#I've never been one to stick to only one fandom

[sunkissedliterarylightofchrist]

hey! do you have any tips for running more? i have a love-hate relationship with it

YES!

I used to DESPISE running SO HARD. I've been running for seven years now, off and on (a LOT more off than on lol), but its only been in the last ten months that I really and truly have fallen in love with it!

Number one tip is to get a running app, really and truly! They're great for getting training plans to run to, holding you accountable, and tracking your progress! Seriously, it is SO AWESOME to get to see your stats improve over time, its so rewarding and wonderful! I've never personally used it, but my mom uses Nike Run Club, which she highly reccomends, so if you're looking for a simple, streamlined one to start with, go take a look at that!

btw have you heard of this special one called Zombies, Run!? Its a running app that is also an immersive audio drama that makes you feel like the main character in a video game and has singlehandedly gotten me from despising running to loving it- Oh, you have? okay then.... i mean,,,, if youre interested,,, i have an entire sideblog for it,,,, you could send me some asks about it,,,, i'd love to comply...

But seriously ZR has changed my life, I'm being totally serious here. I could elaborate if you'd like, but long story short, I am in the best physical and mental shape of my life bc of this silly zombie app with blorbos in it, so yeah, never gonna stop talking about it lol.

But the reason why that works, is that it makes running fun! Because lets all be honest, running for more than three minutes on a treadmill with no stimulation at all and nothing to think about besides the fact that you're running and that sucks is the WORST. And doing it outside is better because you're actually going somewhere and see things, but its still monotonus and then you're just lasered in on the 'running is horrible' part after a bit longer.

ZR is utterly brilliant because you are physically incapable of being bored while playing it lol. You're not running a mile away from your house then a mile back, you're charging through the streets of an abandonded city, holding a life-saving cure, your best friend in your headset imploring you to keep going as zombies approach, while having the survival of your fellow runner depend on you as they limp from their injury. It is THRILLING and takes your mind off of what you are doing.

BUT MOVING AWAY FROM ZR NOW FINALLY (sorry i really am obsessed)--

It works because you aren't thinking about running. So that's the cheat code, figure out how to run without thinking about what your body is doing and how it feels icky sometimes. You've gotta learn to be very motivated but then also INCREIDIBLY disciplined in order to stick to it. Find some music that makes you feel like you're in a superhero movie (I have some recs if you'd like!!), find a podcast that is super interesting on a topic that you adore, even go running with friends and talk to them about fandom stuff while running!

Find tools to take your mind off of it that works most of the time, and the in the small fraction of the time where you still don't want to do it, learn the discipline to follow through anyway.

But also, I've found that the main reason running stinks, at least at first, is your body isn't used to it. Really! Whether you haven't worked out in your entire life ever, or if you are considered one of the fittest people on the planet in like swimming or something, running is SUPER hard and super terrible at first because you aren't used to it! Even if you are super fit and healthy, the hard cardio and movement that running requires is just very different from everything else! So anyone getting into running ever should NEVER feel bad about themselves when they're just starting! Because it is a seperate and unique thing in its own category that is special and different! It is scientifically proven that it takes 6-10 weeks of running 10-20 miles a week before your body adjusts and then you're used to it.

But guess what? One day, you're going to be running, and suddenly realize that it is magic. You'll realize that you don't have to stop to walk when you usually do- you can go longer than you have before. You'll realize that wait, you can go faster now! Your pace is faster! And then you'll feel a rush of adrenaline and endorphins and oh! THIS is what they mean when they say runners high! You understand why its called is the healthiest addicting drug in the world now! You'll realize that you have a huge smile breaking out on your face and the scenery is gorgeous, even if its in a dark smelly gym, because you're doing it- you're running! And you love it.

Anyone reading this, please give running a good, earnest shot. Lace up your shoes three or four days a week and go jog two or three miles. Keep at it for two months. It'll be a hard two months. But it'll be so so worth it. Just try. What have you got to lose?

Running is magic, and now I'll never give it up.

[pigeonstab]

I really like one specific scene for William Turner's character. And that's the one where Jack is chased by all the cannibals. And I love that he starts out saying "What about Jack? I won't leave without him" and just does a full on 180 when he sees the horde that's after him. It's taking his character, who's righteous and assertive and it's adding so much more to him by subverting that. Because Will is a bastard of his own, and this scene to me is not only really funny but makes him that much more interesting.

[intrepidacious]

bring your hunger

summary: There is a Witcher in your house.

pairing: geralt of rivia x succubus!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: smut (18+ only!!), light dubcon due to demon magic, penetrative sex (p in v), some biting and choking 😌 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: somehow it's been over a year since i posted a full fic but one ao3 writer's curse later here we are. whole new fandom. i've also never written smut until this show rewired my brain so bon appétit (please be kind). my biggest love to @aphrogeneias and @brandycranby who both let me complain about this story for about three months, i adore you!!

masterlist | read on ao3

There is a Witcher in your house.

You smell him long before you lay your eyes on him, the stench of his magic permeating the forest, harsh and acrid. Somewhere in the woods nearby, something is burning.

For a moment, you hesitate, considering your options. A lesser creature would’ve turned on the spot and run, would’ve stolen a horse in the nearby town and gotten as far away as possible, and maybe you should be doing the same. Forsake your home and this region and try to forget them to save your neck.

But your instincts are never wrong, and right now they are drawing you closer, one cautious step in front of the other, until your door creaks open.

He’s sitting in your chair, turned to the side to have a clear view of the entrance. He is propped up against the dining table, his matted white hair sticking to his forehead. The air is heavy with the smell of blood and sweat. Whatever happened across him managed to get him good; he seems to have bandaged himself up, somehow, but the gashes in his chest look painful.

He stares at you, frown deepening on his face, but he stays very still. There is a dangerous look in his amber eyes, full of fire and fury, and for some reason, that doesn’t scare you. Not at all.

Gods, you’re hungry.

There’s a steady pulse of power coming from him, muted but incessant, like his body’s not ready to drop the fight quite yet. He doesn’t, however, reach for the weapons he’s carelessly dropped on your good carpet.

So instead of fleeing, you draw the door shut behind you and you tilt your head.

It’s stronger now, the smell of your own powers. You don’t think it holds as much sway over Witchers as it would do over mere mortals, but it’s still enough for him to white-knuckle the edge of the table.

"I know what you are," he grits.

The low timbre of his voice makes you grin.

"That makes us even, then." You get closer to him, gingerly stepping over his swords. "Are you going to do something about it?"

His nostrils flare a little, but apart from that his face stays unreadable. Only his eyes betray him, still trained on your lips. He can’t help himself.

"I don’t kill your kind," he says.

"How generous of you." You come to a halt between his legs, reaching out to tilt his chin towards you.

He lets you, and there’s the slightest hint of amusement hidden at the corner of his mouth. From up close, the fire in his eyes burns even brighter.

"Let me show my appreciation," you say lowly.

His scent changes ever so slightly with the first small spike of his arousal. It sends a thrill of anticipation through you.

Your fingers trail down his throat, along his broad shoulders, down the taut muscles of his back, leaning into him even more. His hands fall to your hips, almost involuntarily. Slowly, unhurriedly, you let your nose brush against his and he inhales with a shudder.

This is always your favourite part. The final moments before they give into their desire, your meal prepared and served up on a silver platter, ready to indulge in.

"Don’t," he says, barely a warning.

"Don’t what?" You can feel his breath against your smile.

"Don’t tease."

"No?" He’s got remarkable restraint, this Witcher; but you can hear his racing heart. "Alright then."

And between one moment and the next, you let your clothes disappear.

It’s a simple trick, one that everyone of your kind can do as easily as blinking, but it’s never failed you. His eyes turn even darker as he realizes what you’ve done, as you move back a little to let him take you in. You lick your lips as another waft of his arousal reaches your nose.

Delicious.

"Is that better?" you whisper, tipping your head to the side.

He doesn’t reply. He pulls you towards him sharply, and then his mouth crashes against yours, hard and sudden. One of his hands grabs your ass, hauling you into his lap while the other one cradles the nape of your neck.

It’s a brutal kiss, divinely ferocious. Your naked core brushes over the noticeable bulge in his pants and he groans. You move your hips back and forth, just enough friction to make his fingers curl, nails biting into your skin.

This, you think, this is just what you’ve been craving. This sense of presence, of awareness. Your heartbeats growing faster. Pulling, tasting, wanting. More.

You only break the kiss to undo his belt, and he chases after your lips, hazy, starving.

You can relate.

He is already rock hard when you pull him out of his pants, ready and leaking. He pushes into your touch, raw need taking over.

You let out an appreciative hum, positioning yourself in his lap, careful not to put too much pressure on his chest. You want him to feel good, after all, no: you need him to.

You haven’t been sated in so long.

"Witcher," you chuckle breathlessly as his arms tighten around you, caging you against his body. "Aren’t you supposed to kill wicked, evil things like me?"

He growls, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You gasp as he drags his tongue over the bite marks immediately; like he’s savouring your taste, too.

When he looks up at you again, his eyes are like molten embers.

Your hand tangles in his hair and you yank his head back to kiss him again, swallowing the sound he makes when you sink down on him, and it’s a pity, really, because you could get your fill from that alone. It’s delectably salty and bitter.

Finally, he’s fully inside you, and he tilts his hips to allow you a better angle as you start moving.

"So good for me," you murmur.

He slaps your hand away when you try to slip it between your bodies, and then his own fingers find your clit, gently teasing at first, but quickly applying more pressure. You gasp, your walls clenching around his cock.

He lets out a breathless huff. "There, huh?"

"That’s it. Just like that."

It’s too much. Your breaths quicken as the air around you starts to hum and crackle with building energy. It’s making your head swim, each precise stroke to your clit bringing you closer to that edge you’re chasing.

His mouth still trails along your neck, nipping there. Your skin already feels sticky with sweat and magic as you’re hurled ever closer to the peak of your arousal.

Just as the tension in your core gets tight enough to snap, he stills completely. His cock is fully sheathed inside you, but he doesn’t move, his arms around you hard and unyielding, not even allowing a single roll of your hips. Something between a whine and a growl escapes your lips as your canines come down hard enough to draw blood.

The Witcher smiles at you hazily. "Do you want to come, little demon?"

You want to bite him. You want to suck out his energy until he’s nothing more than a sad, empty husk.

Your snarl only brings out a dark glint in his eyes, and his hand moves to your neck, forcing you to hold his gaze. His grip tethers you in your denied pleasure.

"Ask nicely," he says lowly, brushing his lips against yours.

Wicked, evil man.

Underneath your skin, your powers are brimming with unease, not yet refilled, not yet repleted; he knows this. You know he knows, and yet you’re unwilling to give in. "Or what?"

His grin widens just a fracture as his chin juts out in unmatched arrogance. You could burn it off his face. You could dig your claws into the gashes in his chest and widen them even more, feast on his blood instead.

"I know you need it," he says. His cock twitches inside you. "Beg."

A shiver goes down your spine, hot and cold at the same time.

You don’t beg. Ever. You don’t yield control, not even for your meal, especially not to someone like him. But then he expertly applies pressure to your throat and your eyes roll back in your head, all thoughts lost to the thick haze of your desire.

"Please," you whimper, clenching around him again. "Please fuck me."

He groans, hips stuttering into yours involuntarily before he moves in earnest, keeping his hand on your throat. It’s almost agonisingly slow at first, one roll of his hips almost letting him slip out of your cunt completely before he pushes back in with one single, firm stroke.

Your startled cry of pleasure gets stifled by his mouth, coaxing, biting, until your claws dig into the thick muscles on his shoulders. The arm around your back guides your movement, pressing you even closer to his body than before as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, each one hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.

You’re so close. You can already taste the precipice, black stars dancing along the edge of your vision.

Another moan rips out of you when you come apart for air, mouths open. "That’s it," he pants, watching you through half-lidded eyes, "Come for me."

His voice cracks with rapture, and it’s that more than the feeling of his own climax that sends you over the edge.

This part of your nature never gets old: As the orgasm rushes through you, the pent-up energy surrounding you snaps like lightning, funnelling into your body like an invisible current until you shudder blissfully with your appetite sustained. Your magic crackles around you, dancing on your burning skin like sparks of fire.

You hum appreciatively, your eyes still closed as you take a moment to collect yourself. This day has taken a pleasantly surprising turn, after all. It’s been too long since you’ve felt so thoroughly sated.

However, when you try to move out of his lap, the Witcher’s grip on you tightens decisively.

"Is that it?"

Your eyes fly open.

He is breathing heavily, but despite his loss of blood and the energy you’ve pulled from him, there’s not a trace of exhaustion to be found. He still has that same dangerous twinkle in his gaze. Fire and fury. Something lurches in your stomach.

"I thought your kind’s supposed to be insatiable," he says, leaning in to nuzzle at your collarbone. His medallion bumps against your breasts with a sharp vibration as his fingers trail down your side, a slow, torturously delicate touch. "You can give me one more."

It’s not a question. Still, the hands parting your legs even further are almost as gentle as they are relentless. A light press to your overstimulated clit has you keen, spasming around his cock, and he chuckles lowly.

"Eyes on me."

You hadn’t even noticed they’d fallen shut again. You’re leaning heavily into him now, another wave of pleasure starting to build as the smell of his magic envelopes you.

He growls, moving both of you around so you’re spread open on your dining table, him leaning over you with a look that wants to devour you whole. Like you’re the one being served up for him to make a meal out of. Impossibly, he’s growing hard again as his deft hands coax you closer to your next release.

"Just one more."

It’s such an obvious lie, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re brimming with energy, dizzyingly replenished and yet still ravenous. The air is humming with it, the promise of more.

"Don’t lie to me, Witcher," you still gasp.

His smile is positively sinful. "You said it yourself. I’m just so generous."

You’re so full. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his aura flickering with lust, rich and decadent and beautiful.

"In other words," he continues, his lips brushing your ear right as you reach your peak again. "We are just getting started."

this fic was brought to you by horny hyperfixations. reblogs and comments are what keep your local writers sustained!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics to get notified whenever i post 💛

[gachagon]

I've been on RedNote for like a day now and it's fun as hell. Rednote made me realize how insular and isolating American social media is. American social media, even Tumblr, wants you to stick to one specific niche hobby or interest or else your page never gets shown to other people and there's like this invisible wall between you and the rest of the website you're on.

Like, I love my blog as a Blue Lock blog and sure I post other things besides Blue Lock on it, but it doesn't escape me that the other blog I have for my personal art or my personal writing just seems to never take off at all and the only time my posts ever gain any traction is if it is tagged fandom wise.

But on RedNote I posted like 5 different things I'm interested in and each and every post has been seen by almost 100 people each (one post is at 1k iews now!) and I'm not just being viewed in a void there are lots of other people actively talking to me about my interests, having discussions in the post I made, it's awesome!

It really feels like how an actual social site is supposed to feel. That, and everyone is so nice and welcoming!

I feel happy posting on that website and not once have I felt like maybe posting something "embarrassing" would get me hundreds of mean angry comments 😭 (like Instagram...)

Even if TikTok doesn't get banned I'm still going to keep the app because it's legit a lot of fun!

[olderthannetfic]

Hi OTNF and everyone,

I am finding that it's harder and harder and harder to get into anything - book, show, movie... most things seem, you know, to just not be doing it for me, be it fanfic or original stuff.

In part, I think, it's a general restlessness and that it's become harder to give anything enough time to get into the stories, the characters, the settings, the narrative voices... I guess you can call it attention deficit on my part, just a need for stories to deliver those sweet, sweet hits quickly, but they're not.

I'm not currently ficcing but I did for years (might again in the future, who knows), and it's made reading, specifically, harder. It's like I've become more aware of what goes on behind the scene, I guess? I feel like I can see the writer giving up on a sentence, skipping a scene because fuck this, trying hard to not repeat a word although it's the only one that fits, etc.

Or maybe it's just the *everything* around us in the world that is weighing on me too much? I could say it's adult life, but then again I have more free time than most (and boy do I need hours of doing nothing to survive the other hours), and no family/partner (all that would put even more pressure on me): what is wrong, to make everything so UGHHH?

I feel like I'm stuck in a rut with a brain moaning feed me, feeeed me, and whatever I try to give it, it spits everything out. (Yes, I've tried hobbies, and nothing sticks there either. I've never really found rewards or satisfaction there, so...)

Decades ago as a kid, I was a voracious reader, although studying literature took the pleasure of it away from me. It took time and discovering fanfic that brought me back to reading, but at the time the internet was starting to be a thing, too, and it can't have helped the attention thing. AFAIK I'm not ADHD but then again, I couldn't get a proper diagnosis (the therapists I saw were either dismissive or just about The Talking, which was pointless for me).

I just wonder how it all disappeared, you know? Sometimes I find something that catches my attention for a while - a book (but I read quite quickly when motivated), a fandom... but it's been a while now, and it's just so frustrating! When is it going to come back? Will it ever? *gulp*

I know that books were escapism when I was a child, and then fandom was escapism, but at the moment I find myself grabbing at air and my empty hands are mocking me. Give me my escapism baaaaack!

So, uh. Anyone here with me?

--

Yes.

I felt like that during part of lockdown. Anhedonia is common in those kinds of circumstances.

Getting your mojo back is certainly possible, but you may need to go see a professional about depression and have some chemical assistance (yes, even if you don't feel sad per se), or you may need to change your lifestyle to one that doesn't have the thing causing you to need eleventy billion hours of downtime.

Aside from serious interventions like that, you can consider a social media detox. Remove every source of doomscrolling and time wasting of that type. When the attention span is zero and nothing brings joy, the tiny and useless hits from finishing a game of solitaire or seeing one more instagram post become very attractive. This is a trap. It will suck what little energy and joy you have and make your muscles flabby for the work of getting into an in-depth book/hobby/experience.

I know the feeling of being able to see how the sausage is made, but... well... first, being in a better mental state will make that matter less, and second, reading prose that is more competent will make that less of an issue. A lot of mainstream tradpub genre fiction is not, in my opinion, very well written these days. Obviously, people are still enjoying it, and that's fine, but if you're noticing writers fumbling around, it might be time to check out some literary fiction or some other category known more for prose quality than anything else.

It's also important to have some structure and some things to look forward to. Even if you feel tired, overwhelmed, and busy, sometimes, the answer is to do more... But it must be things that are distinct and significant and that get you off of the couch, like going to one museum every weekend.

I saw some advice once about this kind of thing that phrased it as "One big adventure; one small adventure."

Every week, you should have those two things to look forward to that matter. Check out a new coffee shop. That could be the small one. Go to an event: a gallery opening, a concert, whatever.

Physical exercise and doing some things that aren't as verbal and conscious thought-involving is important too. Painting is a better hobby for zoning out than writing is. Taking long walks in nature is good for most people.

--

The kind of intense, obsessive love I had for reading as a child and that I sometimes have for fandom requires a lot of attention and some time. It's escapist, but that masks how much work it actually was. It didn't feel like work only because we were in training.

If you've filled your brain and your day up with a thousand petty annoyances or minor and useless attempts to feel something, you won't have the capacity for those deeper things.

Because you are already at a point that's equivalent to a bad sprained ankle, trying to get back to running right now won't work. You have to stay off of the ankle for a bit, then build your strength and stamina back up.

[stick2vamp]

Halllo and welcome to the Sebastian Solace fans!!

This interest me, Im in the Welcome home fandom and one of the characters is self-aware so I've wondering if Sebastian is self aware that he know the player is just playing game

What is his reaction? (It's okay if you don't want to- I can request other one- ÚvÚ

That's all and have a lovely Day or Night

𝜗 ˖ ❝ you're not what you seem. ᵕ ♡

— in which sebastian realizes something is off with you, and everything else that's ever known. ✧

↷　 sfw 𓈒 implied sebastian uses you a bit 𓈒 no happy ending 𓈒

When SEBASTIAN figures out that he is nothing more than a character in a videogame, one who has no control over the ending of the story, he is upset for a lack of better words.

It made sense, now that he thought about it. Why his memories of the past were oddly fuzzy as if they weren't truly his, why he never seemed to be unable to find things for his shop, why you kept coming back over and over again.

He's mad both at himself and you and the situation: himself for not realizing sooner, how could he be so stupid? You for never mentioning it to him, although you very well knew. And the situation: because that means everything he went through didn't have to happen, and was made for someone else's enjoyment.

In the midst of his anger, though, he realizes that you are trapped just as much as he is, if not more.

If everything was some game, some story, then that means only certain things had actually been written into existence. The path you followed on your journey, for example, was the only path there could be. Your goal couldn't be anything but getting the crystal.

Maybe he isn't real to you.

But his experiences were real.

His agony was real.

And he was real to himself.

Which is why he began to change things. You couldn't break your character's code, but he could break his. You'd occasionally hear little 'secret' voice lines that haven't ever played before, animations that seemed more lifelike and diverse. You'd see how Sebastian didn't show up just once anymore, no, he showed up frequently.

Yes, once you reached the end, you would be forced back to the beginning. But would he? It wasn't in his code to force him back, was it?

Sebastian began to stick by you more and more, trying to win your favor. It'd be easier to board with you if you grew attached — sympathetic towards him. It'd also be easier for you to give more documents. One of the only things you had control over was when you chose to buy from him. He endlessly looked through the research documents you gave him to see if there was anything about this: but nothing.

And when you finally had the crystal and were waiting for the submarine...

Sebastian swopped in and climbed into the submarine alongside you. You didn't put up a fight—well, you probably couldn't even if you wanted to. Luckily, there were no guards in the chamber, so he wouldn't be spotted until you made it to the surface.

He was finally going to be free again.

This may be a game, but it's his life.

He would finally —

— Sebastian was back in his shop once more.

Right, because games don't load their unused areas, oops!

[cy-cyborg]

Tips for Writing and Drawing Amputees: Bandaged Stumps

When writing and drawing amputee characters, unless your character only just lost their limb, they don't need to wear a bandage over their stumps.

to be clear, eda's depiction in the show was fine, since she'd only just lost her arm and went (presumably) without any medical attention, but because the show didn't have much time to show her afterwards, I've noticed a tendency of the fandom to draw her wearing the bandage permanently, so that's why I'm picking on her for my example lol.

It's a bit of a trope at this point, and I think it comes from one of a few different places:

Amputees do wear bandages on their stumps, but usually only for the first 6-12 weeks post-amputation, sometimes longer if the amputation was a result of a burn. It's possible people saw this though and assumed it was permanent.

Most amputees wear a sock made of either cotton or silicone under their prosthetics to provide them with some extra padding. These socks, called liners, often stick out from the top of the prosthetic socket and could possibly be mistaken for a bandage from a distance.

Some amputees will wear compression garments for a few months to a few years after their amputations which could also be mistaken for a bandage from a distance. These garments are designed to stop swelling and reduce phantom pain, but they aren't bandages.

Stumps get cold easier because their circulation typically isn't as good as the rest of the body, so some amputees will wear socks over them even if they aren't wearing a prosthetic to keep warm, which again could be mistaken for a bandage from a distance.

This one is funny, but in my experience unfortunately, it's the most common: people think the end of an amputee's stump is just a perpetual open wound that never heals. Meaning to avoid "gore" it needs to be covered. I've met fully grown adults who believed this until I showed up to work/uni without my prosthetics or socks on.

People are uncomfortable with seeing an uncovered stump and so put bandages over it to avoid confronting their biases.

Some combination of these points.

But yeah, unless your amputee has only just lost their limb in the last few weeks, they don't need a bandage.

The ironic thing too, is that for most amputees, bandaging a stump is nearly impossible. I've been in and out of hospital since I was 1 year old and only ever met 3 nurses and no doctors/surgeons who could successfully bandage my stump in a way that the bandage would even stay on. This is because stumps are usually tapered in shape (meaning they are wider at the top, closer to the body, and thinner at the bottom), so gravity will pull the bandage off 9 times out of 10.

On a final note: it's ok to show your amputee's stump, it's not gore, there's no blood, it just looks like a regular limb that just stops early. In fact, if you are writing/creating anything for kids or that is likely to be seen by kids, I encourage you to show your amputee's stumps at least once. I used to work on a disability awareness program for kids, and I lost count of the amount of times kids were terrified of me, because they all expected my leg to be bloody and gory. For a lot of kids, I was their first real-life exposure to an amputee, meaning they'd never even heard of people like me, or they had seen an amputee on TV, but because the show went out of its way to avoid showing the person's stump, they assumed it must have been because there was "something scary at the end" that they weren't supposed to see (kids are surprisingly perceptive, they will pick up on stuff like that without you realising). And scared kids aren't good at articulating why they're scared, and would often say really mean or hurtful things to me. I knew not to take it personally and learned how to handle those situations, but not everyone is used to dealing with kids. For a new amputee (or anyone who's less confident in their disability), the kinds of things those kids would say could be absolutely confidence destroying. I never blame the kids, it's not their fault, but the whole situation could have been avoided if they had seen people like us before they had the chance to hear the wrong info. Good representation like this can be the difference between a kid crying, making throw-up sounds and calling an amputee "disgusting monsters" (all things I've had kids do/say) and them just being like "oh ok, cool."

[aerynwrites]

Simple

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

A/N: the absolute feral nature I have been spitting out fics has been wild. I think i've hit 3 fandoms in the past three weeks and i just...idk wtf is going on lol. I will definitely be revisiting this character though bc..I LOVE HIM YOUR HONOR!!! Hope you all enjoy <3

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: graphic depictions of injuries, blood and gore, canon typical violence, nightmares, mentions of death and dying, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

It was supposed to be simple. It was simple. A simple exfil mission, in and out - one and done. It’s the only reason they’d asked you to come along. 

You’re a base medic. Well, technically you’re a field medic too, but you mainly stay on the base. Tend to soldiers there - it’s what you’re good at. 

You aren’t supposed to be here, in the middle of the desert in a humvee now flipping through the air as if time has slowed down. 

It was supposed to be simple. 

The explosion hit without warning, sudden and all at once just as Soap was telling some stupid joke. Just as Ghost was smacking the back of his helmet. Just as you were all laughing after a successful mission with no injuries for you to even worry about. 

It felt like you flew hundreds of feet up in the air. The explosion knocking the wind from your lungs as the humvee is sent careening skywards. Loose items - rifles, packs, abandoned helmets…they all become projectiles inside the crammed space. 

It feels like you’re watching it all in slow motion, your friends bodies being thrown against their seatbelts like rag dolls. The world outside tumbling around you all. The way an arm slings across to cover you, as if that will stop the inevitable. 

Then it’s all over in an instant.

Metal screeches against metal, screams of agony cut short, glass shattering, fire roaring, the smell of burnt oil, and then-

Silence.

Silence, except the ringing ion your ears. Silence, except for the vacant thud of rubber against metal as you slam your boot into the vehicles door.

Silence when you call out their names. 

Complete and utter silence as you step out into the inky black night of the desert, the only light being that of the moon and the fire around you. 

“Lieutenant Riley!” You call out, your comms busted, “Report!”

Your voice is muffled to your ears, and for a moment you hope that he is calling back to you and you just can’t hear it. But as you squint through your swimming vision, the eery stillness of the overturned humvee makes panic settle in your chest. 

“Captain Price, status!”

More silence. 

FUCK!

You’re lurching back to the humvee before you can think about it, reaching in and grabbing the first tactical vest you can latch onto. 

It’s Soap. 

It’s your friend that never ceases to make you laugh. It’s John ‘Soap’ McTavish and he has a fucking pice of metal sticking out of his abdomen and he’s not - oh thank fuck, he’s breathing. 

You pull him several yards away from the crash, ever aware of the smell of gasoline filling the air and - 

You have to get the others.

You pull them all out of the smoking wreckage. 

One, two, three, four-

Price, Gaz, one of the drivers (DOA) and-

Ghost.

Ghost is the last one you pull out and you’re all the way to the others when he blissfully regains some semblance of consciousness, but you aren’t even able to dwell on that. Wide eyes flickering to everyone else who’s either unconcious or dead or about to be-

“Sergent!”

The booming voice startles you from where you dazedly stand over the bodies of the team, and you can’t even find it in you to respond. 

Before you were working on autopilot - get them out, get them away from the wreck, assess, form a plan…

But now it’s all gone out the goddamn window. 

You’re not a fucking field medic. You can’t do this. Your heart pounds in your ears, blood rushing through your veins, chest heaving with breaths you can’t even take. 

The shrapnel in Soap leaves a red stain getting bigger by the second. Price’s arm is bent at an unnatural angle, blood trickling down the side of his head. Gaz’s leg looks like minced meat, bright white bone protruding from-

The world spins on its axis as two strong hands grip the straps of your vest, turning you around to face a very bloodied and angry Lieutenant.

“Sergent I expect a fucking answer when I talk to you!”

You shake your head, Ghost’s voice a million miles away. And only now do you seem to register the warmth trickling down your face, dripping into your eyes, you reach a hand up, fingers coming away red and sticky with blood. Your blood -

“I-I can’t do this,” you manage to whisper, voice pitching higher as the panic sets in further. “I can’t fucking do this-”

A harsh jerk from the man before you startles you slightly back into focus, head swimming again as a gloved hand comes to grip your chin in a firm grip. 

Dark eyes capture your own through the all too familiar mask, and you can feel the heat of his breath on your face from where he stands so close. 

“Pull it together,” he bites, gaze cold yet somehow not completely unkind. “You’re here. Which means you were picked for a reason. So quit your bloody whimpering and help them!”

He shoves you away from them with those final words, pushing your medical pack into your arms as he does so.

“Save them,” he says, pointing behind you to his team, your friends. “That’s an order, sergeant.”

So you do the only thing you can think to do in this moment. 

You follow orders. 

———

Six hours. 

Six hours is how long it took for a med evac to show up. Six hours of patching up your unit. Six hours of watching, praying they didn’t succumb to their wounds. Six hours of you and Ghost waiting for the enemies to show up and finish you off. 

Six hours of life and death. 

You should be thankful it was the former. 

Yet, you’re finding it hard to give thanks. 

It’s hard to be grateful when sleep evades you, nightmares pouring in like a raging river - blood filling your vision both waking and sleeping. 

Even weeks after, you can’t look any of the 141 in the eye. They’ve all thanked you, seeking you out after they woke up. Price’s smile huge, clapping you on the back but always careful to avoid his arm that’s in the sling. Soap tried to hug you when you were summoned to his hospital room, but the wince of pain from his bandaged up abdomen wouldn’t let him. Gaz even sought you out on his own, hobbling on his crutches ‘thank you’s’ falling from his lips like rain.

Thank you for what? You had to stop yourself from asking. 

You were a coward. A bloody fucking coward that was ready to let them lay there and bleed out. They’d all be dead if it wasn’t for Ghost snapping you out of a panic like a parent yelling at their child.

Ghost…

You have yet to see him since the incident with of you being hauled away to medical as soon as you landed. And at this point you can’t tell if he’s avoiding you or you’re avoiding him.

Maybe both. 

————

The nightmares are constant since you’v returned, but they’ve never been like this one. 

Tonight’s is the worst. 

In all the other’s it was just a replay if what happened except maybe you were hurt too or frozen and unable to move, but…tonight’s is different. 

The scene in front of of you is familiar but worse. So much worse. Price, Gaz, and Soap all lay before you in the sand, blood pooling around them, except this time they’re not breathing. That steady rise and fall of their chests is missing and their glassy too-fa- gone gazes stare blankly up at you. 

Blood rushes in your ears, heart thudding out of control in your chest and when you try to reach out to save them - to help them - your body simple won’t move. And when you blink there’s another body there this time, black and white skull balaclava staring up at you now too, that disappointed look etched permanently on his brow. 

No, no, no…

You try to reach out again, but that same invisible force clings to you, and this term you feel it creeping upwards, starting at your feet and crawling up your legs. 

You blink again and they’re all standing in front of you, blood covering them eyes still glassy as they circle around you.

“How can you just stand there?” Soap asks, voice broken and angry from behind you.

“We need help, sergeant!” Price’s voice is next from where he stands in front of you.

“Help us-”Gaz…

“Snap out of it!”

Ghosts voice is loudest of all, and finally you’re able to move, only to see the teams face swirling around you, insults and cries for help filling your ears, drowning out everything else. It all blurs into one, voice melding together in a morbid cacophony of cries. Your hands snap up to your ears, desperate to escape from the onslaught only for two stronger hands to drip your wrists keeping you from relief.

“Oh no,” Ghosts voice oozes malice. “You’re not escaping that easy.”

You close your eyes, not daring to look at the bodies around you, at the manifestation of your failure. 

“Wake up!”

The words seem deafening before it’s like a bucket if ice cold water being dumped onto you. Your throat aches as you launch yourself upwards in bed, body drenched in your own sweat as hands collide with a solid mass in front of you. 

Hands grab you again, and you can’t stop the way you flinch reeling backwards in an attempt to get free. 

“Let go!” You cry, salt on your lips as you realize you’re crying. 

“Stop, stop - it’s me, I-it’s Simon, now-” a harsh jerk of your arms shakes you out of your panic, just alike all those nights ago. “Stop!”

Simon?

Your eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, and though it takes you a moment to realize where you are, you relax ever so slightly when you recognize the familiarity of your quarters. The bed beneath you, sheets tangled haphazardly around your legs. The bedside table, the book you were reading, the window across the room with faint moonlight streaming in, the clock reading 2am, Simon sitting next you hands still wrapped tightly around your wrists-

Wait…Simon?

Your mind repeats his name over and over, and as of sensing your’ve come back down his grip on you loosens as he speaks. 

“Back with me?”

You shake your head, still reeling from your nightmare, heart still pounding chest heaving as you take in deep shuddering breaths. 

“What…what are you doing here?” You ask, voice small as you speak through the tears. 

Simon shrugs, looking away from you now as he lets your arms go entirely. 

“Heard screaming,” he says simply. “Worse than usual. Went on longer.”

He doesn’t offer much else, and it’s in this moment of thick silence that you are finally able to see past the tears to really look at him. It’s hard in the darkness, but your eyes have adjusted enough to see the white bandages still wrapped around his right arm, a result of the nasty gash he’d sustained in the crash. You can even still see the remnants of the head injury too, the skin above his right eye much darker than the rest of his face. Mottled with bruises and stitches…

In fact, it’s only now you realize he’d come to you with his mask off - which, what’s underneath doesn’t wholly surprise you considering you’ve seen it before, being a medic and all but it switches something inside of you. 

Him laying himself bare to you, coming to you in the middle of the night to check on you after everything you’ve done. Everything you failed to do…

The damn breaks and the tears flow freely once more as your shoulders shake with harsh sobs. 

“I can’t do this,” you cry out, curling in on yourself as Simon reaches for you once more, confusion etched into his features. 

“Can’t do what? What are you-”

“This!” You sob, gesturing around you wildly. “I’m not meant to be here. Not after…not after what happened-”

A sharp intake of breath cuts you off as your lungs struggle for air against your cries but Simon doesn’t stop you. Warm hands just fall to rest lightly on the tops of your thighs, as you cry, anchoring you here. 

“I failed them. I failed you-”

“Hey.” His voice is firm, his patience wearing thin as he watches you fall apart in front of you. “I won’t hear any of that.”

You shake your head, aware now that his hands have moved up to cradle your face is his calloused palms, thumbs wiping futilely at your tears. 

“But it’s true,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion. “I’m a coward.”

Thick fingers press into your jaw, not enough to hurt but enough to bring some alertness back into your emotion fogged brain. 

“Would a coward have pulled four men twice their size from a burning wreckage?” He asks, breath warm against your cheek from how close he sits. 

“Would a coward have kept four men alive in the field with barely enough medical supplies?”

You open you mouth to argue, tell him that it only happened once he ordered you to do it, but he persists, not letting you speak. 

“Would a coward have sat there for six fucking hours keeping her men alive under the threat of enemy fire?”

He pauses then, eyes searching your own and giving you a firm shake when you don’t respond. 

“Would a bloody fucking coward have done that?”

His voice is uncharacteristically soft for the words he speaks, and before you can think, you find yourself saying the first thing that comes to mind. 

“No…” the word is barely audible, whimpered out softly. 

But Simon hears you. Because, of course he does. 

On hand slides form you cheek back to tangle in your hair as he pulls you towards him, cradling your face in the crook of his neck.

“No. They wouldn’t have,” he affirms, moving to wrap his other arm tightly around your middle as your cries finally start to subside. 

“Now,” he says after a while, arms never leaving you, “can that coward nonsense and try to get some sleep.”

You watch in slight confusion as he pulls away only to adjust himself to lay next to in the bed, tugging the covers to readjust them from where you’d tossed them away in your sleep induced panic. You want to ask what he’s doing - tell him that he doesn’t have to stay but he seems to read your mind - or rather your hesitance as you watch him.

He pauses just as he’s lifting the covers, eyes finding yours in the dark. 

“You want me to leave?” 

You shake your head almost immediately, the last thing you want is to be alone. 

“No, I just…” you trail off, moving to slip beneath the sheets.

There’s a small moment where both of you pause, neither of you quite sure what to do or how far to go. You’re the first to break the momentary tension, scooting so you’re pressed against his front, hands against his chest as you rest your head in the crook of his neck. You feel as he lets out a deep sigh, one arm slipping beneath the pillow you rest on while the other moves to wrap around your waist, pulling you further into him.

“Thank you, Simon,” you whisper.

His arm tightens around you, and you swear you feel his lips brush against the top of your head. 

“Anytime, love.”

And for the first time in weeks, you both slip into a dreamless slumber.

[minty-mumbles]

LU Survey 2024 Results

The long awaited results of the survey. Thank you guys for being so patient with me :)

There were 350 responses to the survey this year! Not as many as there were last year, but still impressive. If you want to look at the raw data for this, you can do so here

Demographics

General Questions

Favorites and Least Favorites

Blank Space Question (Select Answers)

I'm so normal about Legend (the biggest lie I've ever told)

WIND BABY WIND OUGH IHGH UUOA I AM SICK FOR HIM MY SKRUNKLE MY OUGHGHHGJUA BELOVED

Remember that fandom is a community! Reach out to each other and learn something new! Give someone a compliment! Ask them a question! Encourage new artists and writers who are still learning! Thank you Mint for doing the survey again, too!

The fact no one has thought of calling Warrior's Zelda, "Areia" hurts me deeply "Hyppolita" even, please, with how much shipping there is between them, people sure are eager to name her after goddesses who have vowed to never have romantic relationships.

I dont think the fandom talks about it but i really love that every single piece of sky clothing is embroidered, because unless skyloft has embroidery machines thats all hand done. Which means either someone he knows makes a lot of them and gives them out freely (i give most of my projects to friends and family) or he would have paid someone for it, which means that either someone on skyloft lives of decorating clothing (and likely other fabrics) or someone just uses it to get some extra money (both are amazing since in the modern day people dont want to pay for handcrafted works what its actually worth)

Shark skeletons are made of cartilage, not bone

It's dangerous to go alone. Take this. 🦆

FOUR SUPREMACY🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥🔥💚❤️💙💜💪💪💪💪🔛🔝💯💯💯💯💯

No but the Athena/Artemis thing is so real. What’s up with that. Why did we pick Artemis? Why did we do that?

I find it so funny how the fandom has decided to call Dark Link "Dink" because whenever I play a Zelda game I name my character Dink or Dinkus :D I started doing this waaaaay before I knew about LU

Im so excited for Echos of Wisdom! I find it really funny that Nintendo keeps making it harder for JoJo to stick to the plan, I'm pretty sure it's Legend and Fable but I'm not certain any ways Im really happy!

I love how LU is a culmination of so many of my favorite tropes from other fandoms! It’s been really comforting and nostalgic for me despite the fact that I only got into it this year. Especially since so many creators I liked have been getting revealed as problematic, it’s nice to be able to fall back on fictional characters who can’t ruin the lives of real people. :)

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 7 part 1

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

ah yes, episode 7, a notoriously low stakes one that people are not emotionally invested in whatsoever. a mere 9.1 on IMDB, nothing to write home about.

we start with lilia dying, because life and death are a never ending cycle. and also because the people who made this show are evil

she's like a teardrop. good fucking shot.

meanwhile billy is marching on, puffing his chest, all stone faced. agatha is pretending to be a nice little guy, to make friends.

she's really TRYING, okay?

rio's busy reaping alice's soul, but we don't reveal that until later. and LMAO agatha being all like, I'm gonna be OPEN and HONEST and a good ment- except for that I donwannatalkabouthat

agatha after she babysits a little boy once, scares him shitless and tries to kill his mom: we CLEARLY had a connection there

that poor little dash in the subtitles. fighting for its life to convey the chasm of time she leaves between ex and best friend

LET'S HEAR IT FOR REBECCA WHO RAISED THIS BOY FOR FAR LONGER THAN WANDA OR AGATHA EVER DID

but the unfortunate fact is, wanda still is his mother. or rather, she's the witch who thoughtlessly created him and left a big scar in her wake. he has to deal with all that.

marvel's powers that be: wanda maximoff is definitely dead-dead

jac schaeffer and co. every chance they get: she sure is!!! *big fat kathryn hahn wink at the camera*

if they ever do a 'marvel most iconic line' poll we as a fandom are voting for this one. just to be clear.

I saw some reactors going ooooh it's ho***rts. HOW DARE YOU SIR. that's the wicked witch castle. billy maximoff would never.

I've been asking myself WHY agatha simply doesn't tell billy about the nature of the Road, not even now that everything else is out in the open. the only answer I can come up with is that the Road is real and it's here and deadly, it's not in any way an illusion. and since the Road is linked to billy's emotional state, we dont' want him to go ballistic one he realizes he's been killing witches. agatha has decided she can only soldier through at this point and get herself and billy's home, they can talk about the implications later. yes, she's really scared of what billy can do.

I've also been trying to figure out the moon phases:

Full moon - water phase, blue, Jen.

Waning moon - fire phase, red, Alice.

Blood moon or lunar eclipse (still a full moon): spirit phase, purple, Agatha

Waxing moon: air phase, yellow, Lilia

New moon: earth phase, green, Rio

so we get full moon, waning, full moon again, waxing, new moon. they're completely out of order??

this whole trial is the equivalent of billy calling lilia a slur. no fr it's billy repeatedly beating lilia over the head with a stick and going, reCLAIM IT RECLAIM THE DAMN SLUR YOU WITCH

i find kathryn hahn as the wicked witch of the west alarmingly hot and i don't know what that says about me

billy is like, i effin KNEW I'd look this good. oh god, the Road was just an excuse to cosplay as maleficent all along

i love how these two find themselves alone for five minutes and immediately proceed to BUTCHER a trial. i'm overusing tumblr lingo these days and all, but I still gotta say it: there is one single braincell in this whole coven and lilia has it. it's like leaving two children in charge

a cursory google search tells me the two sphinxes represent light and darkness, you need to learn how to control both for the chariot to move forward

she always is!! sort of. kind of. mostly.

agatha, who's about as spiritual as a q-tip: how hard caN THIS BE

I can totally see her as a con artist counting cards in vegas

somehow I cannot picture evanora homeschooling her. or sending her to school at all, for that matter. you know this bitch is self-taught.

someone with more time than me should totally check if there's any rhyme or reason to the cards these two buffoons drew

I'm gonna end this entry with lilia's eyes again so it's another nice circle. a fun little ouroboros!

damn patti has such big doe eyes

go to episode 7 part 2

[queers-gambit]

When The World Seems So Cruel

prompt: ( requested ) Billy knows something's bothering his girl, so, he follows his instincts and checks on her - family, friends, and slutty cheerleaders in bikinis be damned.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

word count: 5.1k+

warnings: cursing, smut 'cause why not, boys being assholes 'cause they're losers, misogyny, toxic / abusive / neglectful family, description of background violence, angst, did Cherry really write it if there wasn't a helluva lot of projection and need for revocation of internet access?

"Miss Cahill? I'm sorry to interrupt," you half-smiled at your math professor, "but I was just wondering if you still had my test? I never got mine back."

"Right," she cleared her throat, glancing around your body to see most of the class empty at that point. "I wanted to talk to you about that," she paused to pull out your test from a manilla folder. "I was very shocked to grade this under your name, honey, you're usually such a well-focused and high-achievin' student, I mean, you're on track for the Nat Scholarship! So, to see this... Was shockin', it's... Not your best work," she winced, handing the packet over.

You blinked in shock, frowning as anxiety mounted in your chest when you saw the glaring F in red marker. You mumbled in embarrassment, "I guess I've just been off my game..."

"Honey," Miss Cahill sighed in her light country accent, leaning on her desk with both fists so your eyes met hers, "I can always tell when one of my students is goin' through somethin' at home."

You froze, shaking your head, "No, no, it's not... It's not so bad."

"What's goin' on?"

You shrugged, "I've just been... Really tired," you decided on excusing, hoping beyond hope it was enough.

It wasn't, of course it wasn't. Miss Cahill just sighed and offered, "I can let you retake the test next week - but only after you go see the guidance counselor."

"Right... Um, yeah, okay, yeah, sounds good; um, thanks, Miss Cahill."

You made an escape, distracted by the third failing test you received this week; nearly barreling straight into a meaty, solid chest. "Woah, hey, no need to run 'round lookin' for the man of your dreams, I'm right here, doll," Billy teased, hands grabbing your upper arms to steady you. "What's got you inna rush, baby? You know I pick you up after this class."

You smiled in brief distraction, "Yeah, sorry, baby, I was just thinking about this essay coming up. Hi," you offered, stretching up on your toes to kiss him in greeting. "How're you?"

He half-smirked, "I'm good, you know Mr. Brunson's got a stick up his ass as usual."

"Mhm. As usual, and totally has nothing to do with you provoking him," you teased, latching onto his waist as you shoved your test deep in your shoulder-bag. You neared his locker, and you managed to choke out, "Hey, um... Y-You wanna get outta here?"

Billy offered you a look of mild confusion, smirking with a strange laugh, "You wanna ditch school?"

"Maybe."

"Why?"

"I'm just tired," you offered meekly, "I feel like I haven't slept in a week."

Billy lead you up to his locker, hand on your waist to keep you close as he mused, "This feels like a setup."

"It's not, I promise."

He yanked the metal door open, "Uh-huh. You told me when I met you that I'd have to practically kidnap you to get you to skip class. Huh? 'Member all that? All them lectures you gave me 'bout the importance of goin' t'class if I wanna do anything after this shithole?"

"Yeah, but things change, Bee."

Billy's face dropped, shoving his books into his open locker before turning, leaning his shoulder on the locker next to his, arms crossed as he stared at you. "What's wrong?" He questioned sharply.

"Billy, I'm just tired."

"No, it's something else. What's wrong? What's goin' on?"

You sighed, "You know what? It's okay, nevermind, I actually promised Eddie that I'd help him make those banners for SGA during lunch today, so," you glanced around, "I'm gonna go."

"Nah, baby, hol' up, I ain't mean - "

"I know, handsome," you promised softly, nodding as you reached for his waist to give a squeeze and keep him close. "I just forgot I told a friend I'd help them out, so, I'll just see you after, yeah?"

One hand rose to pet over your cheek, sighing, "You sure you're good? You don't look okay, sugar."

"I'm good," you nodded, deflating into his embrace and hearing him chuckle. "I'm just stretched thin this week, probably shouldn't make promises to my delinquent friends with all the college drama to worry about."

"What'd Munson do this time to only get banner-duty? Huh?"

"Probably got caught skipping or something," you mumbled against his pectoral; inhaling the scent of his mall-bought cologne and finding it a refreshing change from the CVS-brand he used when you first met. "School did something right by makin' everyone in detention serve the SGA for all their shit."

"Definitely got me to shape up," he joked, pecking the top of your head before finishing, "but I mostly missed out on time with you."

"Hey... I was thinking, maybe I can come over this weekend? Keep Max company, maybe keep Neil at bay? Can have a sleepover, too, if you want."

Now Billy's head cocked and his expression hardened, "The fuck you wanna come over for? You know how tense shit gets - "

"Billy."

"Nah, you're not makin' sense, pretty girl," he snapped, pulling back to stare down at you. "What's going on with you? You don't wanna be at home or something? The fuck's goin' on that's so bad you'd rather be at my place?"

You felt tongue tied, but the bell rang shrilly and literally saved you from needing to answer. "Shit, I gotta run, baby. I'll find you later, okay?" You promised, lifting onto your toes to kiss him, promising, "I love you."

He frowned, grumbling, "Yeah, love you, too." He watched you vacate the hall, his mind basically going blank to all other thought beside you. The entire lunch period, he sat on the hood of his car, chain smoking, wondering where he went wrong; what he did to upset you; what could be going on and most importantly, why you couldn't say anything to him about it.

However, after lunch, Billy found you in the library's designated SGA room and thought you appeared ten times as relaxed, laughing with Eddie Munson. When the punk caught Billy's eye, he nodded in respect; gesturing for you to look, and your head turned with a smile. You parted from Eddie and trotted up to Billy, feeling relieved when he grabbed you in a possessive hold; searing his lips to yours.

"Hi," you giggled.

"You seem happy."

"Kinda hard to be in a bad mood around Eddie."

"I can see," he lead you away. He wanted to bring back up about whatever was bothering you, but didn't; fearing ruining your joyful mood. Instead, his fingers just tangled with yours and you entered history together.

What should've been a decently peaceful class turned into a state of confusion for you and Billy when the intercom kicked on, the front office asking for your presence with the principal. Billy glared at the speaker box as you cast him a look of doubt, both confused by the summons; being all too used to them calling his name instead. All of history passed miserably; Billy alone without his favorite person to keep him on track and becoming antsy the longer you were gone. When you didn't return by the end of class, he grabbed anything you left and begrudgingly went to the last two classes of the day.

When the final bell rang, Billy waited for you at his car for a solid 25 minutes with several cigarettes being burned, but when you still didn't show, he grew worried. So, he stored everything in his Camaro, not needing to worry about his sister because Max got a ride home with her new bestie, Jane, and her father, Jim Hopper, and stormed through the school. Anger radiated off his very being, nearly stomping his steps, and just before he got to the front lobby, he saw you exiting the office.

You didn't notice him at first, and for a moment, Billy thought you were going to hurl whatever was on your stomach as you held a few pieces of paper in shaking hands. "Baby," he called your attention, finding your eyes light up at the sight of him. "The hell's goin' on? You were gone the rest of the day, I got worried."

"Yeah, it was some shit wrong with my college applications, but we got it straightened out," you lied, stepping into his embrace. "I'm sorry I worried you, handsome."

He met your lips in a kiss, promising, "Not your fault. C'mon, day's over, our weekend can start once we get the hell outta here."

"Hmm," you hummed dreamily. "Lemme go to my locker and we can get gone."

Billy didn't mind waiting, and when you were done at your locker, he escorted you to his car; only a few students still lingering after hours. He opened your passenger door, winking at you, then quickly jogged to his side and slid in. "C'mere," he breathed, reaching for your cheek instantly; hand sliding along the back of your neck and bringing you in close.

You moaned when Billy's lips molded to yours; all but instantly salivating when his tongue tangled with your own in a messy dance. You had a few rules about PDA, especially in school; but being in his car was neural territory and Billy needed a way to expel his neediness. Praising God for making today steadily warm and that you wore a skirt, you were ready to cry when Billy's hand came down to grip the meat of your thigh.

"Billy," you rushed when his hand traveled under your skirt to ghost over your panties.

"Nobody's here t'watch," he smirked. "C'mon, lemme do this for you, pretty girl. You don't wanna go home yet, right? Ain't got some curfew?"

"Nope," you surged forward to slam your lips to his, moaning when his hand now confidently pet your panties as your legs spread all the wider to encourage him.

"Good girl," he praised quickly, skimming the apex of your thigh to hook your panties and pull them to the side. "Mhm," he hummed with a cocky smirk, "I knew you liked getting fucked in public. Feel how fuckin' wet you are - shit, Goddamn."

You mewled; tension mounting as you tightened up from the stoking pleasure. "Billy - " You gasped when he plunged his fingers into your cunt, easily sliding in due to your arousal. "Ohhh, fuck," you breathed, eyes shut and mouth agape in pleasure, "needed this - needed this so bad. Just needed you."

"You'll get so much more, baby."

You whimpered, "Now, please. Please, please, please."

He smirked, "Wanna get in the back or ride me, princess? Huh? Tell me what you need."

Your eyes locked with his as you thought it over, but then, you smirked as you readjust the passenger seat and turned so your ass was propped up. It gave him a full view of your messy cunt; panties askew from his previous motions and fluid rubbed all around. Billy reached out with one hand to plunge his pointer and middle finger back into your core, the other wrangling open his belt, button, and jean zipper in frantic movements.

He shimmied from the garments and sat up, following your lead in adjusting his seat. He instantly mounted behind you over the center console, licking his palm and stroking his himself to life as he drug his cockhead up and down your wetness.

Billy reached out to move your panties once more, line himself up, and plunge full-hilt. You gasped and grunted, letting yourself be shoved forward a little to catch on the seat; Billy hissing between his teeth as your warmth enveloped him in a sticky-wetness. "Hang on, doll, ah, fuck, there we go," he chuckled, readjusting his position before starting to move his hips to create the most delicious friction.

"Fuuuuck, Billy!" You whined when he held both your hips with only one hand keeping your panties to the side.

"Needed this, too," he chuckled. "Good girl, fuckin' taking me so well. You'd let me do anything, wouldn't you? Fuck you however I want to, huh? Yeah," he lifted one hand to smack the meat of your bottom, creating a ripple; liking the way you twitched and delivered two more, finishing, "I know my pretty baby would let me do whatever I fucking wanted with her - " he clenched his teeth, hips punctuating his words, "'cause she was fuckin' made for me."

"Yes," you moaned, mind blank from all the previous drama of your day; ready to weep like a bitch in heat, "anything, baby, yes, yes, yes, anything you want."

"Good girl," he laughed ruefully; picking up the pace to fuck you outta your mind as he ensured you felt every throbbing vein of his engorged cock. He chased his own orgasm as you were charged with your own; hand reaching for your clit to start applying pressure in tight circles. "Let me cum in you, sweetheart. C'mon, baby, tell me I can cum in you - in this pretty pussy - in my pretty pussy - lemme fuckin' cum in you."

"Billy, fuck - yes, baby, yes! Yes, harder, please, fuck me harder and you can cum wherever you want."

"Even your ass?"

"Yes, Daddy, yes, anything you want! Fuck my ass full of your cum, please, fuck, I need it! Whatever you want, I need. Please!"

Billy's golden curls stuck to his forehead and neck, entire car rocking with frantic, animalistic movements - but anyone lingering around the school to see it wasn't surprised. Billy felt like he went faster than usual, that he got a little rougher; but he was nearing his end and it was hard to keep pace. When you cried out and legs shook from your flash-bang of an orgasm, he knew you had finished and could focus on his own; never pulling out.

He'd fuck your ass later.

"Fuck!" Billy came with a shout; shooting hot, salty, opaque white ropes of cum into your quivering cunt. He stuttered his hips into the meat of your ass, balls contracting; emptying himself inside you as you relished in the feeling of his warmth flooding your lower belly. He chuckled, mocking, "Might just have to get you off that pill so I can get you fucking pregnant already."

"Whatever Daddy wants."

Billy laughed as he pulled out of you slowly, instantly turning again to crash into his driver seat. You went a little limp but managed to turn over, both panting as the windows were fogged up; but aired out when Billy rolled two down to light up his cigarette. "So," he spoke through his inhale and deep breaths, "you wanna tell me whats wrong now?"

"Hmm?"

"Why're you so distracted? Distant? Even with me?"

You felt panicked by the confrontation, resorting to your last line of defense. "Just dealing with a lot," you answered as your legs spread as wide as you could to start toying with your beaten-pussy. He watched with a stoic expression as you used your fingers to stuff his dripping-cum back inside you. "'S been stressful, guess I just had a bad day," you whined lightly, still playing.

"Fuck's sake."

"Hmm?" You feigned innocence.

"You're just askin' for it, huh?"

"Maybe," you pouted, "or maybe I just need your cum - "

"Cut it out, we gotta go," he snickered, turning the key in the ignition. "Your dad hates me enough, can't have you late for family dinner."

You went quiet as your thoughts were plagued with a screaming voice that begged Billy to just read your mind and understand what was wrong - why you were so upset, so panicked. But you knew better. So, you flipped down your skirt and readjusted yourself, sucking your fingers of his cum before letting his hand tangle with one of yours on your lap.

"Maybe you'd wanna come over tonight?" You asked softly. "Go see a movie or something?"

"You never wanna go out on Friday nights," he chuckled, but something felt terribly wrong about the notion. "You do homework and study on Friday and Sunday nights, you said it was a relationship rule, huh?"

"Things can change," you pouted.

"I told Tommy and Ryan I'd hang with them and the guys tonight," Billy spoke slowly. "But I can cancel if you - "

"No, no, don't," you shook your head, "go see your friends. 'Cause I'll see you in the morning, right?"

"Right."

"And I can stay the night... Right?"

Billy nodded, "Anytime you want, baby, yeah."

"Okay, cool," you spoke softly, deflating in his seat when he pulled up to your house. "Um..." You stared up at the home as if it were haunted. "Do you wanna come in for a little?"

His head tilted and brows furrowed, "I have to pick up Max from Hopper's, remember?"

"Right!" You gaped, but didn't move.

"What's wrong?" He asked with a hardened tone, making you gulp lightly. "You don't wanna go in?"

"I could, like, just go with you?"

"Baby, the fuck's going on? Know I hate repeating myself and shit, so just fucking tell me - maybe I can fucking help."

"Nothing, no, it's just, it's nothing, I'm sorry, I just - I'm sorry," you chuckled. "Guess I'm PMSing and feel clingy or something."

He only hummed as you leaned over to kiss him in parting. Both promised you love each other before you got out, jogging up the driveway and opening the front door; pausing to wave at him and then disappear in the house.

"Yo, dickhead! Hey! Grab me a beer!" Tommy Hagan called to Ryan Sheen as he went to rummage in his uncle's basement fridge. "And grab Billy one, too!"

"Nah, I'm good," Billy refused, glancing at the can in his hand. It was still half-full. He didn't feel like drinking after having time to sit and think about your behavior the past few days, worrying about you more than he wanted to get drunk.

"What?" Tommy laughed obnoxiously, smacking his teeth after. "You don't want a second? What's wrong with you, got some test you gotta study for?" He laughed at his own joke. In Tommy H.'s mind, only fucking losers study on Friday nights.

"Nah," Billy eased, setting his can down as he felt his irritation flare. He was annoyed at Tommy, sure, but also by the idea that something was wrong with you and you didn't trust him enough to say anything. "I actually gotta go, you guys," Billy stood.

"What?" Now Ryan scoffed, slapping a can of beer to Tommy's open hand. "You're not serious, dude! We've only been here, fuckin' what? Half an hour, bro!" He sucked his teeth in annoyance, rolling his eyes, "C'mon, we were going to Alicia's pool party tonight - you're supposed to give us a ride! The fuck's more important than the slutty cheerleaders in bikinis?"

"That Maria chick's been all over you, too," Tommy laughed. "You can't tell us a single thing that's better than Maria Thomas, all soaped up, in that tiny bikini she wore for the car wash. It's all our wet dreams come to life, Billy, you can't seriously consider missing that!"

"Not everybody's desperate to see Maria's tit-job. You know what? Whatever, man, I gotta go see my girl," he tugged his jean jacket on, tugging his blonde curls out of the collar.

Ryan rolled his eyes as Tommy laughed, "No way. Nuh-uh. You're seriously going to fuckin' ditchin' us for that chick?"

"Man, fuck you, guys, I'm ditching your dumbasses for my girl," Billy snapped. "Better what your fucking mouths and how you talk about her."

"Whatever, man. You're just whipped."

"She got you on some leash or some shit? Got you on a curfew like she's your mommy?" Ryan rolled his eyes, groaning, "Seriously, dude, we only see you at practice now!"

"Look, I just know something's up with her, so, I gotta check on - "

"So, what!? She ain't even tell you why she's pissed off? C'mon, man, that is such a stupid fuckin' tactic chicks use to get guys to go crawling back to their spoiled asses! Bitches do the pettiest shit to get us to suck up to them and shit."

Billy turned and easily caught Tommy by the collar of his shirt before he could even let go of his beer can, slamming the loudmouth into the wall as the aluminum can clattered. Ryan and the two other irrelevant guys left in the basement could only freeze, knowing Billy Hargrove's aggression and not wanting to become part of the receiving end.

"I told you to watch your fucking mouth," Billy seethed.

"Fuck offuva me!" Ryan pushed Billy's arms off. "She's just some bitch, bro, you've already fucked most of the school - what's so different with her?"

Billy scoffed, nodding in amusement as he backed off a few steps. "You know? If I wanna go hang with my girl instead of you deadbeat dickheads, 's exactly what I'm gonna do. Not my fault y'all ain't shit and don't know what it means to keep a chick happy."

"Fuck off, Billy! You're so fucking pussy whipped!" Tommy barked. "Ditching us for that crybaby! Dude, it's not even real! She didn't even tell you whatever she's all upset about! You just had a feeling, so, just sit the fuck down, finish your drink, down a fuckin' second beer, and then let's go to the party! See some bitches that are actually worth seeing!"

Billy shook his head, "I ever hear y'all talkin' about my girl like this again," he chuckled dryly, "might be the last time y'all can even form words. Fuck yourselves," he sneered.

Billy didn't hesitate to storm out of the room, ignoring their jeers and sneers about him being "pussy whipped" and all their complaints about him skipping out on being their ride to "the hottest party of the year." The door slammed behind him, rattling a few windows; making a beeline for his Camaro and pausing at the trunk. He found a pair of your sports shoes you'd eventually need, grabbed them in a white-knuckle grip, then got in the driver's seat and peeled away.

When Billy got to your house, he noticed the lights in your bedroom were barely turned on; knowing you didn't like overhead lighting and probably had a string of lights plugged in. On the contrary, the rest of the house seemed wide awake - every single downstairs light turned on. He grabbed your shoes and his school books (left in his backseat) and got out of his parked car, approach the front door, and paused when a barrage of voices suddenly met his ears. He froze.

The screams were full of hate, and while he couldn't make out distinct words, he heard both your mother and father's elevated voices. It was relentless, it was full of anger and hate and confusion and accusations and Billy wasn't sure how long he stood there with his fist raised. With a deep breath, Billy finally knocked at the door... Then again... Then again... And again, using the metal knocker to bang rapidly. He heard the voices lower and stopped knocking; taking a step back, then waited with his best look of indifferent innocence.

When the door ripped open, Billy was greeted by your angry-looking mother, who didn't look at who was at the door when she snarled, "What the fuck do you want!?"

"Uh, yeah, um, hi, ma'am..." Billy waved awkwardly.

"Oh, Billy," she gasped. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize it was you, sweetie. What's wrong? What - What time - ? Do you know what time it is?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry to interrupt so late, but nothing is wrong," he assured. "I just know your daughter's a little forgetful when there's a test comin' up," he chuckled, holding up the shoes and his books, "and she promised to help me nail this essay for my college portfolio... Did I use that correctly? Portfolio? She's always tryna broaden my vocabulary," he chuckled smoothly.

She smiled warmly, another victim to his charming influence, "Sure, honey, yes, of course, it's Friday or something, right, of course you can come in. C'mon, c'mon in." She stepped out the way to let Billy enter into the foyer. "Baby Girl's just upstairs in her room," she gestured with a wine glass Billy just noticed towards the staircase as she used your childhood nickname. They paused at the grand bannister, her eyes rolling when there came the muffled pounding of a bass-line from some song turned up to the max. "She's always blasting her music now adays, it'll make her deaf," your mother scoffed, taking a long sip, then waved him up. "Go on, get up there, good luck on your essay."

"Thank you, Miss Lady," he purred with a small smirk; nodding as he then watched her retreat to the sitting room, and barely a moment later, your father was exiting the kitchen.

"Billy," he greeted stiffly, glass of scotch in hand.

"Sir," Billy replied with a nod of respect, stepping out of his shoes (per household rules) to leave your parents at the front of the house's sitting room; beginning his ascent to the second level. He'd been there before, so, locating your room was like muscle memory; knocking when he approached the door and pausing when he only heard blaring music.

Another knock, no answer. So Billy opened your door.

You were sat on the ground, back against your bed, record player spinning, and the window you faced cracked open to waft the cigarette smoke out. His heart clenched when he saw you, your sadness nearly tangible as light made your tear-tracks on your cheeks glitter. "Baby," Billy spoke softly, watching you jump in shock. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, I tried to knock."

You nodded absently, "Music's on."

"Yeah, 's a good song," he allotted as he shut your door securely and asked, "want it locked?"

"Doesn't lock," you answered robotically, looking back out the window.

"Can I turn the music down, baby, please? Real hard t'hear you."

You nodded and he lowered the volume - but when he did, he understood why you had it so high. Your parents could be heard arguing downstairs, and even with an entire floor between you, it was still loud. So, he turned the music up just a little, frowned, and moved beside you, grunting lightly as his tight jeans constricted while he sat.

"Can I?" He asked, pointing at the cigarette. You handed it over mutely, your usual quip of "it's may I, not can I," nowhere to be heard. After two puffs, he meant to hand it back, but instead, you just fell into his side as if all energy you had to keep you up was depleted; a nearly drowned-out whimper emitting. Billy saw the coffee mug you had been using as an ashtray and dropped the cigarette instantly, using both arms to tug you into his lap.

Billy held you in a fetal position, gently and slowly squeezing you into his chest as he needed to feel you close; and you evidently needed to feel physical love. Billy had to gulp harshly when he felt your tears soak his shirt first, then the jerking of your shoulders; quivering of your body. This long week had finally caught up.

"Baby," he sighed, kissing your forehead. And instead of asking the idiotic and repetitive 'are you okay?', Billy instead just asked in a hush, "Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?"

Through your tears, you answered in a hiccuping-hush, "I didn't want it to be real."

Billy just sighed again, pulling you in tighter so you set under his chin. He let you simply rest, he just wanted to feel close to you... But something caught his eye. About three feet from you was your slumped, turned-over backpack; spewing contents as if it had been tossed aside in a fit of rage. What was interesting, though, was the crumpled pieces of paper; at least one sporting a huge, uppercase F circled in red marker.

"Yeah?" He whispered, sighing as he wanted to bite his tongue but couldn't. "Seems real enough to fuck up your grades though, huh?"

"I can retake the tests."

"You're gonna have to study."

"I know... 'S kinda hard to study here, though. Can't really focus on anything when all that's, you know, going on."

"No shit, Sherlock."

You snorted through your tears, "Don't make me laugh, I'm sad."

He smirked, "Yeah, yeah, all right. Listen, I'll just... We'll go to the library for tonight, and after, we can go to my place. How's that?"

"Thought you weren't allowed overnight visitors?"

"I'm not, but sneakin' inna my place can't be worse than tryna focus while here, right? Gotta be better than listening to this shit."

You nodded against his neck as a distant glass shattered, making you relent, "Touché."

"C'mon," he decided, kissing your forehead again, "pack a bag, baby. You're comin' with me - don't gotta stay here. Not tonight. Gonna come stay with me."

You pulled back just enough to ask, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, pretty girl," he smirked, caressing your cheek. "Might even let you do that green face goop thing you love bothering me about."

"It's an avocado face mask, and when your skin is literally glowing, you can thank me then."

Billy grinned down at you, taking the moment to swoop down and connect your lips in a long kiss; breathing each other in. When a second shatter sounded from downstairs, you flinched away, but Billy was quick to hush, "Hey, hey, hey," and when your eyes met his, he assured, "you're safe with me. Always safe with me." You nodded, tears shining in your eyes. "And you don't ever have to hide these parts of you - not from me. Never from me. I love you, pretty girl," he whispered, "and all parts that make you exactly who you are. Family included."

"I don't deserve you," you whispered.

"Nah, what you don't deserve is dealing with this shit. So, c'mon, get a bag together. We'll come back for what you need later, but get something together for the weekend."

You thanked him with a kiss, and while you got your things together, Billy mutely reached out to examine the pages in his grasp. He sighed, noting the three different failing tests and knew he had to "step up" his "boyfriend game" if he truly wanted to help you; and for the first time, he knew, without any selfish motives, he honestly did. He figured, for all you've done for him, providing you with something akin to a safe environment was a drop in the bucket; shoving those tests back into your school bag, standing, and helping you gather the last of your necessities.

Who needed slutty cheerleaders in soaped-up bikinis when this, right here, was what true love was? Shockingly, not Billy Hargrove.

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

[v-anrouge]

Verryyy long ranting under this about vil and how this fandom treats him for absolutely no reason pls excuse any mistakes and feel free to correct me with any accidental misinfo i passed <3

Mentions of racism, fatphobia, eating disorders, elitism & ableism and also SPOILERS for Vil's character story (eng only)

Ever since this game started getting super famous in tiktok and twitter it seems that people just love to butcher literally every character in Twst and sometimes it's genuinely baffling how wrong some of the takes are, it really does make me wonder if some people just don't read the story and just skip every character who isn't their fave, and if they really do that, what makes them think they know enough about the rest of the cast to post in the character's main tag the most rancid read on a character, often accompanied by some accusations of literal crimes of bigotry that really should be taken more seriously instead of being terms thrown around.

I'm gonna be talking about Vil specifically but characters like Leona, Jamil, Sebek and a few others have it exceptionally bad as well (especially Leo and Jamil who's haters can even be quite racist)

I've been playing for a very long time (in eng) i remember being there to watch the Heartslabyul final release and the release of Savanaclaw's chapter and through these years ive seen the most horrific takes on Vil's characters, ranging from the accusations of racism (which have been debunked again and again especially by JP players) to accusations of supporting eds, fatphobia, elitism and ableism. The funny thing is that even with a very quick read of any of Vil's story you'll find out there is no support for any of such claims. They like to use the incident with Epel's accent when for years JP players have pointed out how this was strictly an error of localization since they couldn't find a situation similar to the one that is portrayed in the original game to put in eng twst, they went with the one we have where Vil asks Epel to "hide his accent" (he really doesn't he was talking about the way Epel is rude and disrespectful which would definitely end with him being beat up and then expelled bringing a bad fame to Pomefiore and also making Vil look bad for not properly guiding his dorm students) which is a terrible choice but alas it seems people prefer to ignore facts to stick with their claim that Vil is some sort of monster when this man is literally a teen. He's 18 years old and has to constantly look out for his image in and out of school since he grew up in front of the cameras.

Vil's character is all about beauty and self care and self acceptance yet for some people this seems to translate to "starve yourself if you don't want to be a disgusting fat pig" which is very weird to say the least considering all mentions Vil makes about diets he is talking about keeping a balanced diet to nurture your body and even has a voice line pointing out the importance of eating. Vil himself may be coded to have an ED in his overblot and Lab vignette but he has never and would never encourage one, he literally goes out of his way to annoy students to take care of themselves what makes anyone think he'd encourage them anyways? It's such a weird thing to assume of a character.

A lot of people seem to think that Vil is also the "beauty standart" king which doesn't even make sense considering vil is a gnc man, he already doesn't follow beauty standards and would definitely be against it, Vil's vision of beauty for himself may be twisted due to his traumas and troubles yet his vision of beauty for others is always exclusively on the person being their best version, this includes dressing how they want to and feel comfortable in, using whatever makeup they want (or just not using it at all) etc.

The way Vil speaks is often misunderstood as he tends to be strict and can be read as mean (I've already shared my theory on what may have caused this behavior here before so i won't be getting into too many details) but Vil is a famous and respected housewarden because if you actually stop and think about his advice the end result is always an effort to make the person's desires come true. (a good example is how Vil made Epel clean the windows and although Epel was displeased with the hard labor in the end he notices how the task may help with muscle growth and gets happy)

Vil's way of caring for others is often misunderstood and obviously that's understandable, not everybody may get his "rougher" way of handling advice, but also it's a bit weird how people react to it when in game all of the characters seem to be okay with it, Pomefiore has a lot of students and if they considered Vil to be a bad leader he would've been voted out a long time ago, no? And if i remember correctly wasn't it said in game they had very few transfers? (as in characters moving out of Pomefiore and into other dorms) That wouldn't make sense if Vil was really the cruel leader some people make him out to be. The truth is Vil is a nice caring person and his students recognize that which is why he is respected all across the school and not simply on his dorm (because ive seen people say Vil has brainwashed the Pomefiore students into thinking he is a good housewarden 💀)

Vil surely has issues he needs to work through, after all this game is literally about that, dealing with troubled teenagers and their internal struggles and the importance of asking for help (omg friendship is magic...) but Vil is also a teenager, and he is one of the characters that show the most desire to get better, immediately showing regret and apologizing to Yuu and his classmates for the danger he put them in, that is because Vil genuinely does care for them.

Another accusation people make is ableism, i remember seeing many posts saying Vil wouldn't respect disabled people and/or mentally ill people which is 1- extremely fucking rude to say? 2- absolutely wrong. Again just a quick read on Vil's character will tell you everything you need to know about how he'd feel about disabled people, he'd treat them like everyone else, and would adjust his handling accordingly to their needs, i really don't get where this claim comes from but it's quite ironic because a lot of Vil haters tend to be ableist themselves by claiming that Vil is a bad person mentioning traits that are often caused by mental illness and the effect of traumas, failing to analyze how their treatment of a character that displays common mental illness symptoms may affect people in real life who displays the same symptoms, and often being ableist themselves by judging these actions irredeemable and inherently evil/heartless, once again dehumanizing people with mental illness in real life who deal with the same symptoms.

Another common thing is the constant invalidation of Vil's trauma. A lot of people seem to read book 5 with their eyes closed and take away from the story that the reason Vil "got pissy and almost killed a guy" (wording of a terrible post i saw a few days ago<333) is because he's a "spoiled brat who couldn't handle getting the paper he wanted in a movie boo hoo" which is kind of funny with how terribly wrong it is, i really don't know what your thought process has to be to get his backstory this wrong but sure, let's start; The start of Vil's problems with being cast as a villain starts from when he was very very young, he was just a child when after being cast as a villain for a movie he was almost beat up by a group of boys for being an "evil guy" and by his reaction it wouldn't be impossible that this wasn't his first time dealing with that kind of thing. Vil also tells jack (who scared away the group) that he had trained so he would be able to deal with them on his own which again, could be a hint that this wasn't that uncommon in his life. In Vil's overblot dialogue is all we really need to know to debunk this claim.

What Vil wanted wasn't just to be a hero in a movie, he wanted to be seen, to be heard and cherished, he wanted to be more than a pretty prop they could put on the front to get attention only to be taken out of stage when he was no longer necessary in the next scene, do you get it? He wanted to be able to see his hard work pay off, to see his efforts of years being rewarded, to for once not be exchangeable for someone more favorable. Vil wanted to feel like all his pain was worth it in the end because finally he could shine in the stage, being himself instead of just another persona to attract people. In his overblot it's shown clearer than ever that Vil does not have a stable view of his own image unlike what he has trained himself to show, even calling himself ugly and begging them to not look at him. I don't think Vil is used to be being vulnerable, which would explain why he was so freaked out when the overblot happened, and why he cried when his beauty (the one thing about himself that was always recognized by others and therefore the thing he'd always been the most desperate to nurture) was taken away by aging in book 6 (note; the fact Vil sacrificed it for his classmates also just debunks the people saying he only cares for himself, if he did he wouldn't be who he is.)

I said i wouldn't give my thoughts again but i will, just briefly, i believe an easy explanation to Vil's behavior (the tough love he gives and his strictness) might be because of the industries he grew up in, we can't know for sure how similar twst's version of the movie and modeling industry is when compared to the real life one but considering the way Vil is, my guess it's that it's pretty similar, especially in the regard of their treatment towards children, in Vil's overblot he hears two staff members talking about how he'd never be able to pull off a relatable role because he is too perfect, and sure those may not look like insults, but to Vil who's only dream his entire life was to be seen in good light, those words stuck to him so deeply they'd come back to him during his overblot. (note; i have not seen a jp translation of the overblot scenes so i don't know if they also suffered from localization issues, if anyone has a link to one i could see id really like to see what the staff said to Vil)

The general point of Vil's overblot was how his efforts and hard work were always overlooked and ignored in favor of someone else, this happens with quite a lot of characters and happens as well with another overblot (Leona, who happens to be quite similar to Vil in many ways) and although i don't expect anyone to read it and think of analysing it more deeply even with a shallow vision of his overblot it's still incredibly insensitive to call it a "non-problem" especially considering the fact this is Vil's ENTIRE life, he's been working hard and failing for years again and again and that does get to you. I remember when i posted my first rant on Vil quite a lot of people who reported to be skilled at something (say for example music or dancing) as a child that any failures absolutely destroyed you inside, and that people who haven't passed through the same tend to call them dramatic and say they're overreacting to situations that can be classified as trauma depending on how much it mentally impacted said child. (and in Vil's case it's clear it had a massive one, after all he wouldn't have overblotted if he didn't have issues that had been bottled up until they finally exploded)

Mentioning Leona again, he and Vil share the same sentiment of anguish for being discarded and having their hard work be thrown away, the difference in them is the way they reacted to it, while Leona ended up not seeing any value in attempting to do anything because he assumes the outcome is always going to be the same, Vil overworks himself and forces himself to do things he might hate clinging to the hope that this time it'll work out.

Since we're talking about trauma ill already answer some things that may or may not come with this post (because in my first one i got this response a lot) "Vil's a fictional character it doesn't matter" and sure if you think like that cool, personally, when im talking about a fictional character that tackles real life traumas and issues, i talk about it as if referring to a real person because the character has been written with one (or multiple) in mind.

Twst may have issues but the character writing is undeniably about real life traumas and experiences, and the characters are quite accurate and good representation of the issues they tackle, so when you invalidate them, you are by result invalidating real life issues. Of course this won't stop anyone and i know that a few people will probably scoff at this and brush it off as being too sensitive but personally if you wouldn't dare invalidate say for example Riddle's traumas because you know it's a representation of mommy issues, which is a very real problem, to not go against your own morals you should also respect the issues of all the other characters, even if you personally think some are more "serious" than the other.

[ttshihiro]

pspspps.. totally not golden groovy woops

ANYWAYS HII!! heard u were open for requests. may i request tammy + qiu with and an artist reader :00

requests of my favorite fandoms are my catnip good gof woa who could this be‽‽ my reqs and my ask box are like always open btw >◡<

extra note/s: I refer to step 1 Qiu as he/him. Uhhh take this as platonic or romantic, I'll add an indicator for romance (𐙚) ^^

more under the cut > o

✧ At 10 years old, QIU's fascinated. How he discovers your interest and skill in arts varies but his reaction doesn't. He's impressed! Whether digital or traditional, Qiu would love to participate especially if you asked him yourself.

For this reason, he carries an extra pen and even those colored ones just in case you get bored or if you're suddenly struck by creativity when you two are playing :3

✧ The first time you show him one of your doodles you made during class, he's compelled to do the same whether or not you actually give him it. And ever since, you two've been exchanging these sketches during class. It's the cutest scene to walk into.

✧ URGH AND THE THINGS HE DOES WHEN YOU TELL HIM ABOUT ART BLOCK DEPENDING ON HOW AND WHAT YOU DRAW

You're into drawing sceneries? Trust that he starts telling you and Tamarack about more "special things" in the forest and/or the town.

Like the sky? There's this clearing a lot further into the forest at your backyards. Stargaze, watch the clouds and the sunset together?

✧ It's also necessary for me to mention that unlike his notes, lazily pressed against eachother and constantly on the run, anything you give him goes to a safe space probably in between a books pages, under the the matress of his bed or inside a drawer/container.

"They broke into my backyard accidentally, 'cause they were on a crazy investigation about a paper airplane. Plus, they got here a day ago and they're already looking out for me. Normally, I'm the one doing that."

"Besides, they're pretty. And they make me pretty. Look! Look how they drew me!"

✧ As for 10-year-old TAMARACK, she's curious. The things you draw, are they based on actual places? Actual people? Oh, you draw based on your imagination? Elaborate.

✧ At some point in the prologue, she says "All the forests in the world are different, and some places don't even have forests. I can show you good spots to find things since you're newer to this forest than me."

And I can't not think of her running up to you to give you all of what she gathered for you to draw like omfg

With all those leaves and tiny branches sticking out of her hair and sweater, she smiles brightly with her hands filled with her treasures. AUGH SHE MAKES ME SO SICK I LOVE HER

✧ Like Qiu, she has her own safe spot designated for only your drawings if you've given her any.

She shows off all of them. Especially if you've drawn her?? It'll be the only thing she talks about during literally any time for the rest of the month and the few months after.

"Out of all the friends I have here, you're the best one. We came to the same exact neighborhood, almost at the same time, and are he same age. You have fun outside and I do too."

"I think you're pretty. How you draw me is pretty! I've never met a kid who was just like me. That's important. That's serious."

✧ Now, 14-year-old QIU's pretty much no different. They're even more impressed when they see just how much you've improved. Nonetheless, they treasure your old drawings just as much as they do they new.

They take the liberty of providing you with both a pen and paper to draw on when you're together, in case you don't bring your sketchbook (if you own one).

On those days where you two just sit in silence in their hideout, their gaze drifts to your side quietly a few times to watch your progress. After a while, they settle with sitting right next to you and watching the stroke of your pen against the paper as the scene forms with each hatch.

✧ As a teen, they've actually been a tad bit farther off the town when they feel like taking a ride on their bike. They've seen many sights and burn the route into their brain for them to tell you about. They'd even be happy as to bring you there themselves.

✧ If you ask them to be your muse, good god you'd need to tell them what to do.

It's almost a funny sight. Qiu, the kid who knew what to do their whole life asks you, "Should I pose? Where do I look? Ah- what's my good side?"

𐙚 They can feel their breath hitch under your scrutiny. Suddenly, they're concious of every single thing about them. Where do their eyes go? Should they move their hands? Is their hair in the way?

They avert their gaze flusteredly, their head ever so slightly moving to the side when they do so.

And good god do their hands clutch the fabric of their pants when you tell them to look at you properly.

✧ Same goes for TAMARACK at 14. She's as intrugued as ever to hear about your work. She admires (you)r style from then till now and has learned to appreciate the time gone into things as simple as this, whether or not you've made it with her in mind. BUT GOD IF YOU TELL HER IT IS, it's always sitting on her desk and she thinks constantly about what you've done for her.

✧ And while she doesn't exactly bring you a pen, she's more than glad to hand you hers when you need it.

✧ Unlike before, she'd now be at your side when you two hung out at her backyard. She'd be sitting across from you, practicing the cello. The hum of her instrument accompanied by the sound of nature and the scratch of your pen against paper gives her a sense of calmness.

This may also be when she realizes she's been your muse! Her fingers trace over where your pen has been and boy appreciate isn't even enough for her to describe how she felt. It was definitely happy, but that wasn't the word either.

𐙚 Her heart pounds alarmingly as she admires your work. It's almost concerning to you that she sits silently with a blank expression as she held your sketchbook in her hands.

But that concern washes off you as soon as a warm smile curls the corners of her lips, tender adoration displayed all over her face.

[floofanflurr]

I! Am so tired of the infantilization of Papyrus. I'm so tired of the infantilization of autistic people, and autistic traits. I thought we were past this in this fandom... but NOPE.

I am absolutely NOT going to name any names, (especially because I don't think ANY of this is intentional!!! I don't think people are doing it on purpose!!! And I don't want to hurt people. And also because it's SO many people now. I see it all the time from so many different places. It would be impossible to list them all.)

But??? I am getting increasingly uncomfortable with the casual ableism in Papyrus fans, bloggers, and writers who don't even realize that's what they're doing. People who say they are against the infantilization of Papyrus.

(Sticking the rest of this under a cut so I don't clog any feeds)

I just!!!! It's all well and good to have your headcanons about Papyrus! He's a really mysterious character that we don't know a lot about! I'm not denying that! But I see SO many people just… saying things like:

"Papyrus would NEVER do (insert autistic trait here) because he's an ADULT! CLEARLY it was a joke."

or

"People take him seriously or at face value when he does (insert autistic trait here) but he's not stupid???? Clearly it means something else-"

And so freaking many variations of that.

Just. Have your headcanons about what Papyrus means or doesn't mean. That's okay! If you think he's joking that's FINE! But PLEASE don't shit on other people and be so casually ableist by saying that he could never be these things, or that these things would mean he was stupid, or childlike if he ACTUALLY meant them or did them.

ITS LIKE. Taking the initial infantilization of Papyrus in fandom and spinning it on it's head so far it goes right back into infantilizing autistic people by just. REMOVING PAPYRUS'S AUTISITC TRAITS AFTER LABELING THEM STUPID OR CHILDLIKE.

"You're infantilizing Papyrus! CLEARLY he could never actually MEAN these things or do those things for real because he's an adult-" AND LIKE. BABE. THOSE THINGS ARE JUST AUTISTIC THINGS.

And just.

It's really really upsetting to see the traits that I personally relate to in Papyrus have people saying "he could NEVER actually mean/do that! CLEARLY it was a joke, or subterfuge or insert something else here-"(the very strongly implied "because only Children do that" is so clear it's nauseating) (And often stated, but just in slightly different language. "It's clear." or "Of course Papyrus wouldn't-" or "He's smart!" or "He's an adult!")

Most of the portrayals I see of Papyrus are wonderful. While I've seen this a lot in fandom, I don't think it's the majority of people who create or write, or blog Papyrus content. But it's a big enough chunk that it is incredibly worrying and upsetting.

I'm also not trying to wave away any level of subterfuge, or mystery that Papyrus has. Because he has a lot! And!!! He's a grown ass adult! (A HILARIOUS one who cracks a shit ton of jokes and is witty as hell.) Someone who is very sneaky about many things, and masks a lot, and is clearly hiding SOMETHING. Have fun theorizing about him, because there sure is a lot to theorize about! Sneaky, sneaky skeleton...

Just. While I'm not trying to change anyone's headcanons... It might be worth it to see if the Papyrus you create has been removed from all of his autistic traits that are deemed undesirable (a level of social ineptitude or not understanding others, routines like bedtime stories, and so much more) while only leaving the ones you think are quirky or fun (things like masking, or stimming with big, flailing gestures, special interest in puzzles, etc.).

And if that's true, why might that be?

If the answer is "because Papyrus is too smart/mature/clever/etc. to mean or do this seriously." then that is no longer an innocent headcanon. That is saying that people who DO have those traits aren't smart/mature/clever/etc. That is infantilizing autistic traits. (And yes! Autistic people can also do this by accident! I used to fall victim to internalized ableism that I didn't even realize was there, and I've seen other people do it, too.)

I was going to get into a more in-depth list of Papyrus’s traits that are autistic traits or could be caused by being autistic, and basically write an entire fan essay on the whole situation, starting from the beginning infantilization of Papyrus in fandom (equally as bad) and ending with where we're at now as Papyrus fans. (This right now is not an essay. It's a vent, and a plea. When I say essay, I mean with cited sources, properly structured... An actual ESSAY that would help people.)

But… I’m tired. I know it’s an accident in most cases. I know that most people probably don’t realize they’re calling autistic traits “stupid” or “childlike” or “papyrus would never because he’s not a child—“

And I know that this one simple post isn’t enough to explain how autistic peoples’ brains frequently work, or why these things don’t mean someone is stupid or childlike.

I know that without a thorough explanation there’s so many people that won’t realize that they’re doing this. And it’s certainly not as gentle as I wanted to be. I want to be kind, because I know that it's an accident, and that people aren't trying to be cruel or harmful.

But I’m just… tired. I’m so, so tired. It’s hard to gently explain to people that are actively harming you and your community why what they’re doing is hurtful.

Maybe someday I’ll actually write that essay, and I can include helpful tips on what autism can look like, or how Papyrus's differing things COULD be (not necessarily ARE) an indication or presentation of autism, and also some more tips on how to integrate some of Papyrus’s characteristics in different ways in a fic that keeps his wonderful autistic swag if that's what you want to do. Maybe I can delve into some more of the nuance of this discussion, of which there is much.

But right now I can’t.

If you're worried you might be doing something like this but you really do need an essay or more structure and specific writing breaking it all out, then. Well! I want to help people. If you have questions about what I said and genuinely want to learn, I can do my best to answer and help in an essay if there's enough questions, or in asks if its just a one off question.

(Though absolutely no promises. The entire discussion is draining and triggering, so... It's hard. Please don't be surprised if I'm unable to keep conversation about this going.)

I don't want to write the essay if it's not going to help anyone though. So… let me know. Maybe in reblogs. Just please not in my DMs. I'll turn on anonymous asks for the next month or so, and if people use them to be cruel, or confrontational, I will be taking that away again.

If you've made it this far... Thanks for reading.

...And, you know what? Shitty TLDR:

Papyrus is a grown ass man who can say fuck and be a bad ass bitch, and who can also be an autistic adult. These things are not mutually exclusive to each other.

Edit: Someone sent me a wonderful essay written by the-irken-pony about Papyrus and autism that was written in the earlier days of the fandom and Papyrus infantilization. (I have no idea how I haven’t seen this before.)

It’s not the current issue of “wow you became the thing you most sought to destroy (infantilization)” in Papyrus’s fan base, but it’s a wonderful breakdown of autism in Papyrus. It’s a good thing to read with this. You don’t have to accept the various headcanons as yours, but please take note of the various things that could be caused by autism. And then make sure that you aren’t calling those things childish.

[captainsophiestark]

Dance Like Nobody's Watching

Dick Grayson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: DC

Day Twenty-Seven Prompt: "Let me remind you."

Summary: Dick's SO is having trouble adjusting to the new scrutiny of attending Wayne galas as his date, but thankfully, he has an idea to help with that.

Word Count: 1,449

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I sipped my champagne, trying to get a handle on my nerves. I could handle fighting the Joker and Scarecrow with no problems, but attending a Wayne gala as the partner of Dick Grayson was throwing me for a loop.

I fought the urge to scowl about it. If one thing could make this night more awkward, it would be some person I barely knew finding me making faces in the corner.

What irritated me the most was that this was by no means my first Wayne gala. I'd grown up with Dick and spent countless hours in the manor with him and his family. We'd been each other's primary entertainment at these things as kids. But being here as his date, and as an adult expected to do more than turn the banquet tables into a fort, was turning out to be surprisingly stressful.

When we were kids, nobody seemed to care what we did much beyond just noticing and thinking we were cute. Now, it seemed like everybody in this room wanted something from Dick, and either saw me as a threat to their ability to get it or as a secret backdoor to him, if only they could get me on their side.

I was seriously on the edge of losing it and going back to the buffet tables kid-style.

Dick had done his best to stick with me, but people kept showing up to pull both of us away from each other for a conversation, and we hadn't been able to do much without being incredibly, obviously rude. I'd finally managed to extract myself enough for some breathing room, but I could see Dick still in the middle of things, a group of old men who almost certainly wanted money from Bruce talking his ear off.

Even from here, I could tell Dick was barely paying attention to them. His eyes scanned the crowd, and after a moment, they landed on me. He raised an eyebrow, and I gave him a reassuring smile. Unfortunately for me, he knew me too well and was too good of a detective to believe it.

Dick quickly made his excuses to the men around him, and didn't take no for an answer as he left the conversation and headed in my direction. He crossed the massive room quickly to stand before me, and this time when I smiled at him, it was much more genuine.

"Hey," he said, returning my smile and leaning in to kiss my temple as soon as he reached me. "How are you doing?"

"Good." I tried to strengthen my smile, but Dick saw right through it. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"...Are you sure?"

I sighed. "It's just... this all feels a little weird. I've known you forever, you know it's never been important to me that you're the famed son of billionare Bruce Wayne. But it seems like that's all anybody else here can think about, and they all either hate me because they want to be with you or want to be my new best friend, all so they can get to you and Bruce. It's fine, none of their opinions matter to me, but... I just didn't expect to feel so weird coming to one of these things again."

Dick took a step closer to me, reaching out to take my arm with a concerned look on his face. He spoke quietly enough that, even if someone had been intentionally eavesdropping (which had happened more than once tonight), they wouldn't be able to hear him.

"Do you want to go? I'm happy to leave if you want to. We don't have to stay here."

I shook my head before he'd even finished his sentence.

"Running and no-showing Bruce's galas isn't a long-term solution. And seriously, it's fine, I'll adjust. I just... I don't know. I miss the days where we hid under the punch bowl giggling out of sight of everybody, you know?"

My boyfriend grinned. "I mean, if you really think about it, there's nothing keeping us from doing that again."

"I can think of a few things," I laughed, swatting his shoulder lightly. He hummed, but sobered quickly as he scanned the room, clearly thinking.

"Well... if you're sure you don't want to commandeer the space under the desert table?"

"I'm sure."

"Then why don't we try dancing? That's a little more... socially acceptable than hiding under the tables, but it's one of the things we used to have the most fun doing at these things. Remember how we'd just take over the entire floor to do whatever we wanted when we were kids?"

I laughed. "Yeah, of course. Although it's a little harder to remember the feeling that inspired us to just run out there before."

Dick smiled softly and extended his hand to me.

"Let me remind you."

My heart did a little backflip, especially when I met Dick's sparkling blue eyes. I huffed a little laugh of disbelief, especially at the thought of stepping into the center of the spotlight when I knew just how many people were going to be watching. But then I looked at Dick again, and I decided that, as long as I was with him, they didn't matter.

I took his hand, and he didn't waste a second before pulling me after him to the dance floor. I laughed, unable to hold back a smile even as heads turned towards us. Dick ignored them completely. He pulled me to his chest when we reached the center of the floor and wrapped an arm securely around my waist, the other taking one of my hands. I rested my free hand on his shoulder, and as we started swaying together to the music, his eyes didn't leave mine for a second.

"You know..." he started after a moment, drawing my attention back from a glance over his shoulder to where people were watching us. "This is nice, but a slow dance wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

I gave Dick my full attention and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but... what did you have in mind?"

He grinned. "Something more like this."

Suddenly, Dick was spinning me out and away from him, twirling across the floor before pulling me back. We'd know each other long enough and spent enough time as vigilante teammates that his steps were easy to follow, even as he started something closer to swing that didn't match the music at all.

I laughed, a warm feeling spreading through my chest as I shared a smile with my partner. In the back of my mind, I knew more people were probably watching and judging than ever. But suddenly they didn't matter like they used to.

Dick swung me around again, then pulled me close and into an exaggerated dip. If I didn't know he was a superhero, I probably would've been a little worried about him dropping me. Instead, it just made me laugh, especially as Dick grinned and led me into something way too close to something you'd do to Cotton Eye Joe.

With every second that passed on the dance floor with Dick, everyone else in the room faded further and further away. It felt like when we were kids, just me and the most important person in the world to me having the time of our lives.

"Feel any better?" asked Dick, whispering in my ear as he pulled me close again, both hands wrapped tight around my waist. I smiled, running my hands up his arms and across his shoulders.

"So much better. Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me. We're partners, you know I'd never leave you hanging."

I pulled back enough to meet Dick's eyes, and found their familiar sparkle and a smile waiting for me. I gave him a soft smile back.

"I love you, Dick Grayson. So fucking much."

Dick beamed back at me. "I love you too. Now come on, the band's finally catching on to what we want. I want to dance with the love of my life to music that's actually fun for dancing."

I just laughed as Dick swung me out and away from him again, the two of us twirling across the floor, this time in sync with the now-faster music. Suddenly, after a few minutes with Dick, the propsect of all these Wayne galas didn't seem nearly so daunting anymore. Sure, I might have to deal with a few unpleasant strangers whose opinions didn't matter to me. But I'd also get to do this, laughing and dancing and having the time of our lives, with my favorite person in the world.

Worth it in the long run, as far as I was concerned.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

DC Taglist: @gaychaosgremlin @v1ckycheesue @lavender-dinos @g0atmansbridge182

[vilevenom]

This idea slapped me in the face this morning and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it down, so here you go.

This is Just a Hiccup

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog (movie universe)

Pairing: Sonic & Shadow (sonadow, if you squint)

Summary: It was nearly Christmas. Sonic should be excited to finally spend it with his family. But he couldn't help but think about someone who wasn't there... WARNING: MILD SPOILERS for Sonic 3

Sonic sighed quietly as he watched snowflakes gently swirl and float through the air through the living room window, his breath momentarily fogging up the glass. It had been snowing for nearly a week straight, coating Green Hills in a thick layer of soft white. While it gave the rest of the town a festive appearance, with the way the frost covered trees in town sparkled like glitter, Sonic couldn't help but feel like the it made the yard look desolate and unwelcoming. Everything felt quiet and cold to the blue hedgehog, mirroring his melancholy. It was rapidly approaching Sonic's first proper Christmas with his family, and by all rights he should be ecstatic, but he just couldn't find it in himself to muster up his usual exuberance.

"Hey, Sonic!" Tails chirped, hopping up onto the window bench next to the blue hedgehog, his namesakes waving behind him happily, "Maddie said the cookies are almost cool enough to start decorating. Are you going to come help?"

"Hmm? Oh, uh…nah. Last time I tried to help Maddie ice cookies I squeezed the tube too hard and it exploded everywhere. I should probably stick to just eating the results," Sonic hummed, turning to his little brother with a tiny, only slightly forced smile.

Tails frowned at him, his tails drooping as he eyed Sonic. "…Are you thinking about Shadow again?"

Sonic blinked in surprise, not realizing just how transparent he'd been. Though, in retrospect, he supposed sighing sadly every few minutes while staring forlornly out the window wasn't exactly what most people would consider 'subtle'. "I've been pretty obvious, haven't I? Sorry. I don't mean to be a bummer."

"You're not a bummer. I'm just worried about you. Ever since we got word from the doctors that Tom would be okay, you've been…mopey. I didn't want to bring it up in front of the others, because I know it's not really your style to talk about feelings, but…Are you okay?"

"I mean…Okay as I can be," Sonic sighed with a shrug, shifting around on the window bench to properly face Tails, "I guess I just…regret how our interactions went. He was the first hedgehog I'd ever seen, and we just wound up butting heads every time we met. And then with Tom getting hurt, and my Super rampage, I…We did talk a bit, and I never would've been able to divert the eclipse canon without him. But then…he died. He sacrificed himself, and I'll never get to tell him that I'm sorry for what happened to him. That I'm sorry he felt like he had no one else in the whole world, and that…that I couldn't save him. I know it's been months now, but it just keeps circling around in my head."

"Sonic," Tails murmured, his ears pressed back as he scooted into his brother's side, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug, his tails blanketing them in soft fur, "I'm sure he knew you would've done more if you could."

"Yeah," the hedgehog sighed, returning the hug and half burying his face in the tuft of fur on the top of Tails' head, "You're probably right."

The peaceful moment lasted a minute or two, with the snow still falling to the ground outside the window, and Knuckles and Maddie's conversation quietly filtering into the living room from the kitchen, before it was shattered by the doorbell ringing, and Ozzie's sharp bark at the unexpected sound. Sonic groaned at the noise, echoed by Tails grumbling into his shoulder.

"I've got it!" Tom's voiced came from the hallway, shortly followed by his hurried footsteps towards the front door.

Sonic sighed at the sound of the door opening, gently pushing Tails away with a soft smile. "Thanks, bro. I think I needed that," he hummed, ruffling Tails' fur tuft with a lopsided grin. He snorted as the fox swatted at his hand and jumped off the bench, shooting Sonic a quick, brilliant smile.

"Anytime, Sonic," Tails chirped, before he trotted off into the kitchen to join Knuckles and Maddie. Sonic moved to follow when Tom's voice cut through the rest of the noise in the house.

"Sonic? There's a…visitor to see you."

Tilting his head curiously, Sonic's shoes squeaked against the floorboards as he swiftly shifted the direction he'd been walking, trotting towards the front door instead of the kitchen. "A visitor? Could it be one of the many fans of Blue Justice?" His chuckled died in his throat as he saw Tom's pensive face, and the person in the doorway came into view. "Agent Stone?!" Sonic immediately shifted into a defensive stance, quills bristling and a scowl on his face, "What're you doing here?"

"Relax," Stone sighed, rolling his eyes at Sonic's low growl, "I'm only here as an escort."

"Escort?" Sonic echoed curiously, relaxing his stance and standing straight, "To who?"

With that, Stone stepped to the side, revealing a familiar black and red hedgehog, though he was swaddled in a black puffer jacket and deep red scarf to fend off the winter chill, making him look smaller than he was. His gaze was focused to the side, while a small white box was clutched in his hands.

"Shadow?!" Sonic couldn't help but shout in surprise, a wave of confusing emotions crashing over him as tears welled in his eyes. "You're alive!" He rushed forward and crushed the other hedgehog in a hug, heedless of the box the other held. Barely a moment passed, however, before Sonic swiftly stepped back with another scowl on his face. "You're alive?!" he snapped, "It's been months! You just left me hanging?!" And before either Stone or Tom could react, Sonic reeled his fist back and punched Shadow in the shoulder, causing the dark hedgehog to flinch and take a stumbling step back.

In a flash, Sonic found his view of Shadow blocked by the long black jacket that Stone wore, the former Agent letting out a low growl at Tom. "Control your kid," he snarled, before he swirled around and crouched in front of Shadow on the front doorstep, worry blatant on his face. Sonic was utterly flabbergasted as Stone's hands fluttered near Shadow, only touching when the dark hedgehog gave a near imperceptible nod. At that, Stone bushed his hands over Shadow's shoulders, the hedgehog's gaze fixed resolutely on the ground. Sonic was fairly certain that if he didn't have above average hearing, he wouldn't have been able to hear the hushed conversation the two then had. He was quite confident that Tom couldn't.

"Are you okay?"

"I am uninjured."

"That's not what I asked. Remember what we talked about? Even if you're not physically injured, it doesn't mean you aren't hurt. Now…are you okay?"

"I…will be."

"Alright. Well…did you still want to deliver your gift?"

Another near imperceptible nod from Shadow, and Stone stood back up, shooting the blue hedgehog a glare. Sonic couldn't help but shrink back slightly, feeling similarly to how he did when Maddie or Tom scolded him. He flicked his attention back to Shadow, who stepped forward once more, this time holding the small, now slightly crushed white box out towards Sonic, his red eyes fixed on the doorframe, rather than on the reception of his gift.

"Oh, uh," Sonic gingerly took the box, watching as Shadow quickly stepped back again, his fingers curling anxiously into the sleeves of his jacket, "Thanks?" He glanced up at Tom, who simply shrugged at him and gestured towards the box. Tentatively Sonic opened it, revealing a small, somewhat smushed and obviously homemade cake, with 'I'm Sorry' written in wobbly blue icing across the top. He stared down at the cake for what was probably longer than strictly necessary, momentarily lost in another swirl of confusing emotions.

"Sonic? It's usually polite to say 'thank you' after receiving a gift," Tom's voice broke through the thoughts swirling in Sonic's mind, the blue hedgehog quickly shaking his head.

"Right, yeah," Sonic breathed, looking up to find Shadow's piercing gaze finally focused on him. He swallowed thickly, for once at a loss for words as green met red and they stared each other down. "Thank you," he finally mustered after far too long, his voice weak.

Shadow simply nodded, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "You're welcome," he murmured in return, turning on his heel as if to leave.

"WAIT!"

Stone was already at the bottom of the stairs, while Shadow was halfway down, both pausing to stare at Sonic after his shout. He swallowed, frantically looking up to Tom, who was of no help as he arched a curious brow at Sonic.

"Uh…Maddie just made cookies, and we were going to decorate them! And then, after dinner, Knuckles, Tails and I were going to go look at Christmas lights around town. Can…Do you want to join us?" Sonic quickly rambled, clutching the little cake box to his chest. He looked up to Tom once more, desperation on his face, "Can they stay for dinner?"

Tom snorted quietly, reaching down to gently ruffle Sonic's quills. "Sure, bud. I'll go let Maddie know," he hummed, striding off towards the kitchen, leaving Sonic alone with Stone and Shadow.

"…May I?" Shadow asked, turning towards Stone, who looked mildly surprised.

"I don't see why not," Stone said after a moment with a short shrug, turning to walk back up the stairs, "If you want to."

"I…Yes. I do."

Sonic couldn't help the beaming grin on his face as he stepped aside to let the two surprise guests into the house, now knowing without a doubt that this Christmas was going to be the best one he'd experience to date. He'd make sure of it.