#I mean it's. fine? I guess? but I feel really bad

[elene78-blog]

I believe in the possibility that, in this trilogy, Kevin tells Andrew something very specific before he leaves for California. Something like this:

"I need to add a clause to our deal, Andrew. An exception."

Andrew looks at Kevin without the slightest interest. With his suitcase packed for a flight to California in three hours, it's not hard to guess what Kevin wants.

"Do you really want to add a fine print or are you still drunk on self-pity?" Kevin stares at him. Andrew ends up shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know if you're confusing your memories with reality, but just because Moreau hasn't been able to defend himself in these years doesn't mean he can't break your face... or your other hand."

Kevin frowns, somewhere between annoyed and surprised.

"...How do you know I'm talking about Jean?"

"Can anyone else make you so guilty that you want me to beat you up to make you feel better?"

"I don't want Jean to beat me up. I just want you to stay out of my way if Jean decides to."

Kevin doesn't understand. Andrew had already subdued his anger when they met. It only took one look at Jean for Andrew to understand that he hasn't even explored her. If the Frenchman has half the rage Andrew has ever felt, Kevin will be dead before he blinks.

"I know Monsieur Miserable's old fury, Kevin. It's a ticking bomb and you won't want to be around when it goes off."

"Jean won't go that far. He's not... like the others Ravens, at all. And if he does, it will be a beating in return for what he has received for me."

Andrew is not convinced. Honestly, he likes this trip to California less and less. Every time someone goes there, something bad happens. Furthermore, Moreau is not a saint of his devotion. No one who had witnessed Neil and Kevin's misery was, no matter Moreau's circumstances. However, there is something that Andrew understands and respects.

The debts are paid. The promises are kept.

Neil had repaid a debt months ago. Kevin had to pay his own.

"If you are in danger of death, I will stop it. In any other case, I will not move. Enough?" Kevin nods and leaves.

[idciminlove]

FIGHTER.

Part Eight - Like

Cinnamonacid on AO3

Kang Dae Ho x f!reader

warnings- themes of PTSD, father issues, mention of overdose (but not an actual overdose), grief, etc.

You make some new friends, and some old ones too.

Dae-Ho could still feel the warm press of your body against his. It wasn’t until he had you in his arms that he realized how small you were. Your presence was so strong, making you larger than life, like an angel or a goddess, but when he held you, you felt real. Like something attainable, something human.

You wanted to push him away at first, he could feel it. Your body tensed up, and he almost let you go, but then he felt you relax. Felt your head rest on his chest and your arms wrapped around his back, soft and gentle, as if you gripped him too hard, he would break.

You were like fire..all different kinds. A forest fire, wild, untamed and dangerous, burning anyone that got close, but also a fireplace, warm and inviting, comforting on a cruel, frigid night.

You were truly something else. He had never met anyone like you.

“Is everything okay?” 001 asked, bringing him back to reality. All of his other teammates were looking at him now, concerned from his unusual silence.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just got a little lost in thought, I guess.” He grinned, shifting his focus on their conversation instead.

–

Dae-Ho introduced himself (Dae-Ho - Dae as “huge” and Ho as “tiger,” of course) and listened to their names and the meanings behind them. He knew 456’s name was Seong Gi-Hun, since he had been called that by the other men. But he didn’t know the rest. There was 390, or Park Jung-Bae (meaning twice and righteous) who supposedly lives twice as righteously, 001, which was Oh-Young Il, his name coincidentally meaning zero one, (maybe that’s why they gave him the number), and Miss 222, Kim Jun-Hee. She didn’t know the meaning behind her name.

As they talked, he couldn’t help but gaze over at you, letting his attention drift once again. You were sitting on your bunk, all alone. He knew you probably preferred it, knew that you could handle yourself just fine, but it didn’t sit right with him, especially after the two of you had made up. Everything was okay between you two, so why couldn’t you join him?

Once again, he was standing in front of the group. He gestured to you. “Would it be okay if we had her join us?”

“I don’t know. She kinda seems like trouble.” Jung-Bae mumbled. “She got into a fight on the first day, and she doesn’t exactly seem popular around here. If we have her on our side, it might be harder to convince people to change their vote. How do you even know her, anyway?”

“She saved me in the first game. Of course, Gi-Hun was very motivating, but she was the one who really got me through it.” Dae-Ho admitted, slightly bashful.

It was the truth. Without you, he didn’t know what he would’ve done. He was in a bad way that game, with all the gunshots, blood, and screaming bringing back memories he had so desperately tried to repress. His hands were all shaky and he felt like he couldn’t breathe, and then you took his hand, and guided him through it. You truly had saved him, and he still doesn’t know why. All he knows is that he owes you one. The least he can do is look after you.

“She helped me too.” Jun-Hee chimed in. “She was the one who told me to join your group. She gave me the confidence to do it.”

Gi-Hun and Young-Il traded glances. Young-Il was the first to speak. “Sure, why not.”

Gi-Hun didn’t say anything, just nodded his head in agreement.

–

You could feel their eyes on you. Thanos and Nam-Gyu, glowering at you, watching you like a hawk watches its prey, circling like sharks in blood thirsty waters. You tried not to pay attention to them, tried not to show your fear because you knew the moment you did, they would win. So instead, you lied on your back, staring at the bunk above, gazing at the metal fixtures, and counting down the minutes until the next vote.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Dae-Ho’s head popped up from the side of the bunk, standing beside it, below you. “Hey.”

“You scared the shit out of me!” You practically jumped out of your skin, startled. You were so surprised that you almost hit your head on the bottom of the bunk above you.

“Oh, sorry. I thought you heard me.” He offered you his hand.

“What?” You asked, gazing at it hesitantly. What is this about? What does he want?

“Come with me.” It wasn’t like you had anything better to do, so you took his hand, letting him carefully help you down from his bunk. You expected him to let go of you once he had done so, but he didn’t. Instead, he kept holding your hand, leading you over to the group, the team he had been with in the pentathlon.

He finally let you go once you reached them. “You should meet my friends. This is Seong Gi-Hun, Oh Young-Il, Kim Jun-Hee, and Park Jung-Bae.”

You bowed politely. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

“Aren’t you going to tell us your name?” Jung-Bae inquired.

“Oh, yes, right.” You hesitated for a moment, gazing at Dae-Ho. He gestured to you encouragingly, a bright smile on his face. You took a deep breath and told them your name.

Jung-Bae repeated your last name. “Wait, like the famous MMA fighter?”

“Yeah. That was my Dad.”

You watched the older men’s expressions change, watched as it clicked. Who your father was, who you are, a major piece in the puzzle, falling into place. It all made sense to them now.

“Ah, the heavyweight champion, The Dragon. Gi-Hun and I were big fans. We would bet on his fights all the time.” Jung-Bae remarked, pumping his fist. “That explains how she’s so tough. Yeah, I can totally see the resemblance.”

You smiled softly. It was always such a bittersweet feeling when people recognized you and your father. There was always the awe and amazement, and then the pity. Your father had kept his family life private from the tabloids, so most didn’t know about you, and you liked that. You’d rather gain your own fame through blood, sweat, and tears, working your way up the MMA rankings instead of being known just for being someone’s daughter. What little information was known about your father was his death, rumors of his overdose spread like wildfire, whispers of him being a junkie, using during his career, when they didn’t know the true story.

No, they didn’t know anything at all.

“It was a shame what happened to him.” Jung-Bae added, pity and sympathy clear in his voice. Young-Il nodded in agreement.

Gi-Hun spoke, soft and quiet. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

You nodded, looking at the ground, unable to meet their stares. In your periphery, you could feel Dae-Ho’s eyes on you, and see his hand move, as if he wanted to reach out to you. You heard those words time and time again, so much that they lost their meaning. It’s a shame. I’m sorry. Like that would bring him back. Like it would make you feel better. You’re so tired of hearing it. You’re so tired of the pity and the guilt. You’re so, so tired.

Before your conversation could continue, the guards entered the room, thankfully shifting the focus to something else you had to worry about. They congratulated you on getting through the game, and clicked the remote. The piggy bank lit up and the bills fell in, the amount of money going up on the chart while the number of players went down.

20.1 Billion Won. 78 million won each.

The players around you complained. It still wasn’t enough.

The front guard tried to appease them. “Your concern about the prize money is completely understandable. However, we always leave the door open for you to explore other opportunities.”

A shiver went down your spine. You looked over at Thanos and Nam-Gyu. Nam-Gyu caught your gaze, a snake-like grin crossing his lips.

Two guards brought the voting podium into the front of the room. Everyone got into their lines. You sighed softly.

The cycle continues.

[creatur3featur3]

Who's There? p2

word count: 3.3k

warnings/triggers: descriptions of injures and blood, past trauma and childhood abandonment. If any of these topics trigger you please take care of yourself and know you are reading this by choice!

A/N: okay so this was just meant to be another drabble but ended up turning into a whole other possible series– genuinely loved writing about blind reader's perception of the world, Sevika's a little more harsh in this part but I wanted to try and get her a little more realistic and accurate to how she is in the show so :3

So maybe you hadn't been taking care of yourself, at all.

It wasn't your fault, not entirely that is- sure you had ran into some kids who apparently ran the street you were on, whatever that meant- and maybe they had messed you up pretty bad, but you felt fine, so what harm was really done?

You felt for the familiar steps of the abandoned shop you had made your home of sorts, touching the cold concrete with your palms, sliding your finger steps against it as you sat down with a soft sigh. You brought your right hand up to your scalp, running through your hair, feeling for anything that necessarily hurt.

You winced over a particular spot on your head, not the back but sort of in the middle of your head, feeling a bit of your flesh underneath your hair, covering up the crime. You groaned softly, the adrenaline had faded as quickly as it had came, maybe even a bit faster now that you think about it. You could feel the soreness in your cheek that had been kicked once they had knocked you down, the scrapes on your knees fresh and aching, your head- throbbing in pain.

You exhaled through your nose, slow and measured, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the deep, pulsing ache settling into your bones. The cool night air brushed against your skin, a small relief against the heat of fresh wounds.

Your fingers ghosted over the split in your lip, the swelling already setting in. You tasted iron, metallic and bitter, as you swallowed around the tightness in your throat. It wasn't the worst you'd ever been hurt, but the lack of sight made it all the more disorienting. You couldn't even begin to guess how bad you looked. Not that it mattered.

Still, you tilted your face upward, letting the faint breeze trace over you like a phantom touch, grounding yourself. You ran your fingers over the concrete beneath you again, mapping out the small cracks and ridges, reminding yourself you were here. Alive. Hurting, sure—but alive.

Your hands trembled slightly as you reached into your pocket, fingers brushing against the few belongings you carried with you. Nothing useful, not really. No bandages, no water. Just a few coins, a torn piece of cloth, and the unmistakable smoothness of a key that didn’t fit any door you had access to anymore.

You sighed. You needed to clean yourself up, but there wasn’t much you could do without help. And help wasn’t exactly easy to come by.

Still, you pressed your palm against the wound on your head, hissing at the sharp sting, and leaned back against the shop’s cold, crumbling wall. You’d make it through the night. You always did.

Didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like hell.

You swallowed, throat dry and parched, shit when was the last time you had water? You doubted anyone smart enough in the Undercity would give you water, let alone feel any sympathy for you, but what was the harm in trying? Getting beat up anymore than anymore?

You sighed softly, hands covering what would've been your eyes before you groaned and stood up, making your way to the stalls, the familiar sound of the filled space already filling your ears.

As you arrived the lively chatter immediately filled your senses, feeling people brush against you, muttered apologies, people stepping on your feet.

Way out of your element, that's for sure.

You tried to push past people, trying to find the familiar feeling of sanded down worn wood under your fingertips, trying to smell for the scent of freshly baked pastries and meat.

The air was thick with the scent of grilled meat, warm bread, and something sharper—spices, maybe, or the tang of unwashed bodies pressed too close together. Every sound came at you from a different angle: the clatter of coins on wooden counters, the sharp bark of a vendor advertising his wares, the low murmur of haggling. It was overwhelming, but you pushed through, shoulders tight, hands outstretched just enough to feel for something familiar without making yourself a target.

Someone brushed against you—too hard, intentional. A hand lingered at your side, too close to your pockets. You jerked away instinctively, lips curling in frustration. Pickpockets. You weren’t exactly worth robbing, but that never stopped anyone from trying.

You kept moving.

Your fingers skimmed over rough fabric, then polished metal, then finally—wood. Sanded smooth by years of use, slightly sticky from the heat and the sweat of too many hands. You inhaled deeply, catching the scent of something fresh, something warm. Bread.

You exhaled, relief loosening the tightness in your chest, just a little.

“Hey,” you murmured, voice rough from disuse.

The vendor, a woman by the sound of her sigh, barely spared you a second of silence before responding. “If you’re not buying, keep moving.”

You wet your lips, tasting dried blood. “I just… water. Do you—”

A scoff. “And what do I get in return, huh?”

Your fingers curled over the edge of the stall. “Nothing. Just… just a little water.”

A pause. Then the sound of something heavy being set down. The air shifted as she leaned in, voice dropping lower. “You look like hell. Not my problem, but I’d rather not have a half-dead body next to my bread.”

Hope flickered, fragile and brief. “So—”

“Five coins.”

Your stomach sank. You reached into your pocket, running your fingers over the few coins you had. Not five. Not even close.

Silence stretched between you. The vendor sighed again, impatient. “Well?”

You swallowed hard. You could beg. Or you could steal. Neither option sat well.

But your throat burned, and the day wasn’t getting any easier.

What now?

“I'll- i'll just go, sorry for wasting your time,” you quickly muttered, too rushed to be casual and too shaky to be denied you were frustrated. You quickly turned and walked off, trying to push past the sea of bodies, ignoring the vendors' calls of asking you to come back or pause.

It was fine, fantastic actually, you didn't need the pity of others, all you had to do was look in the right places. You'd find something-

Eventually.

You sat down back on the familiar steps in front of the abandoned shop, body aching with every turn or breath, lungs protesting heavily, muscles burning and yelling at you to stop, the feeling of your ratty hair falling in front of your face.

You were pathetic, you knew it, strangers knew it, even the air seemed to know it, giving you a gentle breeze, making you aware of the cooling blood on your body. You sat there, just thinking.

You were never cut out for the Undercity, Nobody's going to give a damn that you can't see.

You choked on your breath

You're just easy pickings for everyone else, someone to take from and never to give to

You sniffled, No- you were not going to cry, not here, not anywhere– But your body protested, chemicals stirring in your brain.

You hiccuped, it was stupid that your brain told you that you wanted to cry, you had no eyes, nothing to give your tears an escape from– but god, you wish you could, you wish you could cry your heart out.

You tilted your head back, pressing your palms against your face as if that could somehow push down the overwhelming weight settling in your chest. The lump in your throat ached, your breath shuddering, sharp and uneven. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

You curled in on yourself, fingers gripping at your arms, at the torn fabric of your sleeves, at anything that could ground you. But there was nothing—no comfort, no warmth, just the cold press of concrete at your back and the distant hum of the city that had already decided you weren’t worth a damn.

You sniffled again, swallowing down another hiccup. You weren’t going to cry.

You couldn’t cry.

But god, the ache in your chest was unbearable.

A noise pulled you from your spiral—a soft shuffle of movement nearby. Not the restless stir of rats in the gutters, not the distant murmur of passing strangers. Someone was close.

Too close.

Your muscles tensed, instinct flaring to life, but you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just listened.

Then—

A sigh. Low, tired.

“You look like hell.”

The voice was unfamiliar. Rough around the edges, not unkind but not exactly gentle either. You straightened slightly, gripping the step beneath you. You weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or wary.

“Yeah?” Your voice came out hoarse, brittle. “You and everyone else seem real keen on reminding me of that today.”

A short chuckle, humorless. Then the sound of fabric shifting, the scrape of something solid against the ground.

A bottle—water—was pressed against your hand.

You froze.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” the stranger muttered. “Just drink.”

You hesitated. This could be a trick. A setup. Nothing in the Undercity came without a price.

But your throat burned. And right now, you didn’t care about consequences.

You took the bottle. Unscrewed the cap with trembling fingers.

And drank.

You sensed the person sit down next to you as you chugged down the water, slowing it as fast as you could, not caring to savor the sensation as you finally brought the bottle away from your lips and sighing deeply. You couldn't help the relieved smile that tugged at your lips, though you tensed up again, scooting away from the person next to you.

You heard them shift as well, maybe looking at you or body facing towards you, the soft sound of mechanical whirring fanning by your ears.

“Do you really not recognize me?” They asked, you quickly studying the voice, noticing it was rough but not rough in the sense that it was masculine.

Your fingers tightened around the empty bottle as your breath caught in your throat. That voice—gravelly but familiar, softened just enough around the edges that it sent something twisting deep in your gut. The mechanical whir of her prosthetic arm confirmed it before your brain even had time to process the weight of her words.

Sevika.

You hadn't heard that voice in—god, how long had it been? Months? Years? Time blurred together when you were barely scraping by.

Your shoulders stiffened as you swallowed, lips pressing into a thin line. “Didn’t think you’d care if I did.” Your words came out sharper than you meant, but you didn’t take them back.

Sevika huffed, low and unimpressed. “Right. Because I just hand out water to every half-dead idiot I find on the street.”

You turned your head slightly toward her, listening for any sign of insincerity. But Sevika was always hard to read, even back then. And now? You weren’t sure what she wanted.

“So what?” you muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “You disappear without a word, and now you expect me to—what? Catch up? Pretend you didn’t just drop off the face of the Undercity?”

Sevika exhaled, long and slow. “Didn’t think you’d care if I did.”

Your jaw clenched. Bitch. Throwing your own words back at you like that.

A silence stretched between you, thick with things left unsaid.

Finally, you sighed, running a hand through your tangled hair. “Where the hell have you been?”

For the first time, Sevika hesitated. Then—

“Cleaning up someone else’s mess,” she muttered. “It’s what I do best.”

That wasn’t an answer. Not really. But it was all she was willing to give.

You scoffed. “Yeah? And now you’re back. What, got tired of playing cleanup and decided to dig through the trash instead?”

A short chuckle. “Something like that.”

You could feel her watching you. Studying you, like she was trying to piece together what the hell happened to you in her absence. Like she had a right to wonder.

You turned away, setting the empty bottle beside you. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

Another pause. Then the soft click of metal fingers tapping against the step.

“Maybe,” she admitted. “But I did.”

And that? That was the real problem.

Maybe you were mad, no you were mad, frustrated, furious even. “What? So you came back to play hero again? Just like last time?” you suddenly spat, the words had sat in your belly and hurled up like vomit.

You heard Sevika shift, an uneasy kind of way, followed by a soft sigh, “I told you the day I met you, no strings, no trust, no nothing.”

You bit at your bottom lip, the taste of blood coating your tongue, “So what? I was just supposed to figure out how to live by myself? You know how hard it is for me Sevika, even with you around to help.” You huffed, months of frustration bubbling up.

The words poured out of you before you could stop them, burning as they left your lips. You hated the way your voice shook, hated how raw your throat felt—not just from thirst or exhaustion, but from everything. From months of trying to survive without her. From nights spent pressed against cold stone, whispering curses to no one. From the way her absence had scraped at an old wound you thought had scabbed over years ago.

Sevika exhaled sharply, the sound edged with something you couldn't quite name—frustration? Annoyance? Guilt? No, not guilt. Sevika didn’t do guilt.

"Don’t do that," she muttered, the metallic fingers of her prosthetic clicking against the step between you. "Don't act like I owed you anything."

You laughed, short and humorless. "Owed me? Fuck you, Sevika." Your hands curled into fists in your lap. "You don’t just get to walk into someone’s life, make them think—make them feel like they’re not completely fucking alone, and then just leave like it didn’t mean anything."

Sevika let out a long breath, and for a second, she didn’t say anything. And that silence? It only made your blood boil more.

"So what?" she finally said, voice edged with irritation. "You expected me to stick around forever? Hold your damn hand every time things got rough?"

Your teeth clenched. "I expected you to tell me you were leaving," you snapped. "I expected you to give a shit."

Sevika scoffed, shifting beside you. "I told you, no strings. That was the deal."

"Yeah, well, fuck your deal." You could feel your pulse hammering in your ears. "You were the closest thing I had to someone who actually gave a damn, Sev. And you left. You left me just like—”

You stopped yourself, breath hitching.

Just like them.

Just like the people who were supposed to take care of you. The ones who saw you as a burden, as something easier to abandon than deal with.

Your chest tightened painfully. You shook your head, biting down the emotion threatening to spill over.

"You don’t get to be pissed at me for surviving the only way I knew how," Sevika said, her voice lower now, steadier. "You wanted someone to save you? Then you put your trust in the wrong person."

You swallowed hard, your nails digging into your palms. "I didn’t need you to save me," you muttered. "I just needed you to stay."

Sevika was quiet again. But this time, it wasn’t the silence of someone who didn’t care. It was the silence of someone who knew—someone who understood exactly what you meant, even if she’d never admit it.

And for some reason, that made it worse.

Sevika exhaled, the sound slow and measured, but you could hear the frustration creeping in. “You think you’re the only one who’s had to claw their way through this place?” she muttered. “The Undercity doesn’t give a shit about any of us. You either learn to stand on your own, or you get swallowed whole.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides. “Yeah?” Your voice was tight, sharp, cutting. “And I guess leaving me for dead was just part of the fucking lesson, huh?”

Sevika let out a short, humorless chuckle. “I never promised you anything. Never said I’d be the one holding you up. You got too comfortable, that’s not my problem.”

Your breath hitched, something in your chest twisting so violently it made you ache. “I didn’t get comfortable—I trusted you.” Your voice cracked, just slightly, but you pushed past it. “And you threw me away like I was nothing.”

Sevika sighed, like she was already tired of this conversation. “I didn’t throw you away. I left because I had to. I don’t have time to babysit a blind kid who doesn’t know how to keep their head down.”

That one hit. Hard.

For a moment, all you could do was stand there, swallowing down the bitterness on your tongue. Then, slowly, you nodded.

“Right,” you murmured, voice eerily calm. “Fuck you, Sevika.”

You turned on your heel, ignoring the sharp protest from your aching muscles, forcing yourself to push past the sting in your throat. You had nothing left to say. Nothing left to give.

Sevika didn’t call after you. Didn’t stop you.

You didn’t expect her to.

You didn't get fair, you knew you wouldn't as soon as you stood up, but you had to get away, get away from all the bullshit.

“Like she was the one babysitting me,” you scoffed softly, it felt like half the time you two were together you were the one taking care of her.

Just some blind kid huh? you thought sourly, letting out a humorless laugh, at least I didn't need to run away from my problems at 41. But who were you kidding? You had been running away from your problems since you were 8, shit– even before then.

Your footsteps were uneven, dragging slightly as you pushed forward, away from Sevika, away from everything that felt like it was caving in around you. The noise of the Undercity was a distant hum in your ears, your mind too busy looping over every bitter word, every sharp-edged memory that clawed its way to the surface.

Just some blind kid, huh?

You scoffed again, but it came out weaker this time, like your body was already giving up on keeping up the act. You had done just fine without her before. You could do it again.

But your limbs felt heavier with each step, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. Your head still ached, the throbbing worse now, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. You could feel dried blood caked against your skin, the sting of scrapes and bruises making themselves known now that the adrenaline had worn off.

Still, you kept walking. Because if you stopped, you’d think too much. And if you thought too much, you’d break.

You turned into an alleyway, the air damp and stale, the scent of rot and rust thick. It was quieter here, the distant hum of voices fading slightly. The ground beneath you felt uneven, trash scattered along the edges, the walls rough against your fingertips as you reached out blindly for balance.

Your breathing was uneven now, shallow. The world tilted slightly.

Fuck.

You reached up, pressing a hand against your forehead, but it did nothing to stop the spinning. Your stomach churned, your entire body screaming at you to stop, to rest, to let go.

You didn’t mean to fall.

But your knees buckled before you could stop them, and you barely registered the way your body crumpled against the cold ground.

For a moment, you tried to push yourself back up. But your muscles refused.

Too much. Everything was too much.

Your fingers curled weakly against the cracked pavement as your mind swam, flashes of memories slipping in between the exhaustion. The feeling of a hand gripping your wrist too tight, the echo of a door slamming shut, the familiar emptiness of being left behind.

Again. Again. Again.

Your breath shuddered, but your body was already betraying you, pulling you under.

You weren’t even sure when sleep finally took you.

All you knew was the darkness was quiet.

And for once, that wasn’t so bad.

[maxdibert]

Hello! So I know you aren't a huge fan of Alan Rickman's portrayal of snape (which I agree with, actually! He just doesn't have same pzaz as book!snape, y'know?), but do you think he fit the casting well? (Apart from his age, I think he looks pretty accurate) I don't know if you've been asked this already, so if you have, feel free to ignore

I really like Rickman as an actor. The thing is, Rickman was a gentleman, a man with class, with elegance. And he passed that class on to Severus, which is fine, but it isn’t really him, because Severus has nothing classy about him—he’s a rough, bad-tempered guy with unresolved anger issues who probably tried to appear refined but never quite managed to pull off the act.

I also think Rickman portrayed him as too serious, too restrained. Rickman’s Severus is a functional adult—traumatized, tortured, with his fair share of problems, but functional. The Severus from the books is not functional at all—he’s actually very childish in many instances. Sure, he can act like the most competent man alive when he’s spying and risking his neck, but the rest of the time, he’s just an overgrown kid who never moved past his teenage ghosts. And instead of swallowing them down and carrying them with some dignity, he lets himself be completely consumed by them. So, more than not liking Rickman’s Snape, it’s that I see them as two entirely different characters. And honestly, the one that interests and entertains me is book!Snape.

As for whether Rickman fits the role… My biggest issue has always been his age. I mean, come on, he was over twenty years older than book Severus when he started the movies. We’re talking about a character who was just 31 at the beginning of the books, and Rickman was already in his fifties—it’s a huge gap. If it weren’t for that, then yeah, I guess he would fit. Like, if you gave me a 30-year-old Rickman, I’d totally buy it.

That said, he still wouldn’t be my Snape, because, as I mentioned, Rickman always seemed like a guy with a lot of presence and dignity, and I picture Severus as this scrawny, half-hunched, sickly pale guy with eyebags covering half his face—someone who looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in fifty years. Someone who gives off more… loser energy. Rickman, on the other hand, had a really cool, commanding presence.

But well, yeah, a young Rickman? Why not. He wouldn’t be my first choice, but he’d definitely be a valid one.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

1k for 🔼

Loved the new chapter!! Buckshannon kiss part 2 and Uncle Chim for date night!! Sooooo excited for their new relationship and the Buckley parents ANGST

Thank you!!!

The angst is coming soon!

1k for 🔼:

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“And we want that?” Buck asks.

Maddie sighs. “I guess I just… want my little girl to have a normal family. You know, uncles and grandparents that she might actually know.”

“I get that,” Shannon says quietly from the top of the stairs.

Traitor. 

“I don’t know, Maddie,” Buck says.

He feels really uncomfortable, to tell the truth. 

“Maybe…” She starts. “Maybe this’ll be a good thing, you know? You’re thriving right now, and… And Mom and Dad don’t really know who you are now. Maybe this is a good chance to reconnect.”

“Or, you know, put an end to all that thriving,” he points out. 

“I think I’m willing to try,” Maddie says. “And maybe Mom and Dad are, too.”

Buck looks at Shannon. She gives him a little shrug, like why not? And to be fair, she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know why not. But he can almost see the argument in her eyes. She lost her mother way too soon. She thinks he should take the chance. 

“Fine,” Buck grumbles. “But we’re a team, okay? A-a united front. You are not allowed to leave me alone with them.”

“I won’t. I promise,” Maddie says.

“A-and, I get to choose what and when I tell them about my, uh, situation,” Buck adds.

“Of course,” Maddie promises. 

Despite the reassurances, Buck sort of feels like he’s in for a very bad time. 

▶️

“Okay, you can do it,” Eddie says. “It’s not very hard.”

He’s sitting at the kitchen table, facing Jane in her high chair. She’s calm, mouthing on an arrowroot cookie, staring at him with blank versions of his own eyes. Eddie touches his sternum with his hand.

“Dad,” he says. “I’m Dad. Can you say that? Dad? Dada?”

Jane stares at him, unyielding.

“I know you can do it,” he accuses in as lighthearted a tone as he can manage. 

And the thing is, he does know she can. She’s started talking recently. Not a lot. But enough to say Mama any time she’s looking at Shannon, near Shannon, or thinking about Shannon. Mama and no. Her favorite words. Eddie feels the need to push for Dada, on account of, he never heard any of Christopher’s first words and he needs this. 

“Da-Da,” Eddie says again, emphasizing the syllables. 

Jane blinks, chewing her cookie. 

“She could say it,” comes Christopher’s voice. 

Eddie turns to see his son standing in the entryway to the kitchen.

“She could,” Chris continues. “She’s choosing not to.”

“Wait, really? You’ve heard her say it?” Eddie asks, hopeful.

“No,” Chris replies. “But she’s tricky. She’s not going to do it because you want her to.”

Eddie frowns. Jane? His ten month-old? Is tricky? 

“Uh, Chris, she’s a baby,” Eddie says. “I don’t think she’s, like, spiteful.”

Chris shrugs. “Mom says she’s going to be stubborn.”

“Stubborn?” Eddie asks. 

“Yep,” Chris confirms. “Because she’s a Sagittarius and just like you.”

Eddie coughs. “Hey, now…”

Chris laughs.  

“First of all, being born in December doesn’t mean anything,” Eddie says. “Second of all, being just like me will be her greatest strength.”

Chris just keeps giggling. 

“Okay, Dad.”

iv.

On the day he has to see his parents - for the first time in nearly a decade - Buck picks up Jane from Eddie’s house. He wishes Shannon a good time at her open house. He really wants that to go well. He wishes Chris good luck at the orthodontist. Doesn’t sound fun at all. He kisses both his partners goodbye, accepts their well wishes for the evening, and then proceeds to lose his mind on the drive to Maddie and Chim’s. 

“It’s not that I hate them,” he tells Jane. Because she is currently his only company, gurgling in her carseat behind him. “I don’t hate them! I just think… Well, I think they hate me. Never understood what started that, because it’s always been that way. So why try, you know? Nothing ever mattered.”

Jane makes a sharp little sound.

“Okay, maybe I am being close-minded. You’re right,” he says. “But, Jane, you have good parents! They love you. They would do anything for you. I bet, one day, if you’re travelling the world. Let’s say Peru, for no reason. You get sick or something? Boom. They’re on the next flight.” 

“No,” Jane says. 

“No?” Buck repeats. “Are you kidding? They’d go to the moon if that’s where they needed to get to for you.”

“No, no!”

“You’re just being contrary now, Jane.”

After he parks, he carries Jane in her car seat up the two flights of stairs to the apartment, her diaper bag slung over one shoulder. He feels oddly insecure about it, for the first time ever. He has never, not once, felt weird about doing things with the kids. Why would he? They’re awesome kids. He loves them to death. But the thought of his parents observing Buck with Jane tonight? It makes him antsy. He can’t put his finger on why, but it does. Somehow, it seems wrong to bring her into it. Like she’s far too precious.

“Alright,” he whispers to her, right before they reach the door. “You’re on my side no matter what, right?”

Jane smiles up at him.

“That’s my girl,” he says.

Then he walks into the apartment. 

Because of the roundabout journey to pick up Jane and say goodbye to everyone, Buck is the last to arrive. He can see his parents, already there, as he opens the door. It feels like walking into a pit of vipers. Which isn’t fair to Maddie, Chim, and Albert. But still. That’s how he feels.

There’s a moment where everyone sort of stares at him and Jane.

“Hey, Buck!” Albert calls out. “Good to see you, man!”

“Hi, Albert,” he smiles tensely.

His parents cross the apartment to greet him. He’s not sure how they greeted Maddie, but… It seems like they’re not too entirely excited to see him. 

[running-in-the-dark]

hm. well now instead of being helpful I'm just sitting in a chair, so dizzy and nauseous that I can't get up 😬 while everyone else is moving boxes and everything. I can't even pack rn.

[cent-scratchnsniff]

it was just going to be a few warmup doodles but then she infected the rest of the page like the ever eternal and spreading spores. hod!!! hod. hod :)

[risingsunresistance]

sorry him saying he has no idea where the misogyny thing comes from when ludwig just talked about how he sent him a big apology for calling his friend a whore when it was about THE WRONG WOMAN is funny as fuck

i dont think he realizes that the reason no one gives a shit about his apologies and honestly just straight up ignores them is because EVEN IN THE EVENT THAT THEY ARE TRUE he's been proven to lie soooooo many times to the point where you really cant believe a word that comes out of his mouth. he says something and im like "damn maybe i was wrong about that one... i'll look into it" and you get more info and go "oh. he just made that part up. and misworded that. and lied about that part... oh it was actually WORSE than i initially thought!"

[skenpiel]

i think if you say let people enjoy things you should also be saying Let people not enjoy things. let people enjoy things is of course a slogan used primarily to try and urge people to not harass or bully others for their harmless interests. but sometimes i see someone hate on something trivial and someone responds by saying let people enjoy things And generally speaking i think if someone else disliking someone is enough to make you feel like youre being bullied personally maybe youre not enjoying it all that much. i guess all in all youre allowed to like harmless things but people are also allowed to hate harmless things for no reason. sometimes you just dont like something and i dont think you should let that stop you from doing things you like

[phagodyke]

the masculine urge to take a saucepan off thr draining board and bash myself repeatedly over the head with it until I pass out and no longer have to experience feeling Bad 😍

[skunkes]

how did u feel about the 2nd Terrifier movie? i saw it on a first date so it wasn’t the best experience… but revisiting it I can enjoy it more. good sfx

So the first one is 1h30m i believe, and I know when I watched it and saw I was 40 minutes in i was like wow its been that long and it feels like not much has happened huh. But then it did what it did and it ended.

For the second one I was like oh its been 40 minutes. Hopefully it starts kicking off like the first one. And then after what felt like an hour only 10 more minutes had passed LOL and the entire rest of the movie felt dis way

I like that this one had more of a semblance of a plot... The clown cafe song is stuck in my head... Sfx is good but hm im not sure how to describe this....im not one of those "omg this is just a legal snuff film u guys are evil for watching this" people nor am i a "ermm if u cant handle this ur a prude and a little baby actually" person but more somewhere in between or outside. I love movie gore, when i was younger I watched Saw SOLELY for the traps, i didnt even know the plot until more recently LMAO

but obviously That One Scene...idk! I dont think it was too much in the "prude" way nor was i clapping and cheering but it did evoke a "ok come on wrap it up" feeling from me...like these faces combined...does dis make sense. Not walking-out-of-the-theater disgust and revulsion OR enjoyment/glee but just mostly straight faced this ⬇️

The first movie has a naked woman being split in half from coochie down so its definitely not the gore itself here that evoked this emotion ykwim

[sydmarch]

one of the funniest things I've had happen in therapy was my therapist's failed technique that banked on me being idk like. nice. "ik people probably think I'm annoying/stupid/crazy when I'm forced to express a need that most normal people don't seem to have" "well would you feel that way about other people who have similar needs to you or other uncommon needs?" "I mean I wouldn't like, say it to them, but yeah probably" & she just didn't know how to respond lmao

[tsuchinokoroyale]

Was soooooo happy with this phase 1 which is what made it so much funnier that I was immediately clapped by his phase 2 😂

[monster-noises]

Anyone out there got a solution for when you're feeling really stuck with your art and everyone and their mother tells you the solution is to do studies and figure drawings and other such things but even just thinking about doing those things makes you Spiral and want to Kill Yourself?

[anxiously-sidequesting]

So I don't know if it was ever revealed how Duncan felt when we killed Malistaire all three times but I'm wondering if maybe some part of him could hate us for that too. Like you hear that and you go "but why. Malistaire was terrible and even Duncan knew that(?). Why would he hate you for getting rid of him."

But like I think it's so....... interesting in a very, very, very sad way how Duncan so easily latches onto anyone who directly feeds into his delusions of grandeur. And that's no fault of his own that he was manipulated by the nasty Schism but when you think about how desperately clung to the idea that Malistaire, easily one of the greatest necromancers any of us had ever heard of (at that time), somehow actually recognized Duncan's talents (even when canon supports that Duncan wasn't all that talented, at least no more than the next necromancer) and then praised him for it so often that Duncan believed that he would be the next Death Professor is. I mean ☹️

So like with that mindset I unfortunately feel like it would be quite easy to twist even Malistaire's death as something that's horrible and awful and all our fault. ESPECIALLY if the Schism was feeding into Duncan's already broken mind and shattered ego and was constantly telling him that everything bad that ever happened to him ever in his life was Our Fault. That's like a realistic conclusion that someone like Duncan could come to

And like, at this point in time, are Malistaire's crimes even a factor in how he thinks????? Was Duncan ever able to separate Malistaire's talent and skills and prowess from the terrible and awful things he did? If Duncan wasn't able to consciously tell that distinction in the first place I can't imagine it would be any better during the years he was being manipulated and isolated and lied to

Like in Duncan's mind it probably isn't, "maybe I shouldn't idolize a national criminal, or idolize anyone at all for that matter, and aspire to be like someone so harmful when I can recognize my own talent and build from there" it's probably more like, "you (the wizard) permanently got rid of a brilliant mind, an innocent person who just made a few mistakes, and someone who believed in me no matter what just so that you could be the better than me and loved by everyone else" and that's! very sad actually!

[yamsgarden]

Just some more Still Wakes the Deep blah blah, but omg having just been diagnosed Diabetes type 1 myself recently, it makes me only love and feel for Roy 10X more...

This shit is litteraly poison, but so does the food we eat with how much sugar there is in ugh OTL

Never thought in a million year I had DT1, I had 0 symptoms and am in pretty good shape, but then suddenly, organs are starting to hurt really badly out of nowhere...

Don't wait too long poeple and check with your doctors even if there's ''nothing'' T0T and to all Diabetic ppl out there, keep on fighting 💪✨