#I have just about nothing left except spite

[neverpathia]

crappy rant/analysis about the Voice of the Paranoid because I'm very normal about him

with that said.

It's pretty clear that he's not just scared. Anxiety isn't his only personality trait, and the game makes it incredibly prominent that he's no helpless victim. He's a starved animal backed into a corner, straining his chain thin, clawing and biting. He's desperate and frantic and charging at it all with nothing left to lose.

But I don't really think people talk about his spite and resentment as much, and it's a little surprising given how much he moulds it to his advantage. Still, he's not just sassy for the hell of it: he genuinely hates what he's being forced to do. He's incredibly frustrated. He's very, very done with your bullshit—and that includes his own bullshit too, because he's the scared part of you (Quiet) that turns your fears into reality.

So he despises everything that he's being put through (by you, himself and the other voices), and I think he definitely despises the rest of the Quiet to some extent. He's mainly driven by sheer desperation, but petty spitefulness is also very much involved—in Nightmare, he gets very quick to snipe at Hero despite having a job to do. He even prolongs the argument for a while before Narrator urges him to resume the chant.

And I think that just like the Contrarian, the Paranoid hates what he himself is too. Granted, @/sssilverspades and @/salty-an-disco brought this up, but all the voices probably have that same capacity for self-loathing and I think he's no exception.

He's the most perceptive voice, but at the same time he twists his perception against himself a lot. He's the reason Nightmare happened. He's the reason his fears manifest. And given how quick he was to figure stuff out in Cage and Apotheosis, I think he'd figure that his biggest problem by then was himself.

It's because he's not okay that they could stand a chance against Apothy...but it's also because he's not okay that she happened in the first place. He's very far gone here. At that point, there wasn't much left for him to do but pretend it all away—just a dream, just a dream—and shut his fears off.

He wants it all to be over with, which is especially apparent at the end of Apotheosis's Grace ending, or at the beginning of Nightmare-Wraith. He's doing what he can and keeping it going, but it's not because he wants to. It's because it's the only thing he's even capable of doing anymore. And it's turning him bitter, turning him resentful.

This is what you've done, and he's a part of you. He's regretting and atoning just as much as he's fighting, yet it's what he must do.

Let's not completely rid him of accountability, by the way, which is another thing I wish fandom acknowledged more. You often get him by abandoning the Princess and denying her what she wants. This is what you did: what he did from beneath you. And he's suffering for his own actions.

This is what fear does—it's perfectly natural to be scared and anxious, but you're not the only one it affects. Let it fester, and you lock yourself in. Let it fester, and you hurt yourself more and more. Let it fester, and you lash out against this hurt. Let it fester and you turn others as hollow as you've become. Fear helps no one. All you can do is amend and atone, which in a way is kind of what he ends up doing sometimes. Or you get Moment of Clarity.

As much as I love him, it's a bit hard to see people just praising him for being the goat (even though he is lol) because of how much he helps. Yes, he's a very useful voice. But he's the very reason he has to be useful, not that he even wants to be here.

I might just be completely misinterpreting his character here, though.

[aeolianblues]

The worst feeling in the world is 'I reached out for an interview, oh, you left me on read. Oh I see you've just posted that you're curating and hour of music for the BBC tomorrow. Oh I see, the US tour has sold out in 3 hours. You knew that. I'm embarrassed I ever asked. Sorry for bothering you. I can imagine your smirk right now. I can see your mouth forming the words now, 'poor sod'. Sorry for embarrassing all parties, sorry for wasting your time. I'll go kill myself now to make up for it.'

[crossbackpoke-check]

do u ever speak too soon & immediately regret it.

[gyuswhore]

the story of us ✦ j.w.w x reader

the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now - the story of us

synopsis: So many walls that you can't break through; except you do.

wc: 2.1K

contains: best friends to lovers, angst, fluff, humour, happy ending, alcohol, arguments

masterlist

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[a/n]: im exhausted, im loopy, im hungry, but i really wanted to post this so here you go my babies I'm sorry i haven't fed you in so long (ty @toruro for making sure i wasn't talking out of my ass in this ily)

[edit; 11/04/24]: grammar and spelling.

Jeon Wonwoo was nearing boiling point when he watched you push him away from yet another conversation.

He tried to understand, just like he always had. But it was proving near impossible at the five-month mark. 

There were clear signs you exhibited when you needed space, for whatever reason, Wonwoo knew you would tell him when you recovered. So he gave you what you needed.

And yet, when he finds himself pushed away from what looks like a casual conversation between your mutual friends, he finds his mild annoyance grow into something hotter. 

There’s a clench in his jaw as he tries not to squeeze the red cup in his hand with too much pressure, even when all the spiteful bit of his brain wants to do is to pour its pigmented contents all over your cream outfit. He manages to control himself, choosing to get up and exit the premises entirely. In complete silence, he refuses to acknowledge any yell of his name from passing acquaintances. 

Jeon Wonwoo refused to respond to any of your advances after that. 

Invitations to lunch were left on a jarring sent, the notification sitting in his log until he chooses to open it too late. His response was bare when you asked for help on some accounting concepts, pushing you over into Jihoon’s hands to fulfill your requirements. There’s a blatant shrug when you touch his shoulder, concerned, asking why his behaviour had become so distant in the past weeks; he responds with a mumble of, “just tired”.

The great divide happened a few days proceeding your birthday, one for which Wonwoo did nothing for but send you a quick message during the evening, never to see you throughout the extended day. 

“I can’t believe you’re putting this on me!” you all but yell, eyes wide and expression exasperated at the situation.

“Are you blind? Or just plain stupid? Because I didn’t tolerate months of your shit attitude to have you say it isn’t your fault.” Wonwoo is breathing heavily, hands motioning towards your entire figure with equal disbelief.

“What attitude?” you emphasize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I couldn’t be upfront with my best friend.”

“There’s a difference between being in a mood and blatant disrespect. I’m tired of having to put up with your mood swings like it’s my responsibility to coddle you. When was the last time you genuinely asked me how I was doing?”

“All the time!”

“Yeah, after you realize there's nobody else to whine and wail to!”

“Wonwoo, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Fine. If I’m clearly so unhinged, I’ll leave you to your liking.” 

The dwindled interactions, from messages to hellos, went from sparing to nonexistent — just like that. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t expect for you and Wonwoo to reconcile in the matter of a few days, if not a couple weeks.

But when the distance did nothing but grow larger, there was a settle of resentment in the pit of your stomach as you accepted the feud you were in. 

A text was sent from your phone a couple days after the incident.

[You]: can we talk?

But when you see no sign of the grey Delivered on the end, you knew he had blocked you. 

This was all nothing less than baffling to you for a number of reasons, starting with how you had never witnessed Wowoo acting this way. 

Wonwoo had done nothing but reprimand you the rare chance you suggested blocking an apprehensive individual, something about not showing that you cared. His voice seemed redundant after a certain decibel, the rarest chance to witness him yell at a failed video game or a frustrating professor. 

You know better, which is the only reason you’re ruling off paranormal possession. 

The claims against you came as an afterthought, not, however, rendering them any less strange. There’s a part of you that pondered if your shield of annoyance blocked you from seeing the truth in his words and in your behaviour, finding yourself overwhelmed with emotions when the thought crossed your mind, tears of frustration immediately blurring your vision. 

You did not understand, you could not. And when it all got too much, you allowed the hurt and confusion to turn into something more dangerous. You replaced it with anger, in the same place that once occupied a more delicate emotion. 

There was an uproar in Wonwoo’s mind when he sees you walk into the lecture hall, unaware of your overlapping schedule in the new semester. He watches as your eyes pass over the moderately packed space, briefly glancing over where he sat; if you saw him, you did nothing to bring a reaction out of it. You take a seat a few rows up front, right in front of him where he’s able to see the back of your head for the next two hours — for the rest of the semester. 

He wonders if it’s too late to switch classes. 

“Wonwoo, I honestly think this is getting out of hand.” Jihoon munches on his cashews, leaning against bark of the tree they were both sat under. 

“Did you want me to keep tending to her bullshit then?” he grumbles.

“That’s not what I’m saying, you know it’s not.”

“That’s what it sounds like.” Wonwoo’s retort is brisk.

Jihoon is suddenly snapping his fingers in his face at the reply, a flinch accompanies Wonwoo’s already sour expression. 

“See! See how frustrating it is when somebody isn’t making sense?” 

“How does this—” 

“Wonwoo, did you try talking to her about how you felt, you know, without the screaming?” 

Jihoon watches as Wonwoo’s expression clears out, his eyebrows unfurrowing and the scowl fading. He doesn’t speak, choosing to let the realization kick in.

“No.” 

Jihoon sighs, taking another pause. “I’m not saying what she did wasn’t uncalled for, but you need to talk shit out before deciding you hate each other.”

“I don’t hate her.”

“Right, so can we wrap this up quickly and have you confess your undying love so we can all relax.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Heat crawls up Wonwoo’s cheeks.

“What? If you don’t hate her, it’s gotta be the opposite.”

Did Wonwoo like you? Yeah, he probably did. Did he ever let himself ponder upon it? No, because he was downright mortified of the mere thought. He finds himself a hypocrite to say it was to preserve your friendship, but he figures he’s fucked it up in a way that’s arguably worse. 

Regardless, Wonwoo walks away from that conversation with two things: a stark realization, and an even starker admittance. 

Everything was going wrong. At least that’s what it felt like when you hear the clang of your water bottle hit the pavement, rolling off into the oncoming traffic as you sprint to grab it. You nearly cause a vehicle pile-up, swallowing a couple profanities from braking drivers. 

You’re stuffing the darn thing into your bag when you trip on a loose brick on the path, nearly landing on your face. The glare you send into the pavement costs you even more when a hard shoulder bumps into your side, sending you another couple steps back. You don’t bother to see who the perpetrator is, too preoccupied with your attempts to take in deeper breaths amid the blankness of your mind. 

There are no hiccups after that, what you might owe your more conscious mind to. Stomping up the library steps, you thank nothingness for the air conditioning that meets your hot face, slowing down as you take in the crowd. 

Scanning the room for an empty seat is harder than you’d anticipated, hoping the heat would keep students away from the building as you left to get work done. Approaching a table, you set down your bag with a huff, pulling the chair out to finally take the seat you’ve been needing for so long. 

The universe seems to have other plans. 

It’s almost funny the way you and Wonwoo make eye contact across the other table, the recognition sending a jolt through your stomach. 

You’ve never moved so fast, pushing the chair back in with a screech that earns you a few looks, grabbing the handles of your bag as you turn around to leave the building you’d just entered. 

No way you'd sit there. Not when he was around.

You're bounding down the steps when somebody passes you, murmuring something without slowing their stride.

“I’m leaving, you can go inside,” Wonwoo says, and the sound of his voice has you halting almost immediately.

Whipping your head around to search for the sound, you watch as he takes a turn at the end of the steps, slowly moving out of your vision. 

There’s a swirl of something in your chest, and you realise in that moment how much you missed hearing his voice. 

Chiding yourself, you blink back the water that wells up in your eyes, embarrassed at how quickly you were losing yourself.

But the damage was done. And you wanted to be reckless, regardless of how desperate it made you look. A split second decision is made in that moment, one that lightens the heavy feet that you’ve planted on the concrete. 

You’re back to bounding down the steps, but this time with aim. 

Taking the same turn you saw Wonwoo take, you break into a sprint as you see his figure move farther away. You keep running, continuing to bump into both objects and people, hurried "sorry"'s the only thing you choose to throw their way. 

“Wonwoo!” Your voice comes out stronger than you’d intended, the sharpness having him turn around in search, eyes landing on your accelerating figure. 

Both of you realize too late how fast you’re really going, the velocity taking you directly into his outstretched arms, hands grasping the sleeves of his shirt as you come to screeching stop directly into his chest. 

You don’t have the time nor the patience to be embarrassed, pulling your face back to look directly into Wonwoo’s bewildered eyes to huff out your next words.

“Why did you block me?” you ask, voice gruff and slightly out of breath.

Wonwoo’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, words refusing to come out. 

“Why are you so mad at me? Why are you being nice to me if you’re mad at me?” You don’t stop, the direct questions tumbling off your tongue in desperation. 

You search his face for an answer when his mouth fails, but all you find is the remnants of shock yet to ebb away. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t important, I’m sorry for taking your presence for granted, I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry for…for… I don’t know! I’m just really sorry and I don't know how else to make this right.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you hear him say and you feel the moisture return to your eyes. 

“Huh?”

“I should’ve…” he pauses, looking sheepish. “I should’ve talked to you before I, y’know, went off on you. I should’ve managed my feelings better, I’m sorry.” 

You're silent for a few tantalizing moments before you raise your fists, and pound down on his chest with everything you have. You do it again, and then again, and again—

“What?- Ow!” 

“When are you gonna stop bottling up your feelings for fucks sake, it’s landed you everywhere but good!” you say, nearly yelling.

Wonwoo whips his head around to see who’s listening, palm to mouth in attempts to silence you. 

“I’m sorry! I know! I’m working on it,” he rambles, trying to get you to quit struggling. “Jihoon and I talked, that’s why I realised I was being dumb.”

“Are you gonna unblock me now or do I need to pay Jihoon to sit down with you again?”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrow. “You payed Jihoon to sit with me?”

“No, you idiot. But I should have because you can’t seem to figure out how to feel emotions.” 

Wonwoo can’t help himself when he breaks out into a grin, letting out a breathy chuckle that has you asking “What?”.

He pulls you in, heart to heart in an embrace, holding you tight to make up for the weeks of no contact. He breathes in your scent and feels as though he hasn’t in years. 

“I’m not gonna come running up to you the next time you decide you hate me,” you mumble into his shoulder, pouting slightly.

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“No.” Wonwoo pulls away but keeps you in his arms, looking at you, “I love you. Like, the kind of stuff that makes you wanna live together forever. I love you.” 

It’s your turn to gape like a fish. 

“W-what?”

“You told me not to bottle up my feelings.” 

“Yeah, but—wow, um.” 

“Did I make another mistake?” 

No! You wanted to scream. But you don’t. You instead lift your hands up to come around his face, cradling it. And you kissed him. 

“I love you, too. Like the live together forever kind.” 

[okay-babe]

On my knees begging for you to give us an Alastor x Reader fic featuring cursed Alastor cat 🙏

Some Small Part (return to you)

note: how could I ever say no? tags: alastor x reader, established relationship, alastor and reader are married, pet! catalastor, mild angst, reader's gender is unspecified, fluff

Outside, thunder rumbled ominously, causing you to pull your robe flush against your torso without even realizing. It was a habit of sorts now, developed after years upon years of unanticipated solitude that seemed to have no foreseeable end.

One had to cope somehow, after all, and you'd never been a very big fan of storms even back when the clouds above had spat water instead of acid.

Your fear required comfort to remedy, and those whose needs were not met made due with the little things, like wrapping themselves up in their softest robe before standing thoughtlessly to search for the only other presence that could be found within the thick and familiar walls of their house.

And of course, that is exactly what you did.

"Minou!"

You called, voice drowned out by the much louder growls of the clouds above as you made your way slowly to the creature's favorite spot within your home.

There was no doubt that he was back from whatever hunt he'd been on by now. After all, he really wasn't one to enjoy getting his fur wet.

"Minou!"

You called again, voice slightly louder this time as you peeked into the laundry room curiously, only to frown when you noted that your "pet" wasn't on the lowly thrumming dryer where he tended to reside whenever the weather grew chill.

You sighed.

He was just as hard to find, it seemed, as the man whose image he so eerily and inexplicably took after.

A burst of lightning crashed noisily against the ground, and in spite of yourself and your apparent annoyance, you jumped, gasping in surprise before groaning, placing your hand against your chest as if needing to feel your racing heart to know you hadn't died all over again.

To say you merely disliked storms after how you'd passed was an understatement, and you found yourself cursing the man who had dared to adorn your finger with his ring all those years ago.

Who did he think he was, leaving you alone to endure a hundred nights just like this one in his absence?

You weren't entirely sure he'd walk away unscathed if he ever dared step through your shared front door again.

But that was enough thought of him.

Sighing, you turned around, already eager to continue the search for your ominous little companion.

Except, much to your surprise, it seemed there would be no search necessary, because standing in the doorway behind you was the very being you had been looking for.

"There you are."

You sighed again, half out of relief and half out of exasperation for the silence with which your darling "pet" always seemed to move.

Habitually, you looked the creature over as he sat still upon the floor, taking in his dark red fur, yellowed teeth, and absurdly small antlers.

He was so familiar to you now that it almost made you falter if you thought about it for too long.

When exactly had you gotten so used to the little guy?

Honestly, if someone were to ask you when the thing had shown up, you weren't entirely sure if you'd be able to recall anymore.

It had been quite some time ago, after all, on a stormy night like this one, that he'd shown up at your door.

The date had long since left your memory, but the fear had stuck around in that wretched way it always did.

You had been terrified.

That storm had exceeded the worst of any other you'd experienced in hell prior, and as you'd cowered in the living room, the radio playing nothing but static paired with the brief interruptions of neighboring channels, you couldn't help but feel like you were being watched.

It was a gnawing sensation, the certainty of eyes staring into your soul, but even still, something had compelled you to approach the window anyhow.

Whatever was out there, you hadn't felt afraid of it, not even when your eyes found those piercing red ones in the darkness.

You had let the creature come inside that night, telling yourself it was just because you felt bad for it having had to sit out there for so very long in the rain.

You'd refused to admit back then how eerie a resemblance it shared with your husband.

You'd refused to acknowledge that such a ridiculous fact had any bearing on your decision.

Because in truth, it was completely absurd.

Except, clearly there had been something about the little guy that you enjoyed having around, because after that night, he'd never truly left.

Sure, he would vanish on occasion through the cat door you'd affixed to the wall a few years ago, but he had yet to stay gone for longer than a few hours at a time.

He knew where home was, it seemed.

Perhaps that was the difference between him and the man you'd married.

You tried not to think too hard about that.

Frowning slightly at another bout of thunder, you snapped yourself out of your reverie and returned your attention to the creature still sitting in front of you.

"Where were you hiding?"

You chided halfheartedly as you bent down to pick the cat-like being up, smiling softly at his purr of contentment. For such an impersonal creature, he certainly did like being on the receiving end of your affections...

Perhaps that was something he shared with the man you'd married.

You were still doing your best not to think about that, though.

Carrying your odd little companion over to the couch, you couldn't help but sigh as you placed him upon your lap, watching as he curled up happily in that same manner he always did.

He was quite the consistent creature, each behavior as strict and unbending as a habit.

All he ever really did was hunt, stare, stand, sit, lay, and stare some more.

His typical day consisted of following you around the house, watching as you performed your daily chores and activities, leaving for a few hours if he felt up to it, and then returning to watch again.

Honestly, now that you thought about it, you weren't even really sure if you'd ever seen the little guy sleep in the four years he'd been occupying your home.

A creature of habit, indeed.

But then, if that was so true, why was it that he was suddenly standing upon your lap with no warning, his fur straight on end and his hackles raised as a hiss as low and ominous as the thunder from above rumbled within his chest.

Your eyes widened at the sight, raising your hands as if in surrender, certain you must've done something to anger your oddly particular "pet".

But then, before you could even consider what that something may have been, you heard a sound that made your heart skip a beat.

It was metal on metal, a familiar, subtle clicking, and then an obvious shift in pressure as cool air flooded your living room.

A key slid easily out of the lock.

Except there was only one other key...

And you hadn't seen it since-

Your head whipped around so fast you feared for a moment that you may have given yourself whiplash, though quickly any thoughts of injury ceased the moment your eyes met his.

"Alastor."

You breathed, his name falling past your lips like a prayer you'd been forced to stop uttering.

Even just saying it felt like an act of heresy.

Your husband's grin remained plastered upon his face even as he caught sight of you, expression unphased, though you couldn't help but notice the way that his eyes roved about your face and body, softening slightly as if he'd only just realized after so very long that he could relax them if he so chose.

"Chère."

He replied simply, his voice smooth and relaxed even in spite of how very long it had been since either of you had seen each other,

"I didn't expect you to be awake."

At that, you swallowed thickly, gently petting at the still growling creature that was standing upon your lap,

"There's a storm."

You replied softly, shaking your head,

"I can't ever sleep during storms anymore."

At that Alastor seemed to stop for a few moments, as if considering your words more thoroughly before he finally nodded.

"Of course, how could I forget?"

Hesitantly, he took a step forward, though he halted rather suddenly when he noticed the source of the angry sound that was reverberating throughout the room.

"What is that?"

He asked, gesturing slightly toward the creature who still stood protectively upon your lap, ears pointed straight up toward the ceiling and eyes fixed meanly upon your husband as if it wished to tear the man to shreds.

"Honestly, I'm not quite sure."

You continued to pet your small companion soothingly, trying to reassure it that things were okay without the use of words.

"He showed up a few years ago during a fearsome storm not too unlike this one. I let him inside so he wouldn't get hurt and he's been here ever since."

Alastor regarded the being with caution and a mild sense of confusion as he continued his slow approach. When he stopped a few feet short of you though, you found that you doubted that your "pet" was making much of a difference when it came to that. Your husband never did stand very close to you when he knew that he'd messed up recently.

A quick getaway, you supposed, probably a smart move.

But as angry as you'd been even just thinking of your love earlier in the evening, you couldn't bring yourself to feel the same way in that moment

It was exhausting, missing someone as much as you'd missed the man standing before you, and it almost felt like none of that truly set in until the very moment he was just outside of your reach once more, standing in the home you'd shared as if he'd never even left in the first place.

Oh how badly you wished that were the case.

You swallowed thickly, fighting back tears that you didn't dare try to understand for fear of making them flow faster.

"It was terribly quiet here without you, you know."

You whispered, watching as your husband's lips twitched downward ever so slightly.

He hummed,

"I wasn't aware that I made much noise at all, my dear."

You scoffed at that, in spite of the tears that were still welling up in your eyes.

"I don't think I was either until you left,"

You tried to laugh, but it came out sounding a lot more like a sob, and in response, the creature in your lap quieted slightly, as if having sensed your distress and realized it's attention was better suited elsewhere.

You gasped slightly as you felt it's rough tongue against your cheek, lapping up the tears that had fallen in spite of your best efforts to keep them from doing so.

And then, unable to control yourself, you let out a burst of laughter.

"You're such a weirdo."

You chuckled as you held the small being beneath it's armpits, outstretching your arms to hold it out further so you could see it properly.

It simply stared back, tail wagging ever so slightly with one of it's ears bent toward you in the way you'd grown accustomed to throughout the years.

It was rare that both of it's ears were up unless it was upset.

You quite liked the look of them when they were uneven anyhow, it wasn't much unlike-

Before you could finish that no doubt destructive thought, you stopped yourself and turned your attention back toward the man who was now sitting comfortably in the chair placed opposite to you.

He hummed softly as your eyes met his once more.

You sighed.

"Al, this is Minou."

You introduced gently, turning the creature so he could see it better.

If it reacted, you certainly didn't notice.

Your husband raised a brow in response.

"It's name is... cat?"

He asked hesitantly, wondering for a moment if you had perhaps grown rusty with your french after so many years with no practice.

But before he could get much further with that theory, you nodded.

"Yeah, I thought it was fitting enough. He could pass for a cat, right?"

You turned the creature around once more to get a better look at him, and smiled when it's persistently ominous expression came into view.

He was pretty cute, in his own weird way.

Another manner in which he wasn't too unlike your husband, you supposed.

Alastor chuckled under his breath at your question, watching intently and with a look of keen interest as he took in the sight of you after so very long.

"I suppose so, if one were to squint."

You scoffed at that, but the grin on your face made it obvious that you weren't nearly as upset as you were making yourself out to be.

You pulled your "pet" in closer after a few more seconds of further inspection, smiling softly at the returning sound of his purr upon your lap.

You sighed, looking back to your husband once more.

"You know, when I found him, I almost thought that he was you for a little while, or maybe some extension of you I'd never met before. There's just something about him that feels so awfully familiar in that same way you do."

Alastor hummed and approached slowly, dropping a kiss to the top of your head as he finally began to shed his coat.

"Hmm, how interesting."

He replied, semi-lost in thought as he spoke.

It would make sense, after all, that if some part of him were to somehow split off from the rest and gain a consciousness of it's own...

It would return to you.

[doctorho]

i'm writing more viktor x chronically ill reader and -

it started as the reader feels insecure and viktor is so used to fighting against a world that wants to break him that he knows how to help.

and the reader sees viktor as this smart, confident, capable-and-disabled-guy, and it really is and and not but, he's had to fight tooth and nail to be where he is and he holds no illusions about what some people think about him, but now he's at the top, he's the best at what he does, he has one of those brilliant once-in-a-lifetime type of minds and the heart to go with it, the passion that comes from wanting to make things better-

and he's confident! he knows he's good! he knows he's smart! he had to fight twice as hard as the others in the academy just to get in but now he's running the whole show and he's deserved it, gods, he has a right to be there and he's not going to apologize to the people who don't like it, because they're not worth the time of day!

he knows he's good at what he does.

and he wants the reader to value themselves too. even just out of spite if it comes to that, because the world is hard enough for people like them already, other people are mean enough already, and it should be their given right to rise above that and say no, actually, i'm good and i deserve to be here. i deserve good things.

they've both seen enough cruelty already. they don't need more of it from inside their heads.

and he truly does believe that! he does. it feels like a truth running all through his bone marrow.

he knows he's good at what he does.

he knows he's smart.

and it's easy to tell the same things to someone else. because he believes them. he really, truly does.

but there's still that little kid somewhere at the back of his head, that too-little version of him that got left behind, and there's still that innate feeling of being not-quite-right, being weird and not fitting in and - yes, he's accepted it, that was just a thing about him, he was always going to be a little weird, but-

at the core of it is the feeling that he never really felt like people wanted him around. even after he climbed to the top of the business, the top of the stupid social circles, out of the undercity, and stood his ground there, he never really felt like he belonged there. like any of them really wanted him around. jayce was one of the few exceptions, but in the grand scheme of things, one exception didn't shake his beliefs much. jayce was an anomaly in the trend, and not a breakthrough.

so when the reader really does seem to want viktor around?

he doesn’t know what to do with that.

it's easy to tell other people they're worth it, but viktor still can't shake the feeling that it doesn’t apply to him.

except when you want him around for more than just his work? more than just as a solution to a problem? when you seem to want him, with his quiet humor and broken body and all, and then his heart is falling through his ribs as he tries to hold it together, because he didn't think that was possible. not for him. not this. nothing like this, and certainly not with someone that understands.

and suddenly he is a raw nerve, looking for lightning. he has no idea what to do with these feelings, because he's still not sure he trusts them, but he's not about to let the opportunity slide. so he has to push his trembling doubts aside and reach out, for the first time in his life let someone see his heart the way it truly is, soft and shivering and left-behind, because as afraid as he is he's also craving for the connection. even if he doesn’t really believe he deserves it, even if he doesn’t really believe in it, he still has to try. even with shaking hands, he has to try.

it's an off-beat dance on both parts, when neither of you really knows how to trust it. it's careful and tentative and sometimes just holding on to something feels like a lifeline, because neither of you really thought you'd have this. that anyone could want you like this.

and over the years, viktor's pushed his feelings so far aside, that when they snap right back into his chest it leaves him gasping for air. when you touch him he crumbles, all composure gone, and he grips your hand like it's keeping him anchored into his own body, like he might float away into the ether without it. and it's with shuddering breaths and gentle touches that he learns how to trust, slowly, finally, and it is delicate and messy and raw but it's honest, the truth of it warm and solid somewhere close to his chest, and he wants to keep it there. wants it to take root there and grow into his whole being until it surrounds him.

it's easy to tell other people that they're worth it. harder to believe it about yourself, especially when it feels like you're shouting alone into the dark while the whole world seems to quietly disagree.

it gets a lot easier if someone shows you that they think you're worth it, bruised heart and chipped corners and all, and fuck what the rest of the world thinks, you are good.

[kitscutie]

snow and roses: part III (coriolanus snow x fem!reader)

pairing: coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: none except the nature of the Hunger Games franchise! later on in the series there will be hints to dark!coriolanus snow and lots of angst so be prepared!

summary: you and coriolanus have been dating in secret for months, all it takes is one songbird for everything to come into the light.

a/n: part three is finally hereee! sorry it took so long i've been dealing with some shit and doing a lot of work as life's just gotten very busy but don't worry - nothing will be left undone and trust me when i say i already have the ending for this series planned out :)

im sorry to say guys but i will have to close my taglist as the size has began to affect my posts and tumblr keeps glitching out, sorry!

word count:2k

find parts one and two in my masterlist!

After the incident the previous day between Brandy and Arachne as well as the suggestions from Coriolanus taken on board, the mentors had been allowed one hour with their tributes to discuss tactics.

It was good yet bad all at once. You wanted to give Wovey advice, a fighting chance but yet you knew no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much help you gave her, she stood no chance compared to people like Reaper and even Lucy Gray.

She was small and innocent, young.

"In spite of yesterdays - tragic events, our president has decided that the games must go on. Show everyone the Capitol is unafraid of such acts of terror, to which I and Doctor Gaul wishes you to preview the arena this afternoon - with your tributes. Later this evening, there will be a specialised television presentation of each tribute to our audience to, well get to know them. You will have an hour to discuss strategy. You may begin." Dean Casca Highbottom spoke into the echoey room, so large it was almost comical.

All of the tributes had been chained to the tables like animals and it made you sick to your stomach. You were aware they may harm you but at the same time such treatment would drive anyone to violence, it wasn't simply because they were District.

"Hi Y/N." Wovey smiled, so innocent. So naive.

"Wovey. I was thinking about how you might approach the games and I figured what might be best is to hide. You're small, an advantage that the other tributes don't have. I'm sure we can find some spaces this afternoon that might prove useful?" You suggested, not wishing to make this conversation more painful and personal than it had to be.

"Sure." She murmured, gaze positioned on the chains around her wrists.

"And if you wait until it's dark and everyone is sleeping you could go to the middle - collect whatever weapons they have left, just in case but otherwise I recommend waiting it out. If they can't find you they can't kill you." The sentence left a bitter taste in your mouth, you had never pictured yourself recommending a child to wait her death out in your life. The Capitol Academy was sold to you with visions of wealth and power, and now you has gone from student to mentor.

"I don't want to kill anyone." She frowned. She didn't even care that she could die, only fearing harming others. You felt your heart ache and yet, you could do nothing. No words would be good enough to reassure her, no actions would be able to save her. For once, you were useless.

"Wovey-" You began your sympathetic speech though Casca cut you off.

"Snow, Y/N. Let's go." He said as peacekeepers arrived to escort you to Doctor Gaul.

You rose without another word to Wovey, aware nothing you could say would be of any help at this time.

You knew it was about Coryo's proposal which you had not helped in and yet you weren't too upset about it. You didn't need the Plinth Prize nor did you need Doctor Gauls' approval and so you set out to let her know of your lack of involvement in this task.

"How is your tribute?" Coriolanus asked after minutes of silence.

"Her name is Wovey and she's fine. A little frightened but aren't we all?" You said, you were hesitant to tell him too much of Wovey's weaknesses and you didn't know why. This was Coriolanus. Your best friend of over ten years and your boyfriend of a few months and yet, you had a feeling whatever you said would be used against you.

"I suppose." He answered. You supposed his tone was meant to come off charmingly but all you felt was unease.

"This proposal. I haven't done it." You let him know, it was the least you could do before facing the psychopath known as Head Gamemaker.

"We have. I handed it in this morning." He answered with a hint of pride. Impressed with himself that he had taken initiative, helped you.

"I thought I made it clear the other day that I wanted no part in this plan to profit off of peoples lives, Coriolanus." You muttered, increasingly angry with his dedication to the Games and what they stood for.

"Well if you want to help Wovey, I suggest you don't tell Doctor Gaul that." He smiled, holding the door to her office open for you in a feign attempt at being a gentlemen.

As you walked into her office you couldn't help but feel disgusted. It was littered with mutants, clearly created to kill, all sat in glass jars on shelf upon shelf. Stacked all the way up to the ceiling.

"Mr Snow, Miss L/N. Come and see my new babies." Gaul said as she appeared at the back of the room. Where she had been hidden, you had no clue.

You did as she said, never one to disobey your superiors, climbing the snake tank alongside her.

"Is there a point to their colour?" You asked curiously. The snakes were surprisingly beautiful, chromatic as they shifted around on top of one another.

"There's a point to everything Miss L/N. Or to nothing at all, which brings me neatly to your proposal. Which one of you actually wrote it." She asked, as if to catch you out but you felt no remorse in admitting it wasn't you.

"Coriolanus, Doctor." You answer, sensing Coriolanus' hesitation in baiting you out.

"Well, how shocking. I expected more of a conflict." She replied, as though she were annoyed by your honesty as she reached into the snake tank, pulling Coriolanus' proposal out. "They're good your suggestions. I'm going to recommend my team implement as many as possible for tomorrow. Now run along you have an arena to promote, and Miss L/N I must say - I am most disappointed by your lack of involvement in these brilliant ideas."

"Well thank you, Doctor Gaul for your offer but, I thought Mr Snow had it safely under his control." You smiled politely before you both left to 'promote' but more so survey the new arena. "Wait." You said stopping Coriolanus before you got into the truck. "I don't know what has become of you Coriolanus Snow, but I want the little boy who fought to provide for his family while also caring for others back. You are turning into one of them, and I'm not going to be there to watch the world burn beneath your feet." You spat, leaving him to think as you sat in silence for the rest of the journey.

It seemed Coriolanus felt spiteful towards your words as he too ignored you up until this very moment as you walked into the arena.

You smiled reassuringly down at Wovey who looked just so scared. You were only three years older than her and yet you felt a motherly protection towards her, one you couldn't shake off.

Infront of you was Coryo and Lucy Gray. At first you pitied the girl, coming from twelve must be hard as they were food deprived and worked to the bone and yet now, as she stood holding your boyfriends hand in her beautiful rainbow dress, you loathed everything about her.

Your eyes rolled as far back as they physically could, your disgust clear to anyone looking but only one person was. Sejanus. He looked at you with pity and for once, you appreciated it. You decided he must know about you and Coriolanus and seeing as nobody else did they all whispered about him and Lucy Gray, how sweet they seemed.

You walked around alone before he appeared at your side.

"You deserve better, Y/N." Sejanus said, eyes never meeting your own as you continued to survey the arena, never even noticing his eyes stuck on his watch.

"Debatable." You chuckled, feeling a sense of self responsibility for getting with a man as dangerous as Coriolanus Snow in the first place.

"I wouldn't worry. If there's anything I've learnt about Coryo it's that he likes shiny things, new things - and she's definitely a spectacle." he chuckled to himself, it was safe to say Lucy Gray's ability to impress a crowd hadn't been missed by anyone.

"He'll grow tired eventually. I was his precious rose once." You sighed as the reality of the situation finally settled in.

You soaked in the silence for a few moments before you realised Sejanus' lack of response, turning in annoyance to see his eyes following the hand of his watch clock closely as he mouthed a countdown of the minutes.

"What are you-" You began.

"We've got to go." He said, grabbing your arm and beginning to walk towards the exit cautiously, not catching the attention of any guards.

"What do you mean? Sejanus?" You asked as he would not slow, not for anything. You looked around, seeing everyone else still stood stationary as they calmly conversed.

"Just follow me, Y/N." He said, still attempting to stay calm but you noticed his wide eyes.

You walked in silence, your heartbeat getting louder in your ear with each step until you hearing went completely silent, vision going black as both you and Sejanus were thrown to the floor in a cloud of smoke.

It took a few moments for you to be brought back to reality as you sat up, dazed hearing the yells of people around you. Once again before you could even figure out what was happening Sejanus' grabbed you, pulling you to your feet as you ran out of the door. 'Enjoy the show' now sounding muffled.

"What about Coryo?" You cried out in desperation, no matter what he put you through he was your first love and you had always pictured him to be your last.

"If we go back now, Y/N, we'll die." Sejanus replied as he continued dragging you until you reached the fresh air outside. Your charred lungs welcoming it.

As you looked back through the doorway you saw nothing, no one. Simply black smoke. You felt guilty and yet still - deep down - your heart yearned for the death of Lucy Gray.

It had been five hours now, sat around Coriolanus' bed alongside Sejanus and Tigris.

He hadn't so much as twitched and it had your heart racing with panic, if he died, you knew a part of you died with him.

Tigris comforted you as best she could in her own worry, noting how his chest continued to move up and down steadily and that the doctor only mentioned an injured arm, not that he was at risk of death.

The appearance of bright blue eyes caught everyone's attention as you rushed to be by his bed.

"Coryo." You said, a large smile on your face. You watched as his eyes flickered around in confusion, landing on you for a few moments. You don't know what you expected, a look of love? What you most definitely didn't expect was one of disgust.

"Lucy Gray, is she-" He stated, looking to Tigris for an answer.

"She's alive." Tigris responded through gritted teeth as she looked to you with sympathetic eyes. Her reply was lost to you as the ringing in your ears after the explosion returned. Your heart beating loud in your chest. You placed a hand over it, feeling it pound against your palm.

Your eyes glazed over as you walked away into a secluded corner, waving Sejanus off as he attempted to follow you.

It felt now more than ever so official, so real without a doubt. You had lost Coriolanus Snow. He no longer loved you, cared for you or even worried for you.

The cage that was his heart had opened wide, setting you free and instead capturing something new and desirable. A songbird.

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[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesongfics.

Vigilante Shit

October Prompt: Vigilante Shit by Taylor Swift | Word Count: 7777 | Rating: E | CW: Unsafe Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent | Tags: Modern AU, Past Break-Up, Divorced, Angst, Exes-to-Lovers, Hopeful Ending, Famous Eddie, Corroded Coffin, Platonic Stobin: Ride or Die (Eddie Might Die If Robin Has Her Way, lol), Unsafe Sex, Barebacking, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Except It's All Love Underneath, Mr. Americana and the Heartbreak Prince

Also available right here on ao3.

they say looks can kill and I might try Taylor Swift, Vigilante Shit

Steve steps out of the taxi, and looks down, smoothing the lines of his shirt. Hoping it's not too wrinkled. He's left it unbuttoned one more button than would be considered decent, but nothing about today is going to end up decent, he's sure of it. The fabric is tight, midnight blue and clinging to his sides, his biceps, tailored to perfection. He made sure of it. When he looks good, he feels good. And today? He needs to at least feel good about how he looks. 

He stands on the sidewalk, shrugging on the leather jacket that doesn't actually belong to him. The one with the chained up broken zipper on the sleeve. The one from before. A relic of years gone by, of kids that have been dead and buried by adulthood.

He doesn't actually need it, weather-wise. But if he's digging up bones, he might as well dig deep.

And he looks good in it, without fucking question.

Tonight he isn't dressing for women, or men. He's dressing for revenge.

The event space is old, he can tell. One of those remodeled places, salvaged from the hands of time. He's never been here before, and wishes he didn't have to be at today, either. He wishes he was seven hundred miles away, at home. When the plane touched down here this morning, he felt like he was being suffocated. Like the air was thicker, like he was being stifled, just because he lives here.

Steve avoids the city like the plague. Henderson moved here a few years ago, though, and Steve would be lying if he hadn't felt betrayed. He felt like a side had been chosen, and that it wasn't his. 

Steve knows that's irrational. But he still feels that way, especially when he's alone with his thoughts. Robin has gotten sick of hearing about it. She's the only person on earth he feels comfortable letting see how much he still hurts.

How much he'll always be hurt, maybe.

Coming here today feels a little bit like torture, and opting out was definitely his first instinct. 

But here Steve is. He couldn't do that to Henderson.

Even if he lives in town. It's not like Henderson ever mentions him anymore. Dustin quickly learned that was a bridge not to cross with Steve if he wished to continue living.

So, Steve cut off his nose to spite his own face, like a fucking idiot. Now he gets no information on Eddie, no secondhand gossip from friends, no nothing that doesn't come from the gossip rags. 

Steve double-checks his reflection in the door of the brick building, fingers combing through his hair. Looks good. Like the rest of him. That much he is confident about. Everything else is the problem.

It's an old building, and when the old elevator opens, Steve looks around the big, airy ballroom. There's an open window seat, and he walks over and perches in it, waiting. The setting sun is warm on his back, and while he hasn't heard for sure, he knows in his gut that Eddie will be here. There's no way Eddie's missing Henderson's engagement party. 

Even if that means seeing Steve.

Steve had checked the tour schedule, hoping, praying he'd be halfway across the world tonight. But there was a suspicious looking break in their dates. As if this had been planned around it. 

It probably was.

But Steve can't worry about Eddie. He will, of fucking course, but it would be so much better for his own well-being if he didn't.

Eddie cut the first tie between them, but Steve is the one that burned the bridges behind him, making it permanent. If Eddie wanted to run from him, well, then he was gonna stay fucking gone. Steve wasn't interested in providing any sort of lifeline for Eddie to ever use to climb out of the hole he insisted on digging for himself.

Robin and Henderson have both said in soft, roundabout ways that Steve was kind of being a dick. Being petty, bitchy, mean. But Steve doesn't care. He got his heart broken. He lost his husband. He can be all of those things, and more. 

Steve spins the ring on his finger, the one he hasn't worn in years. The old gold band that he dug out of the back of his closet, and spent all morning polishing into a gut punch.

His motto for tonight: Don't get sad, get even.

He wishes Robin were already here, but she's never been on time a day in her life. Every flight she's ever booked has been delayed, if not outright canceled, and today was no different. Unfortunately, that means he's sitting off to the edge of the ballroom by himself, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing does.

Friends who have become closer to strangers mingle, and laugh, leaving him on fringes, alone. And Steve knows that's his fault. He cut a large swath out of his life, isolating himself. Licking his wounds in solitary confinement. Robin is his only companion, besides his misery and grief.

He needs to suck it up, go mingle, force himself to dole out apologies and be a little more active in the festivities, certain that he's been foolish. Eddie isn't coming after all.

Steve makes his way over to Dustin.

"Congrats, kiddo," Steve says, wrapping his arm around Dustin's shoulders, squeezing.

"About damn time, I thought you were gonna sulk in the corner all night," Dustin snaps, and Steve laughs. No, he's not gonna do that. He just needed a minute. And he gets that Henderson understood that. He's a good kid, a good man, now.

He keeps talking, "I thought you were gonna go on some sort of anti-marriage tirade."

No, no, Steve was wrong. He is still a little shit.

"I'm not anti-marriage," Steve says, and he isn't. Sure, his didn't work out, but he's not going around assuming that everybody else's will end up the same way.

Unless they plan on marrying Eddie. Then, that's on them. Play dumb games, win stupid prizes.

"He was supposed to come tonight," Dustin admits.

Yeah, Steve figured as much, "Sorry he let you down, kid."

Dustin looks up at him, "Sorry he let you down, too."

Yeah, well. Shit happens.

The room is sparkling with twinkling lights that look even better as the sun melts into the horizon. Tray after tray of drinks and passed hors d'oeuvres make the rounds, and everyone seems happy to see him, maybe forgiving him a little too easily for his disappearing act. 

They come see him in his window, like it's his new office. Handing him drinks, food. Doling out hugs and kisses. Stories. Sharing their lives with him.

Robin comes in earlier than he expected her, and she throws her hands in the air, announcing her arrival.

Dustin hugs her, and then she marches over to the window seat he's been holding court from.

He stands, and she steps into his arms, squeezing him tight, "Hi, dingus. Sorry I'm late."

"You're early," he says, and she's not. She's nearly an hour late. But for him, she's right on time.

Eddie didn't come. He doesn't have to say it, she knows. He feels foolish. He's wearing Eddie's leather jacket and his old wedding band, and dwelling on a past Eddie clearly doesn't give a flying fuck about.

Steve squeezes Robin back. It's been too long. Living in separate cities is for the goddamn birds. Maybe he should move closer to her. Pack up his life and just hit the road and be wherever she wants to be, always.

That sounds like the best plan for a lifetime of happiness that he's had in a goddamn long time.

"We could call the FBI. Tell them he's a drug mule. Tell them he's evading taxes."

Steve doesn't think either of those things are true.

He's about to say so when he feels the air in the room change. 

Fuck.

He drops back to the bricks, not really able to stand under these conditions.

Eddie's here, Steve can't see him yet, refuses to scour the room, looking, searching, but he knows. He always knew when Eddie manifested himself into Steve's presence. Like a magic trick Steve doesn't know the secret behind, and probably never will. 

Steve leans back, and sprawls out on the brick window sill he's been sitting in, and Robin is looking down at him wide-eyed. Because she's well aware of the only thing here that could knock his feet out from him.

She steps to the side and turns to look.

And he's determined to keep his head up. He's gonna meet this head-on, no-holds-barred. If Eddie wants to look away, wants to run like he always does, then he can be the one to do that. Again. Because Steve's got nothing to be ashamed about.

He didn't fuck up their lives. Eddie did.

Two black suits, his private security Steve's sure, flank Eddie. Like there's a threat at his friend's engagement party. Fucking ridiculous. 

Well.

Maybe there is a threat: Steve. 

At least a threat to his peace, and as if on cue Eddie stops in the middle of the room and stares. Steve stares back. Wrist resting over his own bent knee. They say looks can kill, and tonight Steve damn well might try.

Steve won't blink first, won't back down.

And eventually Eddie gives, loses, and looks away.

Steve smiles to himself, taking a sip of his drink, swirling the ice in the lowball glass, as Robin's eyebrows have permanently lodged themselves into her hairline. He makes small talk with her, when he knows she wants to say so fucking much about what just happened. There will be time for that later, time to dissect and replay, but only then does he unfold himself from the window seat, sauntering across the room, stopping to talk to his friends. His. 

Steve doesn't look his way again, but he can definitely feel the eyes boring into him as he moves around the room. Good. Let him stare. 

On the way back from the bathroom, Steve passes a little too close to the sun.

And Eddie reaches out, snagging Steve's hand in his, squeezing it hard enough that it pinches his skin between the ring he has no business wearing, but Steve doesn't react. Doesn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he can get to him in any way.

Not anymore.

He just looks at Eddie, and Eddie stares back. 

Eddie doesn't let go. Instead he shifts his hand, sliding it upwards, until he's hooked his finger through the chain on the jacket sleeve, and starts to pull Steve by it, like he's on a lead. His feet betray him, and he follows. 

So do the bodyguards.

"No, stay," Eddie says, like they're guard dogs. Maybe they are. They definitely heel to his command.

And he leads Steve out of the ballroom, down a long hallway, trying to push open door after locked door, until he finds one that gives, swinging open. It's empty, and probably used for staging or a dressing room during other events. There's a fancy couch, and the whole place is lit by the moonlight coming through the deep-set windows.

Only then does he let go. Steve feels burned.

But he doesn't react to that, instead Steve stands there, hands on his hips as Eddie lingers, several paces away, staring back. 

He didn't ask for this, for any of this.

"What the fuck do you want?" Steve snaps, and Eddie's teeth are showing as he stalks forward. Steve refuses to take a step back, refuses to flinch or lose an inch of ground to him. Eddie's not gonna steamroll him, not ever again.

"What the fuck is this?" Eddie asks, reaching out and squeezing Steve's wrist. The jacket. Then flicking Steve's finger, the ring, as it rests on his hip.

"It's a wedding ring. I know that's probably confusing for you, since you never wore one of them. It ruined your aesthetic, or whatever this is," Steve mocks, waving his hand around Eddie's whole being. All the black leather and silver jewelry that doesn't mean shit.

Eddie ignores all that, and his eyes narrow down on Steve's hand, demanding, "You marry somebody else wearing my ring?"

"Maybe I did," Steve snaps. "What's it to you?"

And Eddie loses the standoff. His hands find his hair as he roughly pulls at it, spinning in a circle.

Steve smirks. 

"You want it back? Here. Take it," Steve spits out, angry, so fucking pissed off for the past decade or more, pulling the ring off his finger and throwing it. Listening as it hits the wall across the room, and then clatters across the hardwood flooring. 

He shrugs out of the jacket and throws it next. Hitting Eddie square in the chest.

The sound Eddie makes is distraught, feral, and if Steve didn't know he's only bullshit and bluster, he'd probably be scared.

But he's not scared of Eddie Munson. At least not in the way the rest of the world is, hoodwinked by the reputation he built with his carefully cultured public image that is just lie after lie.

Steve wasn't sure what would happen next, but Eddie on his hands and knees, patting around in the dark, his phone flashlight darting around trying to catch the glimmer of metal, wasn't what Steve expected.

"Why fucking bother?" Steve asks as he crosses his arms over his chest. Because honestly? He doesn't need it. He made his point. He cut him. He won this round. He needs to leave before he gets left. Again.

And Eddie didn't want him to have it back then, so why waste time digging up old bones? Let sleeping dogs lie. 

"Because," Eddie grits out.

"Just let it go, Eddie. Just like you let me go," Steve snaps, and Eddie's head whips up, the flashlight suddenly blinding Steve.

Steve shields his eyes, "Put that down, asshole."

"Then don't fucking say that," Eddie snaps.

"Like it's not true?"

It is true, and Eddie can't even begin to deny it. He fucking ran, two years into their marriage. Two years that they spent more nights apart than they did together. Two years where they were too young. Too different. At least that's what everyone else said when the dust settled. Like, it was just a mistake anyone could have seen coming.

Like, two years had been a good run, but that this had always been the expected end result.

Steve hadn't expected it. 

That didn't matter, though. They divorced, long-distance, papers delivered and signed through lawyers. All contact completely severed. And then they both spent more than a decade being extra careful to not wind up in the same region, let alone the same building, or room.

Now, here they are. Eddie on his hands and knees rooting around for ancient history, and Steve wishing he could be swallowed up by the floor under his feet just to be out of here. Away. Anywhere else.

It's bullshit. All of it.

Eddie finds it with a huffed laugh, and Steve isn't sure what happens next. Does Eddie pocket it? Keep it? 

No, he stands, and stalks over to Steve, "You wanna wear it? You're gonna wear it."

And he forces it back onto Steve's hand, a perversion of the first time he did it. It catches on his knuckle, and hurts as Eddie forces it on, but Steve watches it happen, can't look away. 

Then, Eddie's even further in his personal space, mouth closing over Steve's, hand sliding into Steve's hair, pulling. Steve kisses him back, hands digging into his back, holding on tight to everything he's already lost.

Steve's whole fucking body betrays him. He moans in Eddie's mouth, dick rushing towards hard, as Eddie leans further into him.

Learning all Steve's secrets from his time away.

Steve doesn't want Eddie to know anything about him.

He also wants him to know everything.

It's infuriating.

Even more so when Eddie spins him around, shoving him forwards, making Steve catch himself on the back of the couch.

Eddie puts his hand in the middle of Steve's back, and presses downwards, hard. Bending him over the back side of the vintage couch. Steve goes, willingly. The ornate wood trim digging into his belly. Eddie's hand rubs up and down his sides, hands feeling how his shirt is hugging his skin, and Steve knew it was a good choice. But he doesn't have time to gloat before Eddie's fingers slide around, brushing Steve's stomach, slowly unbuttoning every button of his shirt. Roughly pulling it from his arms, catching on his wrists before being tugged loose, then moving on to unhooking his belt, unbuttoning his jeans, before yanking them down his thighs.

Steve digs the toe of his boot into the hardwood floor, trying to get some leverage that he knows he'll need. It's gonna be rough, and fast, and hard. Desperate. 

Overdue.

Maybe a little bit mean. Steve's not sure what kind of headspace Eddie's in. Hadn't had the chance to really gauge him, before he was drug away into the darkness to fight and fuck about unfinished business.

All their business is unfinished.

Eddie's pressed flush to his back, his palm pressing into the center of Steve's chest, his fingers moving through his chest hair. His cock, hard through his jeans, pressing into Steve's ass. A promise, or a threat.

Either, both, maybe. And then Eddie makes good on it. Steve hears him tearing open foil. Then he feels the cool liquid running down his crack. He tries not to jump, startle. Of course Eddie's carrying travel packets of lube. He shouldn't have assumed anything else.

Then there are slick fingers, one, then two, pressing at him, in him. Sliding deep, working to push all his buttons, proving Eddie hasn't forgotten a goddamn thing. One hand working fingers inside him, the other palming his balls before reaching down to tug on his cock. Just like Steve always liked. But Steve won't make any noise. Won't give Eddie the satisfaction. But Steve's breathing deep and hard, panting as he pushes back against Eddie's hand. Demanding more.

Eddie listens for once, too fast, too soon, and Eddie's breaching him. Steve wanted to draw this out. But that cock that Steve has loved, missed, needed is working him open, fast and rough. It's not enough, it's too much. All at once.

Steve loses, can't bite it back any longer, and Steve huffs out a whine of a breath as Eddie slams into him. He hasn't felt this in years. It's exactly the same, but totally different, too. It's like being fucked by a complete stranger.

It's also like coming home.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to keep quiet. The last thing he wants is any of their friends to see him like this. To know that he allowed himself to be bent over this easily. That all he had to do was spend fifteen minutes alone with Eddie before he allowed his resolve to crumble to dust, desperate for it, the second Eddie laid hands on him.

Eddie's not wearing a condom, Steve can feel the difference, can feel the ease of the slide in a way that he hasn't since Eddie cut and ran. Steve knows he should be mad, furious that Eddie thinks he still has that right. That he thinks his blanket permission from a decade ago overrides a goddamn divorce. But Steve's not mad. And he hates that he's not mad. Resents that he gets off on the fact that it's still only Eddie that has been invited inside him, and has been allowed to leave his mark deep, in more ways than one.

"Fuck you, Harrington," Eddie says, and Steve claws at the fabric of the couch, blunt fingernails scraping against the rough texture of it. 

"You already are, asshole," Steve says back.

Eddie laughs. It sounds more delighted than deranged, and if Steve keeps his eyes shut, he can pretend this was another lifetime ago. 

It's easy to go along for the ride, just allowing himself to feel what he hasn't in so many years. It's not like he's been celibate, or alone, but he has been without this. Without Eddie, and having a taste of it again might just wreck him.

There are lips against his back, and a cock splitting him wide. In his mind he's twenty-two and in love. Really in love. 

When he opens them again, he's thirty-four, and bitter. Broken.

Angry. 

So goddamn angry that his life, their life, turned out to be bullshit.

And suddenly the tears burn his eyes. Fuck. He's gonna cry. He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if he can stave it off with that alone. As if he can just will it away, by wanting it bad enough. But it's not working. He's gonna do the very last thing he ever wanted to have happen in Eddie's presence ever again. When he can't hold it back a second longer, he hitches in a ragged breath, and Eddie stutters, stilling all momentum, immediately.

It nearly gives Steve whiplash, going from a hundred to zero, just like that.

Which is fitting. That's how their whole relationship turned out. From hot and heavy, to distant strangers. Why would this be any goddamn different?

"Steve?" Eddie asks, a warm palm against his back. Rubbing soft, soothing circles, his guitar calluses scratching gently. "Sweetheart?"

That's the last straw, it's too familiar, too much, and he curls over the back of the couch as far as he can as Eddie pulls out, leaving him empty and more bereft than he already was. Steve tries to reach backwards, tries to lure him back. Back inside, back to Steve. Just back, in any way he can get him.

It doesn't happen, of course, and Eddie tries to manhandle Steve into turning around to face him. Steve would rather do anything else, so he won't allow himself to be turned because Steve's still bigger, always has been bigger and stronger, and Eddie's hands disappear before reappearing as he moves around the couch to kneel on the cushion next to where Steve is actively wishing to be swallowed whole.

"Steve," Eddie says, the voice reedy and scared, hands brushing down Steve's back, then moving through Steve's hanging hair, trying to find his face. "Did I hurt you? Did you…" Eddie trails off, thumb on Steve's cheek, "Did you not want that? Did I - did I read you wrong?"

Steve shakes his head. He's hurt, of course he is, just not in the way Eddie means. Of course he wanted this. He just can't. Not with Eddie. It's too hard.

Even if that's all he wants.

He looks down at the cushions below, he sees Eddie's bare thigh, tattoos unfamiliar, and his cock, very familiar, scared into softness. Nestled there in his open fly. Steve wonders if he smells the same. Wants to bury his face in Eddie's crotch and breathe deep.

What an unhinged thing to want, he thinks. But Steve just wants to go home, go back in time.

Eddie's still gorgeous. Always has been, though, and Steve snakes out a hand, curling it around Eddie's forearm.

Asking him not to go.

Asking him to stay this time.

"Sweetheart. Look at me, or I'm getting Robin," Eddie says, and Steve hiccups a laugh as Eddie plays with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

He's not his sweetheart, not any longer, he knows that all too well, but hearing that come out of his lips makes something bloom in his chest. An unfurling longing. Nostalgia for a time he'll never be able to return to, as long as he lives. 

It's already gone. They've already grown up, distant from each other.

And Steve raises his head enough to meet Eddie's eyes.

"She'd kill you," Steve says, trying to blink the wetness from his lashes.

"I'd let her," Eddie answers.

Steve misses him. He's right here, looking right at him, but Steve misses him something fierce.

"Are you okay? What's going on?" Eddie asks, scooting closer, his hand never leaving Steve's neck. Fingers brushing against his skin, keeping contact, soothing him in a way only he ever could.

Steve laughs, bordering on unhinged.

"Vigilante shit," Steve breathes out, and it's like he's ran a marathon, maybe an ultra.

And Eddie laughs, leaning forward and pressing his mouth to Steve's temple.

Steve leans into him. 

"Well, that's fair, sweetheart," Eddie says, "I'll give you that. I deserve it. But are you okay?"

"I'm okay," Steve reassures. As okay as he'll ever be, anyway, here surrounded by the smoldering embers of the life he watched burn to the ground.

Eddie rotates until he's laying down on the couch, and opens his arms for Steve. Steve takes the offer, sliding over the back of the couch, crawling on top of Eddie. Not very gracefully since his pants are still trapped around his thighs, boots on his feet. 

"Here, let me help," Eddie says, trying to maneuver him to sitting. Steve allows it.

And Eddie slides off the couch, kneeling at Steve's feet. Eddie looks at how Steve has them laced so they just slip on and off, and it's an old Eddie trick. Steve knows it, Eddie knows it.

"Well, this is sexy," Eddie says as he gently pulls the first one off his foot, then the second. And Steve laughs. Eddie then pulls his jeans down, tossing them aside, "Can you breathe now?"

Steve nods.

Undressed, and a little more unburdened, Steve watches as Eddie sheds his own pants, and then gets back on the couch, laying back against the cushions, an invitation.

Steve takes it.

He's pretty sure their naked asses aren't supposed to be on this antique piece of furniture, but he'd like to see anyone tell Eddie Munson no. It's impossible, and a waste of breath. Always has been.

So, they lay together, Eddie's hand stroking up and down his back, fingers against his spine. Whispering words that Steve's waited a decade to hear. And Steve listens, feeling the rumble of Eddie's chest, the timbre of his voice that is somehow even deeper than it was at twenty-three. They kiss and grind soft cocks together until they aren't soft anymore. They roll together until Steve slides back down on Eddie's cock, ready to finish what they started. 

It's gentler now, and Steve's pretty sure that might make this worse, after. Hate sex, angry fucking to get each other out of their systems, he thinks he could get over. That he could take at face value.

But this?

This is too soft. Too loving.

And that's gonna destroy him when it's over.

Eddie was, is, will always be, the greatest thing he's ever lost. Steve swears he only blinked, but in between that breath and the next, Eddie had slipped through his fingers.

But he wouldn't give this up. He never wanted to give Eddie up. Not then, not now, and that's really fucking hard to wrap his head around. That it ended against his will. That the thing he was sure was forever, crashed and burned so fucking quickly, completely out of his control. 

He couldn't save them from themselves. He couldn't save them from the self-destructive streak Eddie just couldn't shake.

He couldn't stop Eddie from running.

Distance, blossoming fame, and the road just being more of an obstacle than they would have ever imagined when they stood up and said I do, promising forever. 

Well, forever was pretty fucking short, Steve guesses.

He rocks on Eddie's cock, fucking himself as Eddie holds his hips in his hands. 

"That's it, sweetheart," Eddie encourages, and Steve's setting the rhythm now. The pace, the intensity, so he can't even blame Eddie for this slow down. For this softness.

This is all on him. 

But Eddie still fits in him like he was made to be there. Of course, Steve assumes Eddie's cock has been in lots of places since they buckled and folded. So, yeah, that probably means a doctor's visit, and a nerve wracking wait for test results will be in his future for being impulsive and foolish.

At the same time, he still trusts Eddie. Maybe he shouldn't. It makes no sense to, for fuck's sake. Eddie broke his heart, abandoned him like he meant nothing. But for some reason he trusts that Eddie would have never slid into him, warm and bare and familiar, if there was a cause for concern. 

He's always lost his fucking mind when he came to Eddie. That not changing today is no fucking surprise, not really.

Steve angles himself so Eddie's bumping his prostate, over and over, and it's just too much, too good, and Steve tenses, coming all over Eddie's belly. But he keeps grinding down on Eddie's cock, determined to get him over the edge, too.

Eddie groans, hand squeezing Steve's hip, "I'm gonna come."

"Do it," Steve breathes out, and Eddie does. Shoving up into him as far, and as hard as he can, and Steve tilts his head back, enjoying that this moment has happened for them, one more time.

He collapses onto Eddie's chest, laughing the way he always has after good sex, Eddie's softening cock still inside him, and Steve's not about to pull away yet.

The door opens, and Steve pops up to look to see who has found them.

Robin. 

"Goddamnit, dingus," she says from the doorway. He's aware from her angle she can see he's shirtless and debauched. She can't know that Eddie's still in him, soft, but unwilling to extract himself.

"I take it that asshole ex of yours is under you?"

"Hi, Robbie," Eddie says, still unseen by her, from his place on the couch under Steve.

She doesn't respond, ignoring Eddie. Which is to be expected, Steve supposes.

"Get cleaned up. Dustin's realized you're both missing."

Steve watches as Eddie stretches his arm backwards into her view, making the okay sign and she slams the door in response. 

They both laugh, and Steve lays back down on Eddie's bare chest, kissing him again. And again.

"She hates me now," Eddie says, when they break apart.

"With the fire of a thousand suns, yes," Steve answers, tucking his face into Eddie's neck. Robin and Eddie used to be friends, best friends, but when Eddie cut and ran, Robin wrote him off swiftly, with finality, and without remorse. Steve appreciated the loyalty. And he's gonna need it, tomorrow. Because he knows this was just one night, one mistake, but he's gonna milk it for all that it's worth since he's already in for a penny.

"We really have to make an appearance," Eddie says, and Steve whines at the idea. But he lifts up, Eddie's cock sliding out of him for the last time. At least he knows this time. At least he can brace for the impact.

But Eddie has other ideas.

"We'll be seen, we'll congratulate the kid, and then I'll take you back to bed, and show you how much I've missed you."

Steve nods. Yes. That. All of that, please. 

If he only gets one more night, he wants to draw out this long overdue goodbye as much as possible.

"We hadn't even had dinner," Dustin admonishes, shoving Steve's shoulder. Eddie puts a hand between them, like this might escalate.

"That's my bad, kid," Eddie says, shit-eating grin on his face.

Henderson is more forgiving. He loves them both. But Robin's glaring daggers through Eddie's back. There's no way he doesn't feel it. Steve can feel it, and it isn't even directed at him.

The party is winding down, and at the first opportunity, Eddie holds out the old leather jacket, helping it up and over Steve's shoulders.

"Steve," Robin says, a warning, and he steps away from Eddie, leaning down, hugging her.

"Let me say goodbye right this time," he pleads and she nods against his cheek.

She hates this, Steve knows she does, but she lets him go. She'll let him make this mistake. Will let him poke at this old, never-healed, wound.

Eddie leads him out the front of the venue. A crowd has gathered. Word must have spread that Eddie Munson was in the building, and now flashbulbs are blinding Steve, and Steve's instinct is to let go. Drop Eddie's hand and run. Hide, get out of sight. But Eddie doesn't let go of his hand. Even as he's guiding them towards the waiting black SUV. 

One of the security guys reaches for the door handle, and Steve sees Eddie rest his hand on his shoulder. The guy immediately backs off, and Eddie opens it for Steve himself. Standing there, looking grown up, and then suddenly his arm pops out, and he dips into a half-bow.

Steve laughs, loud and happy. He's still Eddie. 

He wishes he had a picture. Wants to replay that memory in his mind forever, and he realizes suddenly that he probably can. That in the next ten minutes the entire walk from the building to the car will be uploaded from at least a dozen angles.

There's gonna be story after story of Eddie Munson entering the building alone and re-emerging four hours later with his ex-husband on his arm.

The divider in the car goes up, and they can't keep their hands off of each other.

Steve shifts on the leather. 

"What's wrong?" Eddie asks, pulling back to look in his eyes.

It's only Eddie, so he tells the truth, "I'm leaking."

And Eddie grins, wolfish and wild, "Well. I could take care of that."

The pulse of want goes through Steve. It's filthy and is he really gonna let Eddie eat his ass in a moving car, a driver just on the other side of the barrier?

Yeah, yeah he is.

He moves to his belt, but Eddie's fingers replace his own, "Let me, sweetheart."

And at this point, Steve thinks he'll let Eddie do anything he wants.

The pictures from outside Eddie's building are sure to be obscene. Eddie, mouth red and lips shiny, Steve's hair in utter disarray. The crowd is rowdy, extra loud and demanding, and Eddie seems to be in no hurry. He's smiling, and looking around, as if this is completely normal. 

As if he always hooks up with his ex-husband, rims him in the car, and the waves to the fans, after. He looks happy, thrilled even, instead of annoyed to be caught in the public eye.

Maybe it is normal for him, but it's definitely not for Steve. This was never his life, not even when they were married and Eddie's star continued to rise. Maybe, especially not then. Eddie wanted his private life to be private and that meant Steve was left at home, out of sight. 

Not tonight.

Tonight it's obvious what they've been doing during the car ride. The press will have a field day building a timeline with the pictures and videos.

Eddie holds Steve's hand, tight and protective, leading the charge, but he uses the other to wave. To stop and sign an album. A poster. All while his security tries to wrangle him inside.

"This is Steve," he tells a fan, a camera shoved in his face.

Steve tries to put on a pageant smile, and is certain he's failed. This is fucking bizarre. Has Eddie really changed this much? Then they're moving again, finally making their way towards the door.

"Thank you," Eddie says, looking right at the man holding open the door.

"Mr. Munson," the doorman says, and Eddie shakes his hand, and Steve really thinks the guy wouldn't have if he knew where Eddie's hands have been recently. 

They're taken to a private elevator, and when it opens, it's in the middle of a huge penthouse apartment. 

Which is pretty amazing. The only thing fucking up the view is Gareth on the couch, in his underwear. He's holding a bowl of cereal under his chin, and he accidentally tips it on himself.

"Sorry," Eddie says, "I wasn't expecting to bring home company."

"Oh, that's okay," Gareth answers with a smirk.

"I wasn't talking to you," Eddie laughs, and Gareth grins. "If you got cereal on that couch, clean it up. I'm not smelling sour milk for the next decade every time I sit down."

"Yeah, yeah," Gareth says. 

Then he looks right at Steve.

"Steven," Gareth greets, and Steve gives him a little wave. He's really grown up since Steve saw him last.

Eddie puts his hand on the small of Steve's back, "My bedroom is back here."

It looks like his closet exploded, a familiar mess. Eddie starts picking up clothes off the bed.

"Sorry, I had trouble deciding what to wear tonight," Eddie says, several pairs of black jeans that look identical to Steve slung over his arm. 

His room has a hell of a view. There are floor to ceiling windows, and Steve stands there and looks over the city. Eddie's done well for himself. But Steve knew that, never doubted that he would, but it's just something else to see the reality of that with his own eyes.

Eddie wraps his arms around Steve's middle, hugging him from behind, his chin hooked over Steve's shoulder.

Steve closes his eyes and just leans into his touch.

Eddie's hands are all over him. Rough calluses touching, stroking, remapping his skin. Seemingly marking the changes. Steve's face down on the softest, worn-in sheets he's ever felt. They smell like Eddie. They feel like home. 

They aren't fancy, no satin or showy black here, just comfortable gray cotton. The real Eddie, not the persona.

The lights of the city are casting the room in shadow, but Steve doesn't need to see Eddie. He can feel him. 

Eddie is rocking into him, slow and steady. There's no hurry, no racing towards the finish line.

Because this is goodbye, and neither of them are quite ready to let go. Not yet.

When Steve wakes up, it's dark in the room, and Eddie is dead to the world, his hair is fanned out across the pillow. As much as Steve wants to roll over, curl into Eddie's body and go back to sleep, he's aware it's time to go. He doesn't want to do it in the morning when it's awkward and sad. The harsh light of day ruining this. Eddie had shown him how much he'd missed him, as promised, and Steve's gonna carry that with him, feel it for days. 

This is a better ending than they got last time.

He dresses quietly, and Steve's carrying his boots out of Eddie's bedroom, when another door in the hallway cracks open.

"Oh, hell no," is the pronouncement, and Steve turns and looks. Gareth.

"Yeah, well, I love you, too, Gareth," Steve says, as he keeps walking. He doesn't need any lip from this kid. Never has, never will.

But then he's jostled as Gareth forces his way in front of Steve, blocking his path out of the hallway. Standing in front of him, not allowing him to just sneak away in peace. Does there really need to be salt rubbed into the gaping wound? He's going. Maybe he fucked up. Maybe they both did. But it was one night. Closure. Ripping open old wounds. Whatever you want to call it.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Gareth hisses, and Steve just glares at him. 

"Back to my own hotel, back to my own life. What the fuck is it to you?"

And Gareth grabs Steve's boots, yanking them from his hand, one landing with a thunk against the plush carpet. Then he kicks his foot out, banging it against the door they're stopped in front of, like a crazy person.

"What the fuck is your problem, dude?" Steve snaps, and the second door opens. Goodie, then Jeff, standing in the doorway. Why are they all fucking here? Don't they see enough of each other on the goddamn road? Steve tilts his head back, annoyed, "Great. Just great."

"Steve?" Jeff asks. Like he might be someone else.

"Don't you run away from him again!" Gareth hisses, and Steve feels insane. In what universe did Steve ever run from Eddie? 

"What the fuck? Run? Me? I'm the one that ran? I think you've rewritten history there, kid," Steve says, squatting down to pick up his fallen boot.

And Gareth shoves his shoulders, knocking him off-balance and onto his ass. 

Oh, Steve's gonna kill him.

But Eddie gets there first.

"What in the actual fuck?!" Eddie screams, getting in between Gareth and Steve as Steve puts on the one boot he has control over.

Eddie attempts to wrestle the other away from Gareth, bullying him around the hall.

"I was helping you!" Gareth yells, ducking under Eddie's arm, darting to the side, but that allows Goodie to easily snag the boot being held hostage during the evasive maneuver. He turns it over to Jeff, who hands it down to Steve, waiting for him to get it pulled on, and then helps him to his feet.

Ushering him past Eddie roughhousing Gareth against the wall, making him squawk and squall. Not a thing has changed. It'd be funny if it wasn't so ridiculous.

Jeff holds his arm out behind Steve, a protective gesture, and presses the down button for him.

Steve steps in when the door opens, sees Jeff pressing the intercom on the wall, and then the doors close. The last thing he hears before he descends is a hand slapping against the doors, and Eddie's muffled, "No!"

When Steve steps out of the private elevator, the same doorman from earlier is waiting and steps forward.

"Mr. Harrington, this way," he states, and hovers a hand behind his back, just like Jeff had, like Jeff must be so used to this, that now he was doing it himself. He hears the doorman radio for a car to be sent to the escape hatch and Steve thinks that sounds a bit dramatic, but smiles to himself.

So, there's a back entrance they use, but Eddie decided to have them dropped off out front. He wanted them to be seen, and Steve doesn't try to read into that. Tries not to interpret it as a hard launch, as he's led down a long hallway, far away from the front of the building. 

The doorman holds open a door that leads to a flight of stairs that go down, down, down. Steve smiles at him, even if he's a little embarrassed to be slinking off underground in the middle of the night. Maybe the doorman is used to it. Maybe this is part of his regular job, ushering out Eddie's conquests. 

"Steve, wait!" he hears, as Eddie is rushing down the hallway toward them.

"Mr. Harrington," the doorman says, giving him a choice. He surely works for Eddie, especially if he knows who Steve is without having ever met him before, but he's clearly giving Steve an out. 

"It's okay," Steve says, and the doorman takes a step back, as they both watch Eddie run down towards them only in his jeans, barefoot.

The doorman lets Eddie and Steve step into the stairwell, and then closes the door to the hallway, giving them some privacy. Eddie nods towards another door, and then taps his watch against the plate on the wall, lighting it up green, unlocking it. Once he opens it, it's a small balcony. With some sort of dark screen that Steve assumes only works one way. They can see out, but the world can't see in. Eddie's sure living a fancy life.

The fresh, fall air feels nice against his face, and Steve closes his eyes. Eddie pats his pockets, finds what he's looking for, and then lights a cigarette. When it's offered up, Steve takes it. At least on this side of the building, the street is blissfully empty. The crowd from earlier, totally gone. 

It feels normal, and the sounds of the city hum with life down below.

"Don't go, or at least let me walk you out," Eddie says, hand on Steve's forearm, and he keeps talking, "Are you okay?"

Steve laughs, "Just plotting Gareth's demise."

"I'll help," Eddie says, a small grin on his face. Then he looks serious, "He shouldn't have shoved you."

"I just didn't have my center of balance, and he took advantage like a little shithead."

"Still," Eddie says.

Steve's not mad. Trying to be forced to stay is way better than being encouraged to leave.

"It's fine. He just didn't want me to run again," Steve says, raising an eyebrow, and he smiles when Eddie cackles. "You been telling stories?"

"No. Well, of course, but not about that. He knows what really happened. He's just-"

"Your Robin," Steve fills in.

"Yeah. How is Robbie? We didn't really get a chance to catch up."

Steve laughs, Robin would have eviscerated him had he tried.

"Good, great. Happy. Well, probably not tonight. She doesn't want to clean up any more messes you and I make with each other. But good, otherwise."

Eddie just stares at Steve, eyes unwavering.

"What?" Steve finally asks.

"What if we don't make any more messes?" Eddie asks, big, brown eyes looking into Steve as if he can see his soul if he stares hard enough.

"Eddie," Steve says.

"Seriously. What if we do it right this time?"

"Are you not still on the road?" Steve asks, because he knows the answer to that, and Eddie's a lot more famous than he was the last time he thought he needed to leave Steve in the dust.

"Yeah, but not in the same way. I'm older. Wiser."

"You sure about that?" Steve teases.

"Let a guy dream," Eddie banters back, then adds, "Let a guy make up for his sins."

"Well, you do have plenty of those," Steve teases.

"I do," Eddie admits, then reaches out to squeeze Steve's arms, "But I'm ready. For you. For this," he says, hand sliding down to brush against Steve's wedding band. "How 'bout it?"

Like it's that easy. Like there won't be conversations to have, and the same old problems to tackle. Like there isn't deep-seated hurt to smooth over, overcome.

But none of that matters. Not really. 

Because, yeah. Steve's ready for it, too. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesongfics and follow along with the fun! 🎶

Notes: If you're familiar with the song by Taylor Swift, you'll have recognized where several of the lyrics popped in. (And other songs from Taylor's discography as well.) I love these song challenges, since music inspires me to write things SO often.

This got way longer than I intended. I was gonna write it jointly for this and "wrath" over at @corrodedcoffinfest, but 1313 words went by way too fast, haha. 🤣

[maxwell-grant]

The Penguin: Episode 8 "Great or Little Thing" Series Finale Breakdown

So first and foremost I need to give a shout-out to everyone who's been following this with me and helped me week after week process and articulate this show, this brilliant Penguin Braintrust without which I would be incredibly lost on how to even begin breaking this thing down this way: @davidmann95, @wil4x, @book--wyrm and my friend Lucas who is not on Tumblr.

And so we're here at last, in the end of the show. This took forever. I need a goddamn break. This isn't enough and will never be enough but it'll have to do. So let's get to the episode that has had the world joining hands in the unanimous urge to see the absolute shit kicked out of Oswald, and has made the character at last earn this:

(Episode 1) (Episode 2) (Episode 3) (Episode 4) (Episode 5) (Episode 6) (Episode 7)

So who would have guessed that cartoon dirtbag Rex Calabrese was still gonna turn out to be less of a cartoon dirtbag than Oz the moment we stop seeing him through Oz's eyes. Still a terrible person by every metric, but terrible in the same way a lot of Sopranos characters are terrible: this is, at the end of the day, a job, and you can talk to them, you can sit at a table to get down to business with them, and you probably know people in your life like them, and maybe you can even count of them to get real and even help you when the chips are down, even if it doesn't mitigate everything else that they are or do. At the very end, he was neither the benevolent god-king that Oz saw him as, nor was he the absurd dirtbag gangster we had him pegged as - there was never anything exceptional about Rex Calabrese, he's just a real criminal. Maybe the realest in the show.

I said in the last post that Francis burned with hate at everyone in the world except the person who most ruined her life and haha WOW was I wrong, because it turns she's known the entire goddamn time, and quite possibly no one has ever hated him more than Francis.

Most people in the show who hate Oz do so because he's a destructive bastard who craps on their lives directly, or because he's a lying sneaky fuck who does nothing while their lives are ruined, and Francis has had to deal with both longer than anyone else. I can't possibly count every single way this wildly recontextualizes every single interaction, every moment, everything that Francis has shown us and done since the first episode, because I'd have to recap EVERY scene and line of dialogue she has and we still have so much else to get through.

Why was Francis was so effectively able to withhold affection and hold his feet to the fire and give him that bottomless pit of yearning in his stomach that's driven him to move mountains in pursuit of it? Because Francis wouldn't have loved him even if he gave her the entire world at age 12. She never had any affection or love left for him. Oz was always chasing nothing.

And all along it was Rex who shaped the entire course of Oswald's life, as well as prefiguring his dynamic with Victor, with a single conversation. Oswald spend his childhood wanting for Rex Calabrese to notice and like him and be his friend, and he has no idea how much Rex actually affected his life.

That fateful night at Monroe's was never the feel-good story about his Ma summoning the willpower to live by dancing away the grief, and it was never even just the night of the eternal promise that Oz thinks back to, it was a fucking trap to kill Oz. Nothing he has in his life is real, nothing he says is true, he has never not lived in complete total delusion.

The sheer disgust in Deirdre O'Connell's face at the "I do too". How much of her personality we completely understand was born from this absolute resentment she's nursed for decades towards Oz.

And this rotten little turd comes at her with a perfect speech that hits her every insecurity and bitterness and spite and situation and convinces her to give him another chance. The nature versus nurture thing again - Oswald was shaped by hardship, by decades of hard work and neglect, by the total absence of his mother's love while in turn being forced to live in stunted childhood dedicating himself to always taking care of her, and maybe what we're seeing here is heavily distorted by Francis's POV - or maybe he was always a little monster, because this guy talking to her is The Penguin, the same guy doing the same things in the same way, either way it doesn't matter. Again, born fucking ready.

So now we see our three major supporting characters - Sofia, Victor and Francis - all of them have shown that they had a chance to walk away from Oz, to not let him ruin their lives further. All of them could have left Oswald behind, and all of them should have left Oswald behind, but they had to come back and justify the choice to do so, they had to get satisfaction, it couldn't have been for nothing. Victor had his car and a girlfriend in a bus waiting for him, Sofia had a jet to take her to Italy, and Francis had Rex Calabrese ready and waiting to put him down without a word. All of them had a chance to get out of the show and never look back, but like Oz, they had to rectify and overcorrect for an insult.

Sofia can't walk away from Gotham without punishing Oz for turning her in, for killing Alberto and further lying to her, she can't accept that this man, this embodiment of Carmine's legacy and hold over her, is still out there unpunished getting away with what he's done. Victor can't walk away from Gotham knowing that his parents did everything right and still died for nothing, that every hurtful thing Oz said was right, he can't let "They don't give out awards for dying in the projects" be the last word in his and their lives. And Francis can't walk away from Oz, who killed her two sons and keeps lying about it, who ruined her life and now keeps promising he will take care of her and acting like everything will be fine, she can't let this pass even if she can't kill him either, and so she'll make him give her the world and die trying.

The tragedy of what happened is what hurt/broke them - the added insult of what Oz said or did is what they just can't live with. It can't be for nothing.

Goddamnit it, it was really just too telegraphed for it to not happen the way it did.

I fucking knew it the moment the episode started and we got the grungy boss orchestral take on the funny Penguin chords that we were in for some calamitous shit.

We see at first that, in spite of seemingly failing, Vic has graduated to the point he can give his own speeches, gain his own allies, run his own cons - he's not just Oz's proxy, but will manage to convince the others to become such as well, and he's coming at this from a place of complete sincere belief in everything that Oz says, all of the man of the people rhetoric he will so thoroughly pervert and then sell to the people actually responsible for everything he told Victor he was fighting against.

Zeke walks up to him nearly crying about how Sofia blew it all up and Vic instantly asks back where's Oz - not because he doesn't care about Crown Point, but he's already processed it and has already learned with Oz how to just barrel forward regardless, now it's time to get to work. Victor who so readily throws himself into rescuing Oz again and again. Victor who's lost everything - he doesn't have his family, he doesn't have Graciela, he doesn't have the other mobs backing him up, and right now he doesn't even have Crown Point anymore, all he has is Oz.

The man in red who reads the Law Gave him three weeks of life, Three little weeks in which to heal His soul of his soul's strife, And cleanse from every blot of blood The hand that held the knife - The Ballad of Reading Gaol

Sofia dressed in two thematically appropriate outfits - the red scarf echoing both the first outfit we see her in, back to covering her neck but in control of her own collar, and the outfit we see her the farthest back in time with at the start of Episode 4, and with her final crimson fur coat outfit accompanying her final greatest triumph and ultimate defeat in the show. Not only that, but in this episode she also gets to perform characteristically appropriate stylized torture - holding a family intervention and therapy session with mafioso torture tactics to try and wrench the truth out of her victimizer, enacting calculated sadistic yet righteous justice via psychological breakdown, and ultimately allowing the woman he victimized and wronged to take her killshot at him.

See, it's not just that Sofia Gigante is a Batman Villain, or that she's well passed the threshold of supervillain. Cristin Milioti doesn't play Sofia like she's a new character, which she basically is, and she isn't just playing a tortured gangster lady protagonist dipping into camp villain territory, which she also is - she plays Sofia Gigante like she's been a Batman Rogues headliner for decades now stepping into the spotlight once again, like she's the dark modern revamp of someone Adam West would have thought and she's just always been around showing up in stuff along with The Penguin, like she's only not fighting or teaming up with Two-Face in this because he's not here yet. It is crucially important that Sofia passes every standard of Batman Villain imaginable with flying colors, in part because it helps to reinforce that The Penguin is a monster all his own.

Even here, with as much power as she's ever possibly held over him, reduced him to a whimpering begging mess to be killed off in a second, she is so shocked at the sheer brazen selfishness and delusion and level of bullshit on display, that even now he won't break character and think about his actions and admit to what he's done not even to save his own mother from mutilation, that she just loses the script entirely. Her entire show of power collapses and she physically recoils from sheer disgust at just how low Oswald is, at just how much he lacks the ability to even suffer for what he's done. Realizing that there is simply not enough of a soul in this filthy beast to even torture, and that however much she hates Oswald for ruining her life, someone had a prior claim all along.

Eve - Sofia - Francis in the end united in, however much they may dislike each other, however different their circumstances may be, there is nothing they could possibly do to each other that would be worse than what Oswald has done to all of them, joined in silent agreement that their rage ultimately belongs in a bullet fired at Oz's head and that they deserve their kill shot at this man.

"I had enough to give, Oswald".

This really is gonna be the high point of Francis's life from this point on.

Aw man, I liked Sofia's scruffy dirtbag detective, I wanted him to stick around as one of the reocurring characters like the movie cops

Oh Victor, sweet kind Victor, you couldn't possibly ask for anything worse in the entire world.

Oz feebly already beginning to lie and spin his new version of the events, that Sofia stabbed him and fucked up with Ma, and here comes Victor with the reversal of their dynamic, seeing this guy who's been brought low by the oppressive force looming over his life that he must defeat (because all that Victor knows about Sofia at this point is that she used to be Oz's boss and is now out to kill them, that she is scary as hell, and regardless of whether or not she was the Hangman, she just bombed his fucking neighborhood) and reaching out to him with a speech about solidarity and dignity and self-worth and picking yourself up by your fucking bootstraps to save the day. And Oz responds by coaching him on how to be a better bullshitter. Because to Oz, he knows the playbook by heart, but Victor meant it all.

Victor rebuilds Oz from basically nothing by providing him with the validation that he so desperately always craved and never got, saying all the things he always wanted to hear, poised so they can finish this together, poised to give him not only the army he asked for, but a full-blown revolution, and he never once asks for anything in return. Just, goddamnit this isn't hurting any less.

"She, sh-she'll never look at me again, all right?....unless I get this done. Got a promise to keep." Maybe the one and only time his mask ever fully cracks. For a second. He rebuilds it right back up and gets to work, but it cracked. He knows what he's doing, up until the moment he doesn't. It's that simple.

A lot of what drives Oz is acceptance, and a lot of what drives him is his desire to be accepted in worlds that have been declared, by how they run themselves and by the people that inhabit these worlds, as worlds that he was never going to be included in. And one of those worlds is the hierarchy and the hoi polloi of the political realm and the power within the political realm because he understands that all politics are corrupt essentially, and the damage that he could do then in being part of a political infrastructure of Gotham interests him. I thought it would be nice if, in that time jump, he had been invited to maybe a gala or two, you know what I mean? It'd be awkward. He'd be slurping out of the fucking teacup, there'd be stains on the table, he wouldn't really fit in, but he’d fucking love being there. - Colin Farrell

Mirroring the scene in Episode 01 where he adjusts himself next to the car, scuffing himself up to look like the sleazy funnyman the Falcones keep around for kicks, now he's dressing up as much as he can and asking Victor for input, because he truly values what the kid thinks and, goddamnit.

"C'mahn, I don't bite", pfft yeah, not in this movie universe anyway. And to the same guy you did the nose-gushing-blood bit to, even.

Minutes inside of City Hall and he already parks his ass right on Bella Real's seat - not as any kind of intentional slight against her, it's just naturally where he goes to, even before the scene ends and we see his new plans start to come to fruition.

Guy who takes offense at Viti calling Sofia a psycho and then goes up to Councilman Hady talking about the unhinged loony bin broad who went "full psycho" that he's handing to him on a platter, pointedly calling her Falcone.

At first I thought it was funny that Sal Maroni was getting blamed here for Bliss and the underground lab, but then I remembered that he was actually the one who introduced Drops to Gotham and the whole epidemic that became, so if anything it is an extremely easy part of the story to sell, even without his body being down there and all.

"You're gonna have some trouble, Oz" - pointedly smiling and calling him Oz instead of Oswald as he had up to this point, because by that point he's already a crony and already willing to work with this guy handing him all these miracles.

"You wanna be welcome? You gotta look, clean" Yes Father Pal, I Shall Become A Capitalist Caricature

You can see in the walk around, in his look at Bella Real and the mayor's office high up above and the steps, how little Ozzie's gears turn once again and rebuild his life after losing the streets and everything that happened with Ma - This is the next nest, this is the next throne, this is next schmuck I gotta cozy up to, this is the next boss looking down on me that I gotta destroy, there's the reward waiting for me if I do. This is the one that matters, I did everything in the shit and now I'm gonna get me sum goddamn respeck, Feh Ma of course.

And before all of this we see Sofia's next move, showing the ways in which she is good at this, the ways in which she truly is something outside of the worldview of what these gangsters are used to, and why she is going to lose. "Because I can". She is good at commanding a room and promising rewards beyond the wildest dreams of these street crimelords because she can offer everything they want and lose nothing she cares about for it, she will hand them everything and dip because she can, and she is going to lose because she can lose. Because she still thinks there is an end in sight for her, she thinks she will get to walk away from this universe and go meet a happy ending at a cafe in Florence.

It's not just that Sofia was born into privilege and never really lived in Gotham and could just hop onto a plane out of here anytime, it's also that she has room in her life for introspection, self-awareness, consideration towards others, and all those things that come easier when you're "born full", and not when you're the starving hustler for whom leaving the city was never an option even if he had all the money in the world, the hungry animal who wants this, wants everything, harder than anyone has ever wanted anything. The guy who has no room for anything else in his brain other than a perpetual bullshit generator set to a 24/7 chorus of "I GOTTA WIIIIIIN"

Another element to her that I really love is, she's good at this. She knows she's good at this, she was supposed to take over the family. She may not know the ins and outs of the game as it currently stands, but she is good at this. Some of it is, I think that's the only world she knows, and some of it is there's something in there, that's always been there, and she believes it is rightfully hers. There's an element of, "I need to have made it worth it for something", and if that means power, then okay. - Cristin Milioti

There’s a level for both of them that they enjoy each other’s suffering, and that sort of leads to Sofia’s downfall. If she didn’t need to see Oz suffer she might have been free. And she really gets in her own way in that regard and largely because Oz is this crutch that she just cannot let go of. - Lauren LeFranc

And here we get to the end of season 1 of HBO's The Sofia Show, the bittersweet in hindsight but extremely cathartic torching of the set as a last hard-earned spiritual victory by our hard-done-by lady protagonist. All of her family is dead, the city is out for her blood, she gathered all the remaining criminals for One Last Job with everything on the line, and she is having a very fun time with her montage destroying her home and family name beyond recovery. She is going to finish her character arc, get to finally kill her former comedy sidekick turned mortal nemesis, and hop on a plane to The White Lotus resort straight away into greener (if only marginally less fucked up) genre territory away from this ugly nightmare city. Alas, this is not The Sofia Show, and it's time for her theme suite to catch up to her once again and tell us of how very badly this is all going to go for her.

And she can't even be that shocked, when the high of burning it all down goes away, when she sees that old Ozzie Cobb wriggled his way out of this jam regardless and is now coming at her with a speech, she can't even react to it. Deep down she knows how the rest of the night is going to go. She may not have expected Arkham outright, but she was braced for a loathsome fate.

It rules so much they give him a big fat fight the power speech with a bloody revolution montage, and we can only sit there aghast with Sofia at the sheer audacity of him to act like this, like a man of the people, thinking he truly has the right to be talking like this and to her of all people.

And now we see how Oz won the gang war, and the next domino to fall on the downfall of Gotham City, and the first effect of his own rise to power: like The Riddler, he has toppled the order of things and he has turned people into extensions of himself, Victor being the first and the one who gave him this revolution, of all the little mini Penguins out there devouring the social structure of Gotham crime forever. You kill the boss, you become the boss now. Everyone can bleed and everyone can be killed and everyone must be killed in the quest to the top, no handrails or codes, they wouldn't invite him and so he crashed. After he unified the criminal underdogs, Victor rallied the underdogs beneath the underdogs, and now the streets are a jungle where there will never be an end to the wars over who gets to be atop the food chain, because they are all fighting to see who gets to be the next Penguin.

For decades people have written Oswald Cobblepot as a creep and a sleaze and an incel who hurts/kills women for rejecting him, or who is chronically insecure about them and I can very confidently say nobody ever did anything half as horrible and half as truthful and half as meaningful as LeFranc did here. We see the other reason why it was so imperative to her that Oswald not be a misogynist, and it has nothing to do with just making him more likeable or sympathetic or honorable. We get in this episode the pay off to the thoughtline: okay, he's actually a gangster who respects women, he does not act like every other prestige drama gangster who ever lived, we are going to center women in this show and he will treat them with respect - now let's watch how he HORRIBLY screws them over in the name of this respectful gentleman persona he lives by, let's watch how he betrays them in the ways that matter most, how he even makes them wish they were dead without personally ever lifting a finger to harm them, let's do some grown-up feminist commentary in Batman for a change and highlight the ways in which men profit from belittling and oppressing and destroying women even when they're pointedly not misogynistic and even self-professed genuine allies to them.

And so it is that the only Falcone mobster who isn't misogynistic towards Sofia is the one who screws her the most horribly. He will murder every man he comes across, he will murder every man he could have been and every man who is even marginally better than him in any way, he will push all of his brothers out of the nest and not tolerate any other big shot in town bigger than him and not even the only man, the only person, in town who loves him will be spared. But he is a gentleman, so he leaves the women alive (well, except for Nadia Maroni, but she was a rival big shot and worse, his boss for a day or two, so she obviously had to go eventually).

I thought about his greatest fear, and it made a lot of sense to me that his greatest fear would be that love is transactional. That if he does not achieve a level of power and give Francis certain types of things that he’s promised her she might not love him. And that informs every relationship he has on the show It was always important to me, and this was always part of my initial pitch, that if Oz was to achieve a level of power—and that is something that was not up for discussion, that was my job that I was tasked with for the season—that he has to lose something emotionally. It can’t come without a cost. - Lauren LeFranc

"the crooked politics that have allowed wealthy elites like Sofia Falcone to wreak havoc". Oz has weaponized the status quo against her so throughly that she is going away under the exact same image that she did it the first time, as a privileged serial killer and Falcone. She doesn't even get to have her new name anymore, and the rest of Gotham does not see her as the new and strange and horrific new threat that she embodied in Oz's life - she is going away as just another upper-class monster like her dad.

The triumph that Oswald has fought his entire life for, the Big One that he's scraped and fought and hoped his entire life would happen and he'd get to show his Ma at the end, the thing that he's going to throw a party for at this moment, is just a politician on tv saying things that Oswald claims he told him to say.

All of our 3 major supporting characters will thus reach the high point of their lives, on the moment before it is ripped away and they are destroyed forever. Francis gets to finally spit all of her hatred back to Oz and take her revenge on him, and her babies appear before her alive and unharmed. Sofia gets to burn down her father and his legacy once and for all, and is on her way to kill her nemesis and finally be free of it all. Victor succeeds in helping Oz win, they have revolutionized the gangs and defeated the big bad Falcone and he's done right by his new family what he couldn't do with his old one.

And of course, Oswald finally wins - he is the last man standing, he's defeated his greatest enemy, he is the big shot of Gotham and his victory is, so he claims, right there on the tv for his Ma to see, he can finally get what he's always wanted now - and then he doesn't, and then his soul crumbles, before he finishes the job by murdering his heart.

Oz didn’t need to do that, like it wasn’t actually necessary. In that moment, Victor did not betray him. He did nothing wrong. In fact, the thing that he did “wrong” in Oz’s eyes is that he loves him and that he cares about him and Oz actually cares about Victor. I think by the end Oz sees that as a really big problem because he loves his mother so deeply and Sofia took advantage of that love, and then it became sort of a weakness in his eyes. Victor saw him at his most vulnerable and for Oz to achieve the power that he thinks he needs, he can’t have that level of humanity. He can’t have that heart with him anymore. So he stifles his own heart. He kills it. - Lauren LeFranc

When he said to Vic in the sewer, “They'll tell stories about us one day, kid,” he meant it. At that stage, he actually saw that he could rise and Vic could come with him. It's only when the vulnerability and the shock of his mother being taken from him, and the place of vulnerability and danger that puts him in, that he realizes there's no more love, there's no more affection, there's no one else I'm going to have in my life that can lead me to such vulnerability as my mother has led me to or as this kid could potentially lead me to. - Colin Farrell

He's not relishing being horrible. When he realizes, "Oh God, Victor makes me vulnerable. I can't have that shit anymore." The way that Lauren wrote it, and the way Colin played, there's such sadness under the horror. You're like, oh my God, how fucked up do you have to be that the one person who you feel you have any connection with now, you have to snuff out because it makes you weak. What happened to you? - Matt Reeves

"You think she forgives me?" Once again, the mask cracks. Only around Victor. Only because of Victor. And he can't have that again.

And thus we get to the final parallel between our 3 side characters - that in the end, all they did was serve Oz's own rise to power, and hand him the world in exchange for their lives. All they were to him were additional steps in the ladder that began with his brothers. Francis gave him his life, his drive, his motivation and eternal justification, the insatiable pit in his gut driving him to do this forever. Sofia got him his promotion to Falcone lackey, and then she got him another promotion by handing him the tools with which he could become an underground boss and rally them, and then she got him another promotion by handing him the keys to his political career on a silver platter. And Victor saved his life, more than once. He helped him, provided the justification he has craved for a lifetime, rebuilt him, gave him his revolution, gave him the streets, and showed him the last thing he needed to kill to make it to the top.

Wow man let me tell my good friend, The Family Butcherer, who butchers every family he gets his hands on whether a crime family or a literal one, how much I think of him as family.

"They don't give out awards for dying in the projects"

Just like with Squid, Vic's emotional intelligence dooms him. He sees this man whom is like family to him brought to his lowest point, crushed beyond measure, in what he assumes was just a phenomenally terrible stroke of fate and not something he had any blame whatsoever for, and reaches out to pat him in the back, emotionally reassure him that it wasn't all for nothing, that his family would surely be proud of him, and that there's things to look forward to.

Vic threw away his chance to walk away into the sunset with Graciela and he just had to come back to save Oz (AND Sofia, the one who'd bomb his neighborhood) from the Maronis, the least of all possible evils in his life and his city and who never even noticed him. Victor only narrowly missed out in 2 situations that Oz would have absolutely left him to die in, so there just had to be a third where he'd die in the absolute worst way possible. Not with Sofia's gunshot to the head, not bombed to rubble along with his neighborhood, no, Mr. Carmine 2 had to make it as painful and intimate as possible.

Vic the only Number Two in town who couldn't kill his boss and in fact never even considered doing so, and so he dies - there is just no room for him anymore, not in Oz's life, nor in the new Gotham that the two built together.

LEFRANC: "You see Oz become this next level monster, I remember the take too. Jennifer and I look at each other, Colin transforms his face in this really remarkable way, that I don't think any of us fully anticipated could be achieved in that way." - The Penguin Podcast Episode 8

I knew that the general sentiment was that, by the end, they kind of wanted to, in a way, kill the Oz that we met in the film. I felt that there was a sense of creative responsibility that leaned towards, “We cannot have this man as a likable character,” which is hard I think they wanted that in the earth by the end of the eight hours. They wanted that RIP. That's gone. I hated that scene. I really did. I was fucking so pissed off. It felt in performing it as — guess what? — you would like it to feel in viewing it. It felt gross, it felt cruel, it felt absolutely insane, and it felt like Oz was reaching a point of no return. - Colin Farrell

So the day after I watched this episode, my friend Lucas messaged me in the afternoon sending me audio messages, "Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch! He stole his identity, he didn't even die with his fucking name! They'll never find him! Fuck, goddamnit!" "ELE MORREU COMO INDIGENTE, PORRA" and, yeah. Yeah. That gets to the heart of it.

If Vic was just a guy taking his money, if Vic was purely transactional, if he was just another Link, he'd have made it. Oz wouldn't have given a shit about him, Oz would have died on the sidewalk when the Maronis hit at minimum. All this piece of shit wants is love, and when he gets it, when it's finally non-transactional, from the ONLY person in the entire show who loved him, he has to kill it, he doesn't know how to deal with it, he has to smother his heart.

He has to become Carmine Falcone 2, strangling the poor and vulnerable of Gotham while pinning all of his crimes on Sofia.

Vic just wanted his family back, man. He just wanted a family again, to at least show his family that they didn't die for nothing. The thing that Oz spits in his face as he dies. It wasn't for nothin.

This show has so many dozen little variations of Penguin getting his heart broken and retaliating cruelly, but this one hurts the most partially because it has no basis whatsoever on any pre-existing insult or cruelty, there was nothing that warranted this, and you still get why Oz felt that he had to do it. The lowest, weakest moment of his life, and he can never permit anything like it ever again.

Victor was his heart, and The Penguin remembered that his heart only exists to be broken.

Victor punctures the illusion, and he cannot have that. Everything about The Penguin hinges on that singular fact of his life: he cannot and will not break character. He cannot break character, otherwise he dies, otherwise Gotham City will eat him alive, otherwise he has done it all for nothing. That is the ultimate threat Sofia posed to him, and why his ultimate victory comes only from creating a perfect delusion and spinning everything that happened in service of it. Because all those things said at Monroe's? They weren't true - his Ma, y'know, it was just her disease acting up, that psycho did something to her, she wasn't thinkin straight, and it was really Sofia that stabbed him and did all that fucked up shit, and his Ma is really happy that she got the penthouse in the end and that he didn't put her down, look, she's crying tears of joy even, I gotta keep doing everything for her.

Everything and everyone in his life, he can spin in service of the delusion, they can all play dress-up with him forever, except Victor. Victor may not have the slightest clue as to what Oz actually did, but he's seen too much, he knows he has vulnerabilities, he knows the thing that Oz needs to bury far, far more than all the horrible things he's done. Killing Victor is maybe the one thing that he absolutely cannot in the slightest spin a decent delusion out of, that he did it for him or did it for noble reasons or anything other than out of disgusting self-serving weakness.

But who's Victor? Some kid who died in the projects and didn't even have a name? Someone with nobody left to mourn him, not even a street to get back to, nothing but a guy who's already forgot him?

That Victor Aguilar? Never heard of him

“I will never think my mother doesn't love me. She was having a bad day when she stuck that bottle in me. She was under a lot of pressure. She nearly lost her finger. She stuck a bottle in my belly. It was a bad day. She didn't get a good night's sleep the night before.” It's that kind of thing. He'll make up fucking whatever. He's already lying when he goes, and he's stitching up his belly, and Vic says, “What happened?” And he says, “Sofia, she stuck me with a bottle.” He's already beginning to bury the truth. - Colin Farrell

He needed your love, and then you didn't give it to him, and you didn't obey, and you didn't do those things that he needed, and then you mentally aren't there for him in the way that he needs, but he's got to physically keep you around because he's too weak to not do that. He can't give you the gift that he promised you in Episode Six, he's too weak of a man to do that. And so he needs to hold onto you, but under his terms. - Lauren LeFranc

There's a thing that happened on that last day that made my blood run cold, which was I felt Oz not love me anymore. I felt his coldness, and I think that Francis felt it too, and she always had so much of his attention and so much of his love. I don't even think she realized how much she had until he withdrew it. And when he withdrew it, it was utter and… slightly terrified. I was just lying in that bed, I just felt the love leave the room. It's a real thing, and it's gone, yeah, and I think Francis feels it, too. - Deirdre O'Connell

He's this man who is clawing his way to the top, and I knew he wanted power, but what what does that mean for him? That's where I started to conceive of like, he wants his mother's love, and he wants people's affection. He wants to be revered. That was like the main thrust for me of what defines power for Oz, and then by the end you realize that, when he doesn't get those things, he doesn't get his mother's acceptance, he still gets it. He makes sure he gets it. - Lauren LeFranc

So bowled over and miserable I was that I didn't even notice until later that he was wearing a version of the classic Bronze Age/Triumphant get-up.

If the pattern of his life is unjustifiably cruel retribution for slights and insults, perceived or not, by the end Francis had done it to him as well. That she never loved him and in fact always hated him more than anything and anyone else is the biggest insult of all, and so he punishes her the most cruelly, knowingly or not.

"You are who you are, and you couldn't change if you tried."

He will never stop telling Rex Calabrese stories, he will never stop bringing up his brothers and mom as a sympathy ploy, and even if he will never truly love her again, he will never stop ruining the world in her name, he will never stop, he will never stop, he will never stop.

You had to sit through 8 hours chipping away at all of his fun and charm and wacko comedy antics and motivations and all the scruples and principles that he turns out to have less and less of, until he butchers them all in the very end along with the heart of the show. Penguin burning through all of his lovable quirks and charm, everything that we loved about him in the movie, until he comes through as a black-hearted bastard of unlimited malice who will never stop growing and getting worse and putting more lives in danger. Not only as much of a lowlife backstabber as we initially assumed him to be in the movie, but far worse than what we could have imagined.

I said as much that the first episode marks the transition from The Batman to The Penguin with the titlecard, and this brings it back around. The show dies with Victor, we get Sofia's post-credits Nick Fury Tease with Selina's letter and with Selina's theme playing and a final grace note of hope for Sofia, and thus the only character in the show to end with anything resembling positive, and then we get the first scene of The Batman Part 2. showing us the horrible thing in this world that Batman will have to defeat for us.

RIP Bella Real, we all know this asshole is gonna become mayor, and he's not waiting for the next election.

Credit to @book--wyrm for pointing out one more horrible fucking thing, that at the final dance, his hands are covered in scratches, much like the hands of Carmine Falcone when he comforted Sofia.

“One of the very early things that Lauren pitched was that ending with Eve where she looks like Francis,” said Reeves. “He can’t get what he needed from his mother because she’s no longer in that state because of the dark events and what he’s done, so he recreates it in this other way with Eve, and it’s very disturbing,” said Reeves. “That was something we thought was a great idea and was so emblematic of this guy’s internal state. It’s like, even as he now seems to have gotten that first major step toward being the kingpin, you know that some part of him will never be filled. - Matt Reeves

When I read that, I was like, “Oh my god, we're going full Bates Motel here.” But again, it speaks to what has become a pathological inability to accept the world that he has played such a heavy hand in creating. As far as he's concerned, he's just doing what he needs to do to live the life of a good son. And look, his mother can't talk anymore, so he needs a surrogate. I mean, it would be kept out of the sexual realm — it wasn't about that. It was about the intimacy and the tenderness and the pride that Oz always so deeply needed to feel his mother had for him, and pride in him, that he never really got from her. The one time when he finally can say to her, can go to her bedside and say, “It's done. Everything you said that I was capable of, everything you said that I should aspire to, it's done. I am now the boss. I took it from everyone else.” And he gets nothing back. His mother's already gone. That's just too horrific for him, so he needs a surrogate. He would say to Eve, “Look, I'm grieving. I'm finding it hard to deal with the fact that my mother's alive, but she's not here. She's gone, but she's fully present at the same time, physically, but she's nowhere there. She doesn't recognize me. I don't recognize the woman she's become. Do me a favor. We used to dance together and talk at the end of the night. Would you put on her dress and just let me pretend?” But it was twisted. It was twisted, but I dug it. He needs it from his mom so much. And again, his imagination is so potent that he just cast her as that figure, that most prominent and most powerful figurehead in his life, which has always been his mother. She's got to stay alive. He's got to hear that he did well from her. He's got to hear that she's proud. Look, by the end, he's bananas, as they say in the film. Good cop, batshit cop. At the end, he's batshit. - Colin Farrell

Remember when this show had fun Dolly Parton end credits, remember when this almost looked like it was gonna be fun and light-hearted compared to the movie and The Riddler: Year One

So turns out all along they actually had something real twisted planned with the name Karlo, and the Clayface concept that evokes. Asking his prostitute girlfriend to shapeshift into his crying comatose mom in the room upstairs so he can finally get the dance with her atop the world that he craved his entire life and have her tell him how proud she is that he ruined everything forever.

It is not a good ending, but it is his happy ending. He achieved everything he wanted in the smallest possible amount and at the highest cost imaginable, and thus he burns more than ever to take more and more in the name of a satisfaction he will never, ever have. He ended his arch-nemesis, and he didn't have to kill her, that's not what a gentleman does. He got the streets, and he's poised to take political power, and there is nobody left to care about, nobody except the only person who's ever mattered. He can still keep taking care of Ma as a justification for all the shit he will do now and forever, but he doesn't actually have to take care of her anymore, he doesn't even have to love her or grovel her for validation anymore: He has a Ma who will tell him everything he wants to hear, forever.

Of course, he may not have his three dance partners anymore - his Ma is in a vegetative state, Sofia has been locked away once again, and that kid, what was his name again, ain't around. But then, he will simply move on to new ones: He didn't actually lose his first dance partner, his Ma is fine, look at her telling him how proud she is of him and everything he's done and how unstoppable he is now. And he has a new partner in City Hall who is all too eager to play along to everything he says and does, who will receive and spit back his rhetoric just as Vic did to the streets of Gotham. And if he's defeated his nemesis and dance partner, well, not for long. There's a new one waiting for him. He never wins without losing. He will never again live without his next dance partner there to hound and foil him at every turn. There will always be something in the way.

It was exciting to me, the idea that we’re going to meet Oz as a mobster, and to play him as just a man. There’s nothing fantastical about him. There’s so many people like Oz in our world who hold a lot of power, who also connect with people because they speak, on some level, the truth. They can be charming and engaging, but also really terrifying and calculated, and not necessarily doing what they say that they will do or caring for people in the way that they say that they will. It felt so timely and so important to really engage with a guy like Oz and not turn away from him, but actually turn towards him so we can start to unpack, in our own society, what makes a man like Oz so appealing, and what makes him equally appalling. - Lauren LeFranc

I think Oz has always been someone who believes that everything he’s saying in the moment is true, and he creates worlds and illusions for himself to merit his actions. He does it sometimes very briefly in impulsive moments, and then sometimes more methodically, and in the end the fact that he didn’t get from his mother what he’s always desired isn’t good enough for him. So he has to create this strange fantasy live in this delusion of his own making, and pay Eve to dress as his mother and force her to tell him he she’s proud of him. So mentally, emotionally, Oz is embracing his own delusion. I think, for the audience, I hope they more deeply understand him psychologically and realize that there is a deeply broken man inside. He is violent and problematic and and very emotional. And that’s really the man that will carry into the next film. - Lauren LeFranc

And it has to end in a total reversal of the movie ending - The Batman ends with showing there is a light in the darkness, that this tortured broken man can fix his mistakes and lead us into something better. The Penguin ends by grabbing your face and desperately yelling at you SOMEBODY FUCKING SAVE US, HE WILL ONLY GET WORSE. The Batman ends with telling us Batman can save us all, and The Penguin ends with telling us Penguin will kill every last one of us in real life if he hasn't already, if nobody stops him.

And so I'll leave these last partings words to the Penguin Braintrust as we close off this series - see you all in therapy and in theaters when The Batman: Part 2 drives us all completely insane once more.

@wil4x

I don't think this Penguin is someone Batman can tolerate, I don't think Bruce can ever save Gotham's soul with a force of corruption as big as Penguin taking root in the seats of power. No amount of informant work can justify letting a monster like Penguin stay "King of Gotham". I think there's an argument to be made that Oz is a bigger threat to Batman's overall long-term mission than guys like Joker or Riddler. Those are huge immediate threats, but Penguin does a lot more long-term damage to the very soul of Gotham and its people. As long as The Penguin is on top, there's no hope, Gotham will never not be the most corrupt and nightmarish place on earth with him in charge

@book--wyrm

He will truly climb anything no loss so great it can't be flipped into an asseet A nuke Francis armed out of pain and grief and desperation and despair And poor vic Only wanting to do good And instead he saves gotham’s own typhoid mary of misery

@davidmann95

so the thing is Oz kills hope for Gotham forever in this

he's replacing the mayor who stands for hope at the end of The Batman with a corrupt comics rando built on a lie so he can install himself as the power behind the power forever Batman can't be alluded to in the slightest until the very end because it can't be until there's no lingering 'aw, I don't want my boy to get Batman'ed' it can't be until we understand truly and completely why this man proves the necessity of someone out there to stop him

The other stabs at this with Oswald, from what I’ve seen, are trying to make him low-down and dirty and vile enough to be a ‘proper’ Batman villain. But this already made him low-down and dirty and vile. And made us love him for it. This isn’t about ‘fixing him’, this is about taking him all the way to the top He’d accept no less

This is about making him operatically nightmarish enough to be a guy Batman is going to fight forever

Lucas

VENGEANCE, GET OUT RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

[majestick-posts-op]

Nothing hurts me as much as realising that all 3 of the asl kids are, in their own ways, children who should have not have been born to their parents.

Let me explain:

We start with Ace, the obvious. His whole narrative is of being his father's son and the sins that entrails. Even if Rouge absolutely loved him and I choose to think Roger did that too, him bring raised by them just wasn't meant to be. Not meant to be because of what the world thought. Its tragic. Its cruel.

Sabo on the other hand is the epithome of "all children deserce parents but not all parents deserve children". There's no need to go into detail on how awful his parents were because you all know that slready, but i will shine light on the fact that he only existed so his parents could have an heir. Someone to groom into who they wanted. Someone to marry off and be shitty. Sabo was wanyed, had a porpuse, and no one ever told him he shouldn't have existed. But he still knew that none of that love was real. That anything the nobles did was in spite of the "commoners". He choose to not be like them.

And then there's Luffy whom the fandom does NOT TALK ABOUT ENOUGH. His whole thing is that he... was an unwanted child. Seriously. No matter who you believe his mother/other parents to be, I highly doubt that them and Dragon had Luffy consciously. I'm not bashing him, it was made clear in egghead how much Dragon loves Luffy, and he suffers vecause of this. But that still doesn't change the fact that he would have never have been raised by his parents even if they had been alive. And then, Garp neglected him. He was left alone in a village or in the jungle for most of his childhood and had no one to take care of his except a teenage girl who was a child herself untill Shanks came along. You all tend to forget, but Luffy was angry as a child. Full on young Ace angry. The only thing that made him change was Shanks himself because he finally had found an actual adult who actually cared about him. It only got better with Dadan and the bandits. But it was always like that for luffy. Getting left behind, being abbandoned, being the sacrifice because no one could have been with him.

Its ironic and even more cruel that Ace ended up being the one who wondered if he deserved to have been born. Because he was the only one of the 3 who came from loving parents that actually wanted a kid because they wanted a family. And they would have loved to see Ace grow up.

So there you have them, folks. The asl brothers.

The desired child whose birth's circustances made him a monster.

The desired child who only existed to be a monster and a pawn.

And the undesired child, who shouldn't have existed at all.

[seventh-district]

Midnight Hour

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks.

You awake in the middle of the night to find your lover in tears.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,139

Content Warnings: [crying (obviously)] [non-specific mentions of Astarion's past trauma] [this fic was written by someone who hasn't actually played the game and that might show in the details/the lack thereof]

Blinking your tired eyes open, you squint at the light of the crackling fire in front of you. Closing them again, you let out a soft sigh as you try to guess at the current time. Given that you woke on your own, you’re assuming it’s likely close to, but not quite, time for you to take over tonight’s watch shift.

Your group has fallen into a routine where you pair off into teams of two, and a different team keeps watch each night. Tonight’s turn belongs to you and Astarion, and he’s taken the first half of the shift as usual. You usually, ironically, sleep your best on the nights that he keeps watch, in spite of only getting half the amount of sleep as you do on the nights another team has the job.

You suppose you can credit the fact that, at the end of the day, Astarion is a creature of the night. Something about knowing he has the upper hand when it comes to any unwanted nighttime visitors your group may encounter is… reassuring. To you, as well as to the others in the group, loathe as some of them may be to admit it. That is, once they all felt confident in his promises to not make a surprise midnight snack of them, at least.

Tonight is a bit of an exception, though, and you’re not quite sure what woke you early this time. You typically sleep soundly until he gently coaxes you awake, nails combing through your hair, voice soft and apologetic in your ear. He’s always somewhat reluctant to wake you, but he does so nonetheless, having learned his lesson after the first time he made the executive decision to let you sleep the whole night through. His arguments of “You really looked like you could use the rest.” and “What’s one sleepless night? I can sleep when I’m dead.” didn’t hold much water in the face of the way he dragged ass through the entire next day.

In “the spirit of fairness” and “proving that he can stick to an agreement,” he never tried to take the whole shift by himself again. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with how guilty he felt when he heard the disappointment in your tone when you awoke that first morning and discovered he hadn’t stuck to the plan. Definitely.

Laying there in the quiet, you try and fail to pinpoint what feels different about tonight. You don’t hear any strange noises, nothing feels unusual, and blinking your eyes open again you raise your head a bit to look around the fire. The rest of the group are circled around the other sides of the heat source, sleeping soundly. You figure that you’re probably just getting used to this routine by now, and your body simply woke up around your usual shift change time on its own.

Still, that doesn’t explain the vague, unplaceable feeling that something is just… off.

You let out a sigh that turns into a yawn as you stretch and roll away from the fire onto your back. Letting your head roll further to the left, your eyes land on the familiar sight of your lover’s back as he sits in his usual position beside you, diligently watching your six.

He’s taken to placing his bedroll right next to yours, insisting that you lie between the fire and himself. You couldn’t really argue with his point that he can’t feel the cold anyways, so there’s no need for him to be the one next to the fire. Nor could you argue with the benefits of having him as a line of defense between you and whatever lurks beyond the reach of the firelight.

The feeling of security and protection that he provides you with is still relatively foreign to you, and a soft smile blooms on your face at the warm feeling it brings. Your smile then falls a bit as you remember the silent question you ask yourself on the regular, of whether or not you provide him with the same.

You roll the rest of the way to your left, and shuffle further toward him, closing what remains of the small gap he’d placed between the two of you. Lying halfway on your bedroll and halfway on his, you curl your body around his seated form, bringing your right arm up and gently placing a hand on the right side of his waist. He flinches slightly, and if this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d retract your hand. He’s long since informed you though that his reaction to unexpected touch is simply involuntary, and as long as it’s you, you’ve no need to pull away.

You recall the quiet, restrained desperation in his voice when he first explained it to you, all but begging you not to pull away. He can’t control the way his body reacts to touch, given that before you, he couldn’t recall the last time being touched meant anything other than pain. In spite of that though, he wants it. He wants you. That’s obvious in the way that he, without fail, immediately relaxes under your gentle touch once his mind and body process that it’s coming from you. The way he’s come to not only relax, but to lean into it. Lean into you.

You’d never push past his boundaries, never in a million years, but he’s made it quite clear after about a thousand of your quiet requests for consent at every minor touch, that he’s entirely welcoming of your non-sexual physical affections. Getting the man to verbally admit that he actually enjoys cuddling with you, without the truth being concealed beneath a heavy layer of playful banter and practiced, honeyed words didn’t come easy, but he came around to it in his own time.

So, you don’t pull back, instead following through with the motion and slowly snaking your arm around his waist. You press your front against his lower back and curl around to rest your left cheek atop his left thigh. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t relax into you in the way he usually does, and your head turns to the right a bit, struggling to get a half-decent look at his face as you’re both turned away from the fire light.

He remains tense, still, and unresponsive to your movements, gaze seemingly locked dead ahead of him, staring out into the dark forest.

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks. He’s actively crying, tears dripping from his chin, and now with his head tilted down at you they take a different path, running down to converge and fall from the tip of his nose.

You nearly bolt upright in your shock, quickly unwrapping yourself from him and clambering around on all fours until you’re sat down in front of him, your hands gripping tightly to your upper thighs in worry. His wide-eyed gaze followed your every movement, and even now that you’re sat still in front of him, his eyes still dart around, frantically scanning you, for what, you don’t know.

“What- what’s going on?”

You keep your voice as quiet as you reasonably can in spite of your shock and concern, not eager to wake your companions and have everyone witness… whatever this is.

He doesn’t respond, looking just about as lost as you feel, shaking his head in silence as more tears fall. It’s one hell of a sight, and it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

Unsure of what to do and what even caused this, you resist the urge to wrap him in a hug, not wanting to overstep in this unfamiliar territory. Instead, you glance back over your shoulder and once again see and hear nothing of note before trying another question.

“Is there a threat? Did you see something that scared you, honey?”

He takes a long moment to answer, seeming unsure, before eventually settling on another shake of his head. His lack of confidence in his answer isn’t the most reassuring thing at the moment, but given that you aren’t detecting any danger either, you decide to believe that he really didn’t see any threat. At least, not here. Not right now, in the present moment, in front of him. He seems about halfway here and halfway gone, and if your growing suspicions are correct, he’s probably been sat here lost in the dark corners of his mind for a while now, given the state he’s in.

You catch movement to Astarion’s right side and watch as Karlach raises up from her prior position sprawled out face-down on her bedroll, propping herself up with her forearms beneath her. Her expression of concern is too aware and her eyes are too awake for her to have just now woken up, and you quickly gather that she’s probably been awake and laying there long enough to have heard your questions and Astarion’s lack of any verbal response. She doesn’t say anything though, and doesn’t move, just letting the situation unfold and keeping a watchful eye on the darkness behind you.

Relaxing slightly at the knowledge that someone else is awake and helping to keep watch now, your focus shifts back to Astarion, who’s gaze has moved to his lap, tears still falling fast. It’s almost unsettling, the way he cries. There’s no sound, no movement, his breathing is hardly even affected, nothing more than the occasional shaky breath to give away any sign of struggle at all. You don’t have to guess why it’s like this, given what he’s told you about his past. You’re sadly certain that he learned to cry like this ages ago. Silent and still, sat alone in the dark so no one would notice.

You don’t want to think about the sorts of punishments he’s endured as a result of showing such pain and emotion, but your mind pulls from what experiences he’s shared and offers up a few anyways, making you begin to feel sick.

Leaning down and trying to catch his gaze, you ask another question.

“Astarion, are you with me right now?”

He blinks, more tears spill, and his lips finally part as he responds to you with a strained whisper.

“I’m trying to be…”

You smile in spite of your current emotions and the general mood of the situation, doing your best to be something positive, something gentle, something safe for him to focus on.

“There you are…”

You say it to yourself as much as to him, relieved to finally hear his voice, as laced with pain as it sounds. You hold out your hand near where his lie balled into fists in his lap, offering him contact without forcing it on him.

“I want you to keep trying, okay? Do your best to come back into the present with me. You can take my hand, if you’d like?”

He stares down at your offered hand for a long moment before shakily unballing one of his fists. He hesitates, fingers trembling, before reaching out and placing his hand in yours. His skin is even colder than usual and slightly damp to the touch, and you couldn’t be less put off, or give less of a fuck about the messy state of him right now, or ever, if you’re being honest. You just want to help him, however you can.

You curl your warm fingers around his palm, wanting to pull him into a hug so badly but restraining yourself, letting him call the shots.

“You’re okay now, Star. You’re safe right now, here with me. We’re safe.”

He’s quiet for another long moment as he shuts his eyes tight, taking in your words. His other fist unfurls, and his body trembles almost imperceptibly.

“I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Your heart breaks.

“Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all, I promise you.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, his voice an insistent whisper.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your shoulders drop from where they’d been tensely held up, body slumping with a silent sigh as you watch him still try to hold this wall up between the two of you. You’d made it past a number of his walls already, but this one… this one you’ve yet to be granted access behind.

“It’s okay to cry, you know?”

Another shake of his head, this time with far more force behind it, almost vehement.

“No.”

You soften your voice, insisting.

“Yes. It is. You can cry now, Astarion. No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna judge you. I swear on my life, that’s the truth.”

His breaths become more labored, uneven and shaking.

“You aren’t his anymore. The old rules don’t apply. You can let it out, now. No one, and I mean no one, is going to punish you for it.”

His eyes pinch closed and his head shakes hard side to side, like he’s fighting his own mind, and his hand opens and closes like it wants to grab onto something. He then moves, wrapping his free hand around your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled toward him, desperately, insistently.

You follow the motion as he continues to tug at you, first leaning forward and propping yourself up with your other hand on the ground as he continues to pull you closer. You quickly gather what he wants as he lets go of your hand in favor of latching onto your other arm, pulling you upward, choking back tears all the while.

You raise up on your knees and his hands move once again to hook beneath your arms as you allow yourself to be pulled up onto his lap with physical strength you keep forgetting he possesses. Hooking your legs around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him into you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist and he buries his face into the fabric of your shirt at the collar, muffling the soft sound of his crying which has now turned to full-blown sobs.

He’s still shockingly quiet in spite of it all, and you imagine it’s a mixture of being unable to let go of what’s ingrained into him, and not wanting to alert the entire camp to his current breakdown.

Your thumbs stroke up and down in place on his back, not wanting to let go of your hold on him but still wanting to give him some sort of comforting motion to focus on. Besides, you figure petting across the entire expanse of his scarred back might do the opposite of calming him down, so you refrain and keep your arms wrapped firmly around him. Turning your head down toward his, you whisper to him in between soft kisses to his temple.

“That’s it, love. Let it out.”

“You’re safe now, Astarion, I swear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You have every right to cry. No one ever should’ve taken that away from you.”

He grips you even tighter as you shower him with painfully unfamiliar affection and acceptance, comfort unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his horribly long life. His forehead presses against your right shoulder as his crying slows, trying to ground himself and catch his breath. You make a point of holding him securely against you, breathing slow and deep to give him an example to follow.

You catch movement in your periphery and glance over at Karlach as she quietly sits up and makes a series of silent lip movements and hand gestures that you don’t entirely grasp. You work them out to mean that she’s gonna take over watch for the rest of the night, and you can rest with Astarion. You send her a grateful look and mouth a “thank you,” to which she waves you off with what you think you read as a silent “don’t mention it” on her lips.

After a short while spent focused on slowing down his breath and bringing him fully out of his memories and back here with you, you whisper quiet words in his ear.

“Your work is done, Astarion. You can rest now.”

You mean it in both possible interpretations of the words, and he seems to understand that, his body finally relaxing against yours for the first time tonight.

“You wanna lie down with me, love?”

He seems like he almost nods, but stops himself, whispering back in an exhausted voice, scratchy and thick from crying.

“Someone has to keep watch.”

You hesitate to inform him that Karlach has already taken over that role for tonight, sure that he’d get no sleep at all if he knew she’d witnessed this. You know you’re gonna be awake watching over him for the rest of the night anyways, so instead, you offer a compromise.

“I can hold you and keep watch at the same time, love. Just… let me sit and you can lay against me.”

He gives the suggestion a moment of thought before nodding his head, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. You maneuver the both of you carefully so as to avoid allowing his tired eyes to catch sight of your obviously awake companion sitting behind him.

It isn’t much of a task considering his eyes are halfway closed already, his only remaining focus locked on you. You settle down at the head of his bedroll, guiding him to lie down and bringing his head to rest in the center of your lap.

Your hands take turns gently combing fingers through his white curls, and you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax at the feeling. You bring a thumb down and gently stroke over the lines creasing his brow, quietly encouraging him to release the tension he likely doesn’t realize he’s holding. You watch him pull in a deep, albeit still slightly unsteady breath, and you can practically feel the relief that washes over him when he exhales.

Words aren’t necessary between the two of you at this point, not in this moment, but you offer him a few anyways, hoping they’ll resonate in his tired mind as he slips into sleep.

“You’re safe here, Star. Rest easy.”

A/N: Like I said in the CWs, I haven't played the game for myself (yet!) so I only know what I've seen in the hours of (mostly Astarion-focused) scenes I've watched on YT. As a result, this might have read a bit funny if I've gotten certain details wrong. For instance- I have no idea how resting at the camp actually goes, whether or not someone keeps watch all night, etc. Also I'm not sure if Astarion even needs to actually sleep or if he meditates/falls into a trance and just calls it sleep, but for the sake of simplicity, (and me being clueless,) when I say he falls into sleep just assume he's doing whatever he'd normally do to rest. On a different note- this little fic was inspired by a combination of two things. The lovely art and additional commentary on this post, by @velnna , and also by me listening to Midnight Hour by Sierra Eagleson on loop for like, an hour, and daydreaming up this specific scene before proceeding to write it out. It is a beautiful song that is now the title and theme-song for this fic, and I encourage you to go give it a listen if you haven't heard it already. Header Image Source: x

[dramaticallytotal]

TDWT Headcanons Pt. 1

Just some headcanons for World Tour!

• Lindsay can sew very well. She taught herself after some wardrobe malfunctions. She can hand sew and machine! She is learning how to crochet and knit as well. So she was excited to practice during the boat weaving challenge.

• The network Chris works for is called Drama Productions.

• When Noah becomes his assistant, Chris gets him a custom red sweater vest to wear instead of the red or blue button ups the rest of the crew wear. It's still the same red, except it now has an anagramed DP on the left breast. This leads to the nickname Danny Phantom.

• As seen in one of my previous posts: Trent and Eva also get into World Tour. Eva because Noah pretended to be asleep and clung to her so he wouldn't be alone with Owen and Izzy for the competition even if he loves them. And Trent because he accidentally got knocked out. (Flimsy, I know, but he's such a good guy that the only way he wouldn't have left the bus would be because he's incapacitated.

• A lot of contestants made deals with Chris and the producers for more money. I.e., Lindsay forgetting Tyler's name, Ezekiel going feral, Duncan and Courtney's breakup but they refuse to make it a cheating plot. Gwen and Duncan are just best friends in this one. Also, Alejandro and Heather have deals to try and have a showmance if they can work it. Oh, and DJ's animal curse.

• That is kind of blown out of the water when Alejandro meets Noah. He falls fast and hard. He still tries to do the showmance with Heather because, hey, money is money. But he also is always helplessly flirting with Noah.

• Once Noah is on the show, the producers quickly realize that, basically, nothing gets done, and everything seems to be falling apart without this 17 year old. Which is sad. That's what they end up arguing with Chris about in China and such because Noah won the aftermath challenge to get back in the competition.

• He wasn't originally going to do so, but he did it out of pure spite for the producers.

• Chris and Chef do pseudo adopt Noah, and they are doing their best not to show him any favoritism. But if they sneak him some snacks and books here and there, who's gonna know?

• None of the animals will attack Alejandro because of his animal thing, Noah, because he trained and wrangled them all before, and Izzy but that's because she either can communicate with them or because they are scared of her.

• Trent and Gwen still have feelings for each other but don't know how to tell each other, so it leads to a lot of tension.

• Ezekiel, Harold, Alejandro, Noah, and Izzy are all polygots. Ezekiel, Noah, and Izzy all tie for the most with 8 languages under their belts.

• Eva, Courtney, and Heather are all bilingual.

• Cody, Sierra, Alejandro, Owen, Trent, and Bridgette all have big sweet tooths! But Trent and Alejandro try to hide it.

• The plane is actually two-leveled with a hidden top level where the crew and staff stay. Chris and Chef also have rooms up there, but for appearances sake they stay in the ones on the bottom floor. (Chris may have made up a room for Noah)

• Noah talked Chris out of the grand piano and jacuzzi before the plane was rented. Also, yeah, the plane is just made to look like it's falling apart. The holes that randomly appear in the show are just stunts made purely for the sick producers who believe the plane is an old rust bucket.

• The intern deaths are also stunts.

• Everyone is scared of Sierra but do their best to protect Cody from here. And when she gets in a mood when she remembers the "Noco" moment from season one, then everyone protects or hides Noah.

• I don't know if I'm going to give her a redemption this season or for All Stars, but basically she doesn't get voted out for so long because the producers are making Chris keep her on the show because she is good drama for the ratings.

• Team Chris + Eva all take turns sleeping with Noah due to his sleep cuddling with the exception of Tyler and Alejandro until it accidentally happens, and both just accept it. It ends up becoming a whole plane thing. With the exceptions being Cody and Sierra since she will not let that happen again. Even Heather let's it happen, but only because it helps keep them both warm, not because she's secretly fond of the dweeb or anything.

• Leshawna and Heather are pretty good friends this season, but Alejandro does mess with this friendship. It's only after the show that the two girls rekindle.

Part two

[mixelation]

a bit of the blood covenant (the minato/oc fic). working title is "renka is a liar"

what could she be lying about.....?

I’m going to fuck up that guy’s whole life, was the only thought in my mind as I lept through the trees. 

Every time I came down on a new branch, my right thigh screamed in protest. It would scream again as I came back up, hurling myself as ungracefully as a new genin to my next landing. 

But, dear reader, I have advice for you: if you want to kill a medic, make sure you make a killing blow. Don’t just leave her for dead and assume she’ll crawl off and die like a good girl.

I’m not Shisui, I thought furiously, pausing in my sloppy run as the temple I was aiming for came into sight. Fuck off, Danzo. 

I leaned against the trunk of the tree, panting heavily. Through the branches, I could see the curving roof of the temple. There were a lot of old abandoned buildings out here, dotting the forests of Fire Country, and this one didn’t stand out as special. I only knew where it was because I’d previously found it by happenstance, and I only recognized it as important by chance knowledge. I had never been inside before. 

Pausing my run had been a mistake. The loss of momentum meant that I was aware of how shaky and weak my legs felt. I made a clumsy jump for the forest floor and had to turn my landing into an embarrassing roll. 

If anyone was following me, they were far enough behind that I couldn’t sense them. I could see the spiral emblem on the door of the temple. I limped forward confidently, using my left hand to push more healing chakra into the hole in my leg, which I would generously describe as “gaping” but was definitely less gaping than when Danzo had stabbed it into me. 

I’ll get both his legs, I thought as I pushed open the temple door. Ugh, it’s going to scar!

The movement of the door tossed an enormous amount of dust into the air, making my eyes water. The air smelled stale and musty. The windows were boarded up, and only a few sickly strands of moonlight illuminated the innards of the Uzumaki temple. 

I had to stop my healing to activate my sharingan. I could usually do both at once, obviously, but I’d been running on nothing but adrenaline and spite for too long, and my body currently did not contain nearly enough blood as it should, and I was starting to get dizzy. 

The sharingan did nothing to enhance color vision, but with it I only needed the smallest source of light to make out the contents of the temple clearly. There were some hanging scrolls and abandoned, rotting furniture, which I ignored. My eyes went straight for a wall of masks along the back wall. 

I limped into the temple. I had some trepidation about which mask was the one I wanted, but looking at them, I knew instantly. 

It wasn’t that the mask looked unordinary or that my sharingan could pick up something special. The mask was painted wood, a grinning demon’s face with curling horns. Nothing was special about its craftsmanship, and my sharingan could detect no jutsu on it. 

And yet, to look into its eyes, was to see the inevitability of your own death. 

A hint of fear tingled in my spine. A bad omen, my superstitious mother would have said. 

That was fine, though. I’d been staring down the inevitability of my own death for over two decades. I no longer gave a shit, except that if I had to die, I was doing it as explosively as possible. It was this or nothing. 

I pulled the mask for the wall and lifted it to my face. 

If you kill me, I thought at the mask, make sure you bring that asshole down with me, will you?

xXx

Dear reader, here is what you need to know about me.

My name is Uchiha Renka. I was raised by a great aunt after both my parents died in the Second Shinobi War. My hobbies include reading, baking, and dabbling in make-up and fashion. After a lot of study and hard work, I have passed most medic-nin competencies and work mainly in the hospital. 

I am a painfully normal sort of young woman, as you can see. At least for a ninja. I work my shifts, and I treat myself to a new book once a week. The most scandalous thing I do, aside from occasionally going out on state-mandated missions that sometimes include various types of murder, is sometimes try weird shades of lipstick when I go out drinking with the girls. We even have a three drink maximum. I did not do anything to merit the fucking headhunt after me except exist as an Uchiha. 

And… well, okay, I’ll admit something, just between us. Another thing you should know about me is that, even if my main goals in life are to help people at the hospital and then go home and read a good book over some hot tea on my balcony, I do have a bit of a fatal flaw. It’s nothing more than a basic Uchiha family trait, really:

I am just a teensy-weensy bit vindictive. 

It got me into trouble a few times growing up, but it’s really nothing too bad. It definitely wasn’t enough to make me deserve the absolute clusterfuck you just read about. You make one mistake, and next thing you know, your boss is calling you a vile woman and a disgusting, cowardly failure and trying to kill you. 

Well, fuck him, honestly. I’d survived everything up until him, and I wasn’t going down without a fight. 

I wasn’t one hundred percent sure how the shinigami mask worked when I put it on. I thought I could maybe use the shinigami to chuck Danzo and-slash-or “Madara” into the afterlife for good. My second choice was to bring back Tobirama and have him tell off my enemies and maybe my clan for… whatever the hell they were doing. 

Honestly. All I wanted was to sit in my patio chair with a blanket and read…

I ended up vomiting up the Fourth Hokage instead. 

I know. It sounds gross. I know. But I’m not making any of this up. I put on the mask, and it was like the shinigami was inside me, and then inside of the shinigami was this horrible squirming feeling. I wanted it out. I needed it out. 

I threw up. It felt awful, worse than any vomiting session I’d had before, my whole body retching. The mask fell off my face. 

Then the Fourth Hokage was standing in front of me.

[kkuzushi]

જ Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby. . .ᐟ

˚𖦹 ‘ Chapter 17 : 3.. 2.. 1.. Where’s my kiss? ִ ࣪𖤐

— PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

Once again, you were dragged by your very kind friends at a party. They made a good point of having fun before the break ends, but your social battery was at stake here. Still, there’s no escaping parties once Hu Tao gets a hold of the deets.

You and your friends gathered in the dormitory roof decks, along with other students that wanted to participate in the countdown. Despite the venue being a vast space for numerous students, the Set B dorm’s roof deck was also filled with the rest of the crowd.

As much as you want to hope that Scaramouche is on the other side, you know he isn’t. Especially not if your friend is Hu Tao.. who is friends with Ajax.. who is friends with your ex. It’s such a small world, isn’t it?

On cue, Scaramouche appears as you navigate through the crowd. He grinned, as if he hit the jackpot of seeing you in yet another chaotic event. The indigo haired male approached you and before you know it, your friends are nowhere to be found.

It’s like they’re all in on this and planned to get you some alone time with Scaramouche.

“He–”

“Are you happy?” You interrupted him, crossing your arms as you raised an eyebrow.

He chuckled, “With what?” Scaramouche imitated your pose, except he was almost doing it to spite you.

You rolled your eyes, not buying his act of playing dumb. “With me being stuck here with you,” you replied dryly, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Seriously, did you pay Hu Tao to pull this stunt?”

Scaramouche’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in slightly. “Why would I waste money on something I get for free? You’re here, aren’t you?”

You groaned, looking around for any sign of your friends. “I don’t know how I keep ending up in these situations with you.”

“Fate,” he replied instantly, not missing a beat.

You raised an eyebrow. “Fate? Please, it’s Hu Tao’s bad habit of meddling.”

“Or,” Scaramouche said, stepping closer, “it’s the universe making sure we don’t miss our chance to reconcile before the new year.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. How did things change so drastically between the two of you? Just the last time, you were running away from him every time you got a glimpse of his unforgettable indigo hair or punchable face.

Ten minutes have passed and Scaramouche continued tailing you. From the pantry of food when you got hungry, to the table you tried to hide at when you needed a break from the crowd. It was like you couldn’t shake him off, no matter how many sharp turns or subtle glares you threw his way.

“Are you done?” you asked, spinning around to face him as you placed your drink down on the table with a bit more force than intended. “What do you want, Scaramouche?”

He blinked at you, feigning innocence. “I’m just here for the atmosphere. Why? Am I ruining your party experience?”

“Yes,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms. “You’re like an overzealous mosquito. Aren’t you tired of bothering me?”

“Not really,” he replied smoothly, leaning against the table like he owned it. “It’s a party, YN. Socializing is encouraged. And you? You’re the most interesting person here.”

He shrugged. “It’s the truth. Or would you rather I go socialize with someone else?”

For a moment, you hesitated. The thought of him turning his attention to someone else—a random partygoer, no less—left a sour taste in your mouth. But you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Be my guest,” you said instead, motioning toward the crowd.

Scaramouche, of course, didn’t move an inch. “Hmm, tempting. But nah, I like it here.”

You rolled your eyes, acting like you can’t feel your cheeks heat up by the gesture. Get yourself together, YN! He’s still your ex, one that can’t leave you alone.

Before you could get lost in thought, a microphone feedback on the speakers which takes everyone’s attention. “One minute left before 2024 ends! Official countdown will start at the last 10 second mark.”

Everyone cheered, but one particular voice chimes in, “DON’T FORGET YOUR NEW YEARS KISS!”

Your eye twitched at that overly energetic voice, even from a mile away, you can tell it’s Hu Tao—and that ‘new years kiss’? That was most likely directed to you and a certain guy beside you who is already smirking.

That’s not gonna happen though. Even with the efforts that Scaramouche is exerting just to swoop you back in his arms, a kiss would just be over the line.

“10.. 9..”

That was quick, you thought. Scaramouche approached you.

“8.. 7..”

You looked at him, keeping distance just in case he actually plans on kissing you.

“6.. 5..”

He laughs at your obvious attempt but he just continues walking closer.

“4.. 3..”

Your back hits the railing of the deck and you're cornered, but Scaramouche stops at a respectful distance, his hands tucked in his pocket.

“2.. 1.. Happy New Year!”

At the cue of the yells and fireworks, Scaramouche reached a hand to bring it up to his lips for a chaste peck.

“Happy new year, YN.”

— ꒰꒰﹒Happy New Year, everyone! Here is the first New Year special chapter, please enjoy as this actually got me giggling on my chair.

— ꒰꒰﹒TAGLIST : @raineyun @hayamie @sketcheeee @wraithisd3adinside @heusalettle @liuaneee @yevurin @mywillt0live @kaikaidenkai @alatusorrow @shrimplyasleep @minstarrs @reivelmin @scaraenthusiast1 @girlbesofr2814 @yawn-zi

— ꒰꒰﹒OPEN. [ 16/50 ]

© kkuzushi | Please do not translate, repost, or plagiarize my work. This AU is posted in Tumblr only unless stated otherwise by yours truly.

[iamalasagnagirl]

Pls, pls, pls I need more WLW book recommendations!!!

Adults, YA, spicy, soft, I don’t care. I just need wlw books because I want to switch from fanfics only to actual books as well

Okay, here we are, enjoy :)

Bright Falls Series by Ashley Herring Blake: 1. Delilah Green Doesn't Care -> Delilah Green swore she would never go back to Bright Falls - nothing is there for her except memories of a lonely childhood - but when Delilah's stepsister pressures her into photographing her wedding with a guilt trip and a large check, Delilah finds herself back in Bright Falls once more. She plans to breeze in and out, but then she sees Claire Sutherland, one of Astrid's stuck-up besties, and decides that maybe there's some fun (and a little retribution) to be had, after all. 2. Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail -> For Astrid Parker failure is unacceptable. When Pru Everwood asks her to be the designer for the Everwood Inn's renovation, which will be featured on a hugely popular home makeover show, Astrid is thrilled. However, Astrid never planned on Jordan Everwood, Pru's granddaughter and the lead carpenter for the renovation, who despises every modern design decision Astrid makes. Is she going to pursue the life that she's expected to lead or the one that she really wants? 3. Iris Kelly doesn't date -> Everyone around Iris Kelly is in love and she’s happy for all of them, truly. Iris doesn’t want any of that—dating, love, romance. She’ll stick to her commitment-free hookups. There’s only one problem—Iris is a romance author facing an imminent deadline for her second book, and she’s completely out of ideas. Perfectly happy to ignore her problems as per usual, Iris goes to a bar and meets a sexy stranger, Stefania, and a night of dancing and making out turns into the worst one-night stand Iris has had in her life. To get her mind off everything, Iris tries out for the lead role in a local play, a queer retelling of Much Ado About Nothing, but comes face-to-face with Stefania, whose real name turns out to be Stevie. Desperate to save face in front of her friends, Stevie asks Iris to play along as her girlfriend. Iris is shocked, but when she realizes the arrangement might provide her with some much-needed romantic content for her book, she agrees. As the two women play the part of a happy couple, lines start to blur.

Falls from grace by Ruby Landers -> Savannah Grace and her band were huge stars in Nashville. Now enlists Noah Lyman - an indie musician - to help her break out of country music and make a name for herself for once and for all. They have to spend the winter in Savannah secluded vacation home in the woods of Vermont, and Noah brings along his best friend Brynn Marshall and pretend she’s his wife? After all, what could possibly go wrong?

The secret of you and me by Melissa Lenhardt -> Nora hasn’t looked back. Not since she fled Texas to start a new life. Now she can live—and love—however she wants. The only problem is that she also left behind the one woman she can’t forget. Now tragedy calls her back home to confront her past—and reconcile her future.

Books by Haley Cass: - Those Who Wait and the follow-up Forever and A Day -> Spencer Sutton, the daughter of a congressman, and Charlotte Thompson, New York City’s youngest deputy mayor, meet on SapphicSpark, a women-seeking-women dating app. Sutton isn’t built for casual, and Charlotte needs to keep a low profile as the race heats up. In spite of that, a friendship blossoms as Charlotte helps Sutton navigate the dating world. - Down to A Science -> Ellie Beckett is a scientific genius finishing a Ph.D. at MIT, sitting on her stool at her favorite bar, putting the final touches on her thesis - her life is predictable and comfortable enough, until the night Mia Sharpe walks in to play pool with some friends and things are never the same again. and On the same Page -> Riley Beckett met Gianna Mäkinen their first year at Boston University, and it changed everything for the both of them. She knows Gianna doesn't do romance or relationships, and she knows nothing could ever come between them. But when a holiday party mix-up sets in motion a domino effect of changes, Riley has to question everything she thought she knew about their relationship. What, exactly, does Gianna mean to her after all? - In the Long Run -> Taylor Vandenberg is busy running a successful travel blog. Brooke Watson and Taylor’s younger brother have been best friends for the majority of their lives. It means that even if Taylor isn’t physically present, she’s always been a part of Brooke’s most monumental life experiences. When Taylor lands back in Faircombe for an extended stay, it leads to more run-ins than Brooke would like. And more feelings than either may want to admit. - When You Least Expect It & Better Than Expected (I haven't had a chance to read them yet, but I have seen them recommended a lot)

If tomorrow doesn't come by Jen St. Jude -> On the morning Avery Byrne plans to end her life, the world discovers there are only nine days left to live: an asteroid is headed for Earth, and no one can stop it. As time runs out and secrets slowly come to light, Avery fights her way home to save the girl she has been in love with her whole life. But can Avery also learn to save herself and find hope again in the tomorrows she has left?

Kiss her once for me by Alison Cochrun -> Ellie had a Christmas Eve meet-cute with a woman at a bookstore that led her to fall in love over the course of a single night. The next year, Andrew, the shop’s landlord where Ellie works, proposes a shocking, drunken plan: a marriage of convenience that will benefit both of them. They make a plan to spend the holidays together at his family cabin to keep up the ruse. But when Andrew introduces his new fiancée to his sister, Ellie is shocked to discover is the mysterious woman she fell for over the year before.

6 times we almost kissed (and one time we did) by Tess Sharpe -> Penny and Tate keep almost kissing. It’s just this confusing thing that keeps happening. You know, from time to time. For basically their entire teenaged existence.  They’ve never talked about it. They’ve always ignored it in the aftermath. But now they’re living across the hall from each other. And some things—like their kisses—can’t be almosts forever. 

Nottingham: the true story of Robin Hood by Anna Burke -> (A retelling of Robin Hood's story with a Female Robin and wlw couples) After a fateful hunting accident sends her on the run from the law, Robyn finds herself deep in the heart of Sherwood Forest. All she really wants to do is provide for her family and stay out of trouble, but when the Sheriff of Nottingham levies the largest tax in the history of England, she’s forced to take matters into her own hands. Relying on the help of her band of merry women and the Sheriff’s intriguing—and off limits—daughter, Marian, Robyn must find a way to pull off the biggest heist Sherwood has ever seen.

Forget me not by Alyson Derrick -> Stevie has a terrible fall. And when she comes to, she can remember nothing of the last two years—not California, not coming to terms with her sexuality, not even her girlfriend Nora. Suddenly, Stevie finds herself in a life she doesn’t quite understand. And Nora finds herself…forgotten.

It goes like this by Miel Moreland -> Eva, Celeste, Gina, and Steph used to play in world-famous queer pop band called Moonlight Overthrow. But after a sudden falling out leads to the dissolution of the teens' band, their friendship, and Eva and Celeste's starry-eyed romance, nothing is the same. Until a storm devastates their hometown, bringing the four ex-best-friends back together. As they prepare for one last show, they'll discover whether growing up always means growing apart.

Dominion Series by J J Arias: 1. Losing Control  -> Talent agent Adriana Ortiz’s world is rocked when she’s thrust into the tumultuous orbit of Roxy, the raw, enigmatic pop rebel with a notorious edge and a guarded heart. Tasked with steering the wild Roxy on a whirlwind tour, Adriana boards Roxy’s opulent tour bus. The nights are filled with roaring crowds, but it’s the electric tension between Roxy and Adriana that sets the air on fire. A forbidden connection that threatens to consume them. Is the wild, unbridled Roxy worth the risk to Adriana’s career, or is she just another woman falling victim to Roxy’s charms? 2. Fighting for Control  -> Lola Barros is a rising talent agent burning with ambition. Carmen Vargas is a dedicated lawyer poised to conquer the legal field. Their shared high-rise is the only thing these two powerhouses have in common. After a trivial parking mishap snowballs onto a full-blown feud, Lola and Carmen are thrust into unconventional anger management sessions and their fiery rivalry gives way to smoldering desire. But yielding to desire isn't straightforward. Between the shadows of demanding careers and familial expectations, their love is tested. Can Lola and Carmen find a balance between ambition and affection? 3. Relinquishing Control  -> Natalia Flores rules her exclusive talent agency with an iron fist, brokering blockbuster deals while keeping everyone at arm’s length. But beneath the cold exterior lies a heart that yearns to be understood. Enter Professor Samantha Reyes—brilliant, fierce, and unwilling to let Natalia manipulate her way into the film rights to her book. Their encounters spark with tension and undeniable chemistry. In a world where control is everything, can two powerful women let go of their fears to find a love that’s worth the risk?

11:59 by Erica Lee -> TJ Edmonds has created a whole brand around not getting attached to other people. She has a best-selling novel and a popular phone app both dedicated to helping people stay detached from their significant others, so they don't get hurt. But the only reason she can move on so quickly now is because she still hasn't let go of someone from her past. It's easy to guard her heart when she no longer has it to give away. TJ texts Brooke everyday at 11:59 pm with no answers. What happens when, in a moment of weakness, this someone reaches out to TJ?

Price and Prejudice and the city by Rachel Lippincott -> Seventeen-year-old Audrey Cameron has lost her spark. After an embarrassing run-in with her ex-boyfriend, she’s told that she needs to get back out there and take risks. What she doesn't expect is to be transported to Regency England! Lucy Sinclair has her own problems when Audrey lands into her life, claiming to be from two hundred years in the future, it's a welcome distraction.

Never ever getting back together by Sophie Gonzales -> Maya and Skye are invited to star on the reality dating show Second-Chance Romance, to compete for their now famous ex-boyfriend's affections while the whole world watches. Skye wonders if she and Jordy can recapture the spark she knows they had, but Maya has other plans.

The art of us by KL Hughes -> Charlee and Alex fell in love at nineteen and dated for four years. Theirs was an enviable love — evergreen and growing. Unbreakable…Until it broke. Alex’s job now brings her back to Boston, after five years. When, by chance, they meet again, Charlee and Alex are swept up in a whirlwind of heart-rending history, tossed between past and present, and lovers old and new. Will their lingering connection be enough to convince them that some loves are meant to last? Or should the past remain in the past?

That secret something by Emily Wright -> Rebecca Lawson is off-limits. Jess knows this, but Rebecca has captured her heart for as long as she can remember. She’s sporty, tall and confident—all the things Jess is not—but most of all…she’s her best friend Lily’s sister. But when Jess and Rebecca are forced to spend time together the forbidden feelings intensify and sparks begin to fly. Amidst the chaos of raging bridezillas and other wedding disasters, can Jess resist temptation for the sake of her friendship?

The seven husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid  -> Aging and reclusive Hollywood movie icon Evelyn Hugo is finally ready to tell the truth about her glamorous and scandalous life. Summoned to Evelyn's luxurious apartment, Monique listens in fascination as the actress tells her story. From making her way to Los Angeles in the 1950s to her decision to leave show business in the '80s, and, of course, the seven husbands along the way

That summer feeling by Bridget Morrissey -> Turns out you're never too old for a summer camp romance. Or a change of heart. When a divorced woman attends a sleepaway camp for adults only, she reconnects with a man from her past - only to catch feelings for his sister instead.

Some of these are my absolute favourites, I've lost count of how many times I've read them. I cannot get enough of "the bright falls series", "One the same page", "Those who wait", "The secret of you and me" and the last entry "Falls From Grace". No matter how many times I read them. And sometimes I wish I could read them again, as if for the first time, if that makes sense. Anyway, I have a lot more titles. Let me know if you want them or not. Enjoy the reading

[joannechocolat]

Burn the library, or walk inside. Either way, it's your choice.

Unless you've been living under a rock, you can't have missed the escalating riots all around the country - riots which the media keep referring to as "protests", in spite of the fact that no-one involved seems to agree on just what they are protesting against.

Dragging strangers out of cars, burning down public buildings, throwing stones at ambulancemen, setting fire to hotels in a deliberate attempt to burn the people inside alive - and maybe scoring a new phone or pair of trainers on the way home - has nothing to do with "protest."

It certainly has nothing to do with the brutal murder of three little girls, although that was used as a springboard by online agitators, claiming that the murderer was an immigrant (he wasn't, and even if he were, attacking other immigrants because of what he did makes about as much sense as torching a Wetherspoons in Manchester in protest against Myra Hindley.) Nor does it have anything to do with Asian grooming gangs in Rotherham, although that's the most recent excuse I've heard: those grooming gangs were dreadful, but these criminals do not represent the Asian community any more than do the white leaders of grooming gangs (which by far outnumber them).

So, what the fuck is this about?

Well, it's the illegal immigrants, they say. Coming into our country, taking our jobs, raping our girls, yadda, yadda, yadda. Except that it isn't. Brexit has made it increasingly difficult for foreigners to work here, which is why so many European doctors and nurses have already left the country, putting still yet more pressure onto our dying NHS. And refugees - let's call them that, given they're neither immigrants, nor here illegally - aren't allowed to work while their application is being processed. As for "immigrant crime", a phrase that these people have borrowed from Trump - it represents a tiny proportion of crime in the UK, which by the way has risen sharply as the riots have escalated, because the police just don't have the manpower to fight on two fronts at the same time.

And add to this the fact that the principal agitators - people like Yaxley-Lennon and Farage - don't even live in this country, I think it's pretty clear that whatever motivation these burners of libraries, looters of shops, and goose-stepping Nazi cosplayers claim, it has nothing to do with "British values" or "taking back the country", and everything to do with doing whatever the fuck they want and blaming it on someone else.

Why do I care? Because I was born in one of these communities. I still have family in Rotherham, in Barnsley. I live less than fifteen miles away from the heart of these riots. I've done events in the libraries and universities that have been attacked. And by the way, isn't it weird how thugs always target libraries and places of learning on their way to robbing their local Lush, or Greggs, or Shoezone?

It's almost as if the agitators know that education is the key. That reading brings us together; teaches us to question what we read on the internet; crosses cultural boundaries; reminds us we're all human. And in disaffected communities like Rotherham, with a high degree of poverty, access to these ideas is very dangerous in the eyes of a far-right movement that wants to take power.

Already, 14 years of austerity, cuts and corruption has brought the country to its knees. By cutting education and the arts, Tories have reduced the access of these underprivileged communities to critical thinking and new ideas. Brexit has done further damage, as well as cutting us off from our allies. After the event, it is now clear how much Russian misinformation played its part in that process, just as it's playing a part right now in spreading its racist rhetoric via supporters like Farage and the fake accounts that amplify him. Now they're no longer in power, the far-right is doing its best to do as much further damage as possible to our society, urging people to "take control" by destroying anything else that can help them out of poverty.

Why? Because poor people are easier for the far-right to control. Poverty and crime are linked; just as illiteracy and crime are linked. And both of those things are linked to hate; to racism and mistrust of anyone who seems different.

But here's the thing. There's always a choice. Not everyone who grows up poor becomes a criminal. Not everyone who missed out on a good education becomes a racist. I grew up in a poor neighbourhood. There were some racists there, and some thugs, but most people were decent and honest. Most people were happy to co-exist with people of different cultures. I was one of those people; my family was different. Sometimes people even told us to go back home where we belonged. Most didn't. But of course, were were white. We looked like them. There's an obvious reason why brown and Black people in particular are being dehumanized and blamed for what's wrong with the country now.

And it's ironic, how people react when someone calls them racist? "But we're just ordinary people, with ordinary concerns."

"I'm not racist, I'm just (insert your bullshit reason here)."

And yet, here we are. Racism is ordinary. And if you do racist things, if you blame all brown people for what one brown person did, if you judge people by the way they look, if you make assumptions about whole groups of people, then you're a racist. And if you spout Nazi slogans, do Nazi salutes, walk with Nazis, repeat Nazi propaganda, then you're a fucking Nazi, mate. Live with it, or change. Your choice.

Because the choices we make today affect what comes tomorrow. And although poverty isn't a choice, being a decent person is. Your choices can help your children break the cycle of despair. Or they can keep your kids stuck in the same rut. To put it another way, you can take your kids to the library and let them learn to think for themselves. Or you can burn the libraries down and take them to watch you and your mates trying to set fire to some terrified refugees in a hotel instead.

Either way, your kids get to live with the choices you make today.

Right now, you're deciding their future.

Your choice.