#Path of Hurt

[capnmachete]

Augusnippets 2024

Path of Hurt

Day 19: Branding

Title: Once a Tiger, Always a Tiger

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Characters: Alfie Solomons, Lance Corporal Billy Walters (OC)

CW: Injury, wartime

Summary: Alfie explains -- somewhat -- the marks on his upper arm to a wartime lover.

Also here on AO3.

The two men sat on the raised plank floor of the pack storage shed, one of the only places in the British sector of Convalescent Depot #3 that afforded any privacy. The officers had, by that time, worked out a complicated system amongst themselves for determining when the shed was in use; it greatly reduced the number of extremely awkward moments.

"What's this?" A rough-skinned fingertip reached up and traced the stripes that bubbled up from the skin of Captain Solomons' upper arm. Each was about half a finger's width; the flesh was raised, shiny and hairless, darker than the skin surrounding it.

Fucking hell. Alfie sighed. He generally refused to explain the brandmarks, simply telling people to fuck off, or made something up. But he was genuinely fond of Lance Corporal Walters, so he told him the truth. He'd be shipping out soon anyway -- back to London, the state of his lungs after the phosgene gas bombardment at Comble deemed severe enough to be sent home, medically unfit for further service. So what did it matter?

"I was a bit of a rascal back home, yeah? Before the war." he mumbled, eyes closed, sweaty head tipped back against the corner of a storage rack. Billy Walters lay half in his lap, sweaty and spent, crutches laid aside; Alfie combed his fingers through Billy's short-cropped hair, the movement rhythmic and soothing to them both. "Ran with a gang; we was called the Tigers. Russian Jews, the most of us. The marks -- it's kind of a marking of ranks, right, like a sergeants' stripes. You earn 'em by -- doin' things."

Doin' things sounded a great deal more benign than killing people who got onto Max Moses' bad side -- a more accurate explanation but one that would lead to questions Alfie didn't want to answer. Not right now, anyway. He'd be back in London soon enough, leaving one set of trenches for another one, more urban and less muddy but equally dangerous.

The East End of London was no place for the weak or infirm, any more than the Western Front was. And knackered lungs might be enough to get Alfie relieved of duty with the Royal Fusilliers, but he doubted it would cut any ice with Max. Once a Tiger, always a Tiger, like it or not.

"Stripes. Tigers." Billy barked a hoarse laugh and shifted. "I get it. So what kind of a tiger are you, eh, Alf?" He reached up and skimmed a thumb across Alfie's lip; Alfie snapped at it with a playful snarl. Which led to a cough, which led to a brief, red-faced fit of hacking and choking.

It took a few minutes to subside; Alfie turned away and spat thickly into the gap between the floor planks. "A fucking tired tiger, is what kind I am," he admitted, with a wheezy laugh, once he'd caught his breath. "Ready to go back to my fuckin' den and sleep for a few years."

"I expect a letter when you get home, Alf," Billy reminded him. He reached up, carding his fingers through the gold-ginger curls on Alfie's chest, yanking briefly on one for emphasis.

"Oi, stop it, you little shit," Alfie groused fondly, batting him away. "I'll try," he promised, only half-meaning it, less attached to Billy than vice-versa. Foxhole liaisons weren't meant to last. "I ain't so good with keeping up with things like that."

It might not matter anyway. Once Billy was off crutches, broken femur knit up and solid again, he'd be on his way back to the filth and gore of the trenches. He'd be lucky to live long enough to get and read a letter, even if Alfie did muster up the will to write one.

And Alfie, in a week or so, would be headed home. And would either start earning more stripes despite his shite lungs -- burned painfully into the skin of his upper arm, one at a time, with a cast-iron poker heated over the fire -- or become a stripe on some other poor bastard's arm.

---

Convalescent Depot #3: located in Le Treport, France, #3 was one of series of medical depots where WW1 soldiers wounded in battle went to recover from injuries, before either being sent home or sent back to the trenches

Comble: a French valley and the site of an offensive in the Battle of Morval, part of the larger Battle of the Somme in WW1

phosgene: one of several deadly poison gases weaponized for use in the war; primarily attacks the lungs

Tigers: The Bessarabian Tigers, a mafia-style RussianJewish gang prominent in the East End of London during the early 1900s

Max Moses: a big man among the Tigers; probably not the overall boss IRL

Royal Fusilliers: an infantry regiment of the British Army, heavily involved in numerous major battles during WW1

[snek-in-a-hat]

Day 1 @augusnippets

1: Gaslighting / Hypnosis / Brainwashing

----------------------------------------------

'They aren't coming for you.'

'Yes. They are!'

Whumpee's head snapped back as whumper punched them in the face.

The team had raided one of whumper's compounds and stolen several sensitive documents. It had been months at organization trying to find enough evidence of whumper's future plans. Just enough to give them an edge.

Unfortunately whumper caught on quick and was back at the compound before the team could successfully make their getaway. Whumpee volunteered to stay behind and run a distraction. Anything to get the rest of the team and the plans to safety.

Needless to say whumper was not happy and whumpee has been baring the consequences of that for the last half an hour.

Whumper fisted a hand in whumpee's hair and pulled harshly. 'They left you behind,' they whispered, far too close to whumpee's ear.

'I stayed behind,' whumpee growled back.

Whumper scoffed and shoved their head back down, releasing the firm grip.

'Be that as it may,' whumper began to circle whumpee's chair like a predator. 'Do you really think Caretaker wants you back?'

Whumpee felt a twinge in their gut at the mention of their name. Before they could open their mouth to reply, whumper forged ahead.

'You don't find it strange that no one fought you when you volunteered?'

No. There was no time, whumpee thought.

'I've seen your file whumpee,' Whumper chuckled darkly. 'You're reckless. You have trouble following orders. And it's a miracle you were even allowed on the team… considering your past.'

Whumpee felt their blood run cold. But Caretaker said…

'I bet they told you it didn't matter. But you're a burden to them whumpee.'

Am I? They swallowed hard.

'Even if your team wanted to, do you really think they get approval to come rescue you?' Whumper paused their circling and made eye contact. 'Organization is short on resources and you were flagged as a difficult operative whumpee.'

Whumpee felt the beginnings of tears burning in their eyes and wished with all their being that they could look away.

'They're finally free. Of course they're not going to come back.'

The words went right to their heart and suddenly it was like a damn burst inside of them and whumpee couldn't stop the tears if they tried. They suddenly knew it for the immutable truth. 'They're not coming for me,' whumpee whispered.

And whumper smiled.

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Day 1 done! Please let me know if there are any tags that I may have missed.

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Mind Full

Summary: Written for Augusnippets. A Modern AU, The Handler AU, Httyd 2 ages. Astrid cannot get over how ridiculous their situation is. She and her friends are trapped in a warehouse with a five bloodhounds in the form of well-trained dragons and their whisperer. The whisperer? Former classmate, Hiccup.

Warnings: Implied past brainwashing and experimentation

Rating: General

Dead Dove: No

Words: 422

Prompt: Brainwashing

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Astrid, Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Stormfly, Hookfang, Meatlug, Barf and Belch

Pairing: Mentioned Hiccstrid

Author's Notes: Watched Chaos Theory and I KNEW I needed to create an AU inspired by the Handler. So here it is! Except there's brainwashing and maybe a hint of innate abilities going on that are far from normal. I'll be exploring this AU this month.

Enjoy!

-XOXOX-

Astrid cannot get over how ridiculous their situation is. Here they are, she and the four that are the closest people she has to friends, hiding away in this abandoned industrial zone. Or rather, it was supposed to be abandoned. They’re hiding amongst containers and boxes in a warehouse , the dragons inside were making a mighty ruckus until he walked in.

Hiccup Haddock and his damn dragons.

He stands by their only exit as they search, a vacant yet also much too alert look in his eyes. Astrid sneaks him one peek between some crates full of supplies and she feels a cold chill run down her spine.

She remembers going to school with him. He was awkward and weird then, but he had a brilliant head on his shoulders and he always seemed like he was just waiting to bloom open and show his true self. He was cute.

Then he disappeared, moved away from Berk to go live with his mother and he hadn’t been seen or heard from for five years. Not even by Stoick, who called the police to report his son as abducted when he didn’t get as much as a phone call from him. Unfortunately, Valka seemed to have disappeared just as well.

Until recently.

“This was stupid, this was so stupid!” Snotlout hisses and Fishlegs quickly covers his mouth. Doesn’t he know that Night Fury can hear him without even trying? Nevermind in a space as small as this. Not that a warehouse is small, it just is when they’re trapped with five bloodhounds in the form of extremely well-trained dragons and their whisperer.

Astrid can’t suppress a gasp when Hiccup’s head immediately snaps in her direction, though he’s too far away to hear them. Covering her mouth, she crouches back down into this little space she’s hiding in with her friends.

They say his mother did things to him. That his connection with dragons is all natural, but that she made it so that he is… connected connected to them. That’s why he has that look in his eyes, because h e’ s sharing his mind and it’s filled to the brim with them, his dragons.

In not a single one of their encounters with him, have they heard him talk.

There’s a growling and the five of them look up to spot the Night Fury glaring down at them from on top of two containers stacked on one another. They’ve been spotted and who knows if they can get out of this one.

[jedi-lothwolf]

August snippets Day 1: Stalked (Alt Promt)

Fandom: Percy Jackson

Summary: Percy starts to realize something or someone is watching him when he's out with his mom getting ice cream.

    Percy knew he was being watched. He had gotten used to the uncomfortable feeling of eyes on him. However most of the time the feeling of being watched went away when he was outside of school or camp.

    Instead Percy was getting ice cream with his mom. The two had decided to go out after Percy had passed his first quarter at school. Blue ice cream sat in front of them.

    "Is everything okay, Percy?" Sally said. "You haven't had much of your ice cream."

    "Yeah. I'm okay." Percy lied. After everything he had gone through, some ice cream and time with him mom sounded perfect. As the two sat at their table, the teen settled in. While the feeling he was being watched stayed with him, the boy started to ignore it.

    It wasn't until Sally and Percy had finished their blue raspberry ice cream when the feeling started to bother him again. Sally seemed to realize something was wrong. She looked concerned as she watched their surroundings on the way home.

    "You feel it too, don't you?" Percy asked him mother.

    Sally nodded and stood a little closer to Percy. "Maybe it's a monster?"

    "I don't think so." Percy looked around and sighed. "Let's just go to the park."

    "Okay. I could call Chiron."

    "We'll be fine."

    The two walked to the park, never being able to rely. Once there, they talked about what was next. "Maybe it is a monster? I think I should look around."

    "Percy" Sally started, "We look together."

    "I can't put you in danger. Whoever or whatever is watching us, wants me."

    "We go together. I'll be okay. I faced the minotaur, remember?"

    "And almost got killed, remember?"

    "Percy."

    "Okay."

    The park was a beautiful place. Sally used to take Percy all the time. He had always shown an interest in the decorative water fountain in the middle as well as any drinking fountains that had been around.

    Walking around the park, Sally and Percy tried to find the source of their discomfort. For it being mid-day, there was no one around. The wind blew the  swings gently. "Not creepy at all." Percy said, looking at his mother.

    There was a quiet noise in the trees. Percy grabbed his pen and took a step closer to them. Standing right behind her son, Sally prepaid herself for whatever foe may be hidden in the pines and oak trees.

    Pulling the leaves back, Percy looked to see what was there. A squirrel ran out from the tree and went up another that wasn't too far from it. "You know, maybe we are just being paranoid."

    As the two turned to leave, they realized they weren't alone. Their feelings and been right.

"Hello Percy." Luke Castellan said. "You must be Sally Jackson." The man said as he motioned to Sally with his sword. "It's nice to meet you."

Taking a step back Percy pulled his mother with him. "Luke? How long have you been following me?" Uncapping Riptide, the half-blood placed it between his mother and Luke.

"A few days."

"A few days?!" Percy yelled surprised.

"Leave my son alone!" Ms. Jackson yelled sternly at Luke, putting a hand on Percy's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I can't. You see, I need your son dead. So-"

"You'll have to get through me."

"Mom. Let me handle it."

Luke looked interested. "Sally Jackson fought a minotaur, I'm sure I'd be no challenge." He joked. Taking a step forward Percy pulled him back with the threat of his blade.

Both demigods knew it was time to fight. They readied their weapons. Percy stood in front of his mother, knowing he couldn't let Luke get close to his mom. Sally was one of the people who Percy loved most. She was his to protect.

As they fought the question of how Luke found him lingered in Percy's mind. "Let me get this straight, you've been following me for days now? Just like that? I never noticed you?"

"Yep. I thought you would be more observant. With everything that's happened, how could you not be?" Luke said as he swung his sword.

It only took one look at his mom for Percy to know why he hadn't realized Luke had been looming; his mother would keep him safe. "You want to know why?"

Luke was an all year camper. Percy never learned what happened to his mother but he knew that it was complicated. As much as he didn't want to, using his mother and his own might help get them out of the situation. After all, his mother was there. Percy couldn't let her get hurt.

"Why?"

"Because I trust my mom."

Luke paused. The words surprised him more the Percy thought they would. Using his hesitation, Percy slashed Luke's arm with his sword.

Jumping back, Luke almost dropped his sword. He looked at his arm, blood pouring from his wound. His eyes landed on Sally who had found a stick to hold, ready to fight if she had to. The man's breath was shaky. With his left arm, the demigod pulled his sword up. "Good for you." Attacking again, Luke swung his sword at Percy, aiming for his chest.

Moving, Percy drug his sword across Luke's side. With Luke behind Percy, Sally had the opportunity to slam her stick over his head, knocking him to the ground. After a moment, Luke sat up and looked around. Percy had a sword at his throat and Sally had her stick hovering menacingly near him.

Swinging Backbiter at the Jackson's feet, Luke stumbled to his feet. He knew he had to escape. Looking around, the man decided the trees would be the easiest place to disappear. Quickly placing his sword in it's sheath, Luke ran into the woods.

When Sally went to follow him, Percy stopped her. "We don't have to follow him. He'll get away anyway. I don't want you to be in anymore danger."

Sally nodded. "So, that was Luke?"

"Yeah." Percy sat down, breathing heavily.

"He seems a lot less though then how you described him."

"He was an all year camper. When I said I had you, it must have messed with him. Trust me, he's not fun to fight."

"Come on, let's go home. Do you want to stop by the candy store and pick up some blue jelly beans and watch a movie when we get home?" Sally helped her some off the ground. She smoothed out his hair and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hell yeah."

[doberbutts]

Thank you for defending Nazis. They're just little guys. Just misunderstood, with genuine grievances. I noticed you accidentally forgot to defend child rapists. Dumb commies like you are all the same 🙄

Piss on the poor! Also I'm not a commie and never claimed to be one.

[demigods-posts]

something about percy nearly dying at luke's hand at the end of tlt ruffles my bones. because imagine feeling like a burden to anyone who dared to care for you. imagine blaming yourself for the death of your mother. imagine grieving in black and white amid a world of color. and then an older brother sees you for all of your sorrow and pain. your cries for help that go unanswered. your longing for a reason to breathe again. and becoming someone you look forward to confiding in when the dust settles. only to discover that their source of light was merely a flame. and the summer air was always meant to burn you alive. truly haunting.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you. I'm sorry.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[the-rad-pineapple]

Day 6 of @augusnippets

car accident

loosely based off an OC i've been messing around with

Whumpee hasn’t really been okay since his dad “went missing” not even two weeks ago. The old, rich bastard deserved it. People have started to throw suspicious glances in Whumpee’s direction; he’s inherited the entirety of his father’s fortune after all, but that was never his motivation.

But, anyway, he’s driving along with (the only person in his life who hasn’t left him yet) his father’s ex-assistant and Whumpee’s close mentor in the passenger seat. The car in front of them is going wayyyy too fucking slow to be in the left lane, so Whumpee aggressively gets closer. 

Mentor gently reprimands him with, “Whumpee…”

“What!”

Red brake lights fill his vision, and he instinctively hits his own brakes. 

Oh, motherfucker, we’re too close.

And then it’s loud. 

Metal smashing together, glass shattering. 

His face is smacked, and his head is thrown back, hitting the headrest. His nose fucking hurts, and reactionary tears spill out of his eyes.

Then it’s quiet and still.

His neck is already starting to hurt like a bitch from the whiplash. A sharp, throbbing pain shoots up from his right leg. Nothing has ever hurt like this before. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He groans and unbuckles his seatbelt. He turns to Mentor. 

Mentor is slumped back in his seat, his face turned away, neck bent all wrong. 

Wrong. 

It dings like a churchbell in his mind.

“Mentor!” Whumpee gently grabs Mentor’s shoulder with his right hand. It’s only then he notices he’s shaking when he sees his own trembling hand. 

Mentor doesn’t move. 

Panic fills Whumpee’s chest, and he desperately bats the airbag away and painfully leans over the center console. Sharp, hot pain shoots through his left side, and an embarrassing noise escapes him. He swears but presses on. 

He delicately lifts his right hand, still shaking, up to Mentor’s neck. 

No pulse.

He adjusts his hand five times.

No pulse.

Oh, god. 

Oh, god.

Panic suffocates him, and he’s suddenly pushing the car door open without remembering making the decision to do so. He stumbles out of the car, but the second he puts weight on his right leg, the worst pain he’s ever felt shoots through his entire body, his leg at the epicenter. The pain is so strong, it blinds him from everything else. He isn’t sure for how long. He’s just suddenly aware he’s on the ground now, ears ringing, panting heavily.

He flicks his eyes to the other car, praying the damage isn’t bad, but…

There’s his bumper and shattered headlights. A couple pieces of metal from a car of a different color, but the car itself isn’t there. 

The fucker drove away.

Whumpee can’t fucking do this by himself!! What the hell is he supposed to do??

The pain in his leg and side is unbearable. His neck feels more and more sore as time passes. He’s laying on the shoulder of the interstate. Completely alone. 

Delirious laughter bursts out of him. It literally cannot be worse than this. 

[capnmachete]

Augusnippets 2024 Path of Whumperless Whump Day 27: Migraines/Chronic Pain/Phantom Pains

Fandom: None OCs: Sgt. George Bingham-Coopersmith (retired); Enzo Marchese CW: Transtibial amputation, prosthetics, references to drug abuse Summary: George's phantom limb pain is back, for the first time in months, and this time it's particularly wicked. His husband, Enzo, is concerned, and solicitous.

Phantom Pain

It was the most maddening thing, like an itch that was impossible to scratch. Near-scalding showers, ice packs, gabapentin, massage -- nothing touched it. Even the peculiar business with the mirrors, a technique suggested by George's physical therapist and meant to trick the brain into 'seeing' the missing limb so it would stop firing off pain signals, didn't do much.

There really wasn't anything to do about pain in a body part that no longer existed, except endure it. Or choke down an oxycontin or two, which sometimes worked and sometimes didn't. And it was a remedy George chose to avoid unless he was in utter agony -- too risky, given his unfortunate history with dependence on prescription pain medication. It had taken several years, and a half-dozen dreadful and embarrassing falls off the wagon, to conquer the addiction; it was not a period of his life he wished to revisit.

"Fucking hell," George groused, wincing, and shifted. The pressure from the socket of his below-the-knee prosthetic sometimes helped. At other times, like today, it only made things worse, increasing the maddening sensation of an ache in a leg that wasn't there. He'd given up and gone to lie down on the couch, with some mindless reality show droning away on the television in the background. Fergus lay curled on the rug beside the sofa, George's inked fingers tangled in his thick yellow fur.

"Again?"

George cracked one hazel eye open. Enzo stood above him with a glass of scotch rocks, peering down. Already nearly a head taller, George's snowy-haired husband seemed taller yet from this perspective, practically a giant. A kindly one, thankfully, at least at this particular moment. "Again," he agreed with a sigh, closing his eyes again. "It's driving me a bit mad."

Enzo peered down at his mate -- an elegant, compact and usually-tidy man, currently sprawled untidily on the sofa. The prosthetic stood propped nearby, one partly-rolled leg of George's trousers empty and slack from mid-shin down.

The phantom pain was a malady that came and went unpredictably; sometimes it was a daily thing, other times weeks or months went by without a spell. There wasn't much to be done, really. Except.... "Here, caro mio," Enzo said, offering George the still-almost-full scotch rocks.

"Grazie, darling," George told him with a faint, pained smile, and took it. He sat up just enough to take a sip without spilling it, while Enzo went back to the kitchen to make himself another.

Enzo returned a moment later. "Up --" he said, nudging George's shoulder with a knee. "And scoot a little, hm?"

When George obeyed -- irritable but compliant -- Enzo plopped down on the cushion and patted his lap. George settled back -- head resting on Enzo's long thighs, inhaling the familiar scent of scotch and warm sweater and cologne. He sighed, soothed, as Enzo's long, elegant fingers carded through his spiky hair. It didn't fix the bone-deep ache and the sparking sensations, but at least it gave him something else to focus on.

"You're certain you don't want your meds...?" Enzo ventured, regarding the double crease that always formed between George's ginger brows when he was in pain. "I can go upstairs and -- "

George shook his head minutely -- a small movement that scrubbed one whiskery cheek against the leg of Enzo's khakis. "Not right now. Not there yet."

"Let's hope we don't get there, hm?" Enzo offered, watching as George shifted again, teeth dug into his lip, rubbing the end of the residual limb through the sock and liner. A reflex; an instinctive attempt to soothe the ache and the raw, jangling nerves, fruitless but near-impossible to resist. "You'll tell me, if it gets bad enough...?" he asked, concerned.

"Of course I will," George lied, and writhed a little -- disguising it fairly successfully as a simple rearrangement, rolling over and burying his nose in the soft wool of Enzo's sweater. The familiar scent was soothing, and if Enzo couldn't see him gritting his teeth, he wouldn't insist on the pills George didn't want. Not really, regardless of how eye-wateringly tempting the wash of analgesia, and the syrupy drowsiness that often accompanied it, sounded.

[mewtwo24]

I finally finished reading the fourth volume of svsss in full, and thing is--the first time through I only read the bingqiu content because I was ravenous for more of their happy ending.

Turns out that was a perilous mistake.

Because I started reading the airplane extras. And I swear to god. MXTX is trying to kill me

What do you MEAN demon lord Binghe was sitting on his big fucking throne. All stoic and forbidding. Surrounded by his demon generals who don't know shit about human courtship. Asking them what he should do, fully demoralized by constant rejections from sqq, only to have airplane tell him to act more pathetic and needy. Which is already hysterically funny and insane, UNTIL LBH'S RESPONSE IS THIS, KILLING ME INSTANTLY:

LUO BINGHE. WHY DOES HE SAY IT LIKE: "I already tried that, didn't work--nothing works :/ not mean, not maidenly, not housewife, not spicy, not capable disciple. Is doubling down on clingy really all it will take? What's a born hater with only one love in his life to do????"

The dichotomy of him sitting there like 'how can I reach the unfathomable depths of shizun's heart?' A HEART HE'S ALREADY WON OVER, MIND and then in the Holy Mausoleum solving the puzzle without blinking and being like 'oh yeah you just have to hit the acupoints, no sweat.' Literally the comedy writes itself I'm so--

How am I supposed to be normal about this. MXTX understands the juicy quintessential queer joy of a person with the world's power at their fingertips wishing only for love. Willing to do anything to earn that love, when unbeknownst to them it's already been freely given. Totally not screaming and yelling and clawing at the walls

And that's not even touching airplane's uproarious account of events. The way he's like 'lol what's next, lbh and sqq are best friends now? smfh' only to see lbh TACKLE SQQ LOVINGLY. FOR SQQ TO BE BASHFUL ABOUT IT BUT SO SO FOND OF THE LITTLE SCAMP. This when we've been experiencing sqq's constant inner monologue of 'I'm so cool and so dignified about my role, truly the epitome of propriety and poser-level fortitude.' Meanwhile, in their universe:

Airplane constantly flaming???? Sqq and lbh in his observations????? His absolute bewilderment and confusion????? Legendary. No notes every single second of this shit was hilarious.

Airplane's comment that sqq + older adolescent lbh traveling together was just watching a couple in their honeymoon phase. OR the fact that lbh is exceedingly petty and refuses to share their food in the wake of airplane's interruption of their time together, until sqq relents sheepishly and insists airplane eat what's left (ONLY AFTER PLACATING LBH WITH MORE FOOD FROM HIS PLATE, SOBBING)

Watching airplane salivate over Mobei-Jun and acting like that's totally normal behavior. Finding out mbj and airplane got together first. Finding out sqq encouraged airplane. LIKE THIS. WHILE HE IS STILL IN DENIAL ABOUT HIS OWN FEELINGS:

Mobei-jun clearly thinking their arrangement is a forever thing, heartbroken his human abandoned him with all the hapless fury of a scorned wife swept away by false promises of fidelity. Airplane writing demons to be the type to beat up their crush lovingly and still unable to connect the dots about mbj's feelings. Mbj letting him go and respecting his wishes, only relenting when there's indication airplane was poorly processing his own feelings and didn't actually want to leave. Mbj caring for him and listening to him as soon as airplane voices what he needs directly and with clarity. None of these gays are functional and it's everything to me

Unrelated, but I physically can't hold this information in anymore:

I'm still reeling from younger lbh having his sexual awakening from the image of sqq wrapped in the immortal binding cables. Condemn me as you like he was so, so real for that.

And no I will not be taking any comments about how luo bingge couldn't bear to see luo binghe cherished in ways he never got to have and all the haunting implications of that. I will also not be taking any comments about luo binghe's instinct to look for sqq in that alternate universe, only to be shaken to the very core to be unable to find his shizun anywhere. The unspeakable and latent horror of his relentless mind likely piecing together what happened, but unable to say it; to suspect what is true, and live with the harrowing confusion of his double's actions. To blame himself, to assume that he had let his anger get the better of him in that world and result in unspeakable folly...

I also refuse to talk about how heartrending it is to hear Tianlang-jun weakly say "In the end, I really can't bring myself to hate humans." The implication that the foolishness of that hope and bright-eyed fondness--the very thing that put him through such unspeakable agony--couldn't be beaten out of him entirely. To discover that his faith in Su Xiyan hadn't been misplaced, to the contrary: his beloved hadn't scorned him at all, but rather fought to the miserable end to protect the fruition of their genuine feelings of love when she couldn't protect tlj or herself.

How MXTX has sqq deliberately draw parallels between their situation and that of ygy+sj and tlj+sx; desperately wishing it might not be too late for them. The concept of breaking cycles of abuse and harm pervasive throughout the newly devised story, how it evolves for the better only when love takes the place of power, pride, and domination. How the moment sqq chooses vulnerability instead of saving face, the genre shifts to the so-called "cringe" girly genre where most if not every character is more fulfilled, more true to themselves. How the "male-oriented" former genre was aimlessly sensationalized and sexualized, how it was a sustained performance of aspirational toxic masculinity. How men objectify other men without end. All of the unspoken gendered implications that come with that.

Anyways. Going to go put my head in a sandbox and try to process everything I just witnessed because even a second reading is not enough to find a modicum of closure.

[pink-glitter-gel-pen]

UNDERRATED shawn and gus moment is at the end of 4x07 high top fade out is when lassiter says to shawn "you are not a cop and you never will be" and shawn clearly has some slightly conflicted feelings about the comment showing on his face, gus says "thank god for that" and fistbumps him

[hopelessh0st]

Can I get Uni likers in chat please? (I made this at 1am so I'm sorry if it looks off)

[mayhaps-a-blog]

Also I love that the moral of the show really kind of comes down to "hurt people hurt people. But they don't have to. They don't." Like. Esther and her husband. Maren and her boyfriend. Monty to some extent. Simon and Edwin - and Edwin, when he finds Simon. Past!Crystal. Even Charles, when he loses his temper with the Devlin father, and then with the Night Nurse.

But they don't have to

And really, what does it take? A friend. Someone to have your back, to support you, to tell you it's okay to put the walls down, to open yourself to kindness. A ghost boy you just met, laughing at your attempts to be mean. A tired goth butcher, turning back with an empty bucket of blood to ask if you're okay, even though she clearly hates it. Friends who can accept you for who you are, so that in turn, you can see others clearly - and forgive them for their mistakes.

Something about showing how hurt leads to hurt, but the cycle can be broken. It can. I promise, I promise, it can.

[shreksstepfather]

The five original apprentices :)

[echoofawind]

Nothing makes me hit the block button faster than seeing an "DNI proshipper" in a tumblr bio. Thank you for telling me up front that you're a child who cannot separate fiction from reality and that you can't handle when things don't fit into your little box of what is considered "acceptable".

[lesbianleonardo]

sooo normal about this (lying)