#I guess that's what happens when the God of War gives a gift

[joffyworld]

SHAMURA 😭

A very important lesson indeed!

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR SEVEN

in which you come to a few realizations while remembering the very first night you'd met eddie. a phone call with steve leaves you with more questions than answers.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, heavier angst this chapter but all will be well soon, two uses of y/n, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ word count: 4.4k+

→ a/n: shorter chapter today but the focus here is the memory! finally making some progress haha. also trying out something new with formatting/the summary situation. if i hate it, i'll probably change it. <3 also, italicized portion is a memory.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

7:00 ────ㅇ────────────── 24:00

DINGUS: [image attachment]

DINGUS: y/n just texted me this. we’re not getting an update this hour. 

BIRDIE: what the hell happened?

DINGUS: she hasn’t said yet, as you can see in the photo, robs. 

ARGYLE  😎: what do we THINK happened? 

BIRDIE: my best bet is fighting? 

ARGYLE 😎: lover’s quarrel? Makes sense. 

BIRDIE: i’m adding nance back into the chat

BIRDIE added NANCE to the groupchat.

BIRDIE: @NANCE explain what you meant earlier please. we’re having a code red. the bad kind. 

DINGUS: there’s a good kind of code red?

NANCE: Oh God, what happened? 

DINGUS: y/n texted me saying she fucked up, and we’re assuming either she’s finally murdered eddie, or they’re fighting again.

NANCE: I can call Eddie, if you guys want?

JOHNNY: So does this mean we’re all $500 richer?

BIRDIE: @JOHNNY if you still think this is about the money, you’re a fucking idiot

—

HOUR SEVEN - 10:00 PM

There had been a time in your life where you believed you didn’t hold a single mean bone in your body. A time where you were soft-spoken, a time where you overflowed with kindness and dotted out compliments to random strangers. There was once a version of you in this lifetime that worked so fervently to be the type of person people liked and enjoyed the company of. You always swore to always treat others with the same grace as you would prefer to receive as well.

A year ago, that version of you had been sidetracked. 

You stare at the wooden frame of Eddie’s door with blank eyes. He wasn’t going to open it any time soon. You’d tried knocking multiple times, calling out to him in a soft voice, begging and pleading and begging and pleading. His response continued to be silence. 

“All I’ve ever done is hurt you.”

With the haze clearing, in the midst of the aftermath and sour clarity, you wish you would have corrected him. Eddie and you had surely hurt each other countless times, but it is not all he’s ever done. 

You can remember the better moments clearly now. The time you’d tripped walking up the steps of one of the bars on Main Street, and Eddie had been the only person in your friend group to stop completely, reflectively reaching out to catch you from embarrassing yourself. The night of your birthday, in which he hadn’t come to the party due to “work” as Steve had explained, but had sent a card along with your friends that contained a gift card to your favorite coffee shop. You hadn’t even realized he knew your favorite coffee shop, and you’d come to find out that he didn’t even ask a single one of your mutual friends for it. You’d brushed it off as a lucky guess. And there was the time you’d forgotten your wallet during a brunch with the group, and he hadn’t hesitated to pick up your bill with his own. He didn’t even give Robin the chance to argue; he’d simply snatched your bill from across the table when you’d paled as you dug through your bag, and didn’t say a word about you paying him back. 

Small moments. Glimpses of kindness, bandages on wounds that you’d been ignoring to keep up a war between the two of you that you’d always assumed he’d started. 

Eddie Munson wasn’t the enemy, and the first night you two met was never a red herring; it was a glimpse into who he actually was. A clear look past the armor he hadn’t formed yet when it came to you. 

—

A YEAR AGO

“They’re going to love you!” Robin insists as she continues to shove you from behind through the entrance of the bar. Steve is ahead of you, guiding you through the rough crowd to the table the rest of the group had already snagged. 

You turn your head over your shoulder, reaching up and grabbing the hand that Robin rested on you, “You don't know that. What if they hate me? What if they think I’m the worst person they’ve ever met?” 

Even as you wore a smile, there was a truth to the fear in your words. You were petrified that these strangers, strangers who meant so much to your only friends on campus, would turn their noses to you. There was nothing Robin or Steve could do to extinguish the fear. It was already a terrible knot in the pit of your stomach, tying and untying itself like a nuisance as Steve started to wave at a brunette who had been scanning the bar as if waiting for someone. 

She’s pretty. Wavy hair barely brushing her shoulders, sharp features accentuated in the shadows of the busy location. The moment her blue eyes locked on Steve, all the concentration on her face faded to be replaced with an excited smile. 

She returns the wave, and the boys surrounding her at the table all glance in your direction. 

You’re still half-hidden behind Steve as the three of you approach the group. Robin bounds out from behind you, scooping the woman you assumed was the famous Nancy into a barrelling hug. Your eyes flickered to the boy sat to Nancy’s right, shaggy hair flopping against his forehead and smile creases exposed as he nods to Steve and holds up his drink in greeting. Beside him, another man sits, long and shiny hair flowing over an outrageous Hawaiian print shirt and topped off with a baseball cap that looked to be the merchandise of a pizza shop. His smile is welcoming – something comforting in the relaxation of it. 

You’re almost completely captivated by the warmth that bled from the group when Steve and Robin are suddenly taking their seats. Robin sits beside Nancy, while Steve takes the seat across from the man with long hair. 

The only seat left open was between Steve and a man who’s back was turned to you. 

His hair is in a loose bun, unraveling against the nape of his neck.  You could see each and every defined curl. His broad shoulders stiffen beneath a leather jacket and denim vest, and his ring-clad hand cradles a short glass of something dark, something fizzy. 

“Alright, everyone!” Steve announces, turning and beckoning you to take this seat. Your stomach twists again, realizing you’d be sitting beside a stranger. One who had yet to even spare you a glance, “This is Y/N.” 

There’s rounds of greetings and introductions as you brush shoulders with the stranger to take your seat, and try as you might to keep up, all you can focus on is not looking at him. 

You’re guess was correct – the pretty girl that Robin had hugged was Nancy. The boy with floppy hair at her side was Jonathan, and the man with long hair told you his name is Argyle. His tone of casualty matches the comfort of his smile as he holds a hand out to you across the table, both your elbow and his brushing against empty baskets once filled with bar food as you shake. 

Finally, you turn to look at the stranger beside you, Steve reaching around to clasp his shoulder. 

“And mister oh-so-welcoming here is Eddie.” 

Eddie. He finally turns to look at you, with doleful eyes and a tight-lipped grin, and you almost forget how to breathe. 

He was intimidating. All broodish glances and stand-offish energy. But then Argyle cracks a joke, and suddenly, it all fades. The air in the room crackles frantically as you watch him chuckle slowly at first, until he finally descends into cackles with Steve and Jonathan alike. 

That’s when the first vine sprouts. 

The second one does when the conversation becomes overwhelming, and you find yourself lost amongst the sea of new friends. They’re nothing but friendly, trying to learn more about you but easily falling into well-established inside jokes at times. When you descend into silence as you watch them recount a story of a time that Argyle snuck them into his job after hours, you suddenly feel Eddie lean in closer to you.

“I think they tell this story every time they get drunk,” he whispers, tilting his head so that the words only reach your ears, “I’ve probably heard it a hundred times by now.” 

You bite back a smile, “Just tonight, or the entire time you’ve known them?” 

“Both.”

You have to fight hard to swallow down giggles, Eddie hiding his with a sip of his drink. A waiter who had taken your order nearly ten minutes ago arrives with your own drink. An amaretto sour. 

“I’m Eddie, by the way,” he says as you taste the drink. Its citrus bursts across your tongue and you nod.

“So Steve mentioned.” 

“Yeah, but I felt bad for not introducing myself,” he shrugs. You were facing him fully now, no longer trying to stick vehemently to Steve’s side. “I didn’t want to seem like a dick, just… had a long week.” 

You knew all about long weeks.

“I get it,” you assure him, “Are you in school, too?” 

“Night classes,” he supplies with a wave of his hand, “Midterms are a bitch, especially after working all day.” 

“Tell me about it. I think I’m about ten seconds away from getting fired at my current gig,” you joke, and Eddie laughs. It occurs to you that you’d probably do just about anything to hear his laugh more, and already begin to conjure up terrible jokes to pull that sound from him once more. It’s even more comforting than Argyle’s friendly cadence, than Steve’s elbow knocking yours to remind you he’s still there.

“Why would you think that?” Eddie’s nose scrunches, more curls falling against his cheek. Your drink is immediately forgotten. 

“He caught me talking shit,” another laugh falls from Eddie’s lips at your deadpan, more reserved than the previous but just as melodic, “I give it a week. He was already looking for a reason to send me to the chopping block. Says I talk too much to customers.” 

“Is that even possible?”

“Apparently.” 

For a moment, in the smoky bar, it’s just you and Eddie. All knotting nerves have been replaced by the weight of the vines that surge higher and higher in your chest, growing at impossible rates. They don’t strangle you like your fears of the night had; their weight is a comforting hold, something solid to reach out for in the unfamiliar territory of new socialization. Without the mask of intimidation, Eddie feels like an old friend. 

You assume that everyone else is distracted by their own conversation, but Robin catches the way you lean into him as the two of you joke. She nudges Nancy subtly, and they both share a look when Eddie blushes at you being impressed as he tells you that his battle vest is hand-sewn. 

Your vines are not as hidden as you assume they are, certainly not when the first bud of hopefulness begins to grow. 

“So how long have you known Steve?” you ask him quietly, still under the guise of the two of you having created your own small bubble of a moment. 

Eddie downs the last of his Jack & Coke, something you caught onto by smelling it on his breath when he had gotten particularly close to you during conversation, “Too long. We all met in high school, actually.” 

“Oh, don’t tell me that,” you groan, and your forehead dramatically falls into his shoulder without second-thought. He stiffens beneath the connection, “I’m infiltrating a friend group that’s stood the test of times? I’m doomed.” 

You nearly lift your head from his still stiff shoulder, afraid to make him uncomfortable, when he brings a hesitant hand to pat your back jokingly, “There, there. I think you’re fitting in fine.” 

“Just fine? Ouch,” you finally lift your head as you had planned to, just as Eddie had begun to relax into your touch. His hand doesn’t fall too far from your back, resting on the back of your chair. His shy grin is impossibly charming, “You could have just said I’m crashing and burning, you know?” 

The night carries on like that, you and Eddie lost in private conversations only to be occasionally dragged back in on whatever debate the group is having. It’s a spring reaction; once one or both of you have given your two cents, you return to one another, finding solitude in joking and Eddie updating you on the group’s ‘lore’, as he puts it. Steve shoots several glances in your direction, always prepared to offer comfort in what should be an overwhelming situation, but he never has to. Every time he glances at you, Eddie is already taking the lead of entertaining you, qualming all your anxieties into non-existence. 

Your vines decorate with buds of hope. Every laugh you pull from Eddie, every fleeting touch that passes between the two of you, every new inside joke he decides to make with you rather than indulging in ones set in stone already with old friends - they all whisper of new friendship. They whisper in potential, in new beginnings and coming home after long weeks. 

By the time Nancy announces she has to go to the restroom and invites you and Robin, you’re in full bloom. You’re convinced that Eddie is a friend. And you can see it in his eyes – he’s convinced of it too, looking nervous when you stand and agree to go with Nancy. He looks like a child about to lose their social crutch, and it has potential to be devastating.

It’s almost enough to make you ignore your bladder, but you need to pee, and you need to socialize with more than just Eddie tonight. 

You’re not sure what happens at the table during your trip to the bathroom. But something surely does happen as you giggle with the girls under the humming lights of the restroom, as you all stand in the mirror side by side and fiddle with your hair and makeup and Robin makes a comment about how terribly cliche the moment is. Nancy slaps her on the arm, mutters something about the importance of girls bonding, and when you return to the table, you see it immediately – Eddie’s mask of indifference has returned. 

His cheeks are flushed, and all the boys are sharing nervous glances between one another as you all sit down again. 

There’s no more fleeting touches. You sip on your now watered down drink, and you try and pull Eddie out from wherever he’s ventured in your absence, but it’s no use. A conversation was had while you girls had been in the restroom, and it left Eddie in his head, out of reach. The buds of hopefulness quiver on their vines, and you try to reassure yourself that it’s nothing personal. It’s nothing personal when he clearly holds back any laughs at your jokes you lean into his space to whisper to only him, it’s nothing personal when his arm never rests on the back of your chair again, it’s nothing personal when he won’t meet your eyes the rest of the night. 

It’s nothing personal, but it’s sorely disappointing. 

You end the night, everyone splitting up, Eddie heading off towards his motorcycle. He hadn’t even mentioned driving a motorcycle during the night, and you curse the way you watch him straddle the seat as he secures his helmet over his tied-back hair. You desperately wish to know what was said while you were in the bathroom, what had happened to make him retreat so far from you after spending the entirety of the night tending to the greenery that had grown attached to your ribcage. 

“You like him, don’t you?” Robin teases at your side, bumping shoulders. 

Something aches in you. The thrill of meeting someone new, of getting along, of finding them cute and endearing, is beyond your grasp. 

He didn’t even say goodbye. 

“I did,” you whisper softly. A reverberation of past-tense, an exhale of worry. 

You did. But he didn’t even say goodbye. 

—

Eddie still hasn’t opened the door. But to his defense, you haven’t tried knocking again. 

That ache from that night, the feeling of a delicate rush of possibility taunting you from a distance, still remains. Even amongst now rotted vines, even as petals fall from your hopeful buds. It never really went away. With each group hangout that followed, it echoed louder and louder, demanding to be heard and demanding to be felt as Eddie grew colder. You were an idiot the first few times; you’d still gravitated to him, falling right into his orbit and begging for his attention. You’d still seek him out in every room, craving to find the warmth that had once sparked in his eyes only to find them averted from you entirely. And when you couldn’t take the hint, when you wouldn’t leave him alone when Steve and Robin left you to your own devices at the hangouts, he became mean. 

You took it as a joke at first, but six months ago, something inside of you finally wisened up – it wasn’t a joke. Eddie Munson hated you. Somehow, he hated you, and yet he also swore to protect you. He hated you, and yet he would still pay for you without you asking him to. He hated you, and yet he still remembered your birthday. He hated you, and yet, he still knew your favorite coffee shop. 

He hated you and yet. 

You stand, unable to take your racing thoughts anymore, moving to pound on the door again, “Eddie. Open the door.” 

You’re not asking anymore. 

You don’t care for answers any more. In this moment, you truly believe you could let it all be water under the bridge. Right this second, if you looked into honey brown eyes and goddamn dimples, you’d forgive him. 

“Eddie,” your voice cracks, and you scorn yourself. 

All I ever do is hurt you. 

Even in locking himself away, he’s hurting you. Putting that distance, choosing to not work this out like adults, is hurting you. 

“Can you- I don’t know, at least let me know that… that…” you trail off, huffing in frustration and finally smacking a flat palm against wood, watching the door shake on its hinges from your force, “Just let me know you’re alive, Jesus Christ, Eddie. We still have to take the stupid fucking photo for this hour, and we-” 

Mid-tirade, the door swings open to reveal Eddie. He doesn’t look irritated, he doesn’t look mad. He looks tired. 

The war between you two has weighed heavy on him, too. He doesn’t look like the same person you met a year ago. The battles raged, the fights lost, the victories celebrated through bloody teeth – they all show on the shadows of his face, a clear mirror image to your own. 

“Take the photo,” he says in monotone, hardly leaving the door cracked enough to catch a proper glimpse of him. 

“What?”

“The photo. Take it. For the chat, so you can get your money when it’s all over.” 

You’re stunned for a second. The money hadn’t even crossed your mind; you had just been rambling, hoping to find the right thing to say to get him to unlock the barrier between you two. 

Who the fuck even cares about the money anymore? 

You do. You’re supposed to. And so is he. 

You sigh and pull your phone from your back pocket, and turn your back to him before lifting the camera to capture the two of you. The door creaks open an inch more. 

There’s no fun pose. There’s no smiles. There’s nothing. It’s even more lifeless than the first photo taken. You can’t stand to look at it longer than necessary as you send it off to the group. 

Just as you turn around to face him again, to try and talk to him, the door shuts again. You can hear the soft click of a lock. The ache is heard, the ache is felt, as you refuse to look back at the wood that still separates you physically, at the emotions that separate you mentally.

You don’t really know why you do it. But you walk out to the living room, deciding against sitting outside the door any longer and continuing to make yourself miserable. Your feet carry you straight to the sliding door of his balcony, and you press outside into the cooler night air, shutting the door behind you. 

What happened when I was in the bathroom that night? 

The thought haunts you, a new ghost that had been lingering and gathering dust since that night. You never asked anyone, certainly not Eddie, and refuse to overthink it until now. But after tonight, after practically reliving your first encounter with Eddie all over again, the deja vu and the curiosity are winning over. 

You dial Steve’s number.

“Hell-”

“Why do me and Eddie hate each other?” you blurt out, cutting off Steve’s greeting. 

“I- What?” Steve’s confused, understandably so, “How should I know? I don’t keep a list of every time you rant about him to me.” 

“What about him?”

“Okay, you know I love you, but I’m not a mind-read-”

“What about a list of every time he rants about me?” 

Silence buzzes through the line, and you glance up at the night sky. It’s a cloudy black. The city pollution hides most of the stars, and from Eddie’s balcony, you can’t locate the moon. 

“I also don’t have one of those.” 

“Why not? Because, Jesus Christ, Harrington, I have questions-”

“Because he doesn’t rant about you. Especially not to me, but Nancy says he never talks about you usually either,” Steve explains in an even tone, still not sure how his answer should be helping you. You are the one, afterall, with Eddie right now. 

Even if he is locked away in his room right now, refusing to speak to you. 

“That makes no sense,” you sigh, exasperation creeping its way into your bones, “I rant about him all the time. I’ve bitched to you and Robin more times than I can count about him. He should be doing the same.” 

Steve says your name softly, “Why are you asking me this?” 

You laugh humorlessly and shake your head, even knowing Steve can’t see you, “It’s stupid. Forget it,” It’s not stupid to you, and you can’t forget it, but this doesn’t concern Steve, “Can I ask you one last question, though?”

“Shoot, babydoll,” you can’t help but grin at that nickname. Steve pulls it out at random, every time he’s trying to make you feel bad. He knows that neither of you can take it seriously. 

“Um, that night you introduced me to everyone,” you begin, stepping up to wrap your free hand around the iron railing of Eddie’s balcony, letting the cold seep into your palm, “At the bar, you know?” 

“Right…” he encourages, “What about it?” 

“Me and Eddie got along,” you spit it out, letting it tear from your chest and score your throat on its way out, “We… we were getting along at first, and then I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, he…. He…” 

He was gone. The Eddie I’d first met had vanished. Where’d he go? Why’d he go? 

“Shit, your memory is way better than mine,” Steve chuckles, sounding nervous, “But, I mean, I kind of remember that. You two getting along, at least. Guess that’s why we all were really confused when you started hating each other. But I’m still not understanding the question - are you asking if I remember the night? Or if he’s ever talked about it? I was a jock, you’re gonna have to spell it out for my pea brain.” 

“Stop insinuating you’re stupid,” you scold on instinct, scowl settling along your features as you lean onto the railing and glance down. It’s only two stories, but the ground feels impossibly far as you ask, “What happened when all us girls went to the bathroom? When we came back, he acted differently. Did he mention hating me that night? Did I leave a bad first impression? Was it all just a joke to hi-”

“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down. One question, remember?” you’re sure Steve can hear the panting in your breath over the line, the way your chest heaves in the memory, “I’ve gotta be honest - I don’t remember. I know that’s probably not the answer you’re looking for, and I don’t know what’s going on with you two right now, but I was already well on my way to drunk. I think Jonathan and Argyle poked some fun at Eddie, maybe teased him about something, but I really can’t recall what it was about. Maybe his hair? Who knows?” 

The answer isn’t helpful. It’s only more confusing, more hurtful. 

He stopped joking with you because someone made fun of his hair? You lost access to the warmth buried beneath his surface because his friends teased him? 

“Okay,” you sound defeated. You feel defeated – defeated by the weight of still feeling like an outsider, defeated by the barrier of some measly wooden door, defeated by the hurt in Eddie’s eyes as you admitted that he only ever hurts you, “Okay, thanks, Steve.” 

You hang up before either of you say goodbye. When you pull your phone down from your cheek and ear, you see your phone still open to the photo of Eddie and you that you’d sent to the group. 

You were wrong. There wasn’t only nothing. Your face may have been void of all emotions, but now looking at it, you can see Eddie’s isn’t. 

He’s looking at you and not the camera during the shot, face crestfallen, eyes nearly teary as the corners of his mouth tucked downward. 

He’s looking at you with regret, with sadness. He’s looking at you as if he can see the vines he’d planted in you, all rotted and dusting away, and he’s mourning them just as you had. 

It’s bullshit, or your imagination, or your innate need for Eddie to bleed the same way as you have over your entire situation with each other. You lock your phone and don’t bother to look at the photo again as you enter the living room, as you toss your phone onto the loveseat, as you curl up on the couch and don’t even bother to go to ask for a pillow or blanket. He probably wouldn’t answer the door, anyway. 

You don’t say goodnight to Eddie, just as he never said goodbye to you the first night, and wonder if he notices the absence of your salutation.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

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[deaddovedecadence]

(Guess which fucker is suffering from his uterus again? ME! Bevcucase I am suffering you get to hear how I think each member of the batfam (sibs only cause im mad at bruce rn for something he did in another story)would deal with you aggressively swearing at the Universe)

*Transmasc Reader on their period headcanons*

Dick Grayson

“I am going to stab a motherfucker in the throat and sacrifice them to the sun god if means he’ll end my pain”

surprised af, looks at you like you’re crazy

mildy concerned that you’re muttering under your breath swearing vengeance at the universe for giving you a period (apparently the uterus thing is fine but the period thing isn’t?)

Eventually asks what’s wrong and when you tell him that everything hurts, he’s very much going ooh and calling up babs to ask for some help with managing your pain. Once that’s happened he takes you to his room because his mattress is heated and wraps himself around you for a nap

Jason Todd

“If one more person tests me I’m telling Damian that they pissed me off”

He’s surprised with the viciousness of your throat and then pissed when he realizes that you have his favorite hoodie

you have to give him all the puppy eyes in the world to convince him that you need it and it smells like him and that makes it safe.

He understands better then a lot of people because his working girls complain to him when they see him.

helps your make even more creative threats because it’s funny to watch the horror on dick’s face when he hears them.

Cassandra Cain

“I’m going to rip out my uterus and feed it to the ground”

Dies laughing to herself at the absolute violence you threaten yourself with too make the pain stop then scolds you for threatening to hurt yourself

you explain to her that you aren’t actually going to hurt yourself and that you’re just in pain and severely dysphoric.

To combat this, Cass calls you brother (well signs it aggressively) while she cuddles with you in Dick’s bed (it’s the best bed okay!)

Tim Drake

“I hate my everyone and everything”

Finds you crying, and swearing at your body in front of the mirror. Immediately goes into damage control mode, bundling you away from the mirror and calling bart, because Bart’’s also trans and ergo he might know how to help with your freak out.

Bart has to stop Tim from freaking out and very patiently explains to him that sometimes bouts of dysphoria happen and there is nothing that anyone can do about them. Tim ends up asking again if you want to start t and when you say no, he just sits with you on the ground while you come back to yourself

Duke Thomas

“Fuck these motherfucking cramps,”

As the only other trans person in the manor (though Duke is agender to your transmasc) you feel a special kind of bond with him. He makes you feel comfortable and safe when your skin is itchy and all you want to do is explode

Laughs at you swearing at your cramps, and offers you some aleve and a heat pad. The two of you watch an anime together and argue about ship wars. It’s great!

Damian Al-Ghul Wayne

“I am going to rip out the universe’s entrails and give them to damian as a gift”*

Thinks that it’s perfectly reasonable to be angry at your body for failing you.

Makes you spar to get all of the anger that lives inside of you out. It’s very funny to watch the two of you. scream in different languages as you attempt to beat dummies into a pulp

He of everyone understands that it’s hard to keep control of anger and keeps you start to notice when your hold on it is fraying

*(the line that inspired everything)

[zabala0z]

S3 is once again killing me again with all the lore and I love it. School started up so I might be slower with my thoughts but I got episodes 92, 93, 94 and 95 to talk about!!!

MAG 92: Nothing Beside Remains

Elias makes me want to eat my phone, similar to that one guy from MAG 65 :) I was like screaming the whole time. Of course he can see everything, he literally called the police before Daisy came. I took that as "oh he has spies" but no he can see everything, I hate that. Is Jon eventually gonna get that ability or does The Eye give different gifts. Elias hasn't shown any "compellling" sort of power so I assume the latter. ALSO MORDECAI LUKAS?? I need to see a statement from a Lukas member cause what is up with that family, I'm dying.

Guess Basira is now working there. Hope Elias is paying her. the fact he won't tell Jon shit is so funny to me. So The Stranger is now, basically, the confirmed main villain. BBEG yknow? Mildly terrified, I hate circuses and mannequins so this season is gonna like body me

Not much to say on MAG 93 but whatever entity has the whole "gross shit" as its deal, I'm guessing this falls under it. Purple fungus, the obsessive cleaning, etc. Also yaaay Breekon and Hopes!! Again!11!! get out! Poor Georgie. Love her for being like "Do you even have qualifications??". Jons explanation helped me a lot because during Elias's explanations, I'm mostly just muttering curses to myself because I HATE Him. Avatars. Baller. So Jude Perry was the avatar of The Desolation (destruction, fire, etc) Michael Crew was the avatar of The Vast (sky??, emptiness, general loneliness) and then like Jon is an avatar and I'm guessing so is Elias. I think you can have more then one avatar but anyways.

MAG 94: Dead Woman Walking

Jon refereed to the entity as "The End" which, using my notes, was mentioned in Mary keys statement when gertrude asked where the book came from and Mary said "The End" and said she could never serve it, not finding death interesting. Wild that she can't feel fear anymore??? Like damn. This kinda read as someone in a depressive state in some form. Or like a nihilistic person. Cause like "everything ends, time, it has already ended". Wild.

Not much to say on MAG 95 but I did understand the context vaguely which is more then what I can say for the other war statements. Also Martin and Basira friendship??? Love it. She gets really engrossed in books. I dunno if she was like lying or this is something supernatural related but I love Basira

MAG 96: Return to Sender

Literally screeching oh my god. The fact these things just hijacked this mans business is almost funny. They also talked with a circus ringmaster. Nikola Orsinov? gregor Orsinov? A different one. the statement was given 1996 and Gregor was the leader around the 40's but Nikola, by her description I think, sounded young. So. Who was this ringmaster? Maybe Im getting the timeframe wrong. or they're like eternal. Maybe they like just shed skin and steal a new body, just going by the same last name- okay I don't know.

Also, SARAH BALDWIN???? Welcome back girl. The fact the gorilla skin was stolen by gertrude means she was trying to stop The Unknowing, and likely that's why its been this long for it to happen, because they need that skin. Ew. The Stranger loves skin a little too much. Also Sarah being filled with sawdust and cloves. Great. If Not Sasha was shot, would we have seen that? Or is it different with every one of those, NotThem.?

Anyways, I think that's everything. Every statement, I'm kinda thinking, "which entity does this fall under" now that I know the surrounding universe. Tough since I only know 6 by name and I think there's more. 6 too many entities for this world though

[annabtg]

Okay so what are your favourite lilypad hc's? 🤩

Oooh Lilypad hc's?? Don't mind if I do! 🤩

As previously stated, Sirius is very soft for Lily. To the point that makes everyone go "who is this guy and what have you done to Sirius Black". They will tease each other, have their arguments at times, but he never snipes with malice at her or show her this bored/haughty side others see.

Lily is very much the same right back. I think they have this mutual understanding that the other hasn't got much love in their lives and they've put up shields to protect themselves; so they try to be a safe place for each other. They know the other appreciates and understands them and they find comfort in each other.

They are very handsy and physical. You will always find Lily sitting on his lap or Sirius holding her close. Not kissing and snogging in front of others, however. That's something that's only their own.

And god damn it they need their alone time. Every day. They look like such a balanced and cool couple to outsiders, with how they're not jealous and have their separate friends etc., but if they don't have some alone time every day (night, preferably) they will burst.

They do a lot of Muggle activities together. Go bowling, play poker, go to Muggle concerts. Sirius loves discovering new activities and Lily takes pleasure in showing/teaching him.

Unlike James, for whom gift-giving is a love language, Sirius and Lily are not very much into presents. They will give each other a gift on some special occasion, and it will be very thoughtfully chosen, but they're just as likely to leave a birthday go without a present if they haven't thought of anything good. Sirius has given Lily a couple of pieces of jewellery that she always wears and that's it for giving her any more wearable stuff. No clothing items, no lingerie, nothing like that. But he buys her these nice dress robes she needed to go to that wedding/event thing, because they went shopping together and why the hell not.

Books. Books books books. They are book nerds, both of them. Not literature, though - spellbooks, potions guides, science books, encyclopedias. They read them for fun and nerd out exchanging fun facts.

They're not the outdoorsy types the way James is - they're more activity oriented, like "let's go on a motorcycle ride" or "let's go stargazing" (they love stargazing together, and it's a very special activity for them). They won't just go out for a walk or a picnic.

They're also not foodies. Idk they just aren't. They both love tea, though.

They don't meet each other's family. Like, even in a universe where they stay together all their lives and there's no war and whatever, Lily drifts away from her family and Sirius is her person. I guess she invites them to the wedding, if there is one, but she doesn't care for family dinners and keeping in touch etc.. Being with him in all its effortlessness makes her realize there are some fucked up dynamics in her family that she doesn't need to put up with, and she definitely doesn't want to put him under their scrutiny.

Because yeah their being together is effortless. If it weren't, they wouldn't be together. Sirius would never make an effort to win a girl or change for anyone. He's a take it or leave it sort of person, and they just happen to fit so well they get and stay together.

And this is why if/when Lily falls in love with James, Sirius is like "okay then" and lets her be. What do you want him to do, beg? Put on a show to win her back? She's her own person with her own feelings. And James is a pretty great guy, actually, so good for her, really.

But there is no world in which they stop being physical. They may or may not stop having sex, but Lily would never get into a relationship with anyone who expects her to just stop sitting on his lap or snuggle close to him on the sofa. Their relationship, however long it lasts, is very deep, the kind of thing that leaves feelings that never go away, and their physical intimacy stems straight from that.

Thanks for this ask, I had a blast writing this :D

[po11yannaswife]

𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝑇𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 ✧₊⁺

𖹭 𝑃𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑥𝐹𝑒𝑚!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𖹭 ;

𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝐼 ; 𝑐𝑖𝑟𝑐𝑎 1921-1922

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑇𝑎𝑙𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑒/𝑆𝐴, 𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑒, 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑜𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑎, 𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑟-𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠, 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ, ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑃𝑇𝑆𝐷.

 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 , 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

The presence of her allure has left me helplessly and painfully in love with Polly Gray, I cannot bear to keep it inside me any longer as the woman has made comfort in living in my mind. I’ve never felt this mental since the war. War was where other people were hurt and my hands were bloodied from caring and saving them. Now I’m the one who’s hurt, and I don’t know how to care for myself with this absurd situation, in love with my best friend’s aunt. I hope for this love to pass on, pray even. But, if I pray, God would frown upon me for such a feeling, so for now, I shall only hope. 

I should only hope that Thomas doesn’t suspect a thing either, I feel like he’d shoot me in the head or send me away. He’d want his beloved aunt with a man who could protect her, right? I have to collect myself from this madness.

Yours truly.

You sighed as you dropped your pen onto the beaten desk, your hand clasped over your mouth. The words kept repeating in your head, and with every repetition of the situation, the worse it had seemed. You felt sick to your stomach at the feeling of feeling this way towards the woman, confusion and anxieties filling your filled enough head at the thoughts.

Finally deciding to snap your journal shut, you stuffed it under your stiff pillow and rubbed your eyes, blowing out the candles and shutting the golden light off. You got into bed, your only desire in that moment was to warm up under the blankets. Even with the twists and turns, the quick panic that settled in your chest every time you heard a sound that was either outside or imaginary, you fell asleep. All to do it once more the next day.

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

 I don’t understand why Polly’s birthday is the best of my worries currently. Sabini has gotten much more violent, beating Thomas to shit, and no one can understand how much suspicion I have with Campbell. His lads saved him from being killed, which I appreciate wholeheartedly, but I know he wants something. I can see it and I’m scared for the Peaky Blinders safety. 

And Ada, beautiful Ada, almost taken by a group of Sabini’s men. Gloom has dawned over me that we are all in danger, I guess it’s what you sign up for when you join a gang in Birmingham. Fortunately, our men got to her in time, only god knows what would have happened to her if they didn’t. It makes me ill. I don’t want a mere thought of what would have happened to her. I especially want her safe, she has a baby, and no baby deserves to grow up without its parents. He doesn’t have a father already, bless Freddie’s soul. Hopefully, Thomas gives her a safer place to keep her and her child in good hands. 

I’m currently living in a..place, you can call it. Definitely not a home. It has one bedroom, no lavatory, one small den, a kitchenette, and a hall that goes to the front door. It’s better than having no home, and I am eternally grateful I am here instead of France slaving away as a housewife.

On other topics, I cannot explain how nervous I am to give her the gift I have made for Polly. It has taken me hour after hour but I have finally finished it. A blanket with navy and a darker shade of red patches that I’ve made sure are not itchy for good measure. I hope she likes it, she doesn’t like her birthday much though, and I’m not family so it may seem strange, but I swear it’s just to share my appreciation for her. I love the woman, well, in a friendly manner, and this blanket is to show her how much comfort she has given me in the past with just her words. It feels good to give back. Though Polly is a hard woman, what if she laughs in my face with the soft gift? I am getting too ahead of myself now. Time will only tell what tends to happen. She’s turning 38, but hell, she looks absolutely beautiful. Oh, Tommy got her a whole fucking house.

Yours truly.

After adding the last period, you glanced back at the handmade blanket, as said. The colours made you smile softly to yourself, hoping to god she would like it genuinely. It was disgusting how much you pricked yourself making the damn blanket, but it was worth it for Polly. You’d do anything for her. 

You closed your journal for the night, putting it under your pillow and turning all the lights off. You closed your newly bought drapes and got into bed, thinking of what Polly would think of the gift. You couldn’t tell if this was excitement, or nervousness. Nonetheless, it was on your mind until you drifted into another slumber.

But this was fully just a friendship between two women, right?

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

So, Polly’s 38th birthday went...adequate. That’s the word.

 I was ordered to clean the house and set it up for Polly early on so that they could give her the gift, which was exhausting but worth it. I fucking despise dusting, I know now. As they gathered, I felt somewhat ill at ease, contemplating isolating myself within the confinement of one of the rooms, waiting for the opportunity of a moment when private discussions would divert their attention. Being no kin to them, I presumed my presence unnecessary, no surprise to my confusion and wary demeanour upon Tommy's unexpected calling to the living room. When I came in, I noticed how confused and baffled Polly had seemed, while Arthur, Finn, and John were smiling like idiots. The sight made me smile. I cannot figure out why, but even Polly’s most mundane actions make me feel intimidated, as if I’m in the presence of royalty.

The only thing keeping me in that room was Thomas glancing at me and giving me the “stay right fucking there” look. I didn’t dare to move an inch, the thought of ruining the rare moment deemed unappealing.

When she looked at me I faintly smiled, which I now berate myself for. No clue why. I gave her the blanket after her and Tommy spoke and I tried my best to do it in private, not wanting to seem all strange. Her reaction was a little..delayed. That concerns me and has left such paranoia in my chest as if it’s smoke from a fire, but instead of coughing, my heart is going like fucking mad men. The only reassurances I have currently are the smile she gave me and the gentle embrace. I would stay in that hug for eternity if I could. Her smile is angelic and I would make a hundred more of those blankets if I could see that smile just for a second. 

Yet, the joy I find in her company is tainted by the antics of Arthur and John, which has made me feel even more wary of her feelings. 

I also have a feeling I’m going to be a part of this expedition to find her children somehow.

God help me.

Yours truly.

Another journaling of your feelings was finished, slamming the book shut afterwards and groaning into your hands. You just wanted to shoot yourself at this point, the humiliation of going practically red in front of her made you want to jump out your window. You paced your room for a bit, biting your nails and groaning over and over and cursing yourself for your actions only hours earlier.

What if she was calling her friends and making fun of you? Or stuffing the blanket in her new closet? Or giving it to someone as a hand-me-down? Your worries overwhelmed your head, tears actually starting to form. You couldn’t sleep, so you decided to do the best and most safest option.

Sit outside and smoke a cigarette. Your choice would have been going to the Garrison, but it was being remodelled, understandably. You needed a drink, anything, and the only drink you had was some milk which you bloody hated. So you were going to your almost empty pack of cigarettes, reminding yourself to get more tomorrow and calling it a night.

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

It has been awhile, but my assumption of me being involved in finding Polly’s kids is correct. Well, kid. The realisation has overcome Polly of her one daughter being dead. It has drained me that she knows that her son is alive and she cannot see him because he isn't of legal age. I heard what had happened through Thomas, and beforehand, I’ve given the contacts to Michael with the fight of his adoptive mother in the country.. I hate doing this, but as I’ve said before, I’ll do anything for Polly.

Meanwhile, she has resorted to being impulsive and ignoring Thomas. I shouldn’t be as stressed as I am over this, logically I know that. This isn’t my business. I cannot help my emotions towards the situation, I also feel like, christ, I feel a lot of things, don’t I? As I was saying, I feel like I have no place in this cause I’ve never been a mother. I took care of my siblings and have a maternal instinct, yes, but I’ve never had a child of my own blood. This is Polly’s kid and I could never imagine how distraught she is of learning one is dead in Australia and the other she is restrained from seeing. 

On the bright side, the Garrison is opening soon. Tonight, actually. I can’t deny that I’m excited to see how it has changed. I’ve been here for two years and the old design was boring, and I refuse to tell them that the blow up may have been a blessing. I mean, who wants to go to the most known pub in Birmingham and sit in a dusty old one?

I hope this all resolves and that Polly sees her son. I’m always hoping for something, like a glutton for hope. I’m sinful enough these days.

Yours truly.

A sudden knock at your door made you jump, turning around to look at your window. You waited to see if there was another knock, which there was, and you sighed to yourself. Chester Campbell had been causing a riot across town, chaos causing you to be more paranoid than ever. You grabbed a blade that sat on your desk and crept down the hall, placing your hand on the doorknob and turned it, cracking it open with hesitation. The chain was still in place, so god forbid if it was someone to hurt you, they’d have some trouble first.

“Let me in.” Thomas ordered. You furrowed your brows, but did as he said, sliding the chain off and opening the door for him. “Remember how we spoke of that fucking Jew?”

You closed the door, humming, “Alfie Solomons? Yiddishers?” You questioned for confirmation, “And, let’s probably not call them a ‘fucking Jew’.”

“Yes, Solomons. I met that fucker today, gave me a bloody hard time when I gave him our proposal.” Thomas took out a cigarette, ready to light it. You opened your mouth to speak, wincing a bit. He glanced at you, puzzled.

“It’s a small place..the smoke will linger. It’s okay, though, you can smoke.” You politely stated, sitting down in a wooden chair. “Don’t go looking for alcohol either, I have none.”

“What the fuck do you have?” His words were muffled from the cigarette, lighting it up and handing one to you, putting the flame to the end of it once it was between your own lips. “We run a fuckin’ pub, and you’re out of bloody alcohol?”

“The pub is being remodelled, Tommy. And I’m not pestering you for a bloody drink.” Taking a drag from the cigarette, you sighed again. “If you want me to have a stock of whiskey, you’ll have to be ever so kind and give it to me. I’m not taking it from the pub without your permission.”

“Permission?” Thomas scoffed, leaning against the wall. “Y/n, you lost the need for permission when you were officially called to family meetings. You’re one of fucking us, not some prostitute. So when it reopens, take some.” 

The gesture was kind for Thomas, you smiled slightly. “I appreciate the reassurance.” You tapped your cigarette on an ashtray, squinting your eyes a little as you thought. “Are you doing alright? Need me to clean or bandage anything up? Any new pain?” 

He peered up at you, then to the side. “No. Just the pain of Polly being fucking stubborn.” 

“Do you think she’s coming to the opening tonight?” You questioned, fiddling with your fingers. “Not that I..am concerned-”

“Possibly.” He replied, studying you. “She’ll probably come and get drunk.”

“I don’t blame her..I mean, I couldn’t imagine hearing that my daughter is dead and I can’t see my son without smoking a pack or getting drunk.” He rolled his eyes at your reply, which you quickly defended yourself. “I’m not disagreeing with you, Tom. She needs to wait.”

“Are you coming to the opening?” The room was silent as you thought, a little uneasy now. You wanted to see it, you wanted a break from everything. Campbell, Sabini, Michael, just everyone. But, you also didn’t want any sort of trouble tonight.

Nonetheless, you nodded. 

“I’ll come to support.”

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟕𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

I have never been in such a chaotic situation until now. Michael, wonderfully came to Polly the morning after the opening, which probably wasn’t the best time. Or the greatest impression. 

Now, I think I mentioned how I gave Michael the info, but I didn’t give Polly the info that I did give Michael it and see him. I knew the bastard would say something when he saw me. The furious tension Polly had created in the room when Michael recognised me sent a shiver down my spine, I couldn’t look her in the eye. I was too afraid, still am. I’m mortified. We’re speaking soon and this is the first time I do not want to speak to her. All I’ve done is what Thomas says, but I know it was wrong to keep the secret of me seeing her son before her. I wanted to keep her safe by not getting into any sort of danger with the coppers. Now I question if it was worth it? I hope I live. It is rare for me to pray, always resorting to hoping and wishing, but once I hear the sound of a knock on my door, I’m praying, desperate for any civil deliverance. In hindsight, I should’ve taken some Tokyo before this to calm my nerves.

Yours truly.

The way your head turned when you heard the knock was as if you were in a horror movie and knew the killer was behind you. You stared at the journal for a few seconds, closing your eyes when you heard a second batch of louder knocks. 

You put the book away and stood up, slowly walking towards your probable demise. You couldn’t lie that you procrastinated not answering and just never going outside ever again, that wasn’t logical sadly. You mumbled a prayer under your breath and turned the doorknob, sliding the chain off and opening the door. You couldn’t look the woman in the eye, clearing your throat and just moving away from the door for her to come in.

She closed the door behind her and gazed down at you while you guiltily stood in the doorway of the den. Your nails scratched at the outside of your hand, leaving irritated lines of pure apprehension. You could feel your heart pounding against your chest, afraid of what she may do or say. Would she kick you out of the family? Shoot you? Tell you to never go near her again? Or her son?

“It’s utterly obvious when you’re guilty and nervous.” Polly flatly stated her observation, to what you looked up at. You took a step back when she took a step towards you, making her scoff. “I’m not going to hurt you, you silly girl.”

The nickname made you slightly blush, only nodding your head and mumbling an apology. You turned to go into the small room, tensely sitting down. She sat down across from you, looking you up and down. “Michael further explained what you did.” She began immediately, not in the mood to waste time. “I want to compare stories. So, go on.”

A shaky huff fell from your lips, feeling like you murdered someone or kidnapped a child. “Thomas led me into this. I had no malicious intent whatsoever, let me say that. I helped him find the documents, which brought him to take me to the country to give the information to Michael, as he thought it’d be less intimidating for a woman to give it instead of a man. I simply introduced myself and my intentions, handed him the card, took the tongue lashings from the hideous mother, and went on my merry way. Polly, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you in danger. I know if I would’ve told you, now do not take any offence, you’d probably pry the address out of me with how insistent you are. And if you went there, with your insisting, you would’ve gotten arrested. I do not want you in those vile places. All I desired was for you to get your boy back. That’s all my intentions were. I simply didn’t tell you for your sake.”

Incapable to meet her daggering gaze, you stared uncomfortably into your hands, anxiously waiting for her response. The fear lingered and it left you utterly mortified, her silence only increasing it. She observed your every movement, studying your body language and the look in your eyes. She contemplated for another few moments, sighing.

An alarming shift of the aura in the room occurred as her clenched fist inadvertently revealed a sharp blade, causing your eyes to widen in apprehension. Swiftly recovering, she composedly placed the weapon on the table before folding her now-empty hands together. The tense atmosphere surrounding you seemed to intensify as she watched the fear in your eyes intensify, your body involuntarily becoming more rigid, and your nails fiercely scratching at your hands in a display of discomfort.

“I find no need for the use of the blade,” Polly spoke sternly to get your attention back on her. “Liars need consequences. And you aren’t. I also do not think I’d even have the heart to hurt you.” Polly took both of your hands to halt your  scratching, sighing before saying, “Thank you for helping find my son.”

Tears burned at your eyes, squeezing her hands. You tried to smile weakly and she embraced you gently, her rage disappearing only to be replaced by more respect for you. “I apologise for being so-”

“No need, Polly. I understand.” You quickly cut her off, still breathing a little hard. “You're a mother. And that’s all the explanation I need from you..just, please don’t slit my throat.”

She glanced at the blade and put it back in her purse, “I don’t like liars in this family. You saw what that Grace did. So let this be a friendly warning, sweetheart.” Her tone was condescending at the end and you gulped, understanding her reasoning and whatnot. “I wouldn’t expect to have to do this again.”

She stood up, walking towards the door before pausing as she opened it, looking over at you. “Be a good girl and learn to offer some whiskey when you have a guest. It’s polite.” She gave you one last glance before exiting your home, leaving you red, wide eyed, and slightly humiliated.

After you collected yourself, you whispered, “I really need to get that whiskey.”

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

God, where do I start? 

Sabini has come through with his threats, and I must confess, I am afraid. A kid, a sweet lad that I had only a brief acquaintance with is now dead because of him. Throat slit in a dreary jail cell, makes me nauseous at the thought. He seemed very naive and somewhat innocent when I met him. I don’t know why Thomas allowed him to participate in this gang, especially when we have a couple of lads seeking our downfall. Bless the kid’s soul.

Unfortunately, a sense of dread has blocked my mind from any sort of joy anymore.  Arthur has been held at gunpoint, may I say deservingly, by a mourning mother. He fucking killed a kid in a wrestling match. Arthur is like a dog, if you get him going, angry enough, he will have not one single limit. His only goal is to scare his prey, and he fucking scared this one to the afterlife.

Chester Campbell is starting more racket with us, coppers, fucking everyone. His insatiable appetite extends beyond mere illicit pursuits, for he indulges in the most disgraceful and shameful vices with every available prostitute and vulnerable woman. It sickens me to the core to possess such knowledge of his guilty indulgences. Hell, could you imagine being so desperate to get your cock sucked and take advantage of  women that every town you go to for legal terms, you fuck every prostitute? What profession is this? If he ever says fuck the Peaky Blinders, I’m running.

Now, Polly. She has taken over my mind at this point. I don’t know what to do, I’m guilty of feeling love towards another woman and I cannot figure out a strategy to get myself out of this torturing infatuation. Why can’t I be attracted to a man?  In a world where every woman seems to be attracted to Thomas, I’m attracted to his aunt. I attempt to persuade myself that this affection is merely friendly, but the effort is becoming increasingly laborious. Being queer here is digging your own grave, and I’m not ready for that. I’m 22. 

I shall just confine my love for her on these pages, never to say them aloud.

Yours truly.

“Why can’t I just be attracted to men?” You whined into your hands desperately, pondering how you got yourself into this situation. Polly was killing you softly without knowing it. Even when you felt threatened by her, the embrace she gave made you feel secure and alright, like she would never hurt you unlike other people in the past. The scent of her perfume lingered as a memory which you desperately wanted to retrieve, yet you didn’t know how to be that close with her. You were friends, good friends, you couldn’t ruin this.

You finally just quit your pity and turned off the light, putting another layer on top of you due to the chill in the air. You slipped into bed before falling asleep rather quickly, hugging yourself as a reminder of possible comfort.

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟑𝐫𝐝, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

I need a heavy drug. 

I have at once been burdened with Michael being the accountant below me, which automatically makes me need to teach him some things. Thomas should be doing this, and now I have to make sure he does nothing wrong.

It was his birthday a day ago, I didn’t attend because I have more work to get done, I did hear that he had some fun. Lucky him. Polly is still uneasy with him working for us since she doesn’t want him exposed to the violence and inappropriate behaviour we set..if only she fucking knew. Arthur gets a little mouthy when drunk, let’s just say that.

Speaking of, the three Shelby men have probably caused more conflict between Sabini and the Peaky Blinders. Quite possibly me as well, I’m guilty of being there. The Eden club, run under Darby Sabini, is pretty much destroyed. It was a sight that could set your blood cold and the amount of men that were trying to grind against me triggered impulsive desires to take a shattered piece of glass and slit my wrists until I bled out just to end the harassment. It was quite satisfying to watch Arthur beat the fuck out of two of the men who did so. I’m probably going to stay out of London for a while unless I’m visiting Ada.

As always, I wish for things to get better. It’d probably start with Sabini and Campbell being assassinated, in which I’d celebrate. Is that impolite?

Yours truly.

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟑𝟎𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

My life has now taken a woeful turn. Everyone’s lives.

Michael hasn’t understood the consequences of actions, I presume. Chester Campbell has him in a cell, due to him burning down a pub. Arthur has also been arrested after being invited to Camden Town for Alfie Solomons invite of Passover. I don’t know the fully story, all I know is that he did something or Solomons is one fucking cunt. I know it all has to connect to Campbell. I knew it from the very start. 

Polly isn’t doing too dandy.  She's transformed into someone more severe, her words cutting like a knife, and her demeanour has taken a sharp and unapologetically harsh turn. I can grasp the reasons behind her behaviour, but it doesn't make it any easier to witness. She's determined to take Michael away permanently once he's released from prison, but deep down, I find it difficult to believe such a drastic outcome is promised. 

Furthermore, she's stirred up a troubling conflict with Esme, simply because she's not family by blood. The tension in the room became unbearable, and I desired to slip away unnoticed just to catch my breath. However, Polly's hand clasped my wrist tightly, forcing me to her side as if she was afraid to let go.

In the midst of this turmoil, I find comfort in expressing my thoughts through writing, knowing that this is my sole outlet to vent my emotions before joining Polly in the attempt to bail Michael out faster than Thomas can. I'm torn, for I'm reluctant to proceed with this endeavour, but my loyalty and vulnerability to Polly is victorious. After all, anything for bloody Polly, eh?

Yours truly.

You put the pen down and stood up, putting your coat over your shoulders and a pair of heels before running down the hallway to meet Polly. You needed a breather, a break. The morning was overwhelming enough, and for what was to happen next was unknown. She understood, giving you half an hour of preparation, which you were grateful for. 

She glanced at you before nodding her head, extending her arm. You stepped down the concrete steps that led to your door, awkwardly wrapping your arm around hers. “So, what’s the plan for this?”

She stayed silent for a few seconds. “You’re just my support, my second pair of eyes. Witness,” She stated, looking over at you to see if you were understanding, and you certainly were. “I’ll do anything to get Michael out. You understand to not interfere with anything, correct?”

The question made you puzzled, making you swallow hard. “Um, yeah. Polly, uh, you know I won’t let him hurt you though, right? This is-”

“I know who this is, Y/n.” Polly sterned, walking a bit faster now. “Thank you for wanting to protect me, but I’m an adult. I can take care of myself and my own fucking decisions.”

“Okay.” You simply replied in a soft murmur, instinctively tightening your grip on her arm as the unsettling thought of harm befalling her crossed your mind. She noticed, of course. The woman noticed everything.

Once you both stood in front of the building, she stopped you both. She leaned in, whispering quietly, “Whatever happens in here, stays between us.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, savouring the peace before she dragged you along again, the coppers already knowing what she was here for. They lead you both to Chester’s office, and you felt your heart pound, your ears already ringing, the air around you tense, full of misery in a way. It was sucking the life out of you. 

“P-Polly, I really don’t have a good feeling.” You admitted in a hush tone, the fear in your eyes betraying the tough demeanour you desperately tried to be.  She took a quick look at you momentarily, using her free hand to gently move stray hair from your face. 

"Neither do I, love. Let's get this over with, yeah? You’re the bravest girl I know, you’ll be okay." Her words were tender, and the touch of her hand felt like a comforting embrace. But as the copper knocked on the door, announcing both yours and Polly's arrival, the warmth of that embrace faded, and you braced yourself for what laid ahead of you both.

𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝐧𝐝, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

I can’t look at myself. I cannot bear to see such a failure. A weak, useless girl. I can’t handle it. I don’t know what to think, or say, or do. 

I can’t speak. My voice is gone from screaming like a lunatic, quoting from the coppers. I can’t comprehend what has happened, what happened to Polly, knowing I was a wall away, I was right there. I could’ve stopped him somehow. I could’ve sacrificed myself.  I could’ve protected her better if I wasn’t such a fucking coward. I knew when he started to mock her, belittle her. I heard the rest through the walls. My fingertips are raw, voice gone, throat is fucking gone. And so is everything I was before.

I hate myself when I see Polly. I can’t help myself but cry, I don’t know why. I wasn’t the victim, I just heard it. God, I feel like such a coward for crying while even writing this. Polly doesn’t seem fazed and I wish I can be like that. Why can the victim be so strong and seem alright and I’m here sobbing?

I wanted her to be okay. I wanted to protect her. When they let me out after she was finished, I didn’t want to look at her out of guilt. But she saw me and gave me her touch, and I swear, when I saw Chester in his doorway, with that smug smirk of satisfaction, I met something in me. Pure rage from the depths of hell.  I want to murder him. I want to cut his cock off and shove it down his throat, making him silent like he is to Polly. I want to burn him alive. I want to do everything and anything that causes pain to him.

 I want him fucking dead. I want him deceased, I say this with every ounce and inch and fucking soul of my being, unapologetically. I want him to feel the burden of being murdered without dying. Then dying. He is a murderer of purity, security, any sort of worth a woman has. Yet, he longs without consequences. 

I realised how much this has affected me, as selfish and victimising it sounds. I’ve wanted to take a gun to my head and kill the guilt by killing me. The guilt he tended to make for me. He took advantage of Polly’s vulnerability, knowing how guilty I’d feel, replacing how he should feel the guilt.

All I yearn for is for Polly to be safe, and I cannot seem to do that simple task.

I will go by her words, but they’ll never fade the guilt and hatred I have for myself because of this. Michael can go die in a ditch as well for being humiliated by his mother for sacrificing herself.

Yours truly, I guess.

You stared at your ceiling after taking hours to write. Your eyes were in pain from how much you sobbed, not allowing Polly to see you like this. You were back in your home as she let you know she was okay enough, pushing you out practically. The moment you walked into your house, you collapsed.

That night as you changed, seeing the harsh bruises of the coppers as they dragged you away, the grins haunting you, Polly’s eyes widening at your horrific screams, Campbell smirking.

“No! Please! No!” Screaming as loud as you could, only getting more vicious as the coppers dug their hands into your shoulders, their free ones groping you in the process. “Don’t you dare! Don’t touch her! Polly! No, no, no!”

“No, no, no, please.” You strained, whimpering, hugging yourself and closing your eyes. Tears fell down your cheeks, beginning to feel as if you were back there, being thrown into a cell. The cold air sends you into spasms, your fingers pulsing at the memorial feeling of scratching against the concrete wall. “Stop. Stop it.”

“Don’t hurt her! Ugh!” The two men voices filled your ears, calling you crazy and mad, throwing you into the cold and gloomy cell with little light. You crawled back, “Tell him I will sacrifice myself for her! Please! Tell him! Polly doesn’t deserve this! No!” You begged and you pleaded, watching them as they laughed at you like you were some sort of entertainment. You couldn’t breathe, your limbs trembled, your sobs of desperation making it hard for you to form full sentences and only spurring the two men on.

"Stop, stop, stop," you whispered desperately, attempting to wrench yourself away from the abyss of torment that engulfed your mind. Struggling to break free from the grip of haunting memories, you yearned for respite from the mental anguish.

Suddenly, a loud knock resounded at your door, jolting you back to reality in an instant. The unexpected sound shattered the tormenting reverie, causing you to snap back to the present, only to find yourself gripped once again by fear and apprehension.

Reluctant and hesitant, you hesitated to open the door down the hall. Fully aware of your dishevelled appearance, evidence of recent tears on your face, you tried to ignore the persistent knocks, hoping to escape any unwelcome intrusion. Your hand instinctively rose to cover your mouth upon hearing Polly's voice, her words cutting through your emotions.

"I know you're in there, Y/n," she called out, her voice carrying a mix of concern and determination, leaving you torn between facing her and keeping your despair hidden from view. “Let me in.”

A shuddering breath fell from your lips, retrieving a robe to cover yourself up with. You walked down the hall, wiping tears off your face to try and make it not so obvious you were bawling. 

You opened the door after unlocking it, face to face with Polly. She seemed exhausted, basket in her hand, her hair pulled back. Her eyes fluttered when she saw you as you waved and pointed to your throat. You could speak, just barely and it hurt like hell. Her eyes fell to the bruises that were visible on your collarbone, her hand reaching out to inspect the wound. 

As she let herself in, she pointed down the hall and asked, “Your bedroom down there?” You simply nodded. She took your hand and led you down the hall, welcoming herself into your golden lit room and sat you down on your bed. She sat beside you, continuing her inspection in which you couldn’t comprehend why she even cared. Her cold fingers grazed over it before meeting your eyes, nodding at your shoulder, “May I?”

With a tentative nod, you granted her the consent she sought. Gently, she lowered the satin robe to reveal more of your shoulders, and as she did, you couldn't help but inhale sharply, the sight of your wounds making you wince. Her touch brushed against a particularly sensitive cut, causing you to flinch away instinctively, murmuring an apology for the involuntary reaction.

"Please, don't apologise," she whispered, pulling the robe back up and smoothing it down with care. Lifting your head, her hands cupped your jawline, locking eyes with you in a moment of profound intimacy. "I'm sorry I put you through all this," she said, her voice filled with genuine remorse.

Despite the pain and tears welling in your eyes, you mustered the strength to speak, though your voice was faint and weak. "Not... not your fault," you managed to say. "I'm sorry for not protecting you better."

Her heart ached at your words, and she tenderly kissed your forehead before enveloping you in her arms, mindful of your injuries. Without hesitation, you clung to her tightly, finding solace in the embrace, just as you had done two nights prior. Her fingers attempted to run through your hair, but the tangles proved too stubborn. She gently pulled away, standing up to fetch a hairbrush from your vanity, where she noticed your journal resting.

You noticed it as well, panic settling into your chest as you made haste to snatch the journal from your desk and snapped it shut. Luckily, the page it was on wasn’t spilling your love for her, but it was telling how guilty you were.

She sighed as she sat back down, taking some of your hair and brushing it out. “I should be taking care of you, Polly.” You rasped, rubbing your neck in circles. She paused for a moment, before continuing to brush your hair, slower this time.

“Sweetheart, you have. I may have been drunk, but you took care of me. No one has ever held me the way you have, bathed me as humiliating as it is like you did. You went through the force of knowing it was happening, yet you still put me before you. Now, it’s my turn.” She explained, gently getting every tangle and knot out. 

“You don’t hate me, right?”

The weak voice you had as you asked the heart wenching words made her stop, letting herself take a deep breath. 

“I could never hate you, Y/n.”

𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

Polly and I have been recovering from the recent events that have happened, and I will say, I am better than I was a week or two ago. Still in a light form of shock and grief with terrible paranoia, but I’m okay.

It is early morning as I write this, and today's plans for everyone are the definition of risky. The Peaky Blinders, Thomas, and the Gypsies are uniting to seize control of Darby Sabini's race track, a venture that sways on the cliff of peril. My heart is heavy with concern for their safety, knowing all too well the unforgiving nature of both Sabini and the relentless coppers. I find myself anxiously hoping that Thomas has arranged a cunning distraction or perhaps struck a deal with Moss to avert any interference, lest the consequences be dire. For if their moves are exposed, they may all find themselves awakening in a place far from here, taken by our foes. The stakes are high, and I can only pray that their courage and wit prevail in this risky endeavour.

On the other hand with less importance, a bit more of a quarter percentage of the business has been given to Alfie Solomons in Camden Town, which in my opinion, may be a foolish action. I’ve met Alfie, a nice guy, but I don’t know if we can trust him. Well, nice isn’t the best word, he’s something, alright?

For me, Polly and I are bound on a fateful errand, and the anticipation has kept me restless, robbing me of sleep. Together, we've carefully devised a plan, a method to exact the vengeance he so rightfully deserves. I dare not delve into the particulars, as the utmost secrecy is essential to safeguard our intentions.

His actions have left us with no alternative; his existence must be brought to an end. Our hearts are set on ensuring justice prevails, even if it requires crossing dark and dangerous morals. With every fibre of my being, I hope and pray that our endeavour proves successful, delivering the retribution he has earned.

Our circle of trust is small, limited to Polly, Thomas, and myself, as we keep the knowledge of our intent deeply concealed. I prefer it this way, shrouding our actions in secrecy until our mission reaches its conclusion. It is Thomas who set this course of action in motion, and I am grateful to him for it. He has paved the way for Polly to carry out this decisive act, and for that, I am deeply appreciative.

I wish no one dies today except Campbell and anyone who wishes upon the Peaky Blinders downfall.

Yours truly.

“What will happen if this doesn’t go to plan, Polly? What if-”

“Will you please close your mouth and sit quietly?”

It had been hours later and you were in the car with Polly, not being able to stop moving or rambling on the possibilities of what may happen, while Polly seemed stable. You were her support, once more. The unknown of what may happen in the next hours scared you shitless, not feeling this sort of fear since the war. 

“I’m sorry..” You breathed out, loosening the neck of your blouse a bit. “I’m just-”

“Scared? Y/n, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You turned your head to look at her as she drove, “What about you, Polly? I’m mostly anxious over you, I admit. What if he-” Her gloved finger pressed over your lips, shushing you. “Sorry.” You muffled against the finger and she swiftly took it away, stopping in front of the bar.

The woman turned to you one last time, “You go in the booth next to his. When you hear the gunshot, walk out.” Her voice was full of authority, not moving her glance from your eyes once.

“Yes ma’am.” You blurted out, watching as she made sure her gun was loaded before putting it into her purse. You got out when she did, beginning to scratch at your arms and hands again, but this time, it started to get so hard that beads of blood began to form, not coming to your attention, though.

The two of you strided into the bar, afraid but knowing this needed to be done. You instantly made sight with the phone booths, seeing the fedora that looked all too familiar. Though, to your unfortunate luck, all the booths seemed to be filled. You looked at Polly who was already looking at you, subtly pointing to a table that was near the booth Campbell was in.

With apprehension clawing at your heart, you discreetly parted ways with her, maintaining a facade of normalcy as you took a seat and pretended to watch her walk towards the booth. As his eyes met Polly's, you knew he also caught a glimpse of you, and in that moment, you locked gazes, sensing it would be the last time he'd ever see you.

The door sealed shut after his greeting, and you couldn't help but turn away, fixating on the table, your heart pounding so vehemently that it sent sharp pains through your chest. The fear of him causing harm to Polly, the strategy falling apart, weighed heavily on your mind, manifesting in the form of feral scratches that marred your poor hands, which bled relentlessly.

In that tense moment, the only sound you craved was the gunshot, signalling the successful execution of your plan. You scanned your surroundings, desperate to ensure no coppers were lurking nearby, and to your relief, you spotted none. Unable to hear their conversation, you waited with bated breath, until the creak of the door opening was followed by a guttural, choked sound. It brought a sense of grim satisfaction.

Time seemed to slow, as if the world paused to witness the unfolding events. The deluge of emotions overwhelmed you. your heart aching, your head feeling light, your ears ringing loudly, and your thoughts in disarray, overtaken by panic.

Then, a gunshot pierced the air, and you could hardly believe your ears. Slowly, you turned around, praying that Polly would emerge unharmed. In that moment, all other noises appeared muffled, and the dizzying sensation persisted.

As the scene unfolded before your eyes, you clung to the hope that it would be Polly who emerged from the booth. The background voices sounded distant, drowned out by the intensity of the moment.

As Polly finally exited the booth, you rose from your seat, nonchalantly straightening your dress, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the bloodstain on her attire. It was impossible to overlook, yet she seemed to be oblivious to it, her gaze fixated elsewhere, her eyes betraying a mélange of emotions, sorrow, shock, and a keen sense of relief.

You didn't exchange a word or even a fleeting glance; instead, you simply fell in step behind her, a shared understanding passing between you. The surge of emotions inside mirrored her own relief and hope, knowing that he was likely no more. In that moment, you both moved forward, united by the weight of those complex sentiments.

Now, your only worry was Thomas.

𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟑𝐫𝐝, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

Chester Campbell is deemed dead, and we are no suspects. I haven’t felt so relieved in years. The plan was executed on correct terms, and we have been rewarded with the sense of safety, security, and not as threatened any longer. Especially Polly.

Thomas..he..was almost killed, but luck had sided with him. From then on, we have gotten the announcement of Grace and him together once again, and how Grace is pregnant. I cannot imagine a little Thomas Shelby. I hope Grace has some good blood in her to outweigh the cold.

Christmas is soon, and even if it isn’t very celebrated here, I’ve gotten the best present of all. Karma and Polly. She has chosen to invite me to her home during the two festive days, and I’ve never been more honoured and relieved I won’t be spending the holidays alone in this tiny space I call home.

This new year, I hope for it to be much more peaceful, much more..smooth. This year has been a wreck, and we have ended it with a sense of closure that I couldn’t ever be more thankful for.

Yours Truly.

[newpercyjfan]

“I plunge to my death” Percy Jackson Au

Ok first, if you somehow came up with this exact thing already, i wouldn’t know, I don’t even follow the Percy Jackson tag yet, but just tell me and I’ll take it down or tag it as an alt universe of your au and credit it, but I have like three other ones I’ll be posting so we’ll see.

- This au is connected to both the tv show and the book because I like what both did in terms of the arch episode.

- This mostly goes how the tv show episode goes, Percy gets poisoned, they get to the top of the arch, he sacrifices himself. But this time, he does pray to his dad as he falls over 100 ft to his death.

- His dad doesn’t answer. He’s the one who somehow last second, controls the water to save himself. He sinks to the bottom of the lake and gets stuck. He feels the poison and his wounds get slightly better.

-In this au, the nereid doesn’t actually help him get out of the water, because in this version it’s inspired by how in the books, when he left the water the wounds came back. If he leaves the lake, he could die.

- So he stays stuck there for almost three days while the nereids bring him seaweed and shit to eat, but eventually he gets sick of it.

- he learns that Poseidon didn’t really want him to leave, at least not yet, mainly because he knew if he left he would continue to be chased by monsters or die in some way and believed a war would come either way. Basically, if the Poseidon that said “heroes always end badly, I regret getting your mom pregnant” actually did something about it

- but of course, he can’t keep Perseus ‘I don’t listen to anybody but myself’ Jackson down in a lake without him going a lil crazy and he breaks the root holding him down and swims to shore, but the poison instantly kicks back in, and gets back in the water

- his father gifts him a hydrai (a large vase/urn basically that carry’s water) that holds basically a portal to the ocean in it. GUYS LISTEN, I HEARD THIS MYTH SOMEWHERE BUT WHEN I TRIED TO FIND THE SOURCE IT DISAPPEARED. I was positive I heard that there was a vase that held the ocean in it somewhere so just take my word 😭

- the mist makes it look like a water bottle with no label 😭💀💀💀

- Percy accepts the gift because he wants to get out of there, but he suddenly does not have a very good idea of the gods or specifically his father. I don’t think the nereid actually told him that his father really did care, at least a little bit, all he saw it as was his dad not thinking he would succeed/ he saw it as Zeus turning Thalia into a tree because he didn’t want to idk disprespect the other gods? Cause it was easier than defending her? That’s how Percy sees it anyways

- Meanwhile, Grover and annabeth are convinced he died. They looked and called for him, but there was no proof of his survival, so instead annabeth took his place in a lot of missions to fulfill the quest cause she’s a girl boss like that.

- I think her main theory of what happened to him is straight up “I saw him fall and didn’t see him land, so maybe he turned into the lake or a tree or something too” 💀😭

- anyways Percy gets chased by another monster but has no more fucks to give. He’s scary. He’s pale, has dark eyes and a taste for vengeance.

- he tries to find annabeth and Grover but they’re pretty ahead of him.

- my main idea is that they meet again in the underworld with hades and they are little wary honestly.

- also omg I didn’t think of this before but what if they thought, hey, he’s in the underworld, guess he did die 💀.

-But anyways what I thought would happen was annabeth and Grover get there first and annabeth has the backpack with the bolt in it. Hades asks if they wanted a trade and that’s why they came. He bluffs and tells them if they give him the bolt and the helmet he’d let go Percy’s mom or “bring back” percy. (Hades knows percy is not dead and is kinda pissed that Percy is constantly on the edge of death but making it because of his dad technically, and he can’t take him to punishment field or whatever he calls it idk)

- I think annabeth chooses percy and is about to give the bag over, but realizes he was tricked and he was never dead. But idk. There are so many diff ways this could go and I’d love to hear how you guys would write it. I’d love some reblog a that add to this idea.

Also I need unhinged percy content

(Sorry if the art or wording is bad, it’s late and I’m tired)

[mcflymemes]

YELLOWSTONE PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the television show

leverage is knowing if someone had all the money in the world, this is what they would buy.

i remember.

there's sharks and minnows in this world. if you don't know which you are, you aren't a shark.

that's it. that's all there is.

where's the fun in wrecking a single man?

words are weapons.

just like your mother.

"i'm sorry" are two words you never have to say to me.

we're enemies now.

i'm gonna give you one last chance. you leave now or you never leave.

you know what work is, don't you?

you can't unmake family.

i don't choose the way. i make sure no one questions yours.

you're either born a willow or born an oak. that's all there is to it.

i want you to move it.

our home is here.

well, that's what it means.

i need you to learn how to use them.

your grandfather used to say you can't fix a broken wagon wheel, but you can use the parts to make a new one.

it means that you have me, that i'm yours. it means come live your life with me.

soldiers don't tell war stories anymore, because wars these days... it's just about trying to live through them.

that's a conversation for another time that we'll never have.

you're gonna grow up and i'm gonna grow old.

if you act like a thief, i will treat you like one.

what do you want from me?

you are the trailer park. i'm the tornado.

no one has a right. you have to take a right, or stop it from being taken from you.

i look at every day with you as a gift.

you know, you did something that no one does. you've outlived your past.

i'm chopping your family tree down.

don't scream.

i'm asking you to marry me. will you do that?

nobody's gonna mess with us.

the only thing i ask is that you outlive me so i never live another day without you.

lawyers don't scare me.

i'm reasonable until i'm provoked.

everything i do is for him.

does that make sense?

you ought to listen to this.

i have been down this road many, many times before.

lawyers are the swords of this century.

karma comes in all shapes and sizes. guess it's me today.

god sure finds interesting ways to put people out of business.

you know what that means, don't you?

if it's gonna be all right, why are you taking a gun?

i hope i never meet the first man who thought it was a good idea to ride a bull.

i look at you, and the thought fades.

you know, when you boil life down, it's funny just how little you need, isn't it?

let's go get them.

i believe in loving with your whole soul and destroying anything that wants to kill what you love.

i made two bad decisions in my life based on fear, and they cost me everything.

like it or not, that choice is coming.

when you say no, it must be the death of the question.

i can't stop the river from flowing.

i don't want you to stop it.

when they go away, they never come back. ever.

you would have made a hell of a cowboy.

a man who puts a hand on a member of my family never puts a hand on anything else.

where'd you learn that kind of language?

do you think some day an explorer will find our bones and wonder what happened to us?

i don't know you.

the exploring's all done.

it's the truth.

just tell me who to fight.

all men are bad. but some of us try real hard to be good.

everything's gonna be all right.

these problems have to go away before i do.

for someone with no spine, you've sure got a lot of balls.

do you know who did it?

you never knew your grandmother, did you?

nice try, kid.

bullies need to be big, and i'm bigger than you.

every so often, you say something that makes me think you're smart.

you build something worth having, someone's gonna try to take it.

you ever had someone look at you, and your whole world just stops?

i like his home better.

i'm not judging. i just don't understand this place.

i'm just meaner than you.

from now on, what i do is for me.

when the misery is bad enough, tomorrow is rarely factored into decisions.

you should try zumba. get your cardio up.

"should" is a useless word, almost as useless as hope.

all the angels are gone. there's only devils left.

you've already proved you're not scared of anything.

if i'm going to lose you, it's going to be about what i did, not because i lied.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

I’d love to read more of your (and Vinelle’s) Twilight fanfics, but I can’t wrap my head around a lot of the lore. I only have vague memories of the books, with the Volturi details being extra vague. Care to give a summary of the Aro/Carlisle situation you tend to write about? The fics seem so interesting but I’m left confused about their characters and history!

Look, @therealvinelle, praise!

And oh dear god.

If it makes you feel better this isn't a ridiculous ask as I'm having a pretty tough time coming up with what I need to summarize here. There's a shocking amount of background about very obscure characters required to 'get' all of our fics.

Well, the easy (if time consuming) answer is to go through the blog. A lot of our Twilight readers have a leg up because they've read all the metas including "what if X happened" and so are quite knowledgeable about what @therealvinelle and I will write in a given story (compared to readers of The Man Who Would Be King, HP where @therealvinelle and I have written comparably less metas, and the readers guesses are all over the place).

This will give you pretty much everything you need to know about everything we write.

Otherwise, I'll have to give a quick and dirty summary here.

The Volturi

The Volturi are the big bad of the Twilight novels if there are any at all. They're the ones who cause much of the conflict in the latter novels (if we ignore Edawrd causing all of the conflict) and are the large threat to Bella after James and Victoria are dealt with.

What's important for our fics is that they're the iron fist of the vampire world. They're not so much rulers, as they don't tell anyone what to do, don't supply any cultural institutions, nor demand tithes or taxes, but enforcers of this one law that they made up thousands of years ago. They have only one law which is "do not get noticed by humans" which has a bunch of caveats to ensure this singular law is followed.

They have such strength in gift ability and such a strong network that they're able to enforce this law across the globe and easily deal with large masses of vampires. (This has given them a terrifying reputation and causes vampires like Jasper to regard them ambivalently as he appreciates things like newborn wars not spiraling out of control but is utterly terrified of them.)

They have done this for at least two-thousand years (Meyer is notoriously terrible with dates so @therealvinelle and I get into a lot of headcanons to make this work. Given the names Aro, Marcus, and Caius and that they are reputedly Mycenean they probably gained significant power/reputation when Rome was the dominant power in the region some 1500 years after each of them was turned, meaning it's been ~2000 years that Volturi law became absolute in the Mediterranean region if not further). And have presumably been settled in Volterra since that time.

Also of note is that the Volturi (primarily Aro) recruits, sometimes heavy handedly, gifted vampires to be members of his guard. This is how he's maintained such control as he uses powerful psychics to obliterate opposition.

The Cullens run afoul of this law (or appear to) multiple times. First when Edward goes to Volterra confessing to having told Bella he was a vampire and then abandoning her while she was still human (the law is she must either be turned or die at that point), the second time hours later when Edward planned to walk into the sunlight and reveal himself to the city of Volterra, and the third time when Irina witnesses what she thinks is an immortal child and reports this to the Volturi.

This last culminates in a very tense confrontation between dozens of vampires as they try to clear up what the fuck Renesmee is and if she's a danger to herself and others.

It concludes peacefully, but tensely, as Aro concludes Renesmee is not a problem and walks away but everyone is unsure if a violent confrontation will happen later.

The Aro and Carlisle Situation

Carlisle canonically spent around 20 years (Edward notes a few decades but never specifies exactly how many) as a guest of the Volturi, specifically as a friend of Aro.

What Edward tells us canonically is that while he enjoyed his time there and was shocked to find that vampires were learned and cultured beings after all, he couldn't convert any of them to his diet and left to find kinship among other vampires (this did not go well until Carlisle turned Edward some 200 years later).

Some of the fics go over this more than others, but @therealvinelle work with the assumption that Carlisle was very young as a vampire when he came across Volterra. He'd met Alistair before that point but no one else. Volterra was then what convinced him that vampires were not inherently damned and could be learned people (something Carlisle would not have associated with demons as a 17th century priest) who have great appreciation for the arts and great knowledge of antiquity.

What @therealvinelle and I tend to presume is that Aro and Carlisle had a romantic relationship during this period (and that Sulpicia and Carlisle did as well for hilarious reasons). However, while there was true romantic affection there, it couldn't resolve the large differences between the pair and ultimately Carlisle had to leave.

Fast forward to the start of canon and Carlisle is very fond of the Volturi. He hangs their painting in his office and Edward initially speaks of them with... distant respect I suppose we'll call it which speaks to Carlisle's respect for them as Edward would get that information from him.

After New Moon Carlisle off screen was likely extremely grateful and relieved that Edward had not been executed despite Edward doing his damndest to get himself executed. That they were all returned home, Bella human even, is a relief beyond measure and Carlisle is likely very grateful for this. He is very aware that Bella must be turned though and gives his vote in New Moon (aided by the fact that the situation has become untenable for all parties involved).

However, Edward is vocally suspicious of the Volturi's intentions and Carlisle trusts Edward's judgement as well as his gift. Edward notes that what Aro really wants is his and Alice's gifts to become omnipotent. Now, this doesn't make much sense as Aro's is Edward's gift but better and if Aro had wanted this then why would he ever have let the three go when he had every excuse and ability to keep them there and bind them to the Volturi with Chelsea, but it does plant seeds of suspicion especially when Aro is notorious for adding to his guard and trying out gifted members to see if they fit. Where Edward's theories start to gain credence is in Eclipse.

Victoria is obviously building a newborn army. The death rate in Seattle skyrockets as Victoria turns ten-twenty vampires in quick succession with humans floundering for an explanation (they at first state gang violence then a serial killer as they try to figure out why this is happening). Ordinarily, the Volturi would swoop in and take care of this as soon as it becomes obvious with absolutely no issue (using either Jane or Alec for the task). The Cullens wait for the Volturi. And wait. Then wait.

It becomes clear that the Volturi aren't coming. The Cullens try to get the Denali involved (this doesn't go well) and without any other option are forced to team up with the wolves where they win the battle with no losses but with great physical injury to some of the wolves (notably Jacob has a rough time of it). Then the Volturi show up at that very moment, making it clear that they'd intentionally waited so the Cullens could be wiped out or at least had their numbers thinned. Then Jane in front of them lights a girl on fire while noting that Bella appears to be very human today, doesn't she?

Carlisle at this point concludes that Edward is correct and Aro is trying to poach Alice or sees the coven as a threat and is trying to underhandedly eliminate them.

On Aro's end, the running theory in our fics is that Caius was in fact behind this without Aro's knowledge or consent. Caius had seen Aro sending Alice, Bella, and Edward home without any restrictions as a debilitating weakness that had to be dealt with/made an example of. Caius saw an opportunity, likely the only one he'd get, and he took it giving the death squad orders to stall and wait for the battle to finish before they cleaned house. Unfortunately for Caius, this went sideways. Unfortunately for Aro, he now knows that Carlisle thinks he tried to murder his entire family in the most underhanded shady way imaginable and that nothing he can say will make it look less bad.

However, all of this is okay to a point, as Bella's being turned shortly and Alice is there to tell the Volturi that it's all going to be over and then they'll have no reason to interfere.

Except Bella gets pregnant with an alien and then Irina reports that alien as an immortal child to the Volturi.

From Carlisle's perspective this is a nightmare, they've given the Volturi a valid excuse to come and wipe them off the map. Their only hope is to gather every witness they possibly can to oversee their trial and confirm that Renesmee is not an immortal child/prevent the Volturi from murdering them all over false charges. Carlisle no longer trusts that the Volturi have good intentions or that this is simply a misunderstanding, he has a very strong suspicion that they will use anything they can to kill them all.

From Aro's this is also a nightmare, as not only is an immortal child reported (something he absolutely has to kill everyone culpable over) but Carlisle starts immediately gathering what seems to be an army. Aro has to gather an army in turn and confront him at the trial where he's witness to the world's weirdest trial where it turns out the immortal child was actually an alien and uh... guess she'll grow up okay.

However, because of how that trial goes down two things happen: Aro loses face and Carlisle's worst fears are confirmed.

Aro tries to use his powerhouses against an increasingly hostile/suspicious opponents, what happens is that Bella blocks all of them. Chelsea, Jane, and Alec are refuted in turn and Bella shows in front of a large amount of witnesses that the Volturi can be thwarted provided they have the right amount of numbers. The worst gifts they have are no longer debilitating so long as Bella is around. Everyone who's ever wanted to sack Volterra now can look over at the Cullens and see Bella Swan, a woman who is now very hostile to the Volturi.

On Carlisle's end, he sees Aro use Chelsea, Jane, and Alec presumably to murder not only his family but all of his friends who had come here only to be witnesses to see that the Volturi behaved as they are supposed to in these situations. It's worse than his every fear confirmed, Aro proves himself to be a power hungry tyrant who will stop at nothing to get what he wants including the murder of children.

Aro walks away wishing he and Carlisle might somehow repair their relationship but knowing that it is likely impossible. He also leaves knowing that a confrontation is likely inevitable and that he will more than likely have to kill Carlisle's family if not Carlisle himself.

Some if not all of this usually comes to play in @therealvinelle and my stories depending if it takes place pre, during, or post series.

Other Tips

Read fics in order they were published.

@therealvinelle and I tend to use shorthand references to things gone over in depth in other fics as we hate writing the same thing twice. Nebuchadnezzar's Dream by @therealvinelle for example goes over a lot of the canon events dealing with Aro and Carlisle and how they reacted to it as well as Carlisle's hypothetical gift that @therealvinelle and I theorize is totally a thing.

A lot of the lore in the fics that doesn't come from canon was sort of uh organically grown within the fics themselves. (Unintentionally, they all kind of take place in a weird shared universe where similar things have often happened or they diverge at a single crucial point).

Otherwise

Uh... you got anything @therealvinelle?

[krikeymate]

Fictober 2023: Day 20: “This better be good.” - Kirby gets a call at 3am. Fandom: Scream Rating: T Warnings: None.

➖

Kirby gets the call at 2.37am.

In her line of work, she’s no stranger to being called in at all hours of the night, it comes with the job. Every second of lost sleep is worth it to keep the streets safe from creeps and monsters.

Besides, better the demons on the streets than the nightmare in her head that haunts her at night.

Needless to say, she’s used to it, reaching over to grab her phone off the nightstand and answer it without even opening her eyes. A familiar routine.

Less familiar is the voice on the other end of the line.

“Hello? Is this… Kirby Reed?”

Jesus, why is a child calling her. He has the cracking voice of a teenager. But hey, could be worse. At least it wasn’t Ghostface this time.

“Detective Kirby Reed, FBI. Who is this?”

“It’s uhm- I’m Officer Parker, NYPD.”

She waits a beat, becoming irritated when he doesn’t continue.

“It’s 3 in the morning, I have to be in work at 6, and you just woke me up. This better be good. What. Do. You. Want?!”

God she just wants to-

“There’s, uhm. There’s two girls here, suspects. They wanted me- requested you.”

-murder him.

Murder them.

Two girls.

She doesn’t even bother asking for clarification

Who else could it be?

She hits the end call button with more force than necessary, and wonders if it’s worth it.

Glancing to the side, she stares at the framed picture on her bedside – Sam, smirking, with an arm resting on Kirby’s head. Tara, plastered to her side and planting a kiss on her cheek. A birthday gift, poorly wrapped and made with love, in her hands.

She gets out of bed and suffers through getting dressed.

She might as well get an early start on the day. Who needs sleep anyway?

It only takes her 20 minutes to reach the station. The Officer Parker, third on her shitlist, looks about as old as he sounds.

Jesus, she’s turning into Gale.

Her second worst nightmare.

(Her first is waking up and realising she’s alone again.)

Kirby stands tall and puts on her work face as she tries to get some answers.

“Why am I here?”

“Because I call–”

“Why are they here?”

Were the police always this incompetent?

The thought makes her mind flash to Woodsboro. Never mind.

The question seems to rally the Officer as he becomes serious.

“They’re suspects in a murder enquiry, Detective.”

Kirby sighs. When are they not?

“Who is it th- who is it?”

“The victim is Christina Carpenter.”

She listens with one ear as he explains the situation. Kirby takes the opportunity to stare into the interview room.

Neither girl looks fazed.

Nor do they look upset.

Given what she knows about their mother, she guesses she shouldn’t be surprised. It’s hardly a death worth crying over.

She doesn’t give herself a chance to feel guilty at the thought, cutting off Officer Peter Pan by shouldering the door open.

“Thought I told you two to stay out of trouble,” she says, announcing herself and waving away the Officer as he tries to follow her in.

“Trouble finds us,” Sam answers cooly. She does a good job of appearing unaffected, but Kirby can hear the relief in her voice.

“Weren’t sure you were coming,” she continues.

Ah, that’s why.

“And leave you to get into even more trouble when you try to punch a cop? Mmm, I’ll pass on that paperwork.”

Sam scoffs. “I’ve never punched any cops… Recently.”

It almost makes Kirby smile. Sam’s so different than who she used to be, and yet, still the same troublemaker she was drawn to back in high school.

She turns to Tara, eyeing the bruising around her neck and splattered across her cheek. “What happened to you?”

“Got jumped. Didn’t see who it was,” she answers smoothly and without emotion. The way one might if it was a preprepared lie.

Inside Kirby a war rages. The detective inside her demands an investigation, begs to involve herself, to find out more and unravel the truth. There’s reasonable suspicion, they have motive, they certainly have the means.

The part that loves them says let it go, that some things are more important.

Some things are more important.

“C’mon,” she sighs. “I’ll take you home.”

[compassionhero]

it happens without her noticing it, the growing fondness for the boy from tatooine, the boy who seems to hold the hope of the entire rebellion between his hands. though he's not a boy anymore, the war has worn out the quick smiles and easy laugh she'd come to love and left a man from whom war has extracted a heavy cost.

sometimes there's a smile or two on the good days, but his laughter is rare and she finds herself mourning it when it all but disappears.

he looks like he's meditating when she finds him, intelligence reports she thinks he might want to see clutched in one hand and a tray of food in the other. it hits her again as she places the reports and food on the table beside him, how quickly she'd come to care for him. how indifference had turned into distant affection, into something that seemed to flow easily towards him without her even realizing it was there.

she's not someone you make friends with. everything she does is built on her ability to build a fortress strong enough to withstand torture, physical, mental, or emotional. her claws are always as sharp as her teeth and it only takes a second for her to turn into a nightmare that even the Empire has come to fear.

but luke has never been afraid of her, regardless of her teeth, despite the fact that the force in her is chaotic and destructive at best.

❛ hey. you should have something to eat, i know you haven't eaten yet. ❜

his eyes are still closed, though there's a hint of a smile on his lips, as though he's heard her but has no interest in the food. so she steps forward and does something she's wanted to do for months to get his attention --- she tips his chin up, leans down, and kisses him without hesitation.

this kiss holds none of her usual intensity and hunger, that is reserved for those she wants to hold power over. her overwhelming presence, the way she can intoxicate without trying, the cruelty and sharpness of her are reserved for those she intends to wrap around her fingers.

vasya wants none of this from him.

it's like she's forgotten what softness tastes like, but she pours whatever parts of herself that are still soft into him like she's giving him a gift. or a sacrifice, she isn't sure which one, but it is warm and genuine.

there's hunger there as well, but first she has to make sure that this is okay, that he is comfortable with what she's giving him. the hunger can come later if he wants it, god knows she's got plenty of it.

eyes made of gold and galaxies open to look down at him, a thumb brushing against the curve of his jaw gently, watching for his reaction --- waiting to see if this is okay. a grin lifts the corners of her lips up for a moment, playful and teasing.

❛ if i have to kiss you every time i want you to eat something, i guess i'll have to, for the good of the rebellion. though i'll admit, i've been wanting to do that for a while, so maybe it's not such a bad thing after all. now eat, or i'll have to do it again. ❜

.

[puckish-rogue-archive-deux]

Something that I hope to further explore in the main verse—because this was barely touched upon in the original series—are the long-lasting consequences of the Saints' victories over various gangs. And I don't mean just towards themselves, because I think that's more or less a given. I feel like there's plenty that's been left unsaid regarding what happens when gangs who hold a certain amount of power are just completely wiped out. Let me throw out a few examples.

The Carnales in the first game have the backing of the Colombian cartel behind them; supplying the gang with both drugs to sell and weapons to use. They are a dominant force across Stilwater, to the point of having a stranglehold on the city's southern end. So the fact that a relatively new street gang were able to demolish them and take their place in the partnership with the Colombians says a lot.

SR2 is where these concepts really start to latch onto my brain and shake it around violently with ideas. Now, the Ronin and the Sons of Samedi have a lot more influence than the Brotherhood given that the latter is solely focused in Stilwater, despite certain connections being hinted at. The Ronin are a bit tricky for me to speak about given their presentation (heavily influenced by Bōsōzoku biker gangs, but also implied to be a Yakuza clan). And while I have my own ideas over how something like that could be easily explained, that's not my focus here.

The point is that their leader, Kazuo Akuji, has a great deal of influence back in Japan. A transnational criminal organization like this gives me the impression that they hold a great deal of power and a sizeable amount of connections. Which is why the Saints—who had effectively just come back from the dead—were able to take them down during one Summer, while also taking on two other gangs, is CRAZY.

And the same goes for the Sons of Samedi, who are said to have cornered the entire Caribbean drug market. Imagine how many dealers must have been working for them, or how many drug runners they had employed. The connections they made. The territories they probably owned. All of it gone in an instant once the Saints get to them. And their parting gift simply being a sizable power vacuum.

Now, there's plenty I could talk about regarding the Syndicate. God knows how much time I've spent thinking about them and how far their reach must have been. In the future I'd like to do a whole write up about them and go into my revision ideas given how disappointed I was with the third game. But I can at least say that there is, without a doubt, a ripple affect once the Saints destroy the Syndicate.

A criminal organization that big and that powerful—to the point where they could essentially buy out an entire city—would absolutely have such a big stake in the game. There have to be assets left across the globe; prime real estate, different fronts, banks, anything you could possible imagine. And let's not forget that Loren's connections ran deep. If the unused homie dialogue is anything to go by, this man was in talks with a whole bunch of politicians and other people in high positions of power. People who themselves have great power and influence.

Which is why the Saints ultimately winning that war is a big fucking deal.

I don't know, man. I have so many thoughts about this shit. There's so much I want to explore. But man is it frustrating that they never really took advantage of any of this because (at least to me) it's great setup! Forget about all that weird running for the US presidency and then fighting aliens by using superpowers nonsense. You have the makings of some really interesting crime shit already! Like, I'm well aware of why things turned out the way they did. But it doesn't change my opinion that there was so so much potential for where the series could've gone.

And well, I guess I hope in some way I can capture that on here.

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Super 059

Yeah, I don’t know what’s going on.  Sorry.

Having deduced that Zamasu is probably planning to kill his master, the Supreme Kai of Universe 10, Beerus and Whis have returned for a second visit to Gowasu’s palace-temple thingy.  They ask him if there’s been anything concerning about Zamasu’s behavior, and Gowasu seems mildly bothered by the question, but he insists that there’s nothing to worry about. 

Then Zamasu enters the courtyard to serve tea, and he acts much more innocent than he did the last time these U7 guys came to see him.  He kind of overplays his hand, though, since he acts much more polite to Goku, and even pretends to have trouble recalling his name. 

Beerus isn’t fooled, but he pretends to be.  He makes up a few excuses to get out of this place, saying that he only returned because Goku kept bugging him for a rematch with Zamasu.  Goku doesn’t play along, because he’s such a himbo, but Beerus beats him up until he cooperates.

Gowasu might find all of this rather strange, but Whis distracts him with a gift of Earth tea and mochi rice cakes.  And Gowasu’s blood is 95% tea at this point, so he’s too focused on the gift to wonder why they were asking questions about Zamasu’s recent behavior if all they came for was a pointless request for a rematch with Goku.

Here’s your latest pic of Gowasu sipping tea.  This guy absolutely sucks.  I wish he were evil, just because that’d be more interesting than his oblivious indifference.

In... space... I guess, the boys discuss their observations of Zamasu, and Beerus says he could sense malicious intent in Zamasu.  Goku and Shin could not however, because Destroyer Gods are uniquely attuned to that sort of thing.  And if Shin didn’t notice, then Gowasu certainly wouldn’t be expecting treachery.  So why did they leave? Because Beerus can’t destroy a Kai like Zamasu without solid proof of wrongdoing.  So they spy on Gowasu and Zamasu and wait to see what happens. 

Meanwhile, in Future Trunks’ world, we find Zamasu and Goku Black sipping tea and congratulating each other on their awesome Kill Everybody Plan. 

They live here, of all places, which... I don’t know what I expected, but this seems kind of dumb.  They’ve been at this for seventeen years.

Back on the regular Earth, Pilaf tries to give Kid Mai romantic advice, but she isn’t interested.  I haven’t been interested in anything the Pilaf Gang have said or done since 2014, but no one seems to care how I feel about it. 

Meanwhile, Kid Trunks confronts his older future self, because he’s been down in the dumps over losing so badly.  I just want to point out that this shot of Kid Trunks looks a lot like they drew Adult Trunks’s head on Kid Trunks’ body, and it’s creeping me out. 

See?  Once he turns Super Saiyan it’s like his head de-ages into what it should be.

Anyway, Kid Trunks starts attacking Future Trunks to try to shake him out of it, and it works, I guess.  

Wait, hold on, I just received an important bulletin!  Gowasu... is drinking... more tea!

Zamasu gets up from the table and walks behind him as he apologizes for his recent attitude lately.  He claims to understand what Gowasu tried to teach him before.  Sometimes evil is necessary to show beings the path to good.  And so, evil can be required to bring about justice.  Translation: It’s okay to murder Gowasu because that’s the only way to kick off Zamasu’s plan to murder everyone else.

So he fires up his energy hand thing, and you would think Gowasu could sense that, at least.   As he strikes and kills Gowasu, Goku freaks out, but then Whis uses his power to reverse time by three minutes, undoing the murder and giving them a chance to intervene.

And this time, when Zamasu lowers the boom, he finds an oven mitt on his hand, which I assume Whis put on him in order to foil his strike.  Maybe the oven mitt has special powers?  Wait, yeah, this oven mitt could be like those centipede creatures in Star Wars that can cancel out the Force.  Imagine if you stuffed Goku in a bigger version of one of these oven mitts.  He’d be powerless!

So the good guys barge in and Gowasu’s like “What’s the meaning of this?” and they pull off the oven mitt to reveal Zamasu was weilding hand energy the whole time.  Couldn’t Zamasu just... turn it off before he got caught? 

So Zamasu tries to fight his way out of this, but Beerus calmly destroys him before he can do anything.

Yeah, this is pretty nice.  Too bad it’s not going to be that easy.

So as far as Beerus is concerned, the case is closed.  By destroying Zamasu today, before he could kill Gowasu and steal the Time Ring, there’s no way for Zamasu to create Goku Black, or terrorize the Earth in Trunks’ timeline. 

But Trunks isn’t convinced.  We saw this play out in the Androids Saga, where he warned Goku about the heart virus so he could survive and fight the androids, but Trunks’ own world wasn’t affected by those changes.  If that principle holds, then Beerus’ actions in this timeline won’t have any bearing on the events unfolding in Trunks’ world. 

Beerus insists that it’s not the same at all, because he’s a god, and when he destroys someone they’re gone, no matter what alternate timelines they might be in.   Trunks wants to believe this, but he can’t be sure.  Well, more importantly, he lives in that world, so he’d need to go back anyway just to go home.  But also, he still needs to check. 

Here’s what sucks.  We already know how this is going to go.  If Beerus had actually eliminated the threat in this episode, then the story is over and it ended in the most anticlimactic way possible.  That would suck, so it’s a safe bet that Trunks will go back and find nothing has changed.  That would also suck, because it means nothing that happened in this episode made much of a difference. I mean, they saved Gowasu, but Gowasu sucks, so that doesn’t matter to me. 

So the cliffhanger of this episode is basically “The next episode is going to suck, but which way is it going to suck?  Find out next time on Dragon Ball Super!”

And that would be bad enough, except we don’t even get to wonder, because the next-episode preview gives the whole thing away.  It shows the gang going back to the future and finding Black and Zamasu there waiting for them. 

The Zamasu Saga is awful. 

[llycaons]

ep16 (part 1): for some reason I didn't think it could get worse

15 is one of those eps that you need to follow with 16 asap so here we go

BLOOD IN THE LOTUS PONDS. FUCKED UP

this is shit like the CR attack - lots of violent scenes fading in and out. effective as shit

WHY DID LITTLE ARCHER BOY DIE LIKE THIS!!! at LEAST give him a kill like this felt so pointless and empty from a narrative point of view. 'well sometimes in war people die randomly' I know that! but this is a story it's supposed to mean something. it was just to make this scene sadder and I for one do not appreciate that

I've seen that translated as 'my lady' in other services and I like that one better. more formality/feels more ancient fantasy setting

and this bastard idiot man walks in and IMMEDIATELY gets stabbed. myu was holding down the fort for what could have been HOURS and this fool stumbles in and just dies within 30 seconds. GOD jfm you useless man

swear jyl has some kind of gift that lets her portend when her family members are about to die

there's a lot of horrible stuff that happens in this series but honestly nothing gets me as much as this scene. the sheer. idk. simplicity of it? unlike a lot of the convoluted storylines later on, this is something so straighforward that can and has happened to so many people. their home has been taken over and their family and friends have been murdered. they're watching the bodies of their shidis and shijies being lined up by a force that came into their home and destroyed it and insulted it and defiled it and will now claim it as theirs. and it's happening right in front of their eyes. it's just something so raw and in-your-face and impossible to ignore or sugarcoat. one of the worst scenes to watch

and then THIS. honestly I don't really understand the significance of the hand-holding and I don't think it added anything to the characters or story. I don't understand why so much time was spent on it. what did they love each other after all? deep down? I don't really believe 'deep down' matters after what a mess their relationship was and how much it hurt their kids

a long time ago I read a meta post about how jc hearing his mom publicly mocked for caring about someone who didn't care for her back is one of the reasons he's so fucked up about expressing affection to wwx and why he takes wwx leaving so hard. his mom is dead and humiliated on the floor, her corpse desecrated. I don't think he ever got over this

and wwx too obviously. just horrific trauma happening before our eyes

going to say something controversial but I think xz is a better ugly crier than wcz. wcz is really good but more looks scared in most of his crying scenes, but xz just lets his face crumple with the force of his grief

WITH THE CURTAINS??!!! GIRl

damn...conquest is fucked up huh

gorgeous shot 10/10 no wonder its always giffed

I guess jfm had something he wanted to say before dying but idc.

jc would be so dead without wwx...

DID HE SLAP WWX. HOLY SHIT. after that scene with his mom and wlj and that line about servants knowing their place that REALLY sends a message. god damn, I'm really mad at him for that

this strangulation scene went on for a terrifyingly long time. wwx had to struggle to breathe when it ended. really scary to watch

I don't believe jc views wwx as A Servant but I also don't think he really views him as his equal either because his behavior towards wwx is uniquely aggressive and disrespectful. wwx may be treated as a young lord by most of the world, but he's also not in a position to fight back or hurt jc in any way, and he can't really leave the jiangs when he's being mistreated because he feels he owes them a life debt

anyway. gorgeous shot here

oh god. he's so young

I think wwx is keeping himself from crying because. he's not allowed. fuck

shit, that's a lot

[dexare]

[ Grace ]

Log - 014 By Dr. Vincent Monet of the Constance Foundation on CF/Local-0003.

" I think I understand a little better now. We found a tablet.. and I think it's better that I read it on its own. The language is registered in the PCW network as Hemekien, a brach of ancient Sumerian:

"Age of the fallen sky, life taken without remorse, all days where lost, all was lost, for in its wake, sand remaind. From ashes, we grew, having nothing again, a war of bread by endless tar.

Far below the great desert of Montezuma, rest the last living god of our world from a top of his chest lays the corpse of the Dreaming City, gift of seekers who promised life. Bregars came an for a time we prosperd, yet for all they said, lies remain, spoken by the faithless. Our God was mucked, opposed and shamed, many left, but we remained.

Let his life look apon our souls, let his Grace take us to the heavens, let's his life give us confort."

.... Well, there you go.. In a previous report, I noted how strange it was that no personal items were ever found in the city. Now, looking at the scrape around me, I know where it all went..

As the status noted, the people of these land are human, meaning that whether or not they knew it, the radiation emanating from that pyramid was killing them an though that's an assumption the bones around me say otherwise.

I'll surmise what I understand happened here as far as I can tell.. Based on some of the other tablets and scrolls here somewhere around a 100 years ago, the population of this planet suffered a catastrophe from the sky that nearly killed all life on the planet, turning the earth into sand. Some people survived, but they fought against each other for food this implying that these humans were either different from us and didn't have the luxury of using this planets strange blessing, that or the blessing wasent active at the time.

Regardless, at some point an alien civilization came into contact with them and offered them help, even going as far as to build a city for the remaining population. Note that they made it from sandstone.. for a civilization as advanced as theirs, it seems kinda cheap for them to do it like that... Eventuallyit all came ahead when the aliens became aware of the pyramid.

I have no idea what that damn thing is, but at some point after the city was built, the population bagan to worship it "again" and somehow managed to...

$@&$*!^#$ [ Living pyramid ]

Log - 014 [p2] By Dr. Vincent Monet of the Constance Foundation on CF/Local-0003.

... Yeah. Go ahead and turn it on.. Ehm, alright, so let me break it down better. This living pyramid is surrounded by not only bones but basically piles of personal items, everything from tablets to papyrus scroll, carts, tools and even clothes along side piles of trash hidding below the sand, so take anything I say with a grain of salt. I'm sure the foundation will be investigating the details later on. So don't be too mad at me for skimming over this mess.

From just the tablet, you can guess what whent down. The aliens or Bregarians, as a different papyrus scroll mentions, are alien species that came here for who knows what reason. Aperently, they tried to warn this planets inhabitants of the radiation and im guessing they didn't do it in the best way, so It is easy enough to guess what happened next based on what it says here.

The population divide and some left with the "seekers" to who knows where while the other desprety clung to there God and died hoping he was good...

Though i gotta wonder what sort of despret logic drove them to take everything they ever had here.. Again, im guessing, but still, knowing all this.. i still feel like I'm missing something. Like i mentioned, the city is in perfect condition, its brand new basically, while at the same time, most of the randomly placed statues are destroyed.. also gotta wonder if the seekers were the ones that left that message in the pyramid, or was it someone else? What about this living godthing? It radiates the area as much as the fucking sun, but I don't really get what's it's for maybe the signal it's sending straight up has something to do with it but there's nothing around it beside trash. is it magic? I mean, I don't see any mechanical parts, so.. i guess.. That might explain the blessing this planet has, but Ahhh nevermind dud!, theirs no point.

This is way above my head dud.. *sigh* Trooper might be able to figure it out.. probably..

Anyway, there's a lot of shit that went down here. I haven't even mentioned the tar thing. We're gonna try to pick up as many tablets and scrolls as possible and send them back. As far as I can see, Mission is complete.. for now..

buttt~~ that all said and done, we found a tunnel..."

#ChroniclesofRebellion #pyramid #Sun #MissingChronology Part 14

[primevein]

The Prime of His Youth: Book III: Prometheus' Gift: Ch40: Ionization

They stood in a field outside of the city. The six Rust Renegades stood there. Amalthea was standing with Lostlight and Scorched Earth.

"Shouldn't we be helping with the ship?" Dust Up asked.

Arcee stood above them, "Most of the changes are going to be made for Humans." Arcee simply stated.

"You have a lot of faith in him, don't you?" Jumpstream asked.

"That's one way to say it." Arcee flatly replied, "Or we could say that I spent every waking moment trying to help my sparkmate. I gave up everything."

"What did you give up?" Rust Dust quickly asked.

"Honestly?" Arcee asked, "Nothing. Before The War I was a courier. I kept to myself. Life was simple. And then I've spent Ronnacycles fighting against genocidal dictators. I was looking to do something else, and spending time with my Human sparkmate made sense."

"Wait?" Stormclash asked.

"Human?" Skyburst added.

"He did tell us." Pyra Magna admonished her.

"It's still." Skyburst added.

"You know?" Stormclash asked.

"I know." Pyra Magna said, and looked back to Arcee.

"Human lives are so brief. I wanted to spend every waking moment with him." Arcee uttered.

"And then what happened?" Pyra Magna asked.

"We came to Caminus. They wanted to find out how much of a Prime he was." Arcee stated, "We went to Cybertron, ended another war, and he came back a Prime. Now, do you want a history lesson, or do you want to transform?" Arcee asked, and transformed. Everyone else transformed as well. Arcee then transformed back, now in her 10ft tall dollform. The archivists tried and failed to copy her, while the Rust Renegades just stared at her.

"That's dollform?!" Pyra Magna asked.

Rust Dust transformed to her usual 12ft height. "Oh, no! You have to get smaller!"

"So do you!" Arcee replied.

"I'll admit." Stormclash stated.

"She is adorable." Skyburst added.

"And you get to join me." Arcee said to them.

"Not that I'm complaining, but?.." Jumpstream asked.

"To help with the Humans." Arcee stated. "The most important thing is to feel the mass shift as you change." She transformed to her alt. form. She then reverted to her full height.

Pyra Magna reverted, and felt something, but she wasn't sure what.

"Does Japheth?" Skyburst asked.

"Dollform?" Stormclash added.

"Ehn?" Arcee asked, as she transformed again, "If he tried, he would probably lose half a foot." She then reverted to her dollform, "It's about MASS displacement, not height. The height is a byproduct."

* * *

June, Roxana, and Sif stood in their dollforms while Tethys stood in her full height. "And this is where the hydroponics will be." June stated. She then looked up at Tethys, and then up at the roof. "And the water upstairs."

"Having a basin up there would be perfect." Tethys said as she looked at the roof.

Sif looked about the room, "We could probably fit three layers of hydroponics." She then looked upwards, if there is enough room upstairs, we could maybe have aquaponics." She then nearly squealed, "This is so exciting. It's like magic. The plants absorb sunlight, and use it to feed Humans."

"You know what?" June asked, "Sirenia said the same thing. That Humans abuse the laws of physics. I guess if you aren't... weren't... organic, it would seem like magic. It's not like God gave us magic rocks to eat."

Sif gave her a curious look, "I've never thought of it that way. I guess we are both interesting to each other."

"Magical to each other!" Roxana exclaimed.

"I've never been as spiritual as..." Tethys uttered, "But, when you talk about it like that? It does almost seem magical."

* * *

Arcelia stood with Helia in the dark room that was both cramped and open at the same time. "And here's where he wants a Mini-Iacon." Helia just stared at her, dumbstuck. "He has a tendancy to do that to people." Arcelia said with a smile. "Any relics can be left safe in his house on Caminus."

"So, archives?" Helia asked, "As much as we have on Caminus, but in a fraction of the size." she fearfully voiced.

"There will only be three or four femmes in the archives, and all will be able to dollform."

"That actually..." Helia voiced, "Two thirds the size?" she asked. "You know what? We can do this? And we'll add a secret comparments for anything too precious. In fact, we'll add a few."

* * *

A dollform Sirenia slightly ducked to walk into the room. She then stepped aside and turned back to look at the builders, "I see why you wanted us to all be dollform." One of the builders said to her.

"There's another on the opposite side. In the middle we have a machine room which will be used for the water filtration. The room just outside will be setup as a kitchen and dinning room, and the one across the way will be used as a general room for the Humans."

"So, Humans will be up here?" one of the builders asked.

"What?" Sirenia asked, "No-no. They can go everywhere."

"How do you... not... you know?.." she asked.

"Watch your step." Sirenia said with simple finality. She looked distant for a moment, "I guess I never went through a phase where I was worried about it."

"And why is that?" one of the builders asked.

"Because I worshipped him." Sirenia simply stated.

"He is a Prime." the other builder replied.

"Before that." Sirenia giddily stated, "I was begging when he found me." She paused a moment, "When Arcee found me. So, he quite literally saved me. From my own idiocy, but still..." Their eyes grew wide with surprise and wonder. "He is that wonderful, yes." she said with glee.

* * *

Japheth stood at his the main console in his house, pouring over every detail he could. The service record, or should he say stories about the Rust Renegades. The location of the former colonies, and their natures. Minicon, Beastform. He tried looking into how the Rust Renegades became Combiners, as it shouldn't be possible. It was caused by the Enigma of Combination, which true to it's name, no one knew anything about. This was likely for the best, as you didn't have to evaluate every single Cybertronian as a potential Combiner. Combiners needed a common cause. Not necessarily a thought, but an emotion to drive them in one direction. It should not be a surprise to find out that in combat this emotion was often anger.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and saw Carron. He turned to look at her, "Shouldn't you be at dollform practice?" Carron transformed into a flittering griffinfly. She then reverted, standing 10ft tall. "You've already mastered it?" he asked, "Why didn't you tell me? Why haven't I seen you using it?" Carron shyly looked away. "Good work." he warmly said, and looked back to the console. She simply stood there. He turned back, "Anything I can do?.." he asked. She sighed. "Speak." he said firmly.

"If I must..." Carron voiced.

"You must." he firmly replied.

"I just... I want to know... with all of the new Warriors..."

"You're place is secure." Japheth simply stated, "At least until you feel you can walk on your own feet... or wings..."

"I hate that I have disappointed you..." she said, trying her best to hide her quavering spark.

Japheth turned towards her and stepped away from the console, "And exactly how have you disappointed me?"

"I have... anger... and hatred, and..."

"And you don't let it control you." Japheth replied, "Everyone has feelings they don't like, don't agree with, don't want. You have done a fantastic job of not being controlled by them. You are here as a scout, which on Terra would be a squire. Your job is to help me until you learn to fight on your own."

"And how long will that take?" Carron asked.

"For Humans, seven years or so." he said, and she worried, fretful, fearful. "Good thing we're not Humans, and have all of the time in the world."

"I'm not a burden?" she nervously asked.

"You help." Japheth uttered. "What more could I ask for?"

"I'm not leading lessons like your sparkmate. I'm not leading construction like your concubines. What am I doing?"

"Did you want to?" Japheth asked, and Carron wasn't sure how she could answer. "I'm being serious, is there something specific you wanted to learn?"

"I honestly have not thought about it." she replied.

"Then do." he said to her. "As long as you are sworn to me, any new ability to gain helps me. Once on the ship, we have a wide variety of people, and I could have one of them tutor you."

"I..." she nervously voiced.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I want to learn to treat Humans!" she exclaimed.

Slowly his face turned into a wide smile, "Any specific reason why?"

"Because few Cybertronians can?.." she nervously asked.

Japheth shrugged, "June was a nurse on Terra, Roxana has learned a lot as well, and when we get there, Ratchet has spent time treating Humans as well. They can all help you." he simply stated. "After the ship is ready, of course."

"Of course." she uttered.