#I could just call it ANGST

[iamamythologicalcreature]

I'm-Not-Going-To-Count-These-Sentences Sunday

Thank you @aroace-genderfluid-sheep and @hushed-chorus for the tags! (Guess what hushed-chorus I did that thing we talked about.) Also thank you to everyone who has tagged me on other WIP-days! I really appreciate it <3

So... I'm not counting sentences this time. I write long sentences, and I make rabid use of sentence-extending punctuation. And I have this thing about posting excerpts that are semi-contained in some way. Plus it's going to take me forever to get this fic posted, so I gotta give ya'll something. THUSLY: Here have a bunch of words.

(I really should have pinned my bi-weekly updates on Wednesday, but OH WELL.)

Context: Baz POV, with Agatha in the chapel after midnight, being 17 year olds. Simon is out of the picture after Baz kinda sorta stole his voice with a tape recorder in fifth year.

“I never thanked you for saving me,” she said, with just a little too much effort at nonchalance. “You did, actually,” I said, not slowing, or sparing her so much as a glance. “You might recall how you resembled a hypothermic beached mermaid? You were quite free with your gratitude once you caught your breath. It was all very melodramatic.” There was a brief pause - possibly an attempt to work out whether my description of her was complimentary or not. Either way, it didn’t deter her. “I never got to thank you the way I wanted to,” she said, a hint of a whine working its way past her shoddily built facade. I didn’t answer right away as I fought down a sudden surge of irritation, one that threatened to trigger my more destructive tendencies - self-destructive, perhaps, but not exclusively so. The only thing worse than being considered a villain was being cast as a tragic hero - someone only misunderstood, just waiting to be saved. “Basil—“ she began, apparently ready to try something else. I stopped short, forcing her to halt both her forward movement and that regrettable demonstration of poor judgment. We were at the entrance to the chapel, now, and it was easy to crowd her against the cold statuary. “How exactly did you want to thank me, then, Wellbelove?”

Later it's entirely likely these two are going to put special effort into trying to forget any of this ever happened, because teenage mistakes are brilliant like that. You're welcome, Bazatha.

Also, super stoked to be working on a couple @caught-on-tape-fest podfics as well as cowriting with @ileadacharmedlife for the @carryon-reverse-bang. Wheeeee I can totally do this all! >.>

Tags/Hellos under the cut! (BTW regarding tags - I'm often unable to browse tumblr, so if you've posted something creative Sunday/Wednesday/for the hell of it, please feel free to tag me so I see it!)

Thanks for the tags over the past couple weeks @aristocratic-otter, @whatevertheweather, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @ileadacharmedlife, @prettygoododds, @cutestkilla, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @tender-ministrations, @ic3-que3n, @artsyunderstudy, @youarenevertooold, @ivelovedhimthroughworse - I love love love seeing what everyone is up to! (Sorry if I missed anyone - apparently tags don't always work? Sigh.)

Tags and hellos also to @fatalfangirl, @katmiscellanious, @shrekgogurt, @rimeswithpurple, @alleycat0306, @ebbpettier, @supercutedinosaurs, @nightimedreamersworld, @thewholelemon, @theearlgreymage, @bubble-gumhead, @raenestee, @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists (thanks for the extra notes XD), @ionlydrinkhotwater, @erzbethluna... And anyone else who wants tags, please let me know! Or just tag me! I love them.

[kittykatninja321]

My less popular opinion (and what I believe to be implied by the art in Lost Days) is that rather than waking up in a fully grown body Jason didn’t actually complete his puberty until after his Lazarus pit dip while he was on his murder tour. Imagine you’re tied up in a basement in Berlin getting interrogated by a teenager and his voice is cracking the entire time and if you laugh he’s going to shoot you

[reebmiester]

"Bruce is terrible at communicating to his kids that they are family instead of a job, that he's their father and not their boss, and that he views them as his children, not just his wards-" BITCH where do you think he LEARNED that from

[blushweddinggowns]

Idea expanded, Rockstar Eddie falling head over heels for Bartender Steve working in a high class club type of joint. He sees him working one night and thinks God damn, he's hot. I'm taking him home tonight.

Except bartender Steve has developed a significant distaste for celebrities and rich people in general because of getting cut off from his homophobic parents for coming out and the general bad way many have treated him at work whilst sloshed. But lucky for Eddie, Steve doesn't recognize him. And even though he started off in a trailer park, the fame has gone to his head a little and he asks Steve out with the full intention of getting into his pants and never seeing him again.

But oh no, would you look at that Steve isn't easy. And what Eddie thought would be a booty call ends up being a ten hour date around the city where he has more fun than he even thought was possible. Just from talking with Steve about anything and everything, flitting to parks and museums. And Eddie doesn't even realize until he's back at his hotel that they didn't even kiss.

And they go out more and more, and Eddie likes him more and more and he finds out where the rich people hate comes from. And it scares him. So he keeps lying. Like an idiot. And he tells Steve a fake last name, he tells him a fake job (which is only half fake because he did used to be a tattoo artist) and he rents an air bnb that he pretends is his own place. And the lies keep getting more elaborate to cover up more lies. And he keeps refusing to meet Steve's friends out of fear that they'll recognize him. And he really just drove himself into a corner here because he is absolutely in love with Steve at this point but how the fuck can you have a normal relationship when you are pretending to be someone else?

Turns out you can't, and Steve finds out the truth despite his efforts. But the twist is, he thinks it's fucking hilarious. After a normal period of What the fuck reaction time he gets over it. But never let's Eddie live it down.

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

6/27 Edit: Welp, now there's a fic.

Two fics actually. The other is by KikiZ on ao3 which is great if you're not looking for an explicit fic! Because mine will be. It's also a bit more introspective than what I got going on, and also thus far, hella romantic.

[starscream-is-my-wife]

Humans told them about Orion the hunter, what a coincidence

[aerknight]

@naffeclipse orcas beach themselves to hunt seals orca!eclipse beaches themself to hunt y/n :)

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

real quick. to the the anon in my inbox a few weeks back asking about how free use medic came to be the agreed-upon method of stress relief for the whole of 141: i love you, you're perfect, i'm not ignoring you; i am drafting in direct response. several things.

at the anon who sent me the ask minutes ago about a particular au with Soap: good god. good god. i have 8 solid hours of meetings tomorrow and that's all i'm gonna be thinking about. thank you for the brain rot. rip.

[quiverymango]

Y'know what? Screw it...[WoF-ifies your Fiddlestan]

[hyperfixiation-station]

THOUGHT OF ANOTHER OMEGA!READER ANGST FIC IDEA!

So reader is dragged in for questions and there's not a lot of rules regarding how omega are treat in/by the military so they are very rough with you and you're just a medic who doesn't know anything but they question you anways and Ghost only find out because he can smell your distress from 3 buildings away.

Coem to find out this happens to a lot of omegas, this is just the first time the omega has, for lack of better term, belonged to a high-profile alpha. So Ghost and the rest of the 141 go to lobby for better rules/treatment and yeah. I dunno. I'm tired.

[fumifooms]

Thinking about them…

[brain-rot-hour]

Day 2: Moonlight

(Or lack there-of ishdksdksksk)

You ever wonder what WOULD happen if the sun didn’t come up in time?

@inukag-week

[sysig]

An eye for a life, unquestionably worth it (Patreon)

[jajanvm-imbi]

Hey remember when I said that this was the most frustrating thing about being a Helluva Boss enjoyer?

Yeah I was wrong.

The most frustrating thing about being a Helluva Boss enjoyer is explicitly stating multiple times that I like show and then get called an anti and homophobic and media illiterate when I complain about the direction it has taken.

I LIKE the comedy

I LIKE the animation and artstyle

I LIKE the more serious plotlines like the government agents plot and the Cherubs plot

I LIKE the themes of friendship and found family

I even like most of the songs!

And ofc the voice cast slays every time

But just because your show has angst and tears and drama and sad music doesn't automatically make it "good".

Just because your characters are queer doesn't automatically make them good or well written characters

This fandom is so frustrating to deal with when you want to express your more nuanced takes of it

This is probably gonna be the last post I make about this subject and about Helluva Boss in general, this shit is too stupid to deal with

[vivilingriphyn]

Before Jay lost his memories, does he ever accidentally attempt to attacked his own friends especially Nya, because of C!Nadakhan tricked him just for fun?

Yes. Yes he has and probably again.

@mariasparkles PRETTY COLORS❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

Definitely. Especially after skybound and the aftermath of it, since C!Nadakhan still hasn't had any development in its character at that time, its torment on Jay was constant and severe to the point Jay often couldn't distinguish dreams from reality anymore because of C!Nadakhan. Making him feel as if the consequences of his actions seem meaningless since he thinks he's in a dream or in an illusion, like many times before. And when confronted by the others, Jay would look at them as if he doesn't see them at all but thinks he's simply in another nightmare. So he would either let them hurt him (basically giving up at times), putting up a fight or to hurt them without a second thought with the intention of just wanting to get this round of torment over with.

So yes he has hurt them and at one point almost killed them. To which I wanna i call that part of The Sham | Origins, the seclusion arc or Self-imprisonment. Basically more hurt before the healing begins for Jay.

[tobisiksi]

tw: suicide mention-emotional maipulation

I refuse to believe that kusuo never tried to lose on purpose in one of kusukes games

a lot of people say that he probably was too egocentric to lose but man, ku gives up on things without thinking twice just for the sake of the others

just like when he gave up on satou when he and hii got together (the only example I can come with rn but there is a lot more)

and don't get me wrong, kusuo IS egocentric, but he knows where to trace a line he has a moral code and the principal rule is "don't be an inconvenience to the others"

so there is no way he didn't tried before

kusuke saw through his facade?

kusuke is insane and a masoquist and he has some suicidal behaviour aaand

I can see him telling kusuo to never try to fake a lost again or else he will off himself

idk he just yk, he's emotionally abusive and he's too obsessed with the idea of kusuo and him playing deathly games

TOO obsessed

he even took himself as hostage and he also kidnapped and brainwashed one of his brothers friends

he would say something like that

but I also believe that he wasn't aware of the heigh of those words

(I believe that he isn't aware of the heigh of all his actions, he just have a really twisted view of what is wrong and right)

I see this kind of scenario happening when they were young, when kusuo stopped copying his older brother (the motorcycle, the little cardboard robot, rock papper scissors, guys he was copying his older brother cuz he thought he was cool) and started to feel some resentment or even pity towards him

kusuke wouldn't take pityness very well, resentment? dont care, being hated? kay whatever but feeling any form of empathy or pity?????

it makes him sick

so he would say something like that but the thing is that he sees his brother as a God who is superior to every other living being

so he thinks that it isn't a big deal because his God had more important things to take care of

wrooooong, your God it's your baby bro who is just a child who used to admire you a lot before you started to get more and more insane progressively and the thing you just said it's fucking up his head because the love and hate he has for you were the strongest feelings his baby brain could feel and now he cannot come up with a way to make you stop envying or feeling resentful cuz of his powers (that he did not choose to born with in the first place) without making you have a meltdown that will end up with you killing yourself

[lovesickeros]

☆ i dream of embers

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes no au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.1k

The House of the Hearth is quiet — or, if you really wanted to be precise, the rats scuttling through the walls are working around the bubble you exist in. The children dare not tempt fates hand unless you asked for them by name, a contradiction. An order to the rules — they mustn't approach you with trivialities, but they must listen if you speak. Your words carry more weight than gold in this house, whether you know it or not.

A tenuous position.

You haven't done anything to earn their reverence, their almost acrid fear — but Arlecchino has. She wields her silver tongue with as much ease as her polearm, ensuring your care in her absence. Her devotion, her service, is felt in the warmth of her chambers, the silks she adorns you with, the bed so soft you feel as though you melt into it. A gift, a promise — a gilded cage need not be something undesirable.

You've grown used to the encumbrance of her presence, these days. The deep timbre of her voice, honeyed yet melting into something rougher, quieting into haunting silence as if she seeks not to disturb you. Dim candlelight is all that illuminates her broad frame as she slowly presses the door open and closed behind her, pallid skin streaked with darkening red, her bottom lip smeared with it like lipstick. There is a tension to her shoulders even when she sets aside her polearm, out of sight and out of mind, harsh lines on her face visible in the deep furrow of her thin brows.

Here, she let's the weariness settle deep into her bones — it's just the two of you, even if she hasn't acknowledged you at all. Still, it's a vulnerability she shows no other, even if that vulnerability is hidden behind layers of barbed wire and teeth.

You watch rather idly from the bed as she wets a cloth in a basin of water, the bed creaking beneath you as your feet sink into the plush rug beneath. You know from experience that trying to help her is like trying to soothe a wild dog, but your knuckles brush over the sharp line of her cheek anyway, free hand stealing the soaking cloth from her hands when her jaw flexes and tenses beneath the pads of your fingers.

It is only then that she looks down at you, eyes as sharp as blades yet so indescribably warm — like a flame licking at your skin, burning so deep you feel it linger for weeks after. Arlecchino is not soft, far from it — but she blunts her jagged edges for you anyway, brushes her lips against your knuckles and allows you a moment of adoration. Carves her worship bone deep in the ghost of her touch against your lower back as she leans down, let's you wash away the blood certainly not her own, never blinking as if you'd simply up and leave if she stopped looking at you for even the smallest moment.

You are well aware she is caging you in. You let her.

Though she is still stiff as a board up to the moment you set the washcloth over the side of the basin, her jaw flexing again, a moment of consideration given. She is not used to soft and brittle things, though — not used to touch that does not lead to steel at her throat, in her gut, carving out softness like a butcher carves up meat, section by section.

But this affliction of affection is stronger than the discomfort, at times.

You almost half consider letting her take the room and have a night of proper rest, but she is faster than you — a calloused hand tilts your head back, half lidded eyes glinting beneath the weight of exhaustion, her thumb firm against your bottom lip. She could kill you without even blinking, you are aware, but she is nothing but careful with her touch — not soft, not Arlecchino, but there is adoration in her touch. Like thumbing a locket portrait, trying to imprint their features into memory by touch alone.

Her touch is fleeting, but the warmth lingers long after — you don't need to be touching to feel the weight of her attention. She stokes the flames of the dying fire, has one of the children bring a fresh pot of tea, lingers even when she doesn't have to. You're sure her desk in her office is far more comfortable to work at, but she'd crammed a small desk into the room anyway, stayed even long after you fell asleep most nights. You never did get to stay up long enough to notice her slip in beside you, nor wake up early enough to find her there with you, but the heat lingers — she leaves breakfast at your bedside table, a small note of affection if she's feeling particularly sappy. Even when you don't see her, she makes sure you feel her presence however she can.

Neither of you need to speak to express it. The silence is..oddly comfortable, filled by the shift of paper or scratch of a pen, the clink of a cup or crackle of fire. It's a little too easy to get lost in watching her work, masking a smile whenever she glanced back at you with a question on the tip of her tongue that goes unsaid.

It's better that way, you both think. The silence was best left undisturbed — as if trying to break it would be like breaking the mirror to each others lives. You don't busy yourself in the affairs of the House of the Hearth, and she doesn't make you. It's better that way, too. Maybe that makes you naive, blind even, to the bodies at her feet piled so high she could drown, but you don't want to give up this fragile tranquility.

So you let the dull scratch of a pen lull you to sleep, try not to smile too much when a hand reaches out in uncertainty to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheek with so much affection it makes it hard to breathe.

It's a tenuous balance, but come the next night you will wipe the blood from her cheek again and she will care for you the only way she knows how — distant service.

And when you wake up to an empty bed, warm despite the fires long burned out, you'll still feel her presence in the allure of a warm drink and pastries at your bedside, a note tucked beneath the plate.

Just like the day before, and just as you expect tomorrow to be. But one day you'll gently pull apart the barbed wire and be let in — not today, no, but someday. It's a slow process, but you're patient enough to wait — and when she let's you in, you'll tend to the scars that it left like you've always done.

One step at a time, one day.