, but perhaps a bit closer to as calm as he could manage, he'd spent an hour or two knocking back booze like it was his job, and that had been when he'd heard it. Sounds of a scuffle, coming from the opposite end of the bar.

Interest piqued, he'd turned toward the sound, already halfway out of his seat before he could think twice. Hardly stumbling, even in spite of the drinks he'd imbibed in, he'd managed to make his way toward the commotion with little difficulty. And when he'd clocked the man standing with his back to him drawing an arm back to deck his shorter companion on the jaw, Bain found it was almost second nature to intervene.

Gripping the man's arm and yanking backward, Bain had felt the indignation that came his way as a result to be a welcome respite from the solitude of his own morbid thoughts. He'd offered the man a thin-lipped smile in response, grip still firm on his arm as his gaze dropped to the man who had been on the receiving end of the impending blow.

His eyes had widened as he looked closely at the man. As he realized he knew him. Arlo Tanner.

A man who spent his days drunk and high, more often than not, and who had now found himself at the business end of a rather pissed off opponent.

How typical.

"The hell did you do this time, Arlo?"

"Damned fool says he ain't got the money he owes me."

"Wasn't askin' you. Was askin' Arlo."

Shaking his head, half-amused, and half-resigned, Bain had maintained his hold on Arlo's would-be adversary. Even as the man had struggled to break free, cursing under his breath about debts owed, Bain had refused to let him go. Refused to let him attack a man he had known since he was a child.

It wasn't until the man struggling in Bain's grip muttered his next words—a deeper threat than any made against Arlo, thus far—that he had seen any of this as anything less than a joke.

"Maybe I'll go see his daughter, instead. Reckon she'll pay up. Maybe I'll even get a little extra for my trouble."

Engaging the stranger in the fight he so clearly yearned for had been as easy as breathing, after that.

Fueled by his own rage, and booze, and a deep sense of protective ire, Bain had thrown Arlo's assailant into the bar. He'd stalked towards him with a grim smile, clenched fist eagerly finding purchase in the man's gut. Jaw. Cheekbone. Nose.

He hadn't stopped hitting him until the skin on his knuckles had begun to split and bleed, and even then, it hadn't been enough. Anger and grief had given strength to his blows, even when he might otherwise have taken a step back.

Only the weight of a sturdy hand clapping down on his shoulder to pull him back had stopped Bain from continuing to beat the man sandwiched between his taller frame, and the bar to a bloody pulp. And it had been that hand that had landed him here, at the precinct. In this damned cell.

In the damned cell, with nowhere to run from the thoughts he had so hoped to avoid.

Groaning, he straightens on the bench. Leaning back, he allows his head to drop against the wall behind him, wincing as the thud only redoubles the pain reverberating between his temples.

The brightness of the fluorescent bulbs hanging above him persuades Bain to squeeze his eyes closed, another low groan escaping as the hardness of the bench only adds to the aching in his bones. And even when he registers the sound of footsteps approaching, along with the resignation held at arm's length in the familiar voice that addresses him, he does not move.

"Bain?"

"Was wonderin' when you were gonna show up."

"Are—are you okay?"

"Do I look like I'm okay, Til?"

With eyes closed, Bain can still hear his sister's sharp intake of breath. The way the inhalation snags in her throat, ample evidence of how deeply his question cut into her very bones. Guilt roars to life as a result, snaking its way towards his heart and pulling. Twisting, but even still, he cannot bring himself to take any of it back.

Irrational though the desire may be, Bain finds that he almost wants to hurt her. To cause her as much pain as he, himself, is experiencing, even if he hates himself all the more for doing so. And as he forces himself to look his sister in the eye, straightening from his former slumped position against the wall at his back, he knows.

The effort, such as it was, clearly struck true.

"What do you want?"

"What—I want to take you home, Bain," Tilda replies, the words barely more than a whisper, "I want to get you out of here."

"Did you forget, Til? Our home is ashes, now."

His sister hardly seems to have a reply to that, not that Bain truly expects her to, her fingers twisting together nervously, while she tries and fails to hide how her teeth are currently worrying at the inside of her cheek. The sight twists the knife that is taking permanent residence in his heart just a bit further, and he is entirely incapable of resisting the wince that follows, no matter how he might wish to.

"You should go."

"I can't just—just leave you, Bain—"

"You should," Bain insists, the way in which Tilda almost automatically seems to recoil a punishment that he embraces, even as it drives the knife of pain he'd been trying so valiantly to avoid even deeper inside of his heart, "Ain't like we've got anywhere to go, anyway."

"Well actually, that's not entirely true."

Startled by the unanticipated addition to the conversation, such as it is, Bain catches himself looking toward Isildur with no small amount of surprise. Though the idea of his presence at Tilda's side isn't exactly an unfamiliar one, he'd always assumed Tilda would come on this particular errand on her own.

For the briefest of moments, he feels the first hints of something not all that far from jealousy. A sharp stab of it, because whether she asked for it it or not, his sister has someone to cling to through all of this. Someone there to keep her standing. But before it can get too far on its own, Bain does what he can to push it down. To keep it dormant, because already he knows if it came down to having support of his own, or ensuring that Tilda had it, instead, his desire would always be the same.

If it meant Tilda had someone keeping her steady, he would take being alone and make due as best he could.

"An' here I thought I was the one who drank too much, Isil—"

"Haven't had a drop," Isildur replies, sharing a glance that Bain cannot entirely read with his sister, before turning back to face him head-on, "And your sister thought the two of you could stay at your grandparents' old place."

"Dad know about this decision of yours, Til?"

"Not—not yet," Tilda admits, a faint flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks, though she draws herself upright in a clear attempt at masking it, not long after, "But it's better than a hotel, or—"

"Or nothing?"

Unable to avoid the renewed spasm of guilt as he watches his sister manage a shaky nod, Bain settles for silence. He allows it to stretch between them, whether the reality of it is an uncomfortable one, or not.

Although a part of him may wish that it did not exist, that silence serves as tangible proof, in his eyes, of exactly how much has risen up between them. Of exactly the sort of thing he isn't even sure can be fixed. But in spite of that, he cannot exactly remain blind to the fact that his sister is here. That she is trying to bring him home, when she could, just as easily, leave him to rot in the consequences of his own actions and mistakes.

Somehow, that makes all of the guilt he feels at least a thousand times worse.

"Arlo's here too, Til. Or at least he was," Bain says, then, the sudden desire to divert the subject of their conversation a thing that he cannot fully begin to understand, "Whoever came to pay his way free clearly didn't have a problem leaving others behind."

"What was—were the two of you brought in together?"

"You could say that. Was about to get his arse handed to him, 'til I stepped in."

"Who—who got him out?" Tilda inquires, moving a few steps closer to the cell, so that her fingers can wind themselves around the bars, "Lucy?"

"No. Some man in a fancy-pants suit."

Aware of how his sister seems to stiffen in response to the information, Bain would be a liar to pretend it does not spark his curiosity. That the way in which Tilda seems to go pale, while her teeth worry at her lower lip is not intriguing.

He wants to ask her if she thinks she might know this man, and it is clear by Isildur's suddenly wary expression, that he might wish for something similar. But before either of them can find a means of asking her what it is that suddenly has her so fearful, the sound of approaching footsteps robs them of the opportunity in its entirety.

"Looks like the man who aided your friend had a change of heart," The newcomer states, fiddling with the keys in his hand for only a moment, before he finds the one required to unlock Bain's cell, "Even with your insults."

"Shameful, really. Must be losin' my charm."

"I think what my brother is trying to say is thank you," Tilda corrects, throwing a warning look Bain's way that is so reminiscent of their father he is forced to stifle a sudden laugh while simultaneously watching her turn back toward the man who had spoken to address him directly, "What—what do you mean change of heart?"

"Guess he decided your brother was worth the trouble after all."

Watching as the man fiddles with the key in the lock for a moment, Bain moves to stand to his full height. He ignores the renewed throbbing between his temples, and the sloshing of bile at the back of his throat, in favor of focusing on where Tilda and Isildur stand nearby, instead.

His sister still seems somewhat wary. Uncertain, as though the idea of accepting this stranger's apparent charity went against better sense.

He still wants to question her on that, even in the midst of the fog that wafts in between his conscious thoughts, a lasting after effect of the alcohol he'd hoped to use to create a sense of numbness that no longer feels real or attainable. But something in the shadows that flicker in her eyes holds him off. It keeps him silent as he registers the echoing screech of the cell door opening on its hinges, and he is unable to fully restrain the wince that passes across his features as a result.

Somehow, as he steps through the door to join his sister and their friend, Bain realizes that the freedom implicit behind the act no longer feels like he thought it would.

Movement from the corner of his eye pulls him from the gut-punch the thought brings him, and his gaze snaps up in seconds as he realizes that Tilda is managing half a step towards him. Another half—and another—before her body comes to a dead stop. Her fingers twitch at her sides, and her expression practically screams that she had been preparing to throw herself into his arms, even as she rocks back on her heels trying to pretend that had not been her intention, all along.

The idea that she would hesitate like this—that she would think he wouldn't relish the contact—stings like a fresh brand against his skin. It threatens to tear him apart at the seams, if Bain were being honest, but somehow he forces himself to remain steady, regardless. To pretend he hadn't noticed her movements for what they were, at all.

A few more seconds pass in silence, allowing him the wherewithal to steel his nerve, and that seems to be all the time that Tilda requires to shake herself free from her own thoughts, as well.

"I was—I was thinking about stopping by the hospital, first, if—if you wouldn't mind," She hedges, the renewed glance she shares with Isildur only serving to stir the flames of lingering anger that resides in Bain's gut. An anger that doesn't fully make sense, given that what awaits them in the building she mentions is hardly any fault of their own.

Teeth clenching, with a muscle he can feel twitching against the tight line of his jaw, Bain braces himself against that anger as best he can. He forces himself to remember that his sister does not deserve to be on the receiving end of it, even as it insists upon clawing its way to the surface with all the force of a hurricane.

Straightening his spine, Bain settles for offering his sister a curt nod. He ignores the look Isildur gives him, a clear question of his intentions and his ability to remain calm.

Weary at the thought of seeing their father, Bain still forces himself to follow after Tilda as she heads down the hall that will lead to the doors of the precinct in the wake of the man who had freed him. He is aware of Isildur's presence walking at his side, but ignores it, or at least he tries, knowing that if he even looks his way, the man who had always been Tilda's staunchest defender will not be capable of holding back. That he will no longer be capable of restraining the type of justice he so clearly feels that Bain deserves.

The three of them are soon leaving the officer at the doors, heading out into the muggy early afternoon air, and angling towards the familiar form of a truck parked at the far end of the crumbled pavement of the lot. Humidity almost immediately brings beads of sweat to the skin above his upper lip, and it presses inward on his temples until he fears his skull will not survive the pressure.

Surprise arcs through him as he realizes Tilda intends to clamber into the driver's seat, her hand lighting on the door handle with far more confidence than she'd shown inside the precinct mere moments before. He turns to head for the passenger door without argument, but finds Isildur is already there.

Biting back the sarcastic quip that nearly breaks free, Bain settles for silence. For turning to wait for his sister to knock the driver's seat forward so he can climb in the back of the cab. Again, the two of them share a look, Tilda's expression unreadable where before he had always been accustomed to it being clear as day.

Poignantly aware of the wall that seems to have risen up between them—a wall he may as well have built himself—Bain exhales in a heady rush before beginning the act of clambering inside of the cab, the only thing that stops him being the sound of tires grinding against the crumbling pavement as another truck passes them by.

He isn't sure what persuades him to look towards the sound. What it is about it that pulls his attention, even though half a second prior, he had all but been itching to leave. But the one thing Bain is sure of as he catches sight of Arlo Tanner sitting in the passenger seat, body curling inward as though trying to avoid being seen, is the almost predatory look that the man driving the truck gives as he offers them an acknowledging nod.

A nod that has Tilda stiffening as though she has been turned into stone at Bain's side.

It was him.

The man who had bailed Arlo out had been the one to do the same for Bain. The very same man who had intruded on her panic at the hospital, what feels like ages ago. The card he had given her still rests in the pocket of her jeans, now burning like a brand through the fabric as though desperate to reach her flesh.

Her mind had been so consumed with the realization that it had not been long before Isildur had encouraged her to guide the truck off to the side of the road. Head swimming, it had been simple enough for her to allow him to gently nudge her into the passenger seat, so they could be off again, this time with him behind the wheel, in order to avoid the risk of a crash.

She could still feel Bain's eyes on her from the back of the cab, his gaze never once seeming to waver even as Isildur tried to pull them into conversation, and now?

Now that they are securely parked in the hospital's lot, Isildur already heading inside to see about getting a late lunch for the three of them, Tilda knows her brother is not about to let her off the hook.

"You know him."

"No. No," Tilda corrects, feigning a sudden interest in her reflection in the passenger side window in an attempt to gather her thoughts before forcing herself to turn in order to look Bain in the eye, "I've—I've seen him, before, but I don't know him—"

"Where?"

"Where?"

"S'what I said," Bain confirms, stepping closer to where Tilda stands beside the truck, his taller frame almost completely eclipsing the afternoon sun as it tries to reach her face, "Where'd you see him?"

"At the—at the hospital," Tilda confesses, finally looking up at Bain in time to notice the slightest flickers of a muscle twitching against his jaw, "He—he asked about Dad. Thought he was—he thought he was—"

"Dead?"

Unsure whether it is the word itself, in association with her father, or the curious detachment with which Bain says it, Tilda does not immediately offer him any reply. In truth, she cannot seem to do a thing, aside from biting down on the inside of her cheek, so fiercely she can nearly taste the metallic tang of her own blood, and willing the sting of tears away from her eyes.

Finally summoning the wherewithal to offer a simple nod, and swallowing past the sudden constriction in her throat, Tilda feels herself deflate, bit by bit. She recognizes the precise moment when the inexplicable sense of dread provoked by her discovery that the man she'd seen at the hospital, and the one who had seen to Bain's freedom are one and the same settles in.

She cannot explain it. Why the realization haunts her so fiercely, like a dog worrying away at a bone, when it may, in truth, mean absolutely nothing at all, but it does. It has been eating away at her ever since she saw the man drive by their truck at the precinct.

And Bain is clearly able to read that truth in her expression, now, whether she would want him to or not.

"Dad know him?"

"I didn't—I haven't—"

"You haven't told him," Bain gathers, the words digging beneath Tilda's skin like millions of tiny needles, fanning the flames of the guilt she feels over her deception, such as it is, and forcing her to avert her gaze whether or not a part of her knows he is hardly holding her to any blame, "You plannin' on doin' that today?"

"I don't—I don't know."

The confession slips out freely, the twisting sensation in her gut hardly keeping Tilda from risking a look at her brother's expression in the aftermath. From seeking out any judgment he might give her for a thing she can hardly begin to understand.

Though she hardly feels deserving of it, Tilda finds a strange sort of camaraderie passing between them. As though the recent circumstances in which she'd found him have given Bain a reason to trust her need to play things close to the vest, at least for the time-being. And when he finally takes a step back, the act causing her to squint as the glare of the sun peeks around his shoulder, she is not entirely prepared for the sudden shift apparent behind his tone.

"Seems to me you and I need to make a deal."

"A deal?"

"I don't tell Dad about this stranger, an' maybe you keep quiet about my little stint in lock-up?"

She doesn't like the idea. Bain had obviously known she wouldn't, but it hardly surprises Tilda that he'd stoop to such a level. That he would try whatever he could to buy her silence, given that it is hardly a secret that neither of them are ready for full disclosure of their innermost thoughts.

For a moment, the weight that has settled itself snugly about her shoulders since the night of the fire lifts as she finds herself remembering all of the times, when they were younger. When the two of them would find themselves in some manner of trouble, desperate to claw their way out before either of their parents would be forced to step in.

It had been a joke between the four of them. The source of resigned laughter from their father, and smiles that were a mix of amusement and exasperation from their mother.

Remarkable, how very bittersweet and almost hollow that joke seems, now.

"Well? Whattya say?"

"Fine," Tilda relents, a world-weary sigh escaping as she wavers in place for a moment, some small voice in the back of her mind all but screaming that this is a poor choice on her part, regardless of its transient appeal, "Fine. I won't say anything."

"Appreciate it."

"For now. He needs to know, Bain. About—about all of it."

Her brother does not respond to that, not that Tilda had truly expected him to, but she can read his disapproval of the idea in the sudden tightening of his jaw. In the way the muscle seems to twitch as he struggles for some semblance of control.

It takes only a moment, before he turns to head for the entrance of the hospital, leaving Tilda to straggle along in his wake. She frowns, but hurries after him, because somehow in the midst of his seemingly erratic behavior, she can sense the turmoil that lingers underneath.

In silence, they make their way to the elevator. That silence continues to stand between them on the way up to their father's floor, thick. Murky, and laden with unspoken regret.

By the time the doors slide open, that silence is entirely too close to strangling. But try though she might to think of something she might say or do, Tilda's mind remains completely—almost defiantly—blank. Her lips thin into a line, and she struggles to breathe in spite of the vice that tightens around her chest.

She reaches her father's room only a half step or two behind her brother, taking some manner of comfort from the relief that spreads across his features as he registers the sight of the two of them, together, and then she sees the second form sitting beside the bed. Or rather, the form who was sitting, until the sound of her approach with Bain persuades her to stand, one hand lifting to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear before she is facing them head-on.

"Hi, Til."

"Lucy?"

Though she can hardly explain why her friend is here—how Lucy came to know of her father's current circumstances, since she certainly hadn't had the time to inform her, herself—it would be a lie for Tilda to pretend she cannot feel the immediate sense of consolation that sweeps over her the longer she holds her friend's gaze. That she does not feel as though everything that has been weighing upon her is suddenly lifted, even if only by a little.

The freedom from that pressure, however fleeting it may be, is what serves as the catalyst for the release of every last emotion Tilda has been attempting to keep behind bars. And it is not long before she is emitting a strangled sort of cry, before she launches herself into her friend's open arms.

[heroesarecalling]

tacticalempathy asked: ❛ Could we, like, maybe not, with the physical violence? ❜ For Arlo meme. // always accepting!

There's a sharp inhale and exhale from Arlo. The two had been sent to interrogate a suspect and from the moment Arlo walked in to the house there was something that rubbed him the wrong way. The way the suspect talked about the victim, blaming her for her own death; Arlo didn't like it.

Arms crossing across his chest, he lets out a breathless sigh.

"Sorry, he just... he just really pissed me off."

He pauses to give himself a moment to collect himself, to get back on the right track.

"I should let you do the talking from now on. I'll... try to control my anger."

@tacticalempathy

[crazydaymycrazyway]

Imagine Arlo finding out that Rei's murder is Val. Then the inevitable breakdown. Then I suppose it's him distancing off from his aunt, because I believe Arlo would take the logical stance according to circumstances. The evidences and circumstances that will be presented to him only has one logical conclusion. Cutting off contact a cold blood murderer. But then it struck me, what if he pretended to such upto her and her ideals. I mean, like I dunno, catch her off guard in between vigilantes and say something like, 'oh my God aunt Val, what are you doing? Me? Oh I'm just getting rid of these vigilantes. They're pests and disrupt the work of authorities who only want peace and these pests deserve death. I can see that you have the same idea too. Looks like we ended up having similar thoughts, but hey I'm not surprised. So what else are you thinking of doing? Remi, Usen and Blyke? I'm giving up on them. If they can't stop being stupid, there's no need to give them a second chance. Let them die. Seraphina? Please. I thought about what you said. I choose to side with the sutgorities because they only want good for us. You lied to me, but I understand. It's not like I can be angry at you because you tried to do the right thing! Now, what are you upto aunt? Then Arlo gets info about Val's outings and all and the the information. But then it hit me, this planet of UNO reverse on Val might not work because she's too smart. This might end up with Val doing the UNO reverse. So I decided to drop off my idea. Because Arlo might be smart, but that woman is smarter and might end up gaslighting all the plan out of Arlo before he realizes it. So...sorry Arlo. You'll suffer too, just like everybody else

[acorrespondence]

@freekicks Oh man I have lots; so many that I’m making this a new post so I don’t clog up that poor person’s replies with 50 messages, haha! Basically, it’s an expansion on the idea that everyone has headcanons/canon details that are absolutely integral to their enjoyment of the story and any transformative works based on it (hard), and headcanons/canon details that they’re fond of but could still get pretty much unaltered enjoyment out of a fic that contradicts them (soft). Obviously all these are just opinions and what I get out of the story isn’t and shouldn’t have to be the same as what anyone else gets out of it.

One thing that sort of falls in the middle of the headcanon/canon divide is Raylan’s age when his mother died. The show contradicts itself on this point several times, and so it’s sort of fungible. I personally find the idea that Raylan’s mother died when he was very young, like younger than Loretta, while it may serve the parallels between them, to be much less compelling than the idea that she died later. It’s just so much more… boring for a character whose mother died when he was ten or so to have a gross misrepresentation of who she was as a person in his mental image of her. It’s much more compelling to me if he held onto that despite direct evidence to the contrary that he was old enough to understand. Of course he’d forget the hatchet story if it happened when he was eight. If it happened when he was eighteen, that opens up a much realer possibility that he just straight up repressed it, which is fascinating. Also, I don’t think it makes sense if he grew up with Helen in the house for the second half of his life there. To me that doesn’t really jive with their current relationship. (And on a less story-driven note, I am fascinated by the idea that, if Raylan’s mother died when he was thirty, he might not have attended her funeral. Because part of him knew it would challenge the version of her he had to remember in order to maintain his black and white perception of the world.)

Obviously, the mine and what it represents is a necessary component (though the time and place less so—my Old Guard au places them in the miners’ strikes of the 30s, and I’ve read a wonderful fic where the mine in question was on a different planet entirely. However, it does have to be placed in Harlan, or whatever approximation of Harlan fits the broader setting). The boys and their relationships with their daddies is another nonnegotiable for me. Specifically, the way they grew up; different times and causes of death for Bo and Arlo can work just as well. If Raylan and Boyd don’t meet until they’re established adults, that immediately kills my interest. Their rich history is so integral to why I’m drawn to the ship in the first place. It’s a hard sell for me to have Boyd leave or Raylan stay directly after the mine, but I’ve been known to make an exception if the story is compelling enough and doesn’t sacrifice characterization.

I think Boyd’s criminal history is important, though the nature of it less so. And even more important is the fact that Boyd never really makes it big as a criminal—making him some kind of fief lord of crime makes him much less interesting to me. His plans only succeed inasmuch as he always manages to survive their unraveling. I think it’s important that he’s spent time incarcerated. I’m not a huge fan of stories where they meet again outside of Harlan and never go back, it takes away the central tension between them and the place that made them that Raylan so struggles with and Boyd embraces so wholly, which for me is a really interesting part of their relationship, this dichotomy. I also don’t care for stories that give them a ton of good friends outside each other, or casual friends who actually know them and hang out with them—they’re too big of assholes for that. Of course, this doesn’t include the characters they’re close with in canon; I love Raylan and Rachel’s friendship, in particular, and their understanding of each other despite their vast superficial differences is fascinating. I guess I should say instead that I don’t buy either of them having typical friendships, period. They’re just too weird and fucked up for that. They trauma bonded at nineteen and it continues to be one of the most important relationships in either of their lives. Winona puts up with Raylan’s relational weirdness for love; no one is doing that for their drinking buddy. So they may have close friendships, but they don’t look the way you’d expect.

I’d never make their relationship uncomplicatedly sweet and unfraught, or sand down the kind of feral edges of it, and I don’t think they’d be much for traditional PDA—I just love the way in canon the physical (and otherwise) manifestations of their intimacy are so outside of what’s expected from buddies OR lovers. In the same vein, I don’t love it when Raylan goes crazy with the terms of endearment, because he doesn’t use them much with his love interests in canon. I have him use them with the girls in heavy heart more as verbal tics he picked up after spending too much time around Boyd, who LOVES to use them, plus I think he models at least some of his displays of parental affection after Helen, who canonically calls him “honey”. I’m fine with Boyd throwing endearments around liberally; I just don’t do it in my own fics because I love the way in canon he twists Raylan’s name itself into almost an endearment. He just can’t stop saying it every other sentence, so why would he give up the chance to say it by replacing it with another word? Plus, it fits in with how weird they are about each other in general.

More broadly, I have never really enjoyed full aus (based on any story) that don’t try to approximate at least the broader beats of place and history from canon, but I really really love stories that manage it. I respect authors who can sort of map canon onto a completely different stage, like the space au mentioned above, so much. I hope that I manage that at least somewhat with catching bullets.

That’s all the big ones I can think of at the moment, though I’m sure there’s more I’ve forgotten (most of the rest fall more under ic-ness vs ooc-ness, which is harder to articulate; “what makes them themselves?” is a much more difficult question). Ultimately, I think probably a lot of these come across through cross-referencing both of my WIPs—basically, if it shows up in both, there’s a very good chance it’s a nonnegotiable for me, and if it changes between the two, then I can obviously live without it.

[hollowsart]

Somehow, trying to redesign Batman rogues is way more difficult than redesigning Spiderman rogues.

Somehow, they aren't inspiring many ideas for me, and much like a lot of dc content, the variations of the characters as a mainline fresh new take on everything is extremely limited in the creativity of variation to their genders and backstories that lead up to them becoming who/what they are. (Or it's left as a one-time one-off thing)

I think we could do with some more genderswaps and stuff, y'know? It would help inspire more creativity with the concepts of the characters. Give more substance to work with.

Some ideas/concepts for what I mean:

Joanna Crane, excluded from her field of research because her methods were too extreme and her research was becoming unethical and against all tules and regulations. Excluded due to being a woman in a field dominated by men within the corrupt city of Gotham.

Oswin Cobblepot, worked exceptionally hard despite her appearance to get where she is in life. Becoming powerful with an impressive influence in the underbelly of Gotham. All stemming from or origins in seeking insurance and protection for her high class club/bar after it had been wrecked one night by thugs. Ever since, she'd managed to firmly plant herself proudly in the underworld.

Arnona Wesker, always had a fascination with puppetry ever since she was little. Due to a sudden house fire when she was just a teen, she lost her collection of puppets.. well, all but 1 head. She salvaged it and kept it for later. Later never came, and her life progressed like a roller coaster of hills. At some point early in her adulthood, she started to hear a voice. It wasn't her own, and it always seemed to come from where she kept that dummy head. The dummy had become sentient.

Arlo Quinzel, talk show radio therapist and psychologist who received one too many prank calls from a bored Joker that ended in his career on the airways. He was highly influential, for better or for worse. Besides psychology, Arlo also enjoyed reading about classical theater and watching performances. An interest of his that had been forced out of him by his family, forcing him instead to go into a more "appropriate" and beneficial field of work. Safe to say, he finally got his wish to entertain through theater and the arts.. albeit twisted into something less playful.

Victoria Fries, a well-known cryogenicist who merely studied the effects of cryogenics on living things, trying to find a way to prevent the death of cells on the body when frozen. In a way, trying to slow down death and aging. Her experiments were done mostly on plants as any suggestions for small animals to help progress her research had always been denied.

Edlyn Nygma, the smartest student in all her schools growing up. She was the brightest despite her dark and dreary homelife. She worked extra hard to prove herself to her old-fashioned misogynistic father, and when that failed, she worked even harder to exceed him and escape the life she suffered through for years. After succeeding, her life hardly picked up. Being forced to work in a small publishing company that made riddle and joke books, the only place that wanted to accept her regardless of her qualifications. The years of monotony and lack of approval to her ideas finally made her crack, burning the place down after. Seeking now to challenge Gotham to prove her mind and self as something worth listening to. Becoming Gotham's anonymous "Riddler" and learning to use people's underestimations of her to her advantage.

Waylynn Jones, ..idk her story could be left alone from the original. Skin condition she was born with that disfigured her, or it was like some kind of genetic mutation that made her look more crocodilian than human, only getting worse as she grew up before finally reaching a point it wouldn't progress any further, leaving her looking big and monstrous.

Salem Kyle, his backstory can also remain pretty much the same as canon with minimal changes. Why change what works? Also I have no ideas for him tbh

Harper Dent, another than could be left the same as the main canon, just swapped around so they're a woman instead cuz we appreciate complex women 👍

[bullet-prooflove]

I have an ask for Nik Sabatino 🩷 The prompt is 3. And we kept everything professional But something's changed. Thank you so much.

Tagging: @words-and-seeds @novamariestark @whateversomethingbruh @trublu2u @stelacole @kmc1989

Nik’s been back in LA for approximately three hours when he finds out about your trip to Mexico, the one you didn’t tell him about. He’s barely had enough time to dump his bags at his hotel and shower before he’s called out to a scene in Malibu involving his C.I.

It involves two dead bodies in the trunk of his car and a high speed pursuit on an electric scooter. Only in LA, he thinks as he scrolls through Tucker’s phone bringing up his most recent internet tabs.

It's then he finds the hitlist, the one with your picture on. It’s a group shot of you, Sam and Callen,  your face is shadowed by the cap you’re wearing, but the others are in plain view. It’s been taken in a hospital carpark in Mexico, he knows that because he’s been to the same hospital, he’d dropped Arlo Turk off there with a gunshot wound to the shoulder once upon a time.

He picks up his phone, dialling Turk’s number. If anyone can tell him what mischief you’ve been getting up to in Mexico it’ll be him.

“What’s your interest?” Turk asks him before he divulges the information.

My life partner’s trying to give me a heart attack, he considers telling the other man. However your relationship is still on the downlow, not even your team are aware that the two of you are together so he goes with the usual party line.

“Classified.” He says dryly. “But there’s an eighteen year old bottle of McCallan in it for you, if you tell me everything in the file and out of it.”

By the time Nik hangs up the phone he’s livid.

You’d undertaken an unsanctioned mission into Mexico to rescue Mosley’s son. It had resulted in the horrific death of Special Agent Harley Hidoko. Deeks had been critically injured, which is why you were at the hospital in the first place and the rest of you had barely escaped with your lives.

The fallout is currently still ongoing as the entire team are being investigated by a federal prosecutor. Nobody’s sure if charges are going to land your way or not, and your career…

Lord knows if you’ll still have a job at the end of the week.

You’re trying to give him an aneurysm, Nik’s sure of it.

He uses back channels to summon both you and Callen to the crime scene. His job was over and done with once his CI was arrested by the LAPD but if he leaves the scene he has to hand over the phone for evidence and he wants to show you the consequences of your actions. It’s clear to him that none of you played out how badly the mission could have gone. When he looks at it, he can see the plan was slapdash, haphazard, not the usual standard of work he expected from you all.

Mossley’s doing, he suspects, a woman so driven by her emotions, her desire to find her son that she would have sacrificed anyone of you. Hidoko had played the ultimate price, tongue cut out, burned alive and that woman hadn’t even attended her funeral. The thought of that happening to you…

It makes his blood boil because to Mosley you’re disposable and she’s hanging every single one of you out to dry.

When you step into the tented command centre he can tell you’re surprised to see him. You tuck your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you straighten your shoulders and hold your head up high. It riles him in more ways than one because you know, that he knows, and that he can’t show how pissed off he is right now, not without dropping the dime on your relationship.

“Looks like you guys survived Mexico.” He says, his expression filled with ire as he places his hands upon his hips. “Good job.”

You say nothing as you meet his gaze but he can see the defiance in you. You’re convinced you did the right thing and the problem is he can’t argue with you. The thing he loves most about you is your conviction, you know exactly who you are, you don’t lose yourself the way he does.

It’s both infuriating and extremely erotic.

“I have a feeling that’s you didn’t call us down here to congratulate us on our success.” Callen remarks, jutting his head towards the hand sticking out of the trunk of the nearby car.

“No, it is not.” Nik says, withdrawing the phone from his pocket and holding it up for the both of you to see. “The killer left his phone in the car and we found a cartel hitlist and guess who’s on it.”

He swipes his finger across the screen and the picture appears, the one of the three of you outside the hospital.

“One million.” He says looking pointedly at you. “Per person.

He sees the expression on your face change at the realisation. One million is a lot for a hit. The guy lying in the trunk of that car, his bounty was only $250,000 and he was the head of the drug enforcement taskforce. That’s how badly the cartel wants to murder you guys.

“They haven’t identified you yet but trust me they are trying really, really hard.” It’s impossible for him to keep the bite out of his voice.

“So we need to get that site taken down.” You begin, withdrawing your own phone from your back pocket to call Eric.

“I’ve already taken care of it.” Nik tells you as he returns the phone back to the evidence bag.  “I’ve got the NSA cybernuts scrubbing it from existence but it’s been on the darkweb for almost two weeks. There’s no telling who’s seen it.”

“I’m getting the feeling your mad at us. ” Callen says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did we fuck up some super-secret CIA operation you guys were running?”

He turns his gaze on the other man, and the fury it burns deep down inside of him. There’s no way Callen doesn’t see it.

He’s almost as culpable as Mosley. He’s supposed to be the team leader, the calm one, the responsible one but he’d run head first into this mess, the same way the rest of you had. Nik knows he’s inches away from betraying himself so he does what he does best, he spins his anger towards something else, something that fits with Callen’s perception.

“You guys burned Arlo Turk.” He snaps, jabbing his finger at the other man. “That guy was the biggest source of cartel intel in the country and you burned him, do you know how many agencies relied on that information?”

None of you have any idea of all the threads you’ve unravelled, all the hard work that you’ve undone. There’s people in Washington baying for your blood, threatening to shut down Special Operations, to indict you and the two of you have no fucking clue. Nik’s out here doing damage control, he’s calling in favours, twisting the narrative, trying to save your lives and your careers.

“And there it is.” Callen mutters, the left side of his mouth twisting up into a bitter smile. “We’re making your life harder.”

He really has no fucking idea.

Nik’s phone has been vibrating in his pocket ever since this conversation started. His contacts coming back to him, feeding him information, completing the tasks he’s set them. You’re not going down for this he’s making sure of that, he’s put Mosley directly in the firing line for pulling this shit.

Already Callen’s walking away, you’re about to follow when Nik captures your arm. His eyes meet yours and you know that this isn’t over. There’s so much he wants to say to you in this moment but the words won’t leave his mouth because he’s just so God damned angry.

“Don’t think we won’t be talking about this at home.” He warns you, releasing his grasp on your arm. “I mean it Alana, you guys fucked up big time.”

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