#I fixed it and then it fell again and it was beyond repair

[an-internet-introvert]

My god, is 4pm to early to go to bed because god it has been a long weekend

[k9wa]

𑣲 RILE HIM UP ! ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — your least favourite cyborg is brought back to you a mangled mess.

⠀ OR

⠀ — being boothill’s mechanic when you lowkey can’t stand each other.

⚠︎ sweet sweet tension, a little suggestive towards the end, gn reader (no referring pronouns), can they fuck already, this was ib by his lightcone, wc 1.9k

boothill's eyes flickered to life, emitting a faint glow of red as his systems began to reboot.

a pair of familiar red pupils met yours, two crosshairs fading into sight as boothill regained his sight and— to your dismay— consciousness.

as the cyborg regained his motion he attempted a step forward, only to realise he didn’t have the feet or legs to do so. the only thing keeping him powered on were some metal claws screwed into his back and a few loose cables connecting to your terminals.

“sugar plum,” boothill's scruffy voice cut through the silence. “do y'care to explain where my legs might’a run off to?”

you actually cocked an eyebrow. how the hell were you supposed to know? boothill was brought back to you in a mess of scraps and wiring— the damn hunk of metal was lucky you made him as blast proof as possible and he was left salvageable. 

“care to tell me how the hell you got this roughed up?”

you asked in turn, crouching down to look at the detached and ruined internals of boothill's torso where the stand-in wires were connected. you ran a finger carefully along the edge of his shredded metallic stomach.

“guess i didn't make you as smart as i thought. time for a newer model, maybe?”

boothill's eyes flickered down to his missing lower half, then to your hand that was more or less caressing him. it was amazing how much annoyance they could show in all their artificial glory.

“look who’s talkin.” the cowboy grumbled, pointy fangs poking out in an irritated grin. 

“how ‘bout, ‘gee, boothill! i’m real glad y’ain’t get blown to smithereens beyond repair!’” 

“it would've been less work for me if whoever blew you up finished the job.”

you sighed as you stood up, putting a hand lazily on your hip.

“how’d it happen?”

boothill bit back another argument with a gruff chuckle.

“some real cutie-pies i was huntin’ down had a lil’ more firepower than i expected. guess they didn’t appreciate me spoilin’ their party.”

boothill visibly cringed as his insult was substituted with some cutesy nickname mid explanation.

“and can you fix my beautiful synesthesia beacon already? this thing is drivin’ me up the wall.”

the request fell on deaf ears as your fingers typed something on your laptop, likely another string of code.

“you’re more concerned about your censor than how long it’s gonna take me to put your legs back on…” you sighed to yourself, still leaned over your workbench, eyes focused on your screen.

“i'm not touching it right now. you’re lucky i’m even letting you stay sentient after this.”

boothill snorted at the remark, brows furrowing in a steady grimace.

“well, ‘scuse me for wantin’ to speak freely–  i’m a grown man!” his pointy teeth shone as they peeked out again in a grin.

“y’know what? just leave yer lil’ tools and all the pieces there— i’ll get my legs back on myself. don’t need no charity work from the likes’a you.” he laughed. “heck, may even give myself a new pecker while i'm at it!”

the mechanic had half a mind to listen, sit back and watch boothill struggle to reassemble himself just to prove a point and simultaneously bask in his embarrassment when the former realised it wasn’t possible.

(not that he would’ve admitted defeat– you would have begrudgingly stepped in and helped before he inevitably messed up his wiring more.)

you stepped back over to boothill, hands moving to hold his cheeks so you could tilt his face side to side to check for any more damage.

“cool it, cowboy.” your eyes squinted in focus as they looked at boothill's, lightly tugging up on his eyelid to check for scratches or cracks.

“i'll get you back up and running, just lose the attitude already.”

boothill's eyes narrowed as he felt your touch on his face. the temperature difference of warm fingers on his cold, mechanical body stirring an oddity where his gut should have been. though he tried to ignore it, the sensation was there, clear as day against all his artificial nerve endings. 

“real easy for you to say,” he huffed, avoiding your eyes as he was examined like a broken toy. “let’s see how peachy you are when yer all strung up and legless, love muffin.”

that censor really was gonna drive him insane.

“just get it over with.'' boothill muttered in annoyance. “and try not t’fuss anythin’ up.”

it took quite some time, as expected, for you to successfully reattach boothill’s legs and fix his mangled midsection. when you were finally finished, you tugged out any leftover wires that connected boothill to your terminals and pushed back in your wheelie chair to beckon the cowboy forward. you pushed your glasses up to your forehead, some hair getting swept out of your eyes with them.

“feel fine?”

boothill rolled his ankles and bent his knees, giving his legs a good stretch to test their mobility.

“mighty fine,” he responded, satisfied to feel they were weighted and moved the same as before. “though i can’t say i’m lovin’ the breeze up my backside.” 

boothill glanced down at himself, steel body completely bare and lacking any of his signature clothing. 

“got my pants lyin’ around anywhere, sugar plum?”

you pointed to another table in the room, where boothills clothes— (or rather the new ones you had to go and get—) were neatly folded, his hat placed on top of them. 

boothill went to get himself dressed, hoisting up his bell bottomed pants and sliding on his jacket. he stole a glance in your direction every so often, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes at the mere sight of you.

the artificial man hit a small bump in the road as he went to zip his jacket (could you really call it that with how little it covered?) up—  his fingers weren’t responding as well as they should have been. he could open and close his fist, but lacked the precision to pinch and hold the zipper.

“hey, honeybun,'' boothill called over to you with a furrowed brow. “didn’t i tell you not to go fudgin’ anythin’ up?”

you, in all your overtired glory groaned, turning around in your chair and waving boothill back over.

“what are you talking about?” 

“my cute lil’ fingers ain’t workin’ that’s what i’m talkin’ ‘bout!”

boothill's footsteps were clunky and loud as he stomped his way back over to his mechanic.

you reached for his hand, an uncharacteristic gentleness in your touch as you examined five mechanical fingers.

“make a fist,”

boothill obeyed, curling his fingers into his palm.

“open it,”

he obeyed again, letting them open and relax.

“hold up two fingers,”

boothill tried, but his fingers got stuck halfway into the motion, locking at the joints.

“son of a bitch.” you sighed, turning for one of your tools. “sit back down.”

boothill grumbled and went to hoist himself back onto the workbench.

“least one o’us can say it…” 

“do you want me to fix you or not?”

“i'm sittin’ ain’t i??”

you pulled boothill's shirt off his left shoulder and popped open a tiny panel on the curve of his neck, sliding your glasses back on to the bridge of your nose. with a lean forward you began carefully looking at a few thin wires that filled the space.

boothill tapped his fingers against the tabletop while you worked, that same oddity as before settling in his now repaired gut. he rarely got messed up enough for you and him to spend this much time together, or for you to have to really be in such close proximity.

it’s not uncomfortable, but the feeling is by no means familiar. it’s actually a little embarrassing– a galaxy ranger, a space cyborg and expert hunter, feeling almost flustered at some close contact like some kind of shy little girl.

“something the matter?”

boothill nearly jumped as you spoke up quietly to check on him, voice quiet and so close to his ear he had to refrain from leaning both closer and away.

“nah, everything’s just dandy.” boothill’s voice followed yours– quieter and a little softer as a result of the closeness.

“you’re sure?” you looked up from the small mess of wires, eyes glancing up at your cyborg over the rim of your glasses. “might as well fix anything else that’s bugging you while i’m here.”

boothill would have swallowed if he had the need to lubricate his throat. he shook his head, turning to look somewhere— anywhere else.

yours lingered on him, albeit briefly, observing the clench of his jaw and the way he tried to shift in his seat without being disruptive to your work. he didn’t see the little smirk tug at your lips as you refocused on the task at hand.

boothill’s cybernetic limbs felt almost human in their sensitivity, sending faux shivers up a spine he didn’t even have. the mechanics fingers running down his forearm are doing him no favours as they move to hold his hand again.

“close your fist…open it…two fingers up…”

each command was obeyed, ten gunmetal fingers finally holding up a little peace sign.

“that should be it, come see me if they start acting up again.”

you stood up, tentatively reaching out to fix boothill’s jacket and begin to zip it for him.

boothill didn’t protest the act, but it was…confusing, to say the least.

“reckon i’ll just start seein’ those auto bots again,” he leaned back on his palms as your fingers fixed his collar, straightening it out.  “much as i love our lil’ visits.”

you only hummed, smoothing out a few wrinkles and neatly tucking his scarf into it’s neckline, as he liked. “you could,” you mused, hooking your finger lightly into his collar and giving a gentle tug forward. “they don’t take as good care of you as i do, though.”

this time boothill caught the little smirk on your lips, clear as day and enough to make him question if short circuiting was possible.

you’re doing it on purpose, he knows. the careful touches to his hands and body against the sensors you put there, quiet voice leaving him with a frisson you made it possible for him to have.

boothill returned the smirk, albeit a little wobbly.

“you tryin’a rile me up, sugar plum?” 

he entertained you with a lean forward, two white crosshairs looking right at you while he considered if a hand on your waist was too forward or the perfect cornering move. 

“just like watching you squirm.”

you were gone as quickly as you’d arrived, finger unhooked and going to pick up his hat.

“but say i was,” you didn’t bother with a glance over as you made sure the brim was straight and unharmed. “i hardly have to try.” 

boothill hopped down from the table, following your path and offering a scruffy chuckle when you reached up to place it on his head.

“yeah? and what makes y’say that?” his hand found a place on his hip.

you didn’t respond— not verbally, anyway. a quick flick of your eyes downwards was all he received. 

so he followed, looking down as well, to the very appendage he had insisted you give him over and over again pushing against his trousers. 

his own dream, now his downfall. 

boothill pushed passed you, pushing his hat further down onto his head while he stomped away. the profanities that left his lips filled the air— or rather their replacements. something something i love you blah blah peach cobbler something cutie-pie or meow!

“remind me t’settle for them lovely auto bots next time!”

he opened the door with a firm kick of his boot, stomping out with a scowl. 

as if he wouldn’t be back. you took better care of him, after all.

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[bloatedandalone04]

Wrapped Around Your Finger - Part 1.4

Series Masterlist | Original Fic

➪in which anakin feels completely isolated from you for the first time in five years, and he doesn’t know if he will ever be given the chance to fix his mistake.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 4k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Anakin gave his guitar to Theo as he sprinted off stage and towards the very dressing room he broke your heart in.

You never came back after walking away at the beginning of the show, and that had him completely on edge. He looked around the backstage area and when he couldn’t find you anywhere, he checked the dressing room. But you weren’t in there either. 

Maybe you went back to the bus? God, he hoped so. He just got you back, he couldn’t handle losing you again so soon, and for a completely different reason this time. 

His nerves were completely shot as he practically sprinted to the bus, the only thought on his mind being to get back to you and further explain things to you. If he needed to drop to his knees and beg for you, he was more than willing to do so, because you were it. His one and only, and you always would be. 

The show tonight was one of the longer ones, so in the two hours he was on stage you could have literally gone anywhere. His heart was in his throat as he pulled open the bus door and looked around, and he could feel it quicken its pace as he realized that you weren’t here either. 

Where the fuck did you go? You told him you’d be here after the show, yet he couldn’t find any trace of you. 

Actually, he couldn’t find any sign of you at all. Your bag was gone, your jacket was picked up from off the couch, and your laptop wasn’t on the table anymore. “No,” he rasped. “Fuck. No.”

His hands were shaking as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called you, but he was sent straight to voicemail. 

You were ignoring him.

“Fuck,” he nearly yelled as he called you again, only to be met with the same result. “Fuck!”

After the third call he was forced to leave you a message, and he felt as pathetic as he sounded. “Baby, please. Please….call me back. I’m so sorry,” he rambled as he pulled at his sweaty hair. “We need to talk about this more, we have to work this out, I….fuck, Y/n, you said you’d be here after the show.”

He was crying now and was choking on his words as he said them, and he hoped you would be able to understand him, but he also hoped you couldn’t. He hated the fact that he was the one crying after he fucked things up, possibly beyond repair, when he really had no right to. 

“Please, just…tell me where you are and that you’re okay and safe, please,” he begged and dropped onto the couch. “I love you.” 

His phone fell to the floor after that and his hands came up to cover his face. 

He had no idea what to do. He was shaking and his eyes were sore as he couldn’t seem to stop the tears from leaving them.

What the fuck is he going to do? How is he going to fix this? 

He can’t lose you. He can’t, he wouldn’t be able to function without you. The thought of not having you around him after this was enough to send him into a panic attack, and he knew he needed to get a hold of himself, but he didn’t know how. 

You weren’t here, weren’t at the venue, and your stuff was gone. Where did you go? You wouldn’t have left without telling him, right? You wouldn’t have gone back to London and not tell him, right? 

He didn’t know anymore. 

His phone went off from its place on the floor, and he scrambled off the couch to grab it, and when he saw that it was you who texted him, he nearly cried of joy. But your message wasn’t what he wanted to read, and it left him feeling even worse.

Princess: I’m safe. I just need some time to think. Please, at least give me that. 

-

You slept on a chair in the airport last night, your duffle bag being your pillow and your jacket being your blanket. 

Your eyes were bloodshot and sore beyond words from all the crying you’ve done since Anakin told you that he cheated on you. Did that count as him cheating on you? Not exactly, but his lips touched someone else’s, so what did that make it? Accidentally cheating? You didn’t know and you were too upset to care about what to call it. 

After he went on stage and began the show, you couldn’t stand it anymore and left. You went back to the bus and was originally going to stay there and sleep on the couch, but the more you got into your head, the more you wanted to get the fuck out of there completely. 

Running away from your problems never helped anybody, but you were too stubborn to think rationally at this point. 

So you bought a ticket for the earliest flight back to London and grabbed your things before fleeing from the bus and sending him a text after listening to his voicemail. 

You felt bad about leaving like that, but you were so upset and hurt. Your heart felt like it had been physically ripped from your body and been left back with Anakin in Paris; the place you wanted to visit for so long now with the love of your life. And the two days you were there with him were amazing, and you were prepared for so much more, but every hope and dream you had for that city had been crushed and destroyed. You weren’t sure you ever wanted to go back, Eiffel Tower be damned. 

There were other towers you could see, right?

The whole flight back to London you wrote down the last few chapters for your short story in your notebook, needing the distraction to help keep you sane enough to be able to get back to your room in one piece. 

You looked like a mess once you got back onto campus, and you avoided everyone like the plague as you made a beeline towards your dorm and had a forty five minute shower. It helped a little bit, but you were still left feeling empty as you sat down on your bed with wet hair and opened up your laptop to type out what you wrote down on the plane. 

After you added some final touches, you printed it out and got changed into a pair of jeans and a grey shirt, leaving your hair still damp as you made your way to Kenneth’s classroom. 

It was empty when you entered it, and he looked up at you in surprise when you closed the door behind you and walked over to him. “Miss Y/l/n,” he greeted and closed the book he was reading. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. I thought you’d still be with that boyfriend of yours.”

The mention of Anakin had a sharp pain shoot straight through your heart, and you flinched slightly as you cleared your throat. “Yeah, something happened with that,” you whisper and he gives you a look of concern as he notices the way your eyes glaze over with tears. “I’m okay. Promise.”

He gives you a smile that nearly had you sobbing right then and there, because how the fuck did things get to this? How did you end up back in London, crying in front of your instructor with wet hair that dampened your shirt as the seconds went on? 

“Alright,” he said quietly and braced his elbows on his desk. “What’s going on?”

His voice was so comforting and caring, you allowed your walls to come down a bit as you held up the stack of papers in your hand and wiped your eyes with your other. “I wrote my short story,” you announce. “I didn’t get around to editing it, so it’s probably full of errors, but I just wanted to give it to you because..”

You stopped your sentence short, but Kenneth gave you a look that told you he knew exactly what you were saying. “Because you’re not coming back to class,” he finished for you. “Are you?”

He stated it instead of asking it, and you bite down on your bottom lip as you nodded. Glancing down at the papers in your hands, he gestures for you to give them to him, and you do so with a sad smile. “You don’t have to read it,” your voice broke as you felt yourself beginning to cry again. “I just wanted to show that I really did love every second of these classes. I know I can do so much more, but it’s just not a good time for me right now.”

Kenneth flipped through the pages and looked up at you. “I’ll read it,” he promised, his gaze the softest you had ever seen it, and you realized just how much you would miss being able to talk to him like this and not feel embarrassed about it. “You’re an amazing writer, Y/n. It was a privilege to have you in my class, and I hate to see you go so soon, but I also want you to start putting yourself first. You’re always worried about everyone else around you, don’t forget to take care of yourself, too. Whatever happened before this, don’t let it take over. Use it, if it helps.”

You nod and wipe at your eyes with both hands now, sniffling quietly as you look at the man you respect deeply. 

“You’re going to go on and do great things. You’re young, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you,” he lightened the mood by laughing and it made you laugh, too. “Just don’t forget to put yourself first. I remember when my teacher told me that, and it stuck with me for most of my life. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear it until he said it.”

And you didn’t either. 

It was true, you put everyone above yourself and it often made you forget to take care of yourself. But not anymore. 

You were going back home, and you were dropping out of the program, but you weren’t quitting. You just needed to figure some things out and keep yourself grounded until you decided what was going to happen next. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For everything.”

Kenneth nodded and set your story down onto his desk. “Good luck, Y/n,” he said and it was the second time he used your first name since you walked in here, and it somehow made everything seem so much more real. You weren’t his student anymore. “I’ll reach out to you once I’ve finished reading this.”

“Okay,” you nod and turn around, giving the classroom one last look before heading towards the administrative office to officially drop out of the school. 

You cried more as you packed up your room, and then Bailey came in and let you cry onto her shoulder as she held you and told you to keep in touch. After that you met Evan’s eyes from across campus, and the three bags you were carrying told him all he needed to know. 

He brought you into his arms, too, and these were the people you were going to miss most about this chapter in your life. “Call me whenever you need to, okay? Or whenever you want to,” he begged and you nod against his chest. “Fuck, this sucks. I’m going to miss you.”

You laugh sadly, “I’m going to miss you, too,” then you step away and get a ride back to the airport, your heart feeling the heaviest its felt in all the twenty two years you’ve been alive. 

-

Anakin didn’t sleep at all, but that was no surprise. 

He got a good two nights of sleep with you while you were here, but now that you were gone, his sleep schedule was already back to being fucked. 

His whole body felt weak as he paced around backstage, holding his phone up to his ear as he called you for the first time today. He told himself that he’d give you some time, but fuck that. He missed you and needed to see where things were with you at the moment. 

“Hi,” you answered, making Anakin instantly stop pacing. 

“Hi,” he said back quickly. “How are you? Where are you?” He had no idea where you were since you only told him that you were safe, and he wasn’t one of those boyfriends that needed their girlfriends location on all the time. 

“In the car,” you answered and he felt his heart drop. “On the way to the airport.”

“The…airport?” He stuttered, his eyes burning as he let your words sink in. “You’re going back to London?”

“No,” you say quietly, and he could hear in your voice the way you were holding back tears. “I’m already in London. I’m going back home, Anakin.”

Anakin felt his whole body tense up, and it felt almost painful to move. So he stayed still as he tried to process your words. “You’re in London? How? When?”

“Last night. I bought a ticket and left. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I just don’t know what to do anymore, Anakin,” you cried and the remaining pieces of his heart shattered to bits. “I dropped out of the writing program and now I’m on my way back home. I need to feel normal right now or I might just go crazy.”

“Baby,” he shakily said as he met Vinny’s eyes from across the room. His friend gave him a concerned look, but Anakin just turned around and headed for the dressing room. “Baby, please.”

“Please, what? I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what to say,” you sobbed and he let the door close loudly behind him once he reached the dressing room. 

“Say that we’re going to be okay,” he begged, beginning to pace around the small room as he tugged at his hair. “Say that you and I will be fine, that we’ll talk this through and that we’re going to be okay.”

You were quiet for a few seconds, leaving him to listen to your uneven breathing. “You’re in Paris, Anakin,” he hated the way you hadn’t called him Ani even once since the start of this call. “I’ll be in LA tomorrow. Maybe this time away from each other will be good.”

“We’ve been away from each other,” he said as his heart twisted in agony. “I don’t want more time apart.”

“You’re on tour, Anakin-”

“I’ll come home,” he cut you off. “I’ll talk to Helena, we’ll stop the tour for a few weeks or something. Please.”

You sniff quietly. “The tour is too important,”

“You’re more important. We’re more important,” he thought maybe he was getting through to you, but then you destroyed that small ounce of hope with a single sentence. 

“I can’t do this,” you whispered. “I need time. Have fun on the rest of the tour, Anakin. I really mean that.”

Then you hung up before he could say another word, leaving him to call you back three times before you turned your phone off. 

“Fuck!” Anakin yells out and throws his phone onto the couch before sitting down next to it, his hands coming up to cover his face as he tries to hold back his tears. 

This was all his fault. He fucked things up between you beyond repair, and he was the one to blame. 

You flew back to London, for fucks sake, and the whole time he thought you were still here. And now you’re going back to LA, back to the apartment you and he shared, and possibly packing up there as well. 

What was he supposed to do? He needed to be on stage in less than twenty minutes, and he was on the verge of a panic attack. 

Anakin looked around the room wildly, as if anything he would help him even a little bit. His eyes landed on the various alcohol bottles placed on a table in the corner, and he knew he shouldn’t. The last time he drank was at the club with Liz, then she kissed him and he threw up twice and swore he’d never drink again.

But it was different this time. 

He needed to feel nothing right now, to get him through the show, then he’d figure out how to fix things. 

Without giving it a second thought, Anakin grabbed the first bottle he could reach and spent the next ten minutes drinking it. He set the now empty bottle down and left his phone on the couch, swinging the door open and stumbling his way backstage. 

The first person he saw was Liz. Of course it was Liz. 

Anakin’s eyes glazed over and he made it to her in less than four strides. She turned to face him with that fucking smirk of hers, and he narrowed his eyes on the bruise that had formed on the bridge of her nose, and for a split second he was proud that his girlfriend did that to her, then he remembered that you might not be his girlfriend anymore. “There you are,” she cooed. “We were starting to get worried.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, getting into her personal space. This was another situation where he could use his size to his advantage, even if he hated to do it, but he didn’t care right now. “This is all your fault. Y/n left because of what you did, because of what we did. Are you happy? Are you fucking proud of yourself?”

Vinny, who was standing nearby quickly made his way over, as did Helena, who had been talking with Theo a few feet away. “Anakin,” Vinny murmured, pulling on his arm. “Hey, don’t do this, man. She’s not worth it.”

Helena guided Liz away and towards the side of the stage, and Anakin could see how angry his manager was as she talked to the photographer. 

Anakin turned to Vinny, his eyes burning and his head spinning. “She left,” he rasped. “She left, Vin. Y/n left to go back home.”

Vinny stepped back in surprise but kept his hand on Anakin’s arm. “Back home? Like, back to London?”

“No, back to LA. She already went back to London and dropped out of the program and now she’s going back home,” he nearly cried. “She’s going to leave me, Vinny. I lost her.”

The drummer looked alarmed, and he pulled Anakin into his arms within seconds. “It’s okay,” he tried to comfort him, but they both knew it would never work. “It’s okay.”

Anakin felt pathetic. This is the second time Vinny had to comfort him in less than two weeks, and while he knew Vinny would never mind doing so, Anakin still felt terrible. It shouldn’t be this way. He should be better than this. 

“We’ll talk after the show,” Vinny promised, pulling away and reaching up to smooth out Anakin’s hair. “You and I will figure everything out, okay? It’s going to be okay.”

Anakin felt like a shell of himself as he nodded and allowed Vinny to lead him out onto stage, his mind a mess of thoughts and doubts and worries, and all of them were about you. 

The lights were blinding and Anakin’s vision blurred from the flashes. His head was pounding and his throat was dry as he tried to get out the last song of the night as quickly as he could, but he felt sick. The bourbon he had downed earlier didn’t help, either. 

He felt bile rise up his throat but he held it back and tore his eyes away from the crowd so he could look over at Theo. The bass player gave him a concerned look as he began to sing the song as well, no doubt sensing something was wrong and deciding to help the poor guy out.

Anakin was thankful for that as he didn’t have to raise his voice anymore since Theo is singing alongside him now, so his throat was given somewhat of a break. While his friend didn’t have a strong enough voice to be the lead singer, Theo still had a pretty good singing voice, and Anakin knew he should probably start having him sing in more songs in the future.

He felt his heartbeat quicken as even more sweat began to settle on his skin. The flannel he had adorned at the start of the show had long since been tossed aside and had left him in just his graphic tee, but he was still so fucking hot, and the lights weren’t helping at all. 

He made the mistake of looking over to his right, where he saw Liz and Helena standing backstage. While his manager had a frown on her lips, Liz had a lustful look in her eyes, and somehow that made Anakin feel even more sick. 

His fingers fumbled on the strings as he messed up the tempo of the song, which is something he had never done while he was out on stage before. Embarrassment floods through him and he quickly falls back into the right rhythm with Vinny and Theo backing him up as best as they could. 

All these cameras on him were not helping, even though he was used to being filmed at this point. He felt like was three seconds away from having a full on panic attack, and he would probably die of humiliation if he woke up tomorrow morning to see thousands of videos online of him breaking down on stage. 

The headline ‘Anakin Skywalker Has Epic Meltdown During Last Song Of Show’ was one he refused to read the following day. Fuck, he hated those stupid tabloids. They were written by money hungry, self-obsessed assholes who wouldn’t know what privacy is if it slapped them in the face. 

You hated them, too, and your distaste for them was more than valid. 

He missed you. God, did he ever. 

Anakin wasn’t used to missing you. He never needed to. Ever since his third year of high school he’s had you by his side. You were never more than a few feet away from him back then, and even now you were always usually backstage and quietly cheering him on. You should be where Liz is currently standing now. 

Or maybe he should be with you. 

Since the second you became his girlfriend you were always his top priority.

He hated that he had somehow managed to forget that fact the minute a pretty girl started paying more attention to him than you were. Could you be blamed? You were thousands of miles away and chasing your own dream while he was living out his. You couldn’t give him every second of your time like he was used to receiving, and he really fucking hated how he had actually managed to turn into one of those pricks who forgets about how good he has it as soon as things don’t end up going his way. 

Anakin wanted to stop singing the song and call out to you, but you weren’t in the crowd. You weren’t backstage. You weren’t here. You weren’t with him. You wouldn’t answer him, because you’re so fucking far away while he is here acting like everything is just fine. All he wanted to do was to run off stage, find you, and wrap you up in his arms, but he wasn’t sure if he had that right anymore.

He’s insecure and has never been away from you for this long. It was like he didn’t know how to properly function without you by his side. 

All the excuses in the world would never make up for just how poorly he’s treated you and for how little effort he’s been putting into your relationship. 

He didn’t blame you for wanting to end it.

But he needed you. He had just gotten you back, just gotten that sense of normalcy back, but you were gone again. 

Possibly for good this time, and he only had himself to blame.

-

One more part after this x

[yan-lorkai]

Hello! I really loved the Idia fic you wrote for the yandere alphabet letter. If it’s alright, could I ask for something related to one of the other letters? The part about how Idia would hate to break his darling because part of his darling would no longer exist.

I’ll admit, I kind of want to know how he’d react to a darling that became of shell of their former self after the kidnapping. If there was any genuine love there at all, I imagine it would break his heart. Thank you!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Angst, I like it. I did some hcs this time, otherwise I would hog this ask for me and answer it much later, like I did with that other fic lol. Only thing I had to say is: poor darling. They deserved better.

He has gone too far. He has broken you beyond repair. He knows it, he can feel in his bones that something is not right when you look at him with those dead eyes. But he ignores the signals and cope by working as usual. He can pretend everything's fine and that you still love him or else he'll break down crying.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Idia wasn't thinking about the consequences of his actions when he kidnapped you. He was angry, he was terrified to lose you. You were flirting with someone else (you were not, he is just insecure and an overthinker). He can see your injuries half healed, he can hear your shallow breath and barely audible whispers of fear everytime he is near. You used to be so happy to spend time with him, braiding his hair, cuddling into his side while binge watching animes with him. He didn't know he would lose this.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ You break very fast, almost like glass. And he can hears shards of glass exploding every time he looks at you. There's no blood on his hands but he feels like there is, he feels like he killed you and the person in front of him is different from the one he used to love, that one was full of life, happy and had a warm smile on their face. This you, unkept, emotionless, isn't the one who he fell in love.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ This you don't get the motivation to shower, don't have the motivation to eat or to talk, even if only to swear at him. This you is like a doll. A doll he washes and dress on your favorite comfy clothes, a doll he spoon feed you your favorite foods.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He feels so guilty about what he did that when you're sleeping, when your face finally relax from your usual tense and tired expression, that's when he cries a river. Tears streaming down his face as he silently begs you to come back, to fight him again, to swear at him and hit him. He just want you to come back. The you he used to know and love... The you forever lost.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Now Idia didn't like you talking with other people but he'll try to get you into therapy. He wants to try anything that possible could bring you back. He throws himself at your feets and beg you if you wanted, just so you can call him pathetic and useless and a bad lover. You could spit on him and he would thank you for it.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Thing is you are too tired to respond to therapy, too tired for anything. You can only wish for things to end, to be a bad dream. But of course, Idia won't let you remain motionless on your room, crying as you listens to the silence and feels phantom pain all over your body. From your perspective, he may like this. He always liked the control he had over you, always reading your texts, always arguing with you about your friends.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ But you were broken and nothing he could do, nothing he can plan could fix his mess.

[mangosrar]

Always, i will be here.

chris sturniolo x reader

a/n: guys this one is lowkey-highkey sad but i love it so much:(

loosely based off always by Daniel Caesar!!!!

My y/n,

I wonder when i first met you, in a way that was more than just physical. I wonder when a line in a song reminded me of you, or the first time i walked past someone who carried a scent so similar to yours, that i questioned if you had just walked past me, or the first time someone made a joke so good i had to relay it to you later and pretended it was my own.

I always thought that heart break was caused by mean words said so harshly they pierce the soul. But in reality, they’re from goodbyes that weren’t told, kisses never shared and hugs never felt. These are the ingredients of a broken heart and they can never be fixed. Broken beyond repair.

The thing is even if you could go back, you wouldnt belong there anymore. I still perform autopsies on conversations we had lives ago. They could hook me up to a polygraph and ask me if i still love you, i would say no, and the line would jump and stutter in the exact pattern of your laugh. It feels better to die at your hands y/n, than to never have felt them at all. The heart has its own memory, and i have forgotern nothing, so dont set me on fire and act like you're the one burning.

I remember once you told me you killed a plant by feeding it too much water, and now you worry love is voilence and i know i always say you hold on to too much and every time you reply; asking me where you should put it down. This is starting to look like a contest of who cares less but i liked it better when you were on my side. Im afraid i will love you for the rest of my life and we will never be in the same room again, and im worried the amount of time we have left together is limited so please lingre near the door or forget your jacket and come back for it later. Please just tell me that im not as forgetable as your absence is making me feel. You only hate the people you love, and i know i could never be someone you dont like.

But surrounded by the churches and the dirt, i fell in love with you here. I had never told you. I wish i was braver. It's okay to not be who you thought you would be. But now summer is almost over, my feelings didnt change, and you aren't coming back. But always, i will be here y/n.

My Chris,

Christopher Owen Sturniolo, you have siezed my spine, took my bones and left me to melt into a sticky pile of mush where my body used to be.

I have spent half of my life loving you, and the other half figuring out my love for you. If i could write a book on all the things i wished you would have said, i would run out of pages. I feel like a kid at christmas whos been hopelessly dreaming about getting a pony,only to be given socks. I pushed you out and now youre so far away i cant even reach for you. I could call you a hundred names and scream and shout about why you were awful. But where would that leave me. I still loved you. I still have to live with that.

Its like youve taken a part of me and left it where i cant find it. I tried to forgive you, so i could move on, but how is that possible when i find you in every song, every tone, every frequency and every static. My brain cannot move an inch without bumping into some part of you. You are just a burning house that i want to live in, so why can't you let me put you out?

I wish you had left me wondering. I think it would have hurt much less if i never knew what made you fall out of love with me. You held me tight as i weeped like a little girl who had just dropped her ice cream, you kissed the top of my head and rocked us back and forth. You muffled my sobs with your lips. You whispered sweet nothings to me as i cried in your arms. You wiped the tears that fell for the heart you broke. You told me there will always be a piece of your heart that belongs to me. You have stained me. Tainted and bruised my soul. You told me that you’ve never had a love like ours and never will. You said that you’re future wife will know about me. Your kids will learn what love is through the stories you tell them about us. And suddenly, im at the kitchen table. Crying. Wondering what went wrong. But always, i will be here chris.

@christinarowie332 @jcwrites-blog @sturnphilia @biimpanicking @sssturniolofart @lividnity

LMK WHAT YALL THINK!!!!

[inkykeiji]

omgomg clari about that ask of sukuna phisically hurting reader how do you think is aftercare after putting her through all that pain? if there’s any haha

ooooh anon this is SUCH a good question!! well first, i think if sukuna ‘fell in love’ with you (aka became extremely possessive and obsessive with you, utterly infatuated with you, completely addicted to you, the closest he can come to ‘true’ love) he would be unbelievably thorough with you. yes, he loves hurting you, loves the way your facial features wring up into the cutest little wince, loves the way his name splinters into the sweetest little yelps in your throat, loves the way you sob and sniffle and stutter when he screws his face into mock concern, lips jutted out in an exaggerated pout and forehead wrinkled with false worry as he coos out aw, sweetheart, did that hurt? but at the end of the day, you’re still his. you’re still his to take care of, his to fix, his to make better. and despite how sadistic and malicious he is, right down to the very marrow of his bones, right down to the gaping black pit where his soul should be, he still takes meticulously good care of his things. 

as such, he always mends those of his things that he breaks, and he does so with a rigorous sort of fastidiousness. he’s damn near methodical with it, and it would feel cold and sterile if not for his quiet murmurs as shockingly gentle fingers, claws retracted, piece you back together, patch you up, put you in the right order again. so good, baby, you’re doing so good for me, he praises, words void of their usual, characteristic tinge of patronization as he snaps those tiny, tiny bones back into place, sets them straight and secures them in a splint.  

and you, you’re so sweet, so soft, so stupidly naive, consistently lulled into some sort of inexplicable sense of safety and security and solace every single time, that it makes it that much more fun to shatter you to absolute bits again, to have you shuddering in his arms or his lap as you wail into his neck and cling to the demon that desecrates you, that destroys you, over and over and over. but it’s all okay, because you know as much as he loves to ruin you so beautifully, to smear your face with spit and sweat and tears, to leave your body mangled and stained and scarred with him—thick gouges from claws down your back and over your ass, imprints of his fangs engraved in your neck, stamps of four handprints encircling your arms and wrists and thighs—Daddy would never break you beyond repair, Daddy will always make it right again, no matter what. 

[weird-homosexual-in-your-area]

“Pilots in unit B43C1 are needed for sortie. Repeat, pilots in unit B43C1 are needed for sortie. Assigned technicians, escort pilots in unit B43C1 to docking bay immediately.” 

She was roused from her dream-like state by a blaring siren, louder than anything she remembered. She wasn’t startled, nor did she reflexively cover her ears like she would have done months ago, she just sat up and left her rest bay. A technician, she didn’t have his name memorised- whatever, they all looked the same to her since the conditioning- was at the door, clearly agitated at her for some reason or another. He grabbed her by the arm and tugged her out of the room, toward the docking bay. 

“You know, I had tickets to go out with my mates, evening of that sortie the other day,” he commented, face slightly reddening, grip on her arm tightening. “Tickets to see that Terra-Kadora game- you know the one I’m on about? Of course you don’t, you don’t see that shit now.” 

He suddenly stopped, with a painless jolt to her arm pulling her in front of him. He towered over her, but she felt no fear, more confusion as to what he was getting at. 

“’Course, you didn’t care if we got to see that game, did you? It don’t matter to you that we were stuck in repairs for two full fucking days, fixing your leg after that stupid jump kick trick you pulled,” he muttered. He was clearly unimaginably angry. She didn’t really pay much notice- he didn’t know how good it felt in the cockpit pulling that off. He couldn’t know. The joy of piloting was beyond him. “That was my first scheduled off day for a full month. Can you imagine that? A full month doing nothing but working, and your first day off gets cancelled because some idiotic brain-dead little shitbag felt like looking flashy. Can you imagine that?” 

A dreamy smile fell onto her face. She was imagining it, and it was as close to heaven as she could imagine. 

“What are you fucking smiling at?!”  He pulled her close to him, screeching in pure rage. She reflexively tried to activate her close-range jammers, to fire off an AP volley to disable the attacker, close in for that sweet, sweet kill; but nothing happened- those facilities weren’t available in her flesh-body. She dropped her smile, knowing better than to provoke the anger of the techs- especially ones who work to fix her mech.  

He sighed in exasperation- they were nearing the docking bay, and she’d have to have the helmet on soon. “I’ll be watching you today. If you pull that shit again, we’ll have issues- I managed to convince the highers to let my guys out today instead, and I doubt they’ll be convinced to do it again.”  

He passed her onto another technician, telling him to “put it in the cockpit on B43C1E”, and gave her the pilot’s helmet. She slipped it onto her head, and suddenly, darkness.  

Silence. 

Nothing except the hand of the technician dragging her to her beloved suit. 

She was pushed down a step into the cockpit and harnessed in. She felt several jolts of agony and euphoria, bright light and blackness, screeching sound and empty static, as she was plugged into the neural system. 

Then, the OPH- the oxygenated liquid allowing her flesh-body to breathe in the cockpit- flooded into the heart of the mech. She fought the urge to recoil as it reached her stomach level, the cold seeping down to her reactor- no, her bones. She wasn’t synced with the mech yet, unfortunately, so she had no reactor to keep her warm. 

As the liquid reached her head height, she reflexively held her breath, preparing to drown, but caught herself and exhaled fully. The liquid needed to fully get into her lungs, or the sheer pressure of the liquid around her would crush them. As it made its way down her windpipe, she fought the urge to splutter it up, to get it out of her lungs, and just let it into her body. Her vision filled with stars, red and yellow hues as her brain screamed for air, until suddenly she didn’t need to breathe anymore as the OPH reached her lungs, filling her with ample oxygen. 

Silence again. No sound, no sight, no feeling but the frigid liquid encasing her like a personal prison. Nothing. 

Then, all at once, her senses lit up with the familiar view from the eyes of her true body, one not of flesh and blood but of reinforced titanium and coolant.  She heard the familiar hissing sound of the scaffolding holding the mech retracting, its purpose fulfilled as the body was now inhabited. 

DEPLOY 

She didn’t hear the word, but it popped into her head. One second it wasn’t on her mind, the next it was all she could think of, and she had no choice but to do what she’d been conditioned to on hearing it said. She pushed her rear thrusters to full, leaning forward slightly and engaging the front calf thrusters to balance her out, so as to achieve the best speed she could- the system loved it when she did that, and so did she, as an overpowering wave of dopamine flooded her system as the reward drive kicked in for her compliance. Her flesh-body shook in response, but her true body, her gleaming body of steel, remained unwavering in its flight. 

She wasn’t sure exactly when it happened, but at some point in her flight she just knew what she was being sent out for. A few hundred kilometers away from the outpost at which she made her residence, 7 enemy mechs had been spotted making their way toward a crucial state power station. They were new mechs- analysis put the suits themselves at about a week old, so the pilots wouldn’t have much experience. Her unit could easily deal with them- 16 pilots with a few months’ worth of experience versus 7 with a couple of days? Walk in the park- the only real challenge was doing it cleanly enough for the reward drive to deem them worthy, but at this point even that was easy. 

About 15 minutes after her troop set out, they began to see the enemy mechs across the horizon. They were hulking things- 25 meters tall on average (about 5 meters taller than her), armour-piercing round emplacements on each shoulder, with laser arrays along the ribs of the machine. And that was only the armaments the mechs had that she could immediately see- for all she knew, there could be thousands of rocket pods stored in those four arms, there could be EMP generators hiding in that disfigured face, there could be blades that could cut through her sleek, metallic form like butter hiding in those legs. Those mechs were everything she’d been taught to hate, to fear, to want gone. 

For even a thousand infantry troops, dealing with just one of these would be suicide. For her mech troop? 10 minutes, maybe just 5. 

Mechs 1 through 7 began the assault, opening fire with rocket pods to slow down the bulkier four-armed monsters. They took several hits, clearly not expecting any opposition, the fools that they were. They snapped around, frantically shooting off AP rounds to try and slow down the oncoming storm, but not one shot met its mark, all being dodged by her unit, giving each a little hint of dopamine. God, the dopamine was incredible in piloting. Like nothing else in her life before the program, or what little she remembered of it, or during the program. Those techs couldn’t ever begin to understand how good it felt- she could take whatever “issues” they’d give her if it meant she’d get just a fraction of the euphoria she was going to experience over the course of the sortie. 

As the troop closed in, the enemy mechs grew increasingly desperate. They started firing off all-too-predictable laser arrays, each being swiftly dodged by all the mechs, and releasing some hidden rockets from a compartments in their arms, which she just knew were going to be there. She got another hit of dopamine from that- so fucking good- that was quickly cut short by the shared pain she felt over the comms relay, that was honestly more like a thought-sharing system, from several of the rockets finding their mark on number 5. 

 Hatred newly refueled, she boosted her thrusters into overdrive and sped over to the enemies, a cheetah running after a gazelle. She activated her elbow thrusters and drove her fist clean through one of the enemy mechs’ chestplate, grabbing the fusion reactor within and tearing it out, crushing the still-beating “heart” of the machine in her bare hands, and the dopamine was unlike anything else she’d experienced. A clean reactor kill always was- her system was flooded with pure satisfaction, and her flesh body shivered in reflexive response. The unresponsive shell of her kill keeled over, a deafening crash resounding across the barren wasteland as it hit the floor. 

 She noticed an enemy mech behind her through some optical data from mech 3, and span around on her left leg, whipping out her right with a thruster-boosted roundhouse kick that cleaved the foe in two with relative ease. Another rush of euphoria, slightly less satisfying than the last due to the damage she caused to her leg in the process of the manoeuvre, but still significant enough to make “her” body tense up in the cockpit. 

With the new injury to her leg, fighting at the front line was too much of a risk, even though it would net her so much more reward, so she reluctantly opted to retreat to the backline consisting still of mechs 1 through 7, now also with her mech E, to provide supporting fire for the front liners. They fought with grace and beauty, dodging the more unwieldy days-old mechs’ blows like flies dodging weak attempts at swatting, before countering with devestating punches and kicks that caved in heads, carved off limbs, detonated ammo reserves, each hit only adding to the sheer rush of dopamine they all felt. Her and the other 7’s fire was extremely helpful, provided much-needed openings on the mechs that were far more occupied prolonging their own survival than dealing with the far more apt attackers. 

After a couple more minutes of trading blows, only one enemy remained, its four-armed form glistening in the harsh sunlight like the angel of Death it so desperately wanted to be. Strangely, it didn’t attempt a retreat to save itself, or to fight back, or anything of the sort, it just fell to its knees, like it was accepting its fate. Strange. Why would it do tha- 

Suddenly, it clicked to her. It was overloading its fusion core. It’d result in a massive nuclear explosion destroying everything in a... 14 kilometer radius- just about leaving the power plant safe, thank God. Since she knew it, all the other pilots immediately did too thanks to the thought-sharing process. Everyone frantically turned away, boosting thrusters into overdrive to get as much distance between them and the explosion that was about to destroy everything near it- including them if they weren’t fast enough. 

After two minutes of flying, panic overtaking her and every other pilot in the troop, an all-encompassing blast rang out from the battlefield they were at minutes ago. They were pushed a good 50 meters back by the shockwave, all maintaining balance thanks to their experience with this sort of explosion. Their heads were searing from the sheer pain of the soundwave, everything within 14 kilometers of the mech was reduced to ruins, but at least they were alive.  

Pilot B ran a quick diagnostic check to ensure no major damage had been done to any of them- all that returned was E’s leg (the front panels of which had completely shattered with her second kill), some mild overheating in the backs of all of them except 1, 4, 9 and A which could weaken the armour if left unchecked, and several breached armour plates on 5’s front from the rocket salvo they endured. Still, she’d been on missions that had ended far worse for her troop. 

RECALL 

Again, she didn’t hear the command as much as it became her thoughts, and as soon as it did, she reflexively began flying back to the base. She allowed herself to blank out on the way- if there were no briefings she’d receive, no diagnostics to run, no enemies to fight, she didn’t need sit around in a boring flight back for however long it’d take. 

***** 

Some time passed- she wasn’t sure how much- and her home base came into view over the horizon, a gleaming silver compound contrasting against the blood-stained sand and bright blue sky. She slowed down to walking pace (still many times faster than her pace in her flesh-body) and walked through the bay doors, alongside the rest of her troop. They each slotted into their respective docking bays, and she felt the scaffolding swing onto her, holding her down for the extraction process. She wanted to fight it, needed to stay in her true body, had to stop them tearing her out, but it was useless fighting back, as several anti-mech infantry units were stationed on the various gantries that lined the room like capillaries, weapons trained on each of them, waiting only for the slightest deviation from procedure to open fire. Despite every joint in her body, every cell of her brain that still housed what little remained of her crying out to stop it, she allowed the scaffolding to lock around her. She allowed the piping to drain the OPH from the cockpit. She allowed the doors to be levered open. 

She allowed herself to be torn from her true body in a jolt of pure, unfiltered agony, as the neural ports disconnected from her spinal cord. 

Her brain took a while to recover from the overuse in the mech, and even longer to recover from the sheer shock of the disconnection, so when she next noticed that she still existed, she was being carried by a technician to the debriefing room. She twitched slightly, trying to run diagnostics to ensure she was unharmed- but that facility wasn’t available in her flesh-body. 

“Oh, you’re awake now,” came the voice of the man who was carrying her. She noted it was the same as her earlier assailant, the one who’d warned her about breaking anything- shit, she’d broken the leg, hadn’t she? She tensed up, expecting the technician to break out into a shout, but he laughed softly, almost affectionately. “While you’re here, I may as well just say well done on the mission before the briefing. You did really good, honestly- you took a quarter of them down yourself! That spin-kick was also really well done; I’m kinda shocked.” She relaxed, realising he wasn’t yet aware of the damage she’d done. She knew she was going to suffer when he found out, but that was in the future.  

The technician gently placed her down onto the ground, and she walked alongside him. Several times, she nearly fell over when she had to turn, expecting her thrusters to kick in when she willed them to, but they remained in the docking bay on her true body, not on... this body. They walked in comfortable silence, as she checked every corner, half expecting an enemy mech to ambush her around it, then catching herself and looking ahead, focused on where she was going. 

After a couple of minutes walking, they reached the briefing room, and they went in their separate entrances. The technician went into the main door of the room, into the conference room itself where the details of the mission would be relayed to the staff as a whole by the Base Director, the woman who ran the site. She went in through the back door of the room to behind the stage, alongside the other 15 pilots who were on the mission, catching a glimpse of a pale, unemotive face that wasn’t truly hers in the reflection of the stainless steel door. They were also there for the briefing, to pick up any details they’d missed during the mission, but couldn’t be allowed in the crowd, with their dead eyes and identical gaits being deemed too unsettling for the public to see. 

The booming, yet comforting voice of the site director came over the microphone urging the crowd to quiet down, an order they all quickly obeyed. She then continued; “As you may know, pilot unit B43C1 were deployed into the field a few hours ago. Our sensors picked up a strike team of Forcemesh mechs approaching Power Plant Delta- one of the most crucial plants here on Kadora, for those who make their residence somewhere else. Unit B43C1 was deployed to dispatch of them- if they made it to the plant and were allowed free reign, the consequences would have been disastrous.” 

The crowd murmured in shock- presumably some images of an example of the possible devestation were being displayed on the screen for the audience. There was no screen behind the stage- it would have cost very little to install one, but there was no need for the pilots to experience the briefing (“they’re not human anymore, they wouldn’t get the intricacies,” the Director had said on the topic)- but it didn’t take being shown to know what was being shown.  

“Fortunately, the brave pilots of Unit B43C1 arrived just in time to make quick work of the threat. We have here some footage captured from Mech E’s sensory array of the scene.” The crowd erupted into cheers- likely as her textbook reactor kill was shown on screen. God, that was incredible. “Incredible work from the mech, right?”  

“So, the gains of this mission have been discussed, but now we must talk of the costs. Mech 5’s chest was breached by a rocket salvo, so I’ll need technician section 5 on that tonight. All of the mechs except A, 9, 4 and 1 have had some overheating to their backs from that massive blast the final enemy released, so I’ll need the corresponding teams to check on those at some point in the coming week- it's not the most urgent, but it being done as soon as possible is needed for the continued defence of Kadora. Finally, mech E shattered a couple of the armour plates on its right leg, and the joints need checking too, so section E, you’re on that tonight.” 

She heard some commotion, presumably from section E, after that was announced, with the director chiding them for their childish response. “It’s got to be done, and it’s got to be done today. Sorry, you lot. With that, this meeting is adjourned. Glory to Stormcell!” 

A resounding chorus of the whole room echoing her cry of glory, then footfalls and idle chatter as the crowd filtered out of the room. As per procedure, the Lead Technician of each sector came to the backstage area to escort the pilots back to their assigned rest bays. Her escorter was red in the face, and grabbed her arm with a ferocity that nearly matched that of the rest of her troop. 

They walked in silence, with him almost dragging her along when she failed at rounding corners. When they eventually reached the resting bay block, though, he tugged her arm to drag her into the left turn to the technician dormitories instead of her rest bay. Fuck. She should’ve known this was coming. She should’ve just not broken her leg. It wasn’t necessarily going to hurt- her sensitivity to pain had been annihilated in the conditioning process, as had many other parts of her personality that she missed to varying degrees- but she wouldn’t be in a state in which she could pilot for days. 

As she was dragged into the technicians’ dormitory, she saw the technician who dragged her in- the same one who’d been interacting with her all day, she realised- raise his fist in a punch, and she tried to activate her close range jammers- but they were on her true body, not her flesh-form. As the punch landed, she fell to the floor, and everything went dark. 

***** 

She wasn’t sure how long it was before she came to, but when she was she wasn’t in the grimy, dark dormitories but the unsettlingly clean medical bay, with its flourescent lighting and too-polished walls and floors. She saw a figure sitting on the side of the bed she’d been put on, not one she recognised but not one she viewed as a “stranger”, per se. 

“Sam, it’s awake. Get in here, you’re the one with the damage report,” came the voice of the figure. The voice was bored, like it’d been sitting there for hours and this was the first thing worth his time that had happened. Then, another figure came in. She couldn’t tell the difference between the two- their medical scrubs were identical. 

“Right, E, so you fell off a gantry apparently- side note, pilots seem to have horrible balance on days they damaged their mechs, but that’s just an observation- and ended up with a concussion, extreme bruising pretty much all over you, but luckily for you, no broken bones. Good on you, you ‘landed’ well.” She let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding at that- at least she could get back to piloting fairly soon. 

 “You’re staying on rest for a day or 2 while you recover, but after that you should be good to go back in the field after that. Also, your technicians asked me to pass on a message to you when they found you- ‘be more careful, you braindead piece of shit.’ I’m sure they’re lovely people to be around. Anyway, that’s all, so… yeah.” 

He stood there in arkward silence for a few seconds, before he and the other figure walked out of the room, leaving only her, the hum of the lighting, and a reflection that wasn’t hers in the polished, shining ceiling. 

She could have gotten off worse, at least. 

[bonobonoyaatheart]

Punching bag? - Jeon Jungkook

Summary: You care and worry for Jungkook? In return, you feel like his emotional punching bag, despite of his intentions being different.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/comfort

Pairing: Jungkook x GN reader

"I am so done, Jungkook. Don't you understand? Have I been waiting for you all day just to receive cold and distant replies? Just to hear that I'm being irritating because I care for you? Do you think I'm your punching bag?" You were practically screaming at this point.

Jungkook turned away from you. He hated arguing with you. He was scared that fighting would only make things worse. What if he said things that hurt you even more? "Don't run away! Come here and talk to me, I need answers. Jungkook!!" You tried to grab his arm, but Jungkook avoided you as he headed to your shared bedroom.

Jungkook sighed as he collapsed onto the bed. The whole week had been incredibly stressful at work. He was slowly losing his mind with the workload. He knew he was wrong. He had to treat you better, but he was failing to act on these thoughts.

He heard you entering the room. He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He heard you mumbling to yourself. "I hate all this. I don't understand why he's acting this way. He's clearly being a jerk. I don't deserve the way he's been treating me." You just pulled the blanket over your head and let yourself drift off to sleep.

A fear was slowly consuming Jungkook's mind. What if you left him? What if you were disappointed with him and started hating him beyond repair? He fell asleep with all these thoughts on his mind.

You were still awake, staring at the wall with your back facing Jungkook. You just couldn't fall asleep after the argument you had. You felt Jungkook moving too much in bed. You turned to find him curled up, and you were quickly alarmed. You sat up and called to him.

"Kook? Hey, are you asleep?" You heard his soft sobs. He was shivering. "Kook, wake up. I'm here." You looked at his tear-streaked face. He slowly opened his eyes, just to let more tears roll down. He suddenly clung to you. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. Please don't go anywhere," he buried his head in your lap.

"It's ok, I'm here, Kook. Can you tell me what happened? Did you have a nightmare?" You caressed his soft hair. Yes, you were still mad from last night. But right now you had to put that aside and focus on him.

Jungkook looked at you with those glassy eyes and nodded. "I saw us arguing again, and I was being a coward and running away yet again. You were very angry, and you realized I'm not worth your love anymore, and you decided to break up and left me.” Some more tears rolled down his cheeks. ”Please forgive me, please, please don't go anywhere. I know I haven't done anything to deserve you. I was being a jerk. But I need you.”

You wiped his tears with your thumb and looked into his eyes. Fear was visible in his dark brown orbs. ”It's ok, Kookie, I'm gonna be here with you. I won't leave you ever. We can fix this, you know. I hope you understand how much I care for you. Your being distant only worries me more.”

”But I trust you, I know you get frustrated. But from now on, share your worries and frustrations with me instead of taking them out on me like you've been doing for the whole last week.”

”Yes, I am so sorry,” he said, snuggling into your chest. ”Please be here, I can't do without you.” You wrapped him securely in your arms. ”I'll be there for you, baby. We've both been through thick and thin, so everything will be fine. This is just a small thing that we can fix together.”

Jungkook breathed softly in your embrace, soon falling asleep. You were going to make this right. Your love was worth fighting for. You were worth fighting for. He was worth fighting for.

These small cracks in your relationship were just tiny rocks and stones on the road of your wonderful love life. Because at the end of the day, it was your love that was going to win.

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

BFTC isn’t really a case of terrible characterization for Jason so much as it was a terrible case of victim blaming. Like yeah, some of the things Jason did were a bit extreme compared to his “better” appearances, but that’s nothing new and pretty much true of many stories that aren’t utrh or lost days. The bad parts are are also definitely exaggerated by fans.

The story isn’t centered on Jason. Of course every other character’s description of Jason would be knee-jerk dismissive and misunderstanding, since (again) the intention was to make Jason out to be the cartoony bad guy villain. But if you look past the layers of grime they added, the bare bones of his characterization are not entirely incorrect. It’s a biased story in which their intended criticisms of Jason’s morals often fell short, so to compensate they deliberately cranked up his motivations to be more extreme and unrealistic (but one which, nonetheless got Jason’s overall thoughts and goals relatively consistent with stories that portrayed him accurately).

Yes, him shooting Damian was out of character, but granted we’re all in agreement that it was a true case of “bad writing decision”, I don’t think it’s hard to look past. The only other bit people probably complain about (which felt iffy at worst) was him being “a bit enthusiastic” at times in trying to convince Dick to become another lethal Batman (you can just as easily say Jason wouldn’t have been personally invested enough to have acted in the way he did). I don’t care though because he was probably doing it for shits and giggles, and it was funny watching him push their buttons on his spare time while being excellent at his job. Same old ‘none of them deny that he’s effective, they just can’t get behind the killing’ conflict.

Looking past the fact that Jason still had a valid point, the “he’s the bad guy” plot falls apart for other obvious reasons, which happen in the 3rd issue. It’s kind of hard to focus on how much of a bitch Jason’s being when the other characters are written in an infinitely more problematic way (which ends up happening in most “hate Jason” stories). Not only did they heavily imply Jason is a victim of SA, but the way Dick/the batfamily treats Jason about this is … horrible. Arguing that this was a case of character assassination for Bruce and Dick would be more realistic than using this story to claim Jason is a Bad Person™.

Even though Bruce does have a bad track record with his perspective on victims of SA.

Hey. Maybe listen to the living person begging you to turn it off.

Geez. I wonder why he never felt safe enough to confide in Bruce or any of the rest of them. Implying that enduring what he did made him “broken beyond repair”, that he needs to be “fixed”, and saying verbatim, “you are my greatest failure”, not “I failed you greatly”. Then deciding on behalf of Jason that a bunch of people who weren’t involved in what happened to him should all know about this so they can decide what should be done. And everyone agrees with this garbage. Unbelievable.

Aka, any sort of healing he may have tried to accomplish was ruined by you lot. When exactly am I supposed to see that Jason was evil all along.

The story collapses in on itself in the third issue because where Dick is supposed to be at his prime within the arc, he just sort of rambles about how Jason was a shitty victim and then awkwardly shifts to talking about personal growth and coming to accept his own heroic destiny.

I do resent this, but not because “Jason sucks here”. Jason’s “bad portrayal” pales in comparison to the problematic mindsets given to the other characters (namely Dick) which were framed as good-natured intentions and “tough love”. As for people who describe this as “vilifying Jason to prop up Dick” … I don’t really know what to make of that.

[holylulusworld]

Barnes vs Barnes (7) - Zero

Summary: The unavoidable happened. What will Bucky do now?

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Wife/Ex-Wife Reader

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Steve Rogers, Nick Fowler, Matt Murdoch

Warnings: angst, mentions of infertility, strong reader, mentions of past cheating, Lloyd being Lloyd

A/N: Please be aware this is an AU. Bucky is an ass and OOC in this story.

Barnes vs Barnes masterlist

<< Part 6

“Doll, I was worried about you. Where have you been?” Bucky jumps up from his seat. He’s about to hug you when Lloyd and Steve step in front of you. “Baby doll.”

“Sir. Mr. Barnes,” Matt clears his throat to draw Bucky’s attention toward him, “we came here to discuss your separation. No hugging my client. No touching my client. Not talking directly to my client.”

“She’s my wife,” your husband growls at Matt. It’s worse enough that his best friend seems to be on your side, and that he knew exactly where you are hiding from your husband. Suddenly, he is being told how to behave around his wife by some strangers. “If I want to talk to her, I’ll talk. If I wish to touch her, I will touch her.”

“No. You won’t,” Steve pats the gun hidden under his jacket. “Buck, don’t make this harder for Y/N. She has been through enough because of you, don’t you think?”

Bucky glances at you as he says, "We are still...I love her. Y/N let’s talk in private. I know I fucked up again, but I love you. Please.”

“There’s nothing left to say, James,” you use his first name on purpose. Another jab at his aching heart. “You knew this would break me beyond repair. Still, you went home with that woman and fucked her. You even wanted to raise her child with her. How could you? How?”

You blink a few times to push the tears away. “It was a moment of weakness, doll. Natasha means nothing to me. You know that. I hate myself for hurting you.”

“And weeks of lying to me,” you huff. “We could have it all, Bucky.” You step next to Steve to look your husband straight in the eyes. “It was you who decided that what we had didn’t matter. That I didn’t matter. The moment Natasha stepped back into your life you fell for her. Again. Just like you did back then.”

“Baby…I…” Bucky shakes his head. He can’t accept that he won’t have you in his life anymore.

“Save it, James,” you say, standing your ground against your husband. “I will not forgive you this time. After everything I gave up for you. I could’ve been happy with someone else. But you made me come back only to break me again.”

“I can still give you a baby. We can fix this,” he says as he paces the room like a caged animal. “I love you. You love me. We can save our marriage.”

“I don’t want to,” you shrug when Bucky snaps his head toward you. His face falls as the woman he knew doesn’t look back at him. It’s a different woman. A new one. Reborn through fire and pain. “And according to the rumors I heard, you can’t give me a baby. You are the failure here, Bucky. Not me.”

“What? No,” Bucky shakes his head, remembering the trauma he endured thanks to his brother. “The doctor said all is fine…they said…no…”

“Well, your parents lied,” you hold back a chuckle. You are not like this. “If only you had gone to the doctor as I suggested. It wasn’t my fault. I guess fate doesn't want us to have children.”

“How do you know?” he asks. “Only four people knew what happened back then. Two of them are dead, and the other one…”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “Guess the cats out,” Lloyd smirks darkly. “You’re lucky Steve was around when that asshat tried to grab Y/N. If not, both of you would be six feet under already.”

“Lloyd,” you warn.

“Sugar plum, let me stab him a little,” Lloyd grins as you roll your eyes. He won't stop bugging you. “Please. I got all these nice knives…”

“Nick is back in town." Bucky's legs are about to give in when he hears his brother is back in town. “He knows about you. I got to keep you safe.”

He holds out his hand. “She’s got me,” Steve shoves you behind his back. He makes sure Bucky knows that this time he won’t back down for his friend’s sake. “I gave up my chance on her for you once. I won’t do it again.”

“Gentlemen, the lady is right here,” Matt chastises. “We came here for a reason.”

Lloyd hums. He already imagines stabbing Bucky in the back, or ass. Whatever body part he can reach first.

“No stabbing, Lloyd,” you warn.

“Why did you tell me he’s back?” Bucky asks. "Using this to your advantage would have been a smart idea. If he kills me, everything I own will be yours.”

“I’m better than this,” you snap at Bucky. “Unlike you and your brother, I don’t take advantage of people. Whatever messed up shit is going on between you and Nick, I don’t want to get involved in this. I love you, so I see this as my way of saying goodbye. I don’t want you to die, but I don’t want you in my life either.”

“So, this is the end," Bucky swallows thickly.

He could never have imagined that you would turn your back on him forever. He knew what he did hurt you deeply, and you needed time to forgive him.

“This is the end, James,” you say as you hold his gaze. “I cannot trust you anymore. Not with my heart, and not with my life. You hid that you had a brother. If not for Steve, I would be in Nick’s hands. Held hostage or worse. All you did was lie. Our marriage is one big lie.”

“You should leave talking to the lawyers now,” Matt interjects. “I came here for a reason, Mr. Barnes. Let’s settle this now. You don’t want to make things more difficult for Y/N. Right?”

“I-Y/N, baby doll,” Bucky pleads one last time. “Please talk to me. We can still…”

“James don’t be ridiculous,” you sneer. “There is nothing worth saving. Our marriage is over. We are over. I have zero tolerance for your behavior. Matt will handle everything else. Lloyd will stay with him to make sure you act like a gentleman around my friend.”

“Doll…please.”

You turn around, not looking back as you walk out of the room. Steve follows you hot on your heels. Since your encounter with Nick, he has been by your side.

“That was…you were…I mean…”

“Can we just leave?" you ask. “I don’t know for how long I can keep myself from crying, Steve.”

“Of course, darling.”

Steve would like to wrap his arms around you. But he knows the last thing you need is another man fighting for your attention.

“Bucky looks awful.”

“He’s a mess without you,” Steve says softly.

“Good. I hope he regrets breaking my heart for the rest of his life.”

“What will we do about his brother now?” he looks at you. “Do you want me to take him down?”

“I don’t know yet,” you sigh. “He won’t give up so easily. Just like Bucky. He kept it together today. But I know my husband. He’ll try to get me back. No matter what.”

“No welcome back brother or a hug,” Nick smirks. He leans back in Bucky’s chair as his brother steps into his office.

“How did you get in here?” Bucky growls.

“Your men let me in. We still have the same face, remember? It was child’s play to get inside your home,” he dips his head to look Bucky up and down. “No wonder your wife ran for the hills. You lost weight and look like crap. I bet she will choose a real man. Someone who can give her a baby.”

“So, it’s true, you threatened my wife.”

Nick is unimpressed when his brother gets his gun out. Laughing about Bucky, he looks amused. “I did not threaten your sweet wife. I offered to look after her. I bet she didn’t get a good—”

A bullet hits the wall next to Nick’s head. “You will keep her out of this. I did enough damage to her heart.”

"I will do whatever I want to do with your sweet wife.”

Nick slowly gets up from the chair. He grabs the wedding portrait of you and Bucky, smirking as his brother fires another bullet into the wall.

“I will kill you if you try to get close to her again.”

“If you wanted to kill me, I’d be dead by now. We both know you cannot kill your own brother…”

Tags in reblog.

[stormbreaker101]

Nora Gem - Stormbreaker and Divine Aberrant Paradox

Age: 28(?)

Level: 130 Storm Wizard

Personality: Brave, bold, impulsive, quickly and fiercely loyal, has an eye for detail, easily distractable by said detail

Status: Mostly human, mostly stable. Journeying through her home Spiral trying to find her way to the Arcanum without her World Keys... and without being found.

Story: I've told Nora's story plenty times over on this blog, but I shall tell it again. Nora is my main Wizard, who successfully quested through Arc 3 and became the Divine Paradox, though with a heavy toll to her emotional and mental health. The weight of being everything to the Spiral yet nothing but a bunch of epithets crushed her, with Sybil's prophecy (mis-heard or mis-repeated as "You are Nothing to fear") as the latent last straw that broke her back. She lashed out against the Chaos Heart, effectively undoing one of her last canon moments and releasing destructive aberrant magic across the Spiral, and fled to another dimension (my old OC universe, which is able to connect to multiple other fandoms) with her baby sister to get away from everything.

While in this getaway period, Nora crossed paths with Blake Thorburn (RP'ed by my friend @bad-pun-king), originally of the Pact fandom. Word had spread of the 'strange fairy and her child' who had moved in, and Blake sought her out for a chance to cure his humanity of the Abyss, a horrific semi-conscious plane of existence that wants nothing more than to consume and digest the universe and everyone in it. Nora, in all her kindness, helped Blake become human again, and as a result became a major target for the Abyss. This will become relevant later.

Eventually, Nora pulled herself together and remembered that her last moments in the Spiral were basically a catastrophic temper tantrum on the divine and international level. So Nora sought to... y'know... fix that. However, because of her meltdown, she was widely considered a dangerous vagabond, a hero who had gone bad and whose good reputation was tarnished (perhaps beyond repair). So, Nora had to be incredibly fickle with her savior'ing, unable to be the public figure she had once been. She wasn't even sure if even her old allies at the Arcanum would take her back.

Nora eventually revealed herself to the Arcanum (which now included her cousins?) while trying to save Karamelle from both the consequences of her own actions AND the predatory presence of the Abyss, which had become aware of the Spiral once she returned to it. Despite her best efforts and the help of her estranged friends, one monster from the Abyss ate her alive during the tumultuous battle for Karamelle.

Rather than dying, however, Nora fell into the Abyss, where its magic took root in her. She desperately tried to crawl her way out of the Abyss, with the help of the real actual Nothing that Sybil had originally seen and a jaded but hopeful monster who wanted to escape the Abyss with her.

Now Nora has made her way back to the Spiral, though with some scars (such as her left arm from the elbow down and her wings being replaced with living debris, and a constant hunger rivalled only by the Abyss itself) and incredibly out of tough. How long has it been since she'd fallen? Is the Arcanum still around? Is her family? Why is there talk of a second Spiral? And who's this new young voice in her head asking about wizardhood?

Many questions, but only one way to find out: questing solo, like old times.

[devildevotee]

You're a genius for coming up with this ❤️

🧸

send me an ask with 🧸 and i'll check out your blog and assign you a plushie of mine :)

your assigned plushie is...

my homemade shukaku plushie!

this is a plushie that has been with me since i was 14. back then, i was super into naruto and i found a pattern for a shukaku plush online, which i gave to my mother to make for me for my birthday (this was before she fell ill and started changing emotionally for the worst). his markings have faded and his mouth is the only visible marking i can really see on him nowadays - he's fallen apart and been fixed back up and fallen apart again only to be fixed back up again. he's been through countless washes in a machine all of which i was scared he was going to rip or tear beyond repair. but no matter the status of how broken he looked, it never stopped me from cuddling him and making sure he was loved. he's still here, and so are you.

[cabin10diaries]

so anyway. burnt out by leanna firestone is so leo in caleo

longer fun silly lyric analysis below cut <3

* just for fun + lots of personal interpretations

- i want to start this by saying i personally do not think calypso is unlovable. thats just the song. i believe that her habit of flaking on leo is due to abandonment issues (’leave before they can’ sort of situation), her berating him is just needing to be a better person.

"I've never felt this warm as I did / When you touched me, gave me / Goosebumps from head to toe"

so this is when leo and calypso meet. leos never felt any romantic love, whether it was forced or not. hell he's barely felt Any sort of love. he was loved by piper and jason, but it always felt like he was the extra, so it never felt right. unlike when he meets calypso, who can focus all her love on him whether she wants to or not. and when leo realizes shes fallen in love with him, the first one to Ever, he feels like he's never felt before. loved

"But a love made of matches / Was destined to burn out / And end up in ashes and smoke"

'matches' meaning forced/fake - the curse on calypso's island played with her feelings. she accidentally fell in love out of convenience. they cant last bc neither planned to be in this relationship, neither discussed what they want out of life, and because of their differing wants, they cant last.

"Still ambers remained / And I tried to re-ignite them / Ended up playing with fire again / You pushed me away / And I fought and I stayed"

calypso constantly flakes out on leo. she wants a life outside of him, but he so desperately wants to stay in hers. he keeps trying to be in her life, but she doesnt let him

"But maybe I should have listened / Because you're right, I couldn't fix you / You're right, I shouldn't have tried to"

'fix you' is so leo. he is a mechanic at heart. the way he understands people is thinking about them in more mechanical terms, and calypsos 'broken', so he wants to be the hero and 'fix' her by showing her the love that always left her. calypso doesnt want to love leo, or for him to love you. you see that as she constantly berates and leaves him, over and over and over. and leo finally realizes shes right, he should just stop. hes tired, burnt out

"Your pride, is what you're concerned about? / Is "you're right" really all you wanna hear right now?"

personal calypso interpretation, but she hasnt been faced by any opposition for years. she literally only talked to a guy every few centuries. shes a little stuck up, although not on purpose. she thinks shes more right than currently alive mortals simply because shes been alive longer ('older = wiser') even if she hasnt contacted civilizations in years

"Well, you're right, I should've walked away faster / I should've known / You'd only break my heart after I was already in love / You're right, you aren't good enough"

leo stayed with calypso for far too long, after she started taking every chance she could to insult and avoid him. and hes too tired to be kind; calypso was right. she isnt good enough to love, just like odysseus and percy made her think. leos hopping on the bandwagon of her past lovers, making calypsos worst dream come true. she truly is unloveable (of course, she isnt, but thats what the song interpretation is making it out to be)

"I kissed your scars even after you hurt me / And I held your hand even when you fucking burned me"

even after calypso insults leo, berates him, leaves him, he still loved her. he still make time for her and found ways to show her his love. she never did the same. she cut him out of her life as best she could. leo kept her in his, trying to show that he still loved her, and always would, no matter what she did to him

"Do you know how embarrassing that was? / To stay with sombody who hates you because / You hope things get better / You hope that love can / Turn a monster into a man / But it doesn't and it won't / Because you're beyond repair"

leos done with calypso. he loved her, and all he got was disdain in return. ‘beyond repair’ - another mechanic leo thing. he treats people like cars, like inventions, thats how he understands them, and he’s starting to think calypso’s too broken. she cant be fixed.

“But there are still someone for me somewhere / Who will treat me so nice, you'll wish that you did / For someone so smart, you're so fucking stupid / To think that I'm really that dumb / I love you, but I'm done / Pretending this was gonna work / Pretending loving you didn't hurt / Pretending that it doesn't burn / When you think you're always right”

he still loves calypso. no longer romantically (if he ever did love her romantically) but he cant put up with the lack of love or even acknowledgement from her. hes confident enough now (bc of the love from jo, emmie, etc waystation) to know SOMEONE will love him. he will be loved someday. its just that the someday isnt today, and the someone isnt calypso.

“'Cause you're still stuck on your past / You hate 'em so much but / You're just like your dad”

atlas left her. he never went to calypso’s island for her. neither did percy, or odysseus. they all abandoned her. and what was she doing now? abandoning leo, just like atlas, like percy, like odysseus. shes copying their habits, and shes just like them

“You smothered every right that I've ever had / By holding on too tight / And it's suffocating / And I'm longing to breathe again / And in the middle of it all / I ended up losing who I am”

while calypso was barely around, the mental hold she had on leo was there daily for him. her comments- insults- roamed in his head. he barely knew who he was without calypso anymore, because he based himself and his self-worth on her.

“And I know that you tried / Gave it all that you had / And being a monster / Doesn't necessarily make you bad”

maybe this is leo trying to reassure himself, maybe it’s the truth. maybe calypso did try as hard, maybe she didnt. but leo knows that, regardless, this relationship doesnt make up who she is as a person. she is still someone outside of how she treated leo. even if she doesnt know who she is, either, leo knows she isnt defined by the actions towards him

“But even if we could stable it back together now / We both know that you can't / Light a fire that's already burnt out”

they can be friends. they can be family. leo would even settle for acquaintances. but both know they cant be in love again, if they ever once were

[forsakenmissives]

Can I try again (and again and again)

Merlin stepped back, gaze dropping to the floor. To an outsider, it would look like deference. To Arthur, it was done in defence. He swallowed, but not before his tongue flicked across his lower lip, and he thought it brought him the taste of Merlin. The remnants of Merlin. What Merlin had left him.

“I’ll be going now,” Merlin said, then, to the floor.

“Merlin,” Arthur started, but Merlin was already spinning on his heel and dashing out. It was amazing how he never lifted his eyes from the ground yet managed to avoid running into the wall. Even after a year, Merlin was an enigma.

He was warm under Arthur’s hands, pliant, even as Arthur directed him backwards, until his thighs hit the table, still messy with his evening meal’s leftovers. When Merlin reached back, he knocked a goblet over, and that smacked into a plate, and everything began to spill onto the floor. Arthur laughed into Merlin’s mouth and did not let him pull away.

When he did allow space between them, however, Merlin had begun to smile too, something giddy and sweet and like the golden glow of the sunlight coming in through his windows, the light that softens his chambers when night is near. Arthur leaned back in.

Merlin used his free hand to push him away. “I,” he said, intelligent as ever. He shoved Arthur, stronger now, and stood from his spot on the table. “I should clean this up. Sire.”

He bent to gather the utensils and plates that fell, and Arthur did not look at his rear but rather toward the window, where golden sun streamed in once more. When he turned back, Merlin was looking there too.

“There’s lots to be repaired, sire,” he said.

“Nothing that cannot be fixed,” Arthur replied, though both knew it lacked his usual confidence.

Merlin slipped quietly from the room. Two years now, and Arthur still struggled to stay upright as the earth shifted beneath his feet.

Merlin was in one of his moods again, absentmindedly running his dirtied rag across the same old ink stain on the edge of Arthur’s desk… as Arthur tried to use said desk. After another attempt at reviewing the latest reports from the Lower Town that failed when Merlin’s cloth jerked the quill out of Arthur’s hand, Arthur stood, catching Merlin’s hand in his, then tugged, until Merlin was curved awkwardly over the table and Arthur was able to connect their lips.

It was a simple thing, nothing like the last time they were in such a position, and Arthur moved away as soon as Merlin’s fingers twitched within Arthur’s and dropped the rag. When he met Merlin’s eyes, it was less that Merlin was looking at him, as he was right then, and more that Merlin was looking beyond him. It wasn’t that he looked displeasured, but there was a crease in his brow, and Arthur could only hope he liked the Arthur he saw, whoever that man was to him.

Merlin’s lips moved then, and of course Arthur’s gaze dropped to them, but Merlin hadn’t spoken, and whatever words that were meant to come out were entirely lost on Arthur.

“It’s been a long day,” Arthur finally announced.

“Yes,” Merlin agreed. He picked up his cleaning cloth once more, inspecting it before curling it into a tight ball that he gripped with his fist. “I’ll be back with dinner later tonight.”

Arthur nodded, returning to his seat. “Bring extra tarts then, too, will you?”

If he smiled at the smile that curled on Merlin’s lips as his servant turned away, off to fulfil the order, that was only for him to know.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, though still only a hair’s breadth of space remained between them, and his every exhale brushed across Arthur’s lips, their breath in tandem.

“What for?” Arthur asked.

The hesitation made Arthur struggle to believe him when he at last answered, “Gwen.” Not to mention, Merlin was the first Arthur went to, when he realised what existed between him and the once-queen-to-be had at some point fully dissolved. He tried to live guilt free, where he could, if he dared to go without it.

Arthur minimised the already minimal gap between them, their chests drawing together, boot-clad toes nudging and noses brushing. “Merlin.”

“You are so,” Merlin huffed, and Arthur’s eyes lowered as Merlin’s fingers curled into the back of his tunic, “so much more, Arthur.” He caught Arthur’s gaze, trapping Arthur in a sea of blue. “More than you realise.”

“You made it clear what exactly I mean, what I am,” Arthur replied, because it was true, and because the proof lay across his table now, outside of its scabbard and glinting in the low firelight.

Merlin shook his head, but no further argument could be made, as Arthur now was the one to bring him into a kiss. Still, when they separated, Merlin gave him one final look before gathering Arthur’s dirty laundry from the floor and disappearing out the door.

Merlin rarely did his actual job, unless, of course, he needed to make a quick escape.

There was nowhere else for Merlin to go. Not anymore. Arthur let himself relax further into Merlin’s arms, the nice warmth of his body, even through Arthur’s heavy layers. If Arthur were to die, he was very pleased with the view, Merlin hovering over him, hands burning where they cupped his face.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, though the words were awkward and slow on his tongue. But he was not finished yet, and he swallowed, forcing down bile and blood in equal measure.

Merlin’s breath stuttered in his chest. Arthur could tell, could feel his rough exhale against his skin, managing to ruffle his sweat-slick, blood-slick hair. “Arthur,” it whispered into his ear.

Arthur shook his head, though he strained with the effort, and he strained worse when he lifted a hand, released his hold on Merlin’s hand to instead place it over Merlin’s chest, atop his heart. “I love you.”

Merlin sobbed, an ugly, squawking cry that made the smile that had made home on Arthur’s lips spread even wider.

“I love you,” he repeated, firmer this time. Louder.

When Merlin kissed him, it tasted of salt and iron. Arthur’s eyes slipped shut, and he felt he did not move for a long while. Patterns of light, bursts and sparkles and spirals, danced behind his eyelids. Arthur’s chest had grown still. Distantly, he knew Merlin’s lips remained on his.

Arthur opened his eyes.

And he inhaled, a huge, gulping thing — a breath so big he actually choked, coughing and spitting up into the patch of grass beside him. Merlin shushed him and ran trembling fingers through his hair. Covered as it was in bile and blood, Arthur had missed the metal shard that lay in the grass. Merlin did not mind that one bit.

“You had died,” Merlin also revealed, later. It was very nice, Arthur resting his head in his lap, that is, when he wasn’t fighting off infection and other reminders of his mortality. Arthur could rather get used to it, feared he was already very used to it.

Merlin paused in tracing Arthur’s features, the ridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the shape of his lips. “It was unbearably easy to save you.”

“Unbearably girly of you,” Arthur replied, and Merlin couldn’t even hit him for it because he was technically still healing and also because he didn’t mean it. Arthur had just died — apparently — so it made perfect sense if he wasn’t particularly tactful or clever. Besides, it was Merlin. Tact was not required around him, and wit often fell on large yet entirely deaf ears.

“Right,” Merlin said. “Not even a thank you, Merlin, I owe you everything, Merlin, I remember saying I love you, Merlin—.” His mouth snapped shut while his cheeks turned an alarming pink. Arthur grinned.

“Thank you, Merlin,” he said, taking Merlin’s hand from where it rested against his cheek. “I owe you everything, Merlin.” He laced their fingers together briefly before pressing a kiss to the back of Merlin’s hand, warm and lingering. Against the pale skin, he said, “I remember saying I love you, Merlin,” he lifted Merlin’s hand to instead hold it at his chest, and let Merlin see his entire face as he continued, “and I’ll say it to you as often as I can — I swear it, Merlin.”

“Well,” Merlin began, but Arthur ignored him.

“Have you considered an ‘I love you too’?” His lips stung from how far they stretched with his grin.

Merlin brought his free hand up to brush Arthur’s hair away from his forehead, which he held as he curved over him. “True love’s kiss not enough for you, sire?”

Arthur closed his eyes.

Merlin said, “I love you too, prat,” and it was the best damn kiss Arthur had ever received, lifesaving true love tasting a lot like extra tarts after dinner and Merlin, Merlin, Merlin.

[fizziepopangel]

Theories with Fizzie: Let's talk about Blitzo's scars & his falling out with Fizz

So, we all know that, while some white marking on imps are naturally occurring (like Moxxie's freckles), imps tend to scar white. Given that imps scar white, its not a stretch to believe that most of the markings on Blitz's body are scars since he didn't have them in the flashbacks or in the photo of him and Fizzarolli in what seems to be their teenage years. While most of us can agree that Blitz's scars most likely played a large part in his falling out with Fizz and his career charge, I'm left to wonder if Blitz was at fault for it all. I mean, it would make sense seeing as he's clumsy and a bit ditzy at times, and he does seem almost guilty and ashamed seeing the picture of him and Fizz as teens; as friends... but, despite his line of work, Blitz isn't generally a man of malice when it comes to those he cares about and we see him genuinely trying to protect those he loves on a couple of different occasions, so it doesn't make sense to me that he would've purposely done something he knew could potentially cause harm to anyone he cared about.

Many people have theorized that the incident in question was a fire after seeing the LooLoo land episode where Blitz not only burnt the amusement park to the ground, but also after seeing Robo Fizz's damage mimicking the scarring around Blitz's eye, and I think that makes sense. After thinking about it more though, and going off the idea that the incident was a fire, I've found myself wondering if maybe Blitz was blamed for it without being the sole cause of it, or maybe even without being the cause at all. A theory I have is that, while yes, the accident occurred and yes both Fizz and Blitz were involved and injured, Blitz was injured as a result of trying to get Fizzarolli out of the fire. If he did end up accidentally setting a tent on fire, I think he would've tried to fix and when it started to spread beyond what he could manage, I think he would've done his best to try to make sure anyone inside got out... Considering how close Fizz and Blitz seemed to be, even if there was some tension between them after Fizz began to overshadow him, I believe for Fizz he would've gone as far as trying to get the man out himself; resulting in them both getting hurt.

Seeing as Fizzarolli would've been a more profitable performer, losing him for the time it took him to recover from the seriousness of an accident that left him needing robotic limbs would've been seen as a huge loss for the circus and I think they blamed Blitz for that. I don't think anyone would've seen it as anything but something that happened with the intention of causing harm and if it happened during a show or a practice focused primarily on Fizzarolli, it would've seemed like something done out of jealousy by a man who had lived in Fizz's shadow since they were kids... And after being blamed for so long, I think Blitz would've ended up believing that he was at fault and thinking that if he was at fault for hurting someone he cared about, it was safest for them if he distanced himself, in turn giving Fizzarolli the idea that Blitz didn't care about what had happened/what he had done and solidifying the idea that everyone had about it all being done with the intention of it ending badly.

In all honesty, if my theory is anywhere within the realm of right; if it was an accident that resulted in the serious injuries to someone Blitz cared about, I think their friendship could have been repaired after the accident had Blitz not pulled away. I think this may have been the nail in that coffin, and one of the first times Blitz began pushing away those who he loved or who loved him.

But again, its all just a theory. I can't wait to see if we get a real answer as to how Blitz got his markings or how his and Fizzarolli's friendship fell apart in episodes to come!

[the-whumpening]

The Caged Tiger | Part 8

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CW: dehumanization, noncon body mod, gaslighting, mild body horror (mostly for tigers, I guess?), Ozmund doing what he does best

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Rather than leading Ash to the laboratory as he always does, Ozmund instead leads him through labyrinthine hallways and passages. Though he’s been cleaned and healed with a quick flourish of magic, his clothes hadn’t been returned; even so, he’s past the point of caring.

Finally, they reach an ornate oak door. With a snap of Ozmund’s fingers, symbols etched into the doorframe shine green with magic, and the door swings open to a chaotic, overflowing study. Ash recognizes an anatomical sketch on a chalkboard—it’s his body. In a far corner, shoved beneath piles of books, he also catches a glimpse of his traveling bag. At one time, he would have yearned for the contents of that bag, but now . . . he barely registers its existence.

“I’ve been saving this for just the right occasion,” Ozmund says to Owen as he rummages through his belongings to retrieve a bronze box. He opens it for Owen to admire, but Ash can’t see inside. “Go fetch a chair, Bubbles.”

“What? Why me?” Owen whines. “And quit calling me that.”

Ozmund waves him off as he rolls up his sleeves. “I had to reassign Faye somewhere else for now. She was getting too . . . attached. It seems she thinks of him like a pet. So, congratulations.” He claps Owen on the back. “You’ve been promoted to my assistant—temporarily, at least. The chair, if you please.”

Scoffing, Owen retreats from the study. Ash stands still just inside the doorway, his eyes fixed on the floor. The rumble of noise usually present in his mind has fallen silent, replaced now with only Ozmund’s cheerful hum as he flits about the room. It’s strange to see Ozmund like this—nearly every interaction he and Ash have ever had was marred with anger and tension; Ash has never seen him in his normal, natural state. Is this the Ozmund Evius fell in love with?

As Ozmund buzzes from bookshelf to bookshelf, stopping only to remove a thick disheveled journal, Owen returns. He drags a hard-backed wooden chair behind him, parking it in the middle of the room directly under the exquisite chandelier.

“Perfect,” Ozmund says, chuckling slightly to himself. “Maybe you’re not so useless after all.” He steers Ash by the shoulder, sitting him down backwards in the chair. Ash can hear the scraping of Ozmund’s chair settling behind him; the journal is cracked open and laid out on a table to their side, the open bronze box set neatly beside it.

“Think of this as a gift, Ash,” Ozmund continues, his hand now pressed on Ash’s back. “This magic is rare, expensive, and difficult—and I’m giving it to you. A reward, for your loyalty.”

For me? Did I really earn this—whatever it is? Should I be grateful? The thoughts tumble around Ash’s mind, folding and unfolding on one another in a lethargic dance.

Ash can feel something cold and sharp against his skin, followed by a tingling of energy from Ozmund’s magic. “This will not be pleasant, though,” he warns Ash, pressing the needle into Ash’s flesh.

In a matter of seconds, thousands of pinpricks erupt across his body. Like a line of fire ants marching across his skin, every inch of his back begins to burn. The pain is intense, flowing from his spine to his limbs and back again, but he doesn’t react. It hurts, but he’s been through worse. It hurts, but what’s the point in fighting it? It hurts, but is that just part of the reward?

For the several hours it takes to finish the spell, Ash slumps still and stoic against the back of the chair. No chains, no restraints; his will to fight is broken beyond repair. From his vantage point in the middle of the room, he can easily see his bag. His sending stone should be in there. His clothes, his books, the cloak Evius gave him . . . He waits for these thoughts to stir any feelings, but he’s just too empty.

When Ozmund is finally finished, he helps Ash to his feet and leads him to a full-length mirror in the parlor adjoining his study. For the first time in what he assumes have been months, Ash sees himself. He struggles to process the image before him—is this really me? His hand instinctively runs through his hair, now so much shorter than he’s ever kept it. Dozens of new scars criss-cross his skin: a slash down his face; burns on his arms, legs, and neck; and gashes of every shape and size scattered throughout. His figure seems different, too, in more subtle ways. Perhaps his muscles are more pronounced than before, or perhaps his posture has changed from months of cramped conditions and humiliation. He’s not sure, but his body no longer feels quite like it belongs to him anymore. Most striking of all, however, is Ozmund’s gift.

“I always liked you better with stripes,” Ozmund muses.

Tattooed all over Ash’s body is a brand new pelt of stripes. It’s a crude caricature of the ones he was born with, made from bits and pieces of other tigers’ markings mangled and stitched together. He recognizes many of these portions—Kitara’s face, Nino’s legs, Gregor’s back. Melding the three are nonsensical patterns Ozmund must have made himself. Sure, to the untrained eye, he does look an awful lot like a tiger, but to him . . . He truly is an abomination now.

“You don’t have to thank me.” Ozmund disrupts his trance, and he is suddenly pulled back into reality. And the reality is: this gift is truly generous. Evius’ magical tattoo makes him nearly untouchable, and it did indeed cost him a small fortune. To be given such a boon, for free? Ash’s cheeks twitch into a strained smile, and he ducks his head in a gesture of appreciation. “Now there’s a good lad,” Oz praises, replacing the metal collar back on his neck. “I think things shall be a bit different around here from now on, don’t you?”

That night, his dinner is back to its usual contents of meat and stew rather than just broth. He’s even given a mug to scoop his water out of the trough.