#Psycho Izzy

[total-drama-brainrot]

Obsessed with what hypothetical terror trio Noah Izzy and Sierra would look like

This is how I envision the Terror Trio becoming friends.

* In the Celebrity Manhunt episode, Sierra mentions a rumour about Noah having false teeth- it's later revealed that Izzy's the one who's been feeding Sierra 'information' on the cast. So Izzy was the one to spread the rumour. That's why Noah gives her a look here, he knows Izzy's been airing his secrets.

[assistant-of-drama]

Noah is just as crazy as Izzy, Eva and Owen...

He's just better at hiding it...

Change my mind...

[vincess-princess]

we, the psychos

ch. 5

Word count: 2724 Warnings: violence A/N: i really am spoiling you with all those updates. gene simmons fans, i'm sorry, i needed a bad guy

Vince was suffocating.

Water in his lungs, water in his eyes, water in his nose. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t even scream – no sound came out, only bubbling. The coldness burned his skin; he grasped the handles of the chair, but couldn’t feel its wooden texture. And it went on, and on, and on, and the world was just cold and water-

And then it ended. The water trickled down his body and pooled at his feet. Vince opened his eyes, but still couldn’t see anything and for a second panicked. Then he realised it was just his hair covering his eyes. He shook his head to get it out of sight.

His eyes were hurting as they do after you open them underwater, and his vision hadn’t returned to him completely, so he could only see a figure in white coming up to him. But the voice was unmistakable.

“Well, Wharton,” nurse Simmons said, “enjoyed the shower?”

“Screw you,” Vince coughed out.

“Well, you’re the only one screwed here,” nurse Simmons responded cheerily. “You might want to be more polite if you don’t want another shower. And you don’t, do you?”

Vince didn’t answer. Nurse Simmons came close to him and squatted down in front of him so that their faces were on the same level. He smiled. It was all fun and games to him.

“Well?”

“Yes,” Vince croaked. He wanted to spit in Simmons’s face so bad, but that would not help his situation.

“That’s a good boy. Now, I’ll untie you, and don’t you try to pull anything.” Simmons unfastened the belts first on Vince’s legs, then on his wrists.

Vince stood up, stretched his shoulders. And when nurse Simmons turned his back on him to fetch a towel, Vince launched at him.

He jumped on nurse Simmons’ back and clasped his arms around his neck. Simmons staggered back and clutched at Vince’s arms, but Vince clung to him like a tick. Simmons was like a head taller than him and twice as wide in the shoulders, so direct assault would have Vince on the ground the very next moment. This – this gave him a chance. Not to kill Simmons, no. That would be too much. To cause him at least a sliver of the pain and discomfort he just caused Vince.

“Let go,” Simmons croaked. He tried to poke at Vince’s eye with one hand, but missed. Vince bit his finger, and Simmons yelped in pain. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

Vince’s arms began to hurt, so he enclasped Simmons’ body with his legs to give himself some propping. Simmons finally realised trying to reach the parasite on his back was useless and backed into the wall with all the speed he was capable of.

Vince hit the wall with his back so hard all the air went out of his lungs. His grip weakened, and Simmons managed to shove his hand in between his arms. Now that he could breathe again, Simmons began slamming his back into the wall until Vince released his grip and slid to the floor.

Simmons began kicking him in the ribs vehemently, shouting curses along with it. Vince covered his head and lay onto the floor in the pose of an embryo – that minimized the damage to vital organs. And now just to wait, just to endure until Simmons runs out of steam. Blows rained down his back and legs, some even came at the arms covering his face – the nurses usually tried not to hit in the face, but Simmons must have got too carried away.

In a distance, as though through fog, Vince heard another voice – a different nurse. Wonder if he stops Simmons or joins him?..

Then blows stopped.

Stradlin stood over Vince, looking at him with his typical indifference. Nothing ever touched him. Vince wished he could go through life like that – with a glass shield separating him and the world, so that he could see everything but not care about it. Stradlin never got angry, even when a patient was smearing shit all over his face, and barely ever smiled.

But at least he stopped Simmons.

“What’s that again?” he asked Simmons tiredly.

“The motherfucker tried to choke me!” Simmons said, rubbing his neck.

“Why’d you do that?” Stradling now said to Vince, not a change in his tone.

Vince moved his arms away from his face. The back of his palm was bleeding from Simmons’s sharp heel. He licked the blood off and smiled.

“He’s a dick.”

”And what do we do with him now?” Stradlin asked Simmons, losing interest to Vince.

“I’ll go ask Dr. Duren. I don’t even know what else can be done.” Simmons spit on the floor. “Would you mind watching him while I am away?”

“Alright.”

Simmons sent Vince the last hateful look and left. Stradlin picked up the towel that Simmons dropped when Vince attacked him and threw it at Vince.

“Wipe yourself up and dress.”

***

The man Duff delegated Tommy too surely was… peculiar. Long black hair that almost reached his waist that was unusually well-kept for a psycho streamed down his shoulders. Clear blue eyes looked at the world with wariness so old it was almost ingrained in them. His hospital robe was well-worn but clean, without a single wrinkle. This man hardly looked insane, and at first Tommy even doubted Duff told him the truth: how can be this man a patient? But then he looked at his fingers, and they were covered in wounds and scabs; the man kept picking at them absent-mindedly even as he and Duff spoke. Blood was under one of his nails. The man seemed not to notice.

“Bob, this is Tommy Lee. He just arrived to our asylum, so make sure his first impression is good!” Duff said with a smile. “Tommy, this is Bob Deal. He’s one of the oldies. Knows everything around here. He’ll show you around.”

“Hello,” Tommy said carefully to the man, hesitating whether he should offer him his hand. Then he decided to go for it – and the man looked at it like it was smeared with crap.

“Bob doesn’t shake hands,” Duff said apologetically. “He’s very… hygienic. Our laundresses’ favorite patient!”

“Ah, alright.” Well, what else could I expect.

“People used to show their hands to each other to prove they had no weapons. This is where hand-shaking comes from. You both can agree this is not needed in our situation,” the man spoke with a low, slightly hoarse voice. He must be a smoker. Were cigarettes allowed here?

“Well, you know, with some patients you wish they got in the habit of showing you their hands,” Duff laughed. “Not needed with you two, though, that’s true. Alright, I’ll be on my way. Please be back in twenty minutes, gents, or I’ll get into a big trouble. And keep out of nurse Simmons’ sight!”

“Don’t worry, boss,” Bob Deal said, made Tommy a lazy gesture to follow him and turned around. They went up the pathway circling the asylum.

“Hey, Bob. What’s so bad about nurse Simmons?” Tommy asked. Bob kept silent so long Tommy thought he was ignoring him. What did he do to earn such unfriendliness?

Then he stopped and turned to Tommy. “Two things,” he said. “First: don’t call me Bob. My name is Mick Mars. Nurses mustn’t know.”

“Mick Mars?” The name was more fit for a practicing performer than for a psych patient. Though… these were not too far apart. People of the arts were all a bit cooky. “Alright… And why nurses mustn’t know?”

“They will tell them.” Mick highlighted the last word with his voice. He looked at Tommy with grave seriousness. To laugh now would be to lose his favor for good.

“Oh. Them. Alright. And who are they?”

Mick didn’t answer, just put his finger to his mouth.

Well, if that was the asylum’s most reasonable fellow, Tommy feared to imagine what their worst case looked like. The blonde guy from the canteen? Or something worse?

They stood in silence until Tommy lost his patience.

“What’s the second thing?”

“Oh, yeah.” Mick’s tone switched to lazy casual so suddenly it gave Tommy a whiplash. “Nurse Simmons. Right. Well, he’s very good friends with Dr. Duren. And he tells him about everything he sees. And he usually sees things that we’d rather Dr. Duren didn’t know about.”

“A snitch,” Tommy concluded.

“You could say that.” Mick turned around and continued his path. He was surprisingly fast for a short man that he was - his head barely reached Tommy’s shoulder.

They went up the path and reached the asylum building.

“Alright. This,” Mick waved vaguely in the air, “is out beloved Feelgood Asylum. You feelin’ good here already?”

Tommy snorted. Mick clearly liked that.

“Our beloved asylum contains about seventy patients, give or take. About twenty nurses and then the director, Dr. Duren. He’s the one who’s gonna diagnose you and prescribe you stuff and all. Sometimes he requests help from other doctors when the case is tough, but usually he does it all himself.”

“And what kind of case is so tough Dr. Duren can’t crack it?” Tommy’s father spoke of him with much respect, even reverence. Dr. Duren also treated Tommy’s uncle, and, as far as he knew, successfully. Tommy never met him, but father said he was living peacefully in the Yorkshire countryside. If your treatment goes well, you can join him there, father used to say. That was before Tommy’s psychosis revealed itself, though.

“I think you’ve already met him,” Mick said, looking pointedly at Tommy’s cheek. Tommy couldn’t help but touch the bruise the blonde guy left him. It hurt a bit, and the cheekbone began to swell, but overall Tommy felt pretty good about the fight. He didn’t back off and stood up to himself.

“You saw the fight too?”

“No. But everyone had heard about that already. You did the right thing. Wharton had it coming.”

“He really is… something else.” Tommy recalled the inhuman shriek and shuddered. “Is he always like that?”

“Usually not. But he’s had a bad spell for a couple weeks. Spent almost all of them in a padded cell. Guess that makes a person a little bit… mad.”

Tommy snorted again. Well, at least this old man was fun.

“And what was the consensus on him?”

“I don’t know, but if I were those doctors, I’d say: pour more cold water on the bastard. He surely needs to cool down.” Mick started walking again, and Tommy followed him. “The problem is, he hurts other inmates. Some complain of sexual assault. Some… well, don’t react well to his antics. My advice is: keep away.”

“Alright,” Tommy said. What he saw and heard of Wharton convinced him this was rather sound advice. He only wished Wharton would also keep away from him. For some reason, Tommy doubted it. People like him tended to be pretty vindictive.

“Now, the asylum itself is Building A. Nurses live there – in Building B.” Mick waved at a smaller building a little bit farther away. It was connected with the asylum by a corridor. “We’re pretty far in the countryside, and they can’t commute here from London every day.”

“Looks much newer than the asylum.”

“Because it is. When asylum housed less people, nurses lived in the same building, just in a different wing. Good times those were. Peaceful.”

“You were there already?” Tommy stared at Mick. He didn’t look that old – in his forties, maybe. How long had he spent in the asylum?

“You heard Michael – I’m one of the oldies,” Mick huffed. He looked clearly displeased, and Tommy decided to drop the topic.

“And then the world went crazy, and people went crazy, and the asylum had to take in more and more patients. And now we’re all cramped in here, two, three in a ward… I heard you’ve got it rather fancy?”

“What, the ward?” Tommy clarified. “Fancy” was the last word he could come up with to describe it. But other patients probably didn’t have even that. “Well… the curtains are full of holes and the carpet needs washing, and I’m pretty sure someone bled on my mattress, but otherwise yeah, you could say it’s fancy.”

“Oh-oh, look at him, he’s got holes in his curtains!” Mick teased. “Spoiled little brat, you are. Why aren’t you wearing a robe like us peasants, anyway?”

“Du- Michael said there’s none in my size.”

“Well,” Mick looked him over critically, “your size is probably hard to match, that’s true. But don’t you worry – they’ll dress you up like the rest of us.”

“Oh no,” Tommy moaned. “These look just horrible.”

“You’re in an asylum,” Mick reminded sternly. ”It’s not a beauty pageant.”

“Maybe that’s why you all are crazy here,” Tommy grumbled. “Humans need beauty to live.”

“Humans need food, water and air to live. Everything else is secondary.” Mick waved his hand and headed up the path.

“Now, that’s the laundromat and that’s the kitchen. You might be assigned laundry or kitchen duty some time – if you’re normal around knives, of course.”

At home Tommy was forbidden from going to the kitchen after a maid discovered four knives under his pillow and two in the pockets of his coat. He decided not to tell Mick that, but the old man with his piercing gaze probably saw something anyway.

“So do the patients do all the work around here?”

“Well, not all. There are cooks and laundresses and cleaners. But there are too few of them to service all the patients, so yeah – we have to help ourselves.”

“And why don’t just hire more people?”

Mick stopped dead in his tracks, looked at Tommy, saw he was serious and erupted into laughter.

“Oh, sweet innocence! You do know that services cost money, right?”

“Of course,” Tommy pouted, crossing his arms on his chest in a defensive gesture. “It’s just… doesn’t the asylum have sponsors?”

“Sure it does. But sponsors are also not bottomless moneybags. And they, unlike patients, haven’t doubled in numbers in recent decades.”

“Oh.” Tommy’s father was one of the sponsors, and he never mentioned the asylum was underfunded. And Tommy’s father had no problem with money. Couldn’t he invest even a little in the place he sent his son to?

“Yeah. So that’s why we have to work. Dr. Duren says, of course, that labor humanizes and ennobles, but we all know that’s just an excuse.”

Tommy imagined himself mopping a bathroom floor and shuddered. Working like a servant, getting all sweaty and dirty, fumbling with psychos’ dirty underwear or washing the dishes – horrible, horrible! Maybe his privileged status would also absolve him of all this labor? He was already noble enough.

Duff would probably tell him to get off his high horse, and as much as Tommy liked him, that attitude irritated him. They all may be psychos here, but even among psychos there is variation. He needed to ask Dr. Duren about it. He was friends with Tommy’s father, surely he would cut Tommy some slack?

“And you sure need to learn what real labor is like. You look like you haven’t washed a dish in your life,” Mick added ruthlessly.

Well, he was not wrong. Tommy was used to considering that a reason for pride, but somehow the only thing he now felt was shame. And then – anger. How dares this lunatic shame him?

He just opened his mouth to express his resentment when Mick frowned, staring at the nurses’ dormitory, and then quietly cursed.

“Damn it. Nurse Simmons! He can’t see us!”

Tommy followed the path of his gaze and saw the nurse from the canteen. Even at this distance he instilled some primal fear in Tommy. Especially now, when he was walking in big strides, his hands were clenched into fists, and his coat half-soaked in water.

Mick dashed to the nearest tree and hid behind the trunk. From there he gestured to Tommy to hide behind another tree, which he did.

They watched the nurse enter the building, and even from their spots could hear the bang he slammed the door with.

“Hm. Someone got him real mad.” Mick scratched his stubbly chin. “We better go back to other patients.”

[samuelandthesun]

You know how one of the main themes in Mob Psycho 100 is about how everyone is the main character of their own life? And how Reigen feels like a secondary character of his and so he pretends to have powers and is extremely eccentric so that he can be in others lives, since he feels like he cannot live on his own? And how that makes him being dishonest with others so that they don’t abandon him? And how the series ends with him letting go of Mob but proving him that even though he is not a main character in Mob’s life anymore, he can still have his own experiences? And that is why the spin-off Mob Psycho 100 Reigen: the Man with Level 131 Max Spirit Power Exists? To tell you that you are not just a stepping stone in others’ stories, but a person of your own worthy of love and respect and a community that accepts you the way you are?

Well today Our Flag Means Death decided to kill Izzy Hands for Ed’s development. So there’s that.

[glitterspaghettiketchup]

DAY 9!!! ITS SO LATE WAAAAAAAAA school has been KICKING MY ASS. SORRY.

ok so i should explain this one i think? this comes from a fic im trying to write that's music relevant and has Izzy in it, and most of it takes place at a house party with a DJ, and for plot reasons that DJ can't be Beardo so my slug-brain went "hey what if you made a Splatoon reference? Dedf1sh is a DJ!" and i thought it was a great idea actually! except i didn't know why she'd be here in a Total Drama house party soooo yeah i gave Izzy two girlfriends haha

ok but seriously if Izzy got a time machine do you seriously think she wouldn't try to date the future fish people, especially if they were cool as hell, specifically to fuck with her friends?

[jessermeow]

About me!!! :3 (Nov 2023)

Hi! Im Jesse but I also go by Zoi, Riley, Noah, Juno, and lyra!

My pronouns are He/she/meow/paw/cat/ and other cat related neos!

I am pansexual and agender!

I like breaking bad, total drama, homestuck, omori, and American psycho, and more :3

I am a cat and borzoi therian and a fictionkin of Jesse pinkman, Noah (tdi),Kel (omori), and gamzee makara

Dni!!!

Basic dni criteria (homophobes, racists, transphobes, abelists, etc)

Anti-neopronoun, xenogender, therian, otherkin, furry, etc

And I don't think there's really anything other than that, if I don't like you I'll just block you or something

My Uber awesome playlist because my taste in music is sooo good :3

Selfie!! :3

[wormymcwormson]

Ms paint crap including: my halloween costume (to hide my identity as an adult), someone who requested to be drawn getting frisky with dimple, and unicorn izzy

[strangedramacandy]

[ofgeneticperfection]

Cont From: HERE

She did enjoy playing games, the power she mentally held over people. She could truly get into a persons head. As far as they wanted to run there was always a hidden curiosity, a spot in their mind she would ever occupy.

She notes the look in his eyes and slowly moves the finger from her cheek, letting it hover in the air between them before she slowly places it to his own. Her eyes trace the movements of her finger as she drags it down towards his beard for this brief moment of captivation.

"What would the Professor say..." She whispers. "Knowing that you are playing with something that belongs to him..." Her sharp gaze meets his own as her fingers drag his hand towards her throat. "Does it make you....want to hurt me?" Her pupils dilate at the thought.

@cwarscars

[total-drama-brainrot]

Owen's type just being batshit crazy people [Izzy and p!Noah] is so funny to me cause you just have Owen, golden hearted, sweet Owen, and two people that probably fist fight each other for fun

Owen's really out here like,

"Me and the two bad bitches I pulled by being a nice person."

And the bitches in question are the most objectively insane people he knows.

[edsbacktattoo]

Chapter Eight: A Coward Turned to Stone

Chapter Eight is alive and well! You can find it here if you'd like. :)

[vincess-princess]

we, the psychos

ch. 6

Word count: 2457 Warnings: self-harm A/N: yes, writing is all im doing beside work rn. and what of it

Vince just got dressed and was trying to comb through his wet hair with his fingers when Simmons returned.

“Take him to Dr. Duren. He wants to have a talk with him.”

Stradlin raised an eyebrow. “As if that’ll help.”

“I dunno. He’s getting desperate, I think. You want him tied up?”

“I’ll manage,” Stradlin said lazily. He grabbed Vince’s forearm and lightly pulled him to the door.

So far Stradlin did him no bad thing, so Vince obeyed. They left the washing room and were now in the dressing room before it. A cold draft enveloped Vince’s bare feet. Even clothed, he was still shaking, his nails blue.

“I want my shoes,” he said.

“Go get them,” Stradlin replied indifferently. Simmons, who was locking up the shower room, made an indignant huff. Were Simmons the one escorting him, he would force him to go to Dr. Duren naked. Not that Vince hadn’t sported his junk in front of other patients before – it would just be even colder.

“I’ll go change,” Simmons told Stradlin. “Be back by lunch.” And he left, slamming the door behind him. Stradlin winced and sent the door a displeased gaze. That was more emotion than he expressed in a week – that’s how annoying Simmons was.

Vince tied up his shoes, rose from the narrow bench and looked at Stradlin expectingly.

“You first,” Stradlin said, nodding at the door. Reasonable – the dangerous patient should always be in one’s line of sight.

“You wanna ogle my ass, just ask,” Vince grinned.

“No, I don’t. C’mon, move.”

The halls were empty – everyone must be in the garden, digging in the dirt. That was Vince’s least favorite of asylum’s jobs. Not that he liked other jobs much, but he hated to get the dirt under his nails the most. Even laundry was better than that, although psychos were very good at getting things smelly and greasy. Vince would much prefer kitchen duty, even if it was washing the dishes, because it offered a chance to catch a munch; but he hadn’t been allowed in the kitchen since his first ever outburst.

They climbed the stairs and approached the door to Dr. Duren’s cabinet. There they met Hudson – he was leaning on the wall, twisting a lock of his hair between his fingers. For a black dude, he was rather handsome. Vince usually didn’t go there, but he would here if given a chance.

“Hey, Saul,” Stradlin called him. “Someone in there?”

“Feranna,” Hudson replied, pushing his hair off his face. Vince’s heart skipped a bit.

“What’d he do?”

“Cut his thighs into mince.”

“Oh, again.”

“Yeah.”

Vince bit his lip. Whatever, he told himself. He didn’t care anymore.

“What’d he do now?” Hudson nodded at him.

“Oh, the usual. Tried to choke Simmons – right after water therapy.”

“Really?” Hudson snorted. “Simmons mad?”

“Extremely.”

“A nurse of his experience should have already learned to manage his anger,” Hudson said, eliciting a half-smile from Stradlin.

“Don’t tell him that.”

The door opened, and Nikki walked out. He was walking slowly, carefully, as if trying to avoid touching the fabric of his clothes. His gaze slid past Vince, then returned to him, lingered for a moment, then moved again. Vince pointedly stared at the wall the whole time but as Nikki and Hudson moved farther up the hall, he couldn’t help but shoot them another quick glance.

So what if Nikki did that because of him. That was no longer Vince’s problem.

“Come in,” he heard from the office, and Stradlin nudged him towards the door.

Vince inhaled deeply and went in. Dr. Duren was sitting at his desk, writing something. He was surrounded by piles of documents; a half-finished cigarette smoldered in an ashtray. That was unfair. Why he let himself smoke, but not Vince?

“Sit down,” Dr. Duren said. He put a decisive dot at the end of whatever he was writing, opened a nearby folder and carefully put the paper in there. Only then did he raise his eyes to look at Vince.

“Do you need me here, doctor?” Stradlin said behind his back.

“You can wait outside. We will be quick.”

“Is that what you tell your wife at night?” Vince teased, but without much success: Dr. Duren didn’t spare him a single look.

Stradlin left, and Vince was now alone with Dr. Duren. The familiar fear stirred in his stomach, raised its ugly head. Vince clenched his fists underneath the desk, and the pain from his nails piercing through skin brought him back to his senses a bit. Whatever he could do Duren had already done to him. Whatever he could come up with, Vince would endure. He always had.

Dr. Duren took a drag out of his cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke.

“You’ve been on a roll lately, Vincent. Not a single night in your own cell in two weeks. Two fights just today.”

“Thanks, I’m doing my best,” Vince said modestly.

“Look at you. All bruises and scratches. Hair knotted. Bags under the eyes. Who’ve you turned into? You were the most good-looking patient when admitted. Cared about your appearance, too.”

Vince’s hand involuntarily rose towards his hair, but he dropped it back halfway. Anger rose in him, swift and unstoppable. Yes, he didn’t look as good as he used to. But that was not his fault. He simply couldn’t.

But it was too late – the chain reaction had already went off.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Vince hissed. “You did that to me!” His voice rose into a scream. “You and your goddamn asylum!”

“Calm. Down.” Dr. Duren said, slowly and distinctly. “Don’t make me regret not putting you in a straitjacket.”

Vince grabbed the ashtray and threw it into the wall. With a loud crack it broke into a thousand little pieces that littered the dark-blue carpet like stars in a sky.

“You’ll have to clean that up,” Dr. Duren said calmly.

“Fuck me if I will,” Vince growled. Why wasn’t Dr. Duren scared? Everyone was scared of him. Even Simmons, even if he would never admit it. Everyone was scared of a deranged sex-obsessed psycho. Who now wasn’t even good-looking anymore.

“Yes, you will,” Dr. Duren said. He looked at him with his goddamn blue eyes, somewhat reminding of that guy, Bob Deal. These two were the only ones whose gaze Vince couldn’t handle. “Now sit down.”

Anything but that. Anything. Duren will not get him to do what he wants to do. He tried, with all those cold showers and padded cells and straitjackets, and failed. And if he thought he would be able to do it now, with just his words, he was damn wrong.

Vince picked up a piece of the ashtray with a sharp corner and stabbed his arm with it. Then he dragged the sharp piece up his arm, leaving a gash that slowly started to fill up with blood.

Pain slowly began to clear up his mind. He just cut his own arm open. Sharp pain throbbed under it; blood dripped off his arm and onto the expensive carpet.

Then large hands took the piece of ashtray away from him. Dr. Duren stood over him, looking at him with those damn impenetrable blue eyes. Vince never realised he was that tall; probably even taller than McKagan and Simmons. If he wanted, he could send Vince into a blackout with one hit.

A knock in the door attracted Dr. Duren’s attention, and Vince could breathe again now that this piercing gaze wasn’t drilling into him anymore.

“Doctor? Is everything alright?”

Dr. Duren gently led Vince to his seat. Vince plopped down on it, his legs suddenly weak. He kept staring at the gash on his arm as Dr. Duren told Stradlin to get them some bandages.

He just disfigured himself. With his own hands. This scar would never go away. It will always remind him of how he completely lost control and hurt himself in his anger. He was no better than Nikki now, and he used to poke fun at him for his scars.

Dr. Duren returned to his desk, lit up a cigarette and gave it to Vince. Vince took a deep drag and began to cough. It’s been too long since he last smoked.

He finished the cigarette under Dr. Duren’s attentive gaze. The Stradlin returned with bandages and fixed up Vince’s arm. Vince could say Simmons did it to him. No one would doubt that. Simmons was known for worse things.

“Good job, Izzy,” Dr. Duren told the nurse fussing over Vince’s wound. “Now give us a bit more time. A couple minutes.”

Stradlin left. Vince stared at Dr. Duren in confusion. What else did he want from him? Wasn’t all this enough?

“I think you punished yourself enough now. But to keep the appearances, you’ll be cleaning the canteen after meals for the next week. With Feranna. He’s also behaved badly.”

Oh, come on.

***

“Is this what you call “soup”?” Tommy said with disgust as he scooped up a spoonful of oily water with slices of overboiled cabbage and a single piece of carrot.

“Listen, at least this time there’s meat in it. There were times when we didn’t have even that,” said Mick. Tommy tagged along after him until lunch and sat down next to him at the table. Mick didn’t seem to mind.

“Hope the funds the asylum saved on this excuse of a soup will go into something worthwhile,” Tommy grumbled, carefully trying the soup with his tongue. At least it was hot. After a short hesitation he put the spoon into his mouth.

“Doesn’t your lordship like the soup?” Mick teased, looking at the grimace Tommy made. Mick was consuming the soup with indifference of someone who never knew a taste of better life. For a second Tommy wished to be him – to spend so much time here that he forgets how it is in the outside world.

But he knew he wouldn’t be able to forget. Once knowing a better thing will have one always craving it.

Mick finished his soup and lazily poked at a sausage on his plate. From time to time he raised his head and cast a look at the door, as if waiting for someone. This went on for as long as it took Tommy to finish his plate, and just as he put his spoon down Mick’s face lit up.

“Oh thank God,” he murmured. Tommy followed his gaze and saw… well, at first he thought he saw a reflection of himself a couple years later. A mop of long, unkept hair falling onto the eyes, lips bitten so badly they had actual wounds on them, a distant gaze and a slow, careful stride, as if something hurt when he moved. If not for that, if someone got him out of here, brushed, washed and dressed up, the guy would be a heartbreaker.

He shuffled to their table and lowered himself on the bench next to Mick.

“You’re late,” Mick said. “The soup has got cold.”

“Whatever,” the guy said, carefully laying his bandaged hand by the plate. “I’m not hungry.”

“Yeah, you can shove that up your ass. Get your spoon and eat.”

“Yes, mommy.” The guy rolled his eyes, then, for the first time over that conversation, looked at Tommy. “Haven’t seen you around.”

“I’m new,” Tommy said, making eyes at Mick – would you introduce us? But common manners were seemingly unknown in this godforsaken place.

“Congrats. You’re in the best place in the world,” the guy laughed hoarsely. He didn’t look happy at all.

“I can see, yeah.”

“I’m Nikki,” the guy said. “Nikki Sixx. I would offer you a hand, but…” He gestured at his bandage.

“Tommy Lee,” Tommy said slowly. That wasn’t the way he used to make acquaintance, but still better than nothing.

“Don’t tell the nurses his name,” Mick intervened. “They mustn’t know. They call him Frank Feranna.”

“Do you all have secret aliases here?” Tommy raised his eyebrows.

“Only the ones that need them,” Mick said mysteriously. “Enough about it. We might be heard.”

“Alright,” Tommy decided not to press on anymore, not willing to lose the goodwill of his new acquaintances. “Frank- Nikki- What happened to your hand?”

“I fought demons,” Nikki said. Tommy couldn’t determine whether he was joking or serious. Maybe a bit of both – they were in a madhouse, after all. “And where’d you get this lovely black eye?”

“Some psycho didn’t like that I sat in his place.”

“Really?” Nikki livened up a bit. “Who?”

“A blonde guy, some nurse brought him in in a straitjacket. What was his name, Mick?” Tommy turned to the old man and was met with such a grim gaze he almost physically shrunk in place. Did he say something wrong?

“Ah. Must be Wharton,” Nikki said evenly. The spoon he was holding snapped in his hand. He looked at it with mild surprise and carefully put the two halves back on the table.

Tommy looked at him, then at Mick who was eviscerating him with his eyes, then back at Nikki. He was definitely missing something.

Nikki went to fetch another spoon. While he was away, Mick hurriedly picked up the pieces and hid them in the pockets of his robe.

“Why’d you need that?”

“I don’t,” Mick replied sharply. “Someone else might – and not for a good cause.”

Then, just as Tommy bit off a piece of his sausage, the canteen door slammed. The sausage stuck in his throat, and he had to cough to get it out.

No one paid any mind. Because that was him at the door – the Wharton guy.

“Speak of the devil…” Mick muttered.

Wharton looked over the canteen like he was the director of the asylum. He didn’t look very regal, though: his hair was wet and matted, lip broken, left arm bandaged, right arm – covered with bruises. Fresh ones - Tommy didn’t remember them on him when they fought in the morning. What had he got himself into in the meantime?

Wharton confidently strolled to the food dispenser. Mick hissed behind Tommy’s back, and a second later Tommy understood why – Nikki was right there, fetching himself a new spoon. He stood with his back towards them, but Tommy could see him turn his head, see who just entered, drop the spoon and hurry to the door.

Just as Nikki passed Wharton, the psycho grabbed him by the forearm and whispered something in his ear. Nikki grimaced and pushed him away with such force Wharton almost tripped over. Almost.

When his first victim left the range, he turned around, looked over the canteen, saw Tommy, grinned and headed directly to him.

[elapsed-spiral]

My favourite flavour of post-reunion S2 Izzy dynamic is where Ed just drives the guy insane by reminding him that he's boning Stede at every available opportunity.

It works for everything: Izzy complains about how the ship's run? "Well I had no complaints about Captain Bonnet's performance last night, if you catch my drift." Izzy complains about how little loot they've taken? "Ah, well, we're tired this morning because we [insert colourful description of last night's bang-a-thon]." Izzy complains about- "This reminds me of when Stede and I-" Izzy is out of there. He's huffing, he's storming off, he's gone. It's fine. This repeats every day of course but it's whatever.

[icallhimjoey]

Not to be a psycho but i delusionally check your blog about 3 times a day for a new part of All The Aces 🫶🏻

Not to be a psycho but this blog is the exact right place to be a psycho so ✌🏻 here you go, the last part of this lil series! Lmk your thoughts! Also don't forget: 18+ smutty adult themes etc Wordcount: 4.5K

---

All The Aces

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe was right, but there was a sour taste to it. Something a little rotten.

It was all sweet, all fun and games until, very slowly, it turned into something else.

He didn’t know when you’d reached the tipping point, but you were well past it now and very muchly not willing to admit you weren’t doing great.

Fucking stubborn. So proud and tenacious. It was really something. Weirdly admirable, but also impossible to manage. Joe said he’d wanted to find your breaking point, but you didn’t seem to be willing to stop bending, and Joe started wondering if you’d even snap at all.

Sometimes it was easy.

You’d be short with him, and he’d react in a stupid way to make you laugh, and then you would laugh, and the ice around you would melt away instantly.

But there’d be moments where nothing Joe would do was okay. In fact, all of it would be exactly the opposite, and you’d prefer to be left alone. To not be touched, or even be looked at. To maybe sleep in your own bed whilst Joe slept in his because then you could just avoid this stupid bet all together.

There was something nice about the control still, Joe thought. But he also wasn’t sure if he knew he could handle the responsibility for much longer.

When he’d told you he didn’t want you to come just to see how long you’d be able to go without, there was a mental image of you reaching a point of begging for him to let you. And then, he could be the one to give you permission. That’s what he’d envisioned and ultimately, what he had wanted.

But... you weren’t begging for shit.

Izzy started noticing a difference after about ten, maybe eleven days. How you held onto frustration a bit longer than you usually would. How you’d snap a little sooner too. 

She’d frown at you and ask, “Are you all right?” rhetorically after you’d forcefully kick her shoes aside that she’d left in the middle of the doormat by the front door.

You’d sigh and mutter, “Fine. Sorry.” Before you’d make the mental decision to be kind and friendly to your best friend because she hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t her fault that you felt like you were slowly going insane.

You felt a little pathetic.

You’d not even made it a fortnight before you’d started avoiding Joe.

You stopped asking him if he’d come over to yours for dinner. Stopped double tapping his messages to send him little hearts. Stopped replying to his double chin selfies with ones of your own.

You didn’t like Joe any less.

But being around him became something risky.

And Joe hadn’t expected for himself to become a risk.

It was stupid.

It was absolutely crazy, actually.

You wanted to quit your job.

You also wanted to flip your desk, set the sofa on fire, and move to another country.

Your hands constantly itched to do something.

How many feelings was a person able to have at once? Because there were about 26 feelings happening in the middle of your chest simultaneously, and they were seeping into your limbs where you weren’t able to process any of them properly and it was making you angry.

You couldn’t cheat.

Even though you wanted to. 

Badly.

But if you were one thing, it was stubborn, and you’d started pushing Joe away when he’d take you to the verge of an orgasm, just to have the overhand. To feel like you were in charge still, even though whatever you thought you held in the palm of your hand was starting to leak through your fingers.

You were not having a good time.

And so you decided that Joe also wasn’t allowed to have a good time anymore.

Joe’d initiated sex three nights in a row, and all three times, you’d avoided his advances.

Shied away.

Moved just out of reach.

And the first time, Joe thought it was sort of cute. He’d said, “My poor baby,” and had chuckled a little before leaving you alone.

The second time, all he could really be was sweet. Be polite. If you said no, you didn’t want it, and so that was your choice.

But the third time, Joe quirked an eyebrow and asked, “Is something wrong? Have I… did I break you?”

His attempt at humour got dismissed. You didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. Just looked at your phone and flatly said, “No. I’m not made to be broken. But, it feels more fair like this.”

“Huh?”

“If I don’t get to have any, you shouldn’t either.”

“How is that more fair, exactly?” Joe’d tried moving in on you, hand sliding over your stomach, body scooting closer to curl all around you.

“I don’t know. Feels it, so…” You didn’t move. Kept your eyes on your phone and pretended there weren’t soft circles drawn into your side with a slow fingertip.

“Okay,” Joe chuckled silently, “But I never said that I didn’t want to–”

You clicked off your phone and interrupted, “Well, tough. Deal with it.”

Your phone got placed onto your bedside table, and you started moving to lay on your side, facing away from him, wriggling out of his hold as you did.

Joe let you get comfortable before he humorously said, “I actually think… yea, I think that this could mean that I’ve won. I’m right.”

“You’re not right.” You deadpanned, eyes already closed, ready to ignore Joe behind you and go to sleep.

“But I am.”

“No.”

“Explain how.” Joe curved another hand over your hip, but you were quick to move it aside.

“No.”

God, you were being impossible. It was a shame that this was funny to only one person in the room – it would’ve been way more fun if Joe’s giggles would’ve kick-started yours, but you stayed silent.

“Well, all right. Let’s spend some quality time together then. I’ll do some good foreplay for you, hmm?” Joe was fucking around. “I want to… baby, I want to do a fun activity together. Be close to you. Give you some appreciation, learn about you, I–”

“Fuck you.”

Joe was using every word you’d uttered that night with Izzy against you now, and listen: you were not wrong.

You were right.

Joe had just gone and changed the game, that was the real issue here, and now you couldn’t even look at his hands without feeling a pulse in your underwear.

How the fuck was that fair?

It wasn’t.

And so Joe was a risk now.

It was all fun and games until Joe realised it maybe had only been fun and games for him. You were still playing, still following the rules, but how could Joe still enjoy this if you weren’t?

When Izzy was the one to invite him over to your shared flat instead of you, he felt his defeat sit heavy in his chest.

He was going to have to admit he’d been wrong and, for his own sake as well as yours, was going to have to admit to it. He was ready for things to go back to normal, if that was even possible.

When you’d walked in after work that evening, one of your belt loops got stuck on the doorhandle before you’d even taken off your jacket.

“Shut up!” You spoke into your flat before anyone had even said anything. “I’m fine.”

You weren’t, but you repeated it in your head like a mantra – I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine. You’d have dinner with Izzy to be a good friend and then you’d see if you could calm yourself down enough to actually get an early night.

You knew you needed it.

You likely wouldn’t be able to, though. Hadn’t been able to for a few nights, and it was really starting to fuck with… well. Everything. One thing would go okay, and then two thousand things would go wrong, and you didn’t have the mental capacity to process, let alone deal with, any of it. 

Everything was overwhelming.

You needed to soak your whole person in a hot bath for two weeks to reset your brain, you thought. 

You got no reaction to your shut up, and when you walked into your kitchen, you saw why. Izzy was crouched down in front of the oven next to Joe.

Surprise.

You hadn’t expected Joe to be there. Hadn’t anticipated to hear his soft voice explain oven settings to your best friend as you’d barged into your flat in the worst mood.

Joe was showing Izzy how he’d set the buttons on your oven the last time, when he made a pasta bake that turned out exactly like the picture from the recipe. Especially amazing, because rarely did pasta bakes even make it onto plates to be served in your flat. Your oven was an old thing that needed careful handling. Couldn’t turn it on and trust it to do its thing on its own; your food would either burn or not cook at all.

“Hey, what’s going on?” you asked, and both of them turned their heads to see you frowning down at them, your hand rubbing at where you’d just been yanked back into the door.

“What happened?” Izzy asked, half paying attention to the oven still, but she sounded genuinely confused. Moreso when she actually turned her head and looked at you.

“Nothing. I said I’m fine.”

You hid the belt loop you’d just nearly ripped from your jeans on the door handle from view for fear of them commenting on it. That would just piss you off more. 

But then Izzy wouldn’t stop looking at you from her crouched position by the oven, so you were quick to add, “Bumped my hip. What’s he doing here?”

That made Joe burst into laughter as he got up and stretched his legs.

You didn’t join in.

You hadn’t invited Joe over.

Your serious face made Izzy frown at you a little as she got up, everyone at eye-level now.

“Joe helped me cook us dinner…”

“Oh. How nice of him.”

Izzy turned her head to look at Joe and hesitated a little before she said, “I know I’m the best friend, but, can you maybe...” she nodded her head in your direction. 

Joe scrunched up his nose and shook his head. 

"Nah. She said she’s fine, didn’t she?" 

Smug bastard.

"I am."

They both looked at you.

"What- leave me alone. I’m fucking fine!" 

No one had even said anything, but you were stomping out of the kitchen anyway. Maybe dinner could be a thing you just didn’t have tonight. You’d have some self-loathing with a side of slamming doors instead, and it would satisfy you all the same.

After the door to your bedroom slammed shut, you let your fingers slide into your hair where you gripped tightly, just for a second.

Took a few deep breaths, just to calm down.

What would be good right now?

No.

Besides that.

What else would be good right now?

Change.

You could change into a softer outfit.

Be gentle to yourself.

No one else was going to be, so you might as well.

You’d only just taken your top off when the door opened behind you.

You knew it’d be Joe, so you ignored it.

Softly the door got closed again, and Joe turned to lean against it, hands behind his back, head tilted back as he looked at you.

“Hey,”

“What?” you snapped.

“Have you eaten today?” Joe’s voice remained soft, not affected by your moodiness at all.

“Had a fat lunch, thanks for asking.” You wiggled out of your jeans and found a pair of soft joggers. You changed without looking at Joe, and then, when you finally did, you saw him look at you like he knew exactly what was going on.

A small, little smile that said, “You’re only acting like this because of what I asked of you.”

Eyes sort of twinkly that said, “And you know that we both know what the problem is.”

And Joe wasn’t totally wrong, but also definitely not totally right. You were feeling the way you were feeling for lots of reasons.

Joe looked at you like that for exactly long enough for you to snap, “What?” at him.

Then, he suddenly frowned.

“You been avoiding me?”

“No.”

“I think you’ve been avoidning me.”

“I haven’t.”

You suddenly heard the front door open and close, and Joe saw how you paused to listen. 

“Izzy,” Joe simply said by ways of explaining, like he knew she’d be heading out. Which made no sense - they’d just made dinner together.

But you hadn’t witnessed the way Izzy had looked at Joe when you’d stormed out of the room. Hadn’t heard how Joe answered her unasked question by saying, “We’re playing a weird game, it’s been... it’s been a while.” He said it like he knew it was ridiculous, and it got followed by an uneasy weird silence that provoked him to add, “You said you didn’t want to know what we– how we–” Izzy’d raised her hand, stopping him before he could say more, had then told him to fucking finish the game already, you fucking weren’t children, and Joe’d laughed that maybe Izzy didn’t want to be in the flat for it.

Izzy made the executive decision to have her dinner elsewhere then, face scrunched up in disgust as she opened the kitchen cupboard that held all the plastic containers you owned, ready to put whatever was in the oven away for another time.

She reminded Joe of the behind-closed-door rules before pointing him towards your room, sending him on his way like an irritated mum would.

Before you could really think to ask why Izzy’d left, Joe gave his chin a little tilt and distracted you when he said, “Remember when I thought you were cheating before… You’re kind of cheating now.”

And you had no time for childish silly games. Joe could leave and take his dinner with him. Come back later when you felt like being around him again.

“Joe, stop being annoying, I’m not–”

“No, no. That wasn’t a question.”

You gave an annoyed huff and dropped your shoulders whilst your face fell too. If Joe wasn’t going to let you tell him how annoying he was being, he was at least to observe by your body language how annoyed you felt.

But then Joe stepped forward, and used the back of his hand, backs of his fingers, to slowly caress a soft line down your face. He barely touched you, but the little trace that did catch your skin, sparked immediate goosebumps. 

Your breath hitched a little at the sudden softness from him, and you felt yourself sway on the spot.

“This all it takes?” Joe made his voice sound all soft, a little innocent, like he was just being curious as he watched your eyebrows knit together.

“No…”

Yes. 

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

No.

Joe let his fingers curl around your neck, and your head dropped to the side as your eyes closed, your imagination wandering somewhere dangerous now, and fuck off, you were supposed to be mad at him. That little desperate noise wasn’t meant to slip from your throat.

“What about this?” Joe quietly wondered as he moved in closer and let his lips softly brush the skin on the side of your neck.

You thought you went deaf for a second.

“Hmm?” Joe hummed in question when you failed to answer him, and you couldn’t actually get any words out, because you just knew every word would come out all shaky, like it would ache to speak at all.

All you managed was a tiny shake to your head as you tried swallowing down the hazy feeling that was making your mind run a mile a minute.

Joe lowered his voice as much as he could when he followed up with a little confused, “No?”

He saw how you frowned, the smallest of movement in your brow, and for fear of you trying to pull yourself out of whatever you were slowly sinking into, Joe let his forehead touch yours.

You knew what he was doing.

“No, you can’t...” you breathed against Joe’s mouth.

“Can’t what?” Joe kept you in place, hand on the back of your neck still, eyes closed, forehead to forehead.

Joe could feel how you were trying your best to hold onto your last little bit of resistance. However, a short strengthening of his grip was enough for it to ebb away, and Joe pretended for your sake that he couldn’t feel you shaking like a leaf.

“Can’t let me...” Lose, you wanted to say, but you faltered, and Joe used the opportunity to sneak a kiss. He went in for a soft little romantic one, something small to maybe make the words come back to you, but the moment that your mouths touched, you lost all inhibitions and immediately slapped both hands around Joe’s neck to pull him into you forcefully.

Joe let a surprised little noise escape him.

He hadn’t expected this hunger from you, which he quickly realised was actually so dumb. He’d left you starving, and then you added to that by not feeding yourself. He should’ve seen this coming from miles away.

It was perfect, too. He knew it meant he could manoeuvre you to right where he wanted you to be.

See if you’d beg.

Or at least, ask nicely.

With a soft palm to your stomach, Joe started pushing you back towards your bed, and he thought it wouldn’t be so easy, but it was shocking how you were forcefully pulling him with you. How you let yourself fall back onto your mattress and held onto Joe to ensure he’d go down with you.

You’d been avoiding Joe for this exact reason.

One little finger of outreach made you grab onto his whole being.

And Joe simply went with it, obviously.

Went with you hurriedly squirming out of your clothes with fumbling hands.

Went with the legs that wrapped around him, ankles hooking him right into place with no escape.

Went with the urgency with which you kissed him, and let himself get lead to that same spot, where your energy linked up and matched, and soon, you both were just failing limbs and panting open mouths as Joe was quick to push himself inside where he found you were more than ready for him, like you’d been waiting.

Which, yea, that checked out. You fucking had been.

“Oh, shit,” Joe groaned, and immediately had you moaning.

He’d missed those moans.

Not that he’d gone so long without, but you know. If Joe had things his way he’d hear those same noises at least twice, maybe three times a day.

There was nothing soft about how you were handling each other.

Nothing soft about how you were both treating this like a quickie that you wanted to pay off for yourself before it would pay off for the other.

You kind of forgot about the bet.

Which made sense.

Joe was breathing heavily beside your ear, letting his mouth graze over the shell of it, and if he wasn’t also jackhammering himself inches deep inside of you, just that would’ve sent you into overdrive.

It was silly how quick you felt yourself getting close.

The second you fully registered it, you panicked a little.

“Wait, no, no, stop, I’m–” you almost auto-piloted the staving off, like you had been doing for a while now, but Joe was quick to shush you.

“Want you,” he huffed, struggling as you tensed up under him. He wished that didn’t feel so nice. “Want you to come.”

“No, the... the...”

The bet. The deal. The game. You didn’t want to lose. Couldn’t lose. Joe was wrong. He had to know he was wrong. He–

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from crying. That was going to help no one right now.

But Joe saw, and in a wild turn of unexpected events, he turned into the one that begged.

“Stop,” Joe whispered, hips slowing down just a smidge. Just enough to get you right where he wanted to get you. Where he knew it’d be so easy to make you tip over fairly quickly.

“I got you, please. Please, come for me– want you to, ah, want you to feel good. You can come. It’s okay, you’re okay, I’m about to come, I wanna come together, please, you–”

You cut Joe off with a loud gasp that turned into louder moans you tried to swallow for fear of them turning into screams.

There it was.

You’d bent until you snapped.

Snapped right in half.

And, fuck, was it delicious.

If Joe’d had more decency, he would’ve maybe waited with his own orgasm. Would’ve maybe tried to make the moment all about you.

But Joe wasn’t a decent guy, was he? You felt how he came inside of you, body trembling on his forearms that pressed into the bed either side of you.

“That’s it, keep going. Come on, let go. Let it all out.” Joe cooed, like he wasn’t actively orgasming himself, using the softest of whispers directly into your ear as you uncontrollably convulsed and whined underneath him.

You’d never come so hard, you thought.

You’d also never burst into sobs right after an orgasm before.

“Hey, hey, hey, c’mere.” Joe was quick to pull out of you, dick still twitching as he sat back on his knees before pulling you up into him for a hug. You let yourself be dragged into a sitting position, immediately enveloped into both your boyfriend’s arms that squeezed you tight.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice slightly enthused with a light amount of loving ridicule. “What are you crying for, hey? You’re okay. You’re okay.”

And that was just the thing.

The release of everything you’d kept pent up inside had such an overwhelming effect that feeling just okay was more than enough to get you all up in your emotions.

And the fact that it made you feel silly and stupid and pathetic for it didn’t really help the case.

Joe let you cry like that for a minute, and just made sure to hold you close to his chest. Skin to skin. Sway side to side, all warm and safe, exactly where he wanted you. Where he’d gladly have you forever. Naked too, preferably. All vulnerable, just like this.

Perfect.

It took a long while before he felt you calm down and pull back a little, but when you eventually did, he moved back to take a good look at you. To really take you in.

You looked a right mess. Sort of embarrassed. Rosy, blotchy cheeks. Make-up smeared all over.

Perfect.

“Oh, you’ve got some,” Joe moved a finger up to move a sticky strand of hair from your face. “You’ve got some pretty here, hang on,” he joked, taking your warmed cheek into his hand. “Come here, I’ll get it.”

Joe had you giggling before you knew it, pressing little kisses to your cheek, jaw, chin and eventually getting you on the mouth where he kissed you one, two, three times.

Quick fourth time when he pulled back and saw how the embarrassment lingered on your features a little.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured when Joe give you the sweetest little pursed smile, which you immediately saw vanish upon hearing your apology.

“No,” he shook his head at you like you were a child.

You ignored it, wiping your face dry - or at least attempting it - with the back of your hand.

“For the dramatics.”

“No.” Joe stressed, taking over face-drying-duties with both of his hands, and you were so close to rolling your eyes at him.

You knew you were going to have to say it now.

Couldn’t wait for him to bring it up later because you’d knew he’d be a little shit about it.

There was no way he was going to mean about it now, and you’d best use that to your advantage.

“You were right,” you mumbled in your softest voice, just shy of a whisper, because these words didn’t need to be heard by the whole world. You looked at Joe through your eyelashes and gave him a small shy smile when you added, “Guess you won.”

And Joe fucking beamed at your words.

Had to bite his bottom lip into his mouth to stop from smiling so fucking hard.

For a moment you just looked at each other like that.

Twin smiles.

This was all he had wanted, Joe thought to himself, but then realised right in that moment that actually, he wasn’t right.

He wasn’t right at all.

And neither were you.

God, you were actually idiots.

You were both wrong.

So Joe scrunched up his nose all cute and shook his head a little when he said, “I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong.”

Your forehead twinged with confusion.

You couldn’t be wrong.

You couldn’t be wrong about being wrong.

What?

Had Joe not just held you through shaking sobs as you’d cried?

Had he not felt hot tears fall and run down his shoulders?

Joe’d held all the aces for weeks and was now trying to sell you the idea that he’d just been hanging onto a bunch of random cards. A four of spades and six of diamonds and… was he saying that you were right?

“Are you saying I’m right?” you asked, pouting through your confusion and, shut the fuck up, it was just about the most adorable shit Joe’d ever seen. Made saying this next part real easy.

“Yes. Well, partially. You’re partially right.”

You inhaled a sharp breath and waited for further confirmation of you being the smartest person to have ever graced Joe’s life with your presence.

“Crossing the finish line is not the most important part. You were right about that. It’s not.”

Joe paused for effect, and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion.

“The most important part of sex is not crossing the finish line...”

What Joe was going to say next would do good to make you like him more, rather than less.

“...but it’s making you cross the finish line.”

Oh. Shit. 

Yea, more.

More.

You liked him more.

So much more.

“Both wrong...” You said it just to hear it, and it sounded nicer than anything else could’ve done.

“Both wrong.” Joe confirmed with a nod, his smile still there.

No aces.

No winners.

All random cards.

All losers.

You let all of that sink in for a second, giving yourself a moment to process what that really meant, and then you were quick to grab Joe by the skull and pull him right back into you, not unlike you’d done before.

With Izzy out the door, Joe could prove his own conclusion right a couple times more, and you’d tell him he was right every time he’d do so.

Joe was right.

Had been right.

But the both of you being wrong was so much sweeter. Tasted so much nicer. Nothing sour, nothing rotten. Just sugary kisses and honeyed sounds of pleasure, flavours and colours and textures that he wished he could bottle up and keep for the rest of his life.

Joe was right, but you were both wrong, and somehow, someway, this was the best possible outcome either of you could’ve probably ever hoped for.

This stupid bet.

Both wrong.

Right. But both wrong.

---

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add yourself

[izuizzy]

thinking about Vanitas again because I'm a sucker who likes crazy ocs; how come they all thought that he was dead?? like was that something in the records or did Vanitas just disappear and presumed dead?? its eating at my mind izzy!!!! I MUST KNOWWWW

OKAY I HAVE SLEPT AND I AM HERE ONCE AGAIN ASKING YOU TO LISTEN TO THE VANITAS PARASITES WHISPERING IN MY EAR AAA I’m so glad you asked this fos. you have no idea you’re asking all the things I’ve already been thinking about heheheheh so long post incoming. it’s story time!

to anyone also reading this, story was written by me. so yeah just the usual do not claim as your own. and enjoy! also tw for inhumane research projects, death mention. I will tag this post.

so, basically Vanitas and all other test subjects for Ultimate Lifespawn were supposed to die when the facility was found. as team dark and GUN found it they arrested and captured all the researchers, but not until one dangerous researcher activated a fail safe to destroy the subjects. miraculously it failed on Talia and Vox, but all other subjects were killed. it is still unknown why they survived. was it just a stroke of luck? did their programs buckle after the destruction of the facility? no one knows yet.

so how did Vanitas survive? to start, I wanna give a little background on him. he wasn’t always a crazy psycho JAKAHSHS

he was actually quite happy even in their unfortunate circumstances. he definitely inherited more of Sonic’s energetic and playful sides. out of all the subjects in the facility, he was the first to survive the abhorrent experiments and tests after Vox. so they stuck together in those trying times being the only two who could last longer than a few days or a few weeks. Vanitas grew attached to his older brother and Vox enjoyed having company for once even if he didn’t understand his own feelings at the time.

however… things didn’t stay that way.

(gonna cliffhanger cut this bc it’s getting super long so read under the cut for more)

around the time Talia came into existence, Vanitas noticed a change in Vox. something more sentimental as he bonded with Talia. something Vanitas had never seen from Vox. Vanitas saw her as weaker than them (her Chao energy levels are not the same as the two of them) and he once suggested that he and his brother Vox escape the facility and the cruelty of the researchers, they were definitely strong enough to level the facility and take out anyone who stood in their way. Vox didn’t want to leave Talia behind though, and what if more hedgehogs like them came into existence that could survive, who would be there for them?

Vanitas didn’t like what he was hearing. one argument led to another and Vanitas had had enough of his sentimental brother, and the weakling that turned him into this. he became more violent and aggressive towards everyone and everything. he took joy in tormenting the subjects and fighting with the researchers, and seeing all of them as dolls more so than other living things. the researchers soon learned he was too dangerous to the project as a whole and so they separated him from the rest of the subjects and performed experiments on him alone.

Talia and Vox never saw him again after that, and so they had assumed he was going die (as they were young and watching him leave didn’t mean just experiments but death).

Vanitas was later subjected to terrible experiments alone, so painful and excruciating that his mind began to fray at the seams. after the experiments he did not return to Vox, Talia or anyone else. he was left in isolation in a room. all alone. there were times where he regretted the things he’d said that had separated him from Vox. it wasn’t long though before his mind would start to block things out. he became the emptiness that his name stood for. he started shutting out his pain and his emotions, and he lived in isolation, cold and numb. he’d already used that coping skill before so he could use it again.

Vanitas never saw another soul again besides the researchers. they planned to place him in a cryostasis different from the other subjects and extract his chaos energy to be used for the others because he was too erratic to control. they’d keep him around for later but basically they wrote him off as deceased for the records so no one would question them about him.

so Talia and Vox had assumed he was dead as they never saw him again (a spell of out of sight out of mind just a bit). they had to move forward. Vox had to come to grips that the brother he knew he changed and was no more and Talia had to learn to cope with the fear Vanitas had imparted on her even after he was gone.

a tldr of their interactions is that after a long while neither Vox nor Talia had anything kind to say about Vanitas and wouldn’t miss him after the shift in personality he had. he became manipulative, aggressive and cruel and neither of them remembered him fondly (unfortunately). Vox and Vanitas both missed the old versions of each other that were long gone.

later down the lines when team dark found them there were only four subjects found. even though in truth five had survived. Vanitas was only a name among a list of names when they recovered the files all while being labeled as “dangerous” and “deceased.”

for reasons I have yet to write, it turns out all this time Vanitas was alive and never died in the research facility… because he wasn’t there to begin with when team dark and GUN raided the facility.

he had disappeared much earlier, his cell empty, and the fail safe chip inside him left on the ground.

fun fact: I also put this in a sonadow comic I did once before. mentioning the fail safe that was meant to kill all subjects created by the project

[canonizzyhours]

@ 342

i would have a much easier time with letting bad takes slide if izzy fans didn’t also—

a) harass cast and crew (spewing vitriol en masse at david jenkins on twitter for killing izzy, DMing gypsy taylor to call her a psycho etc)

b) infantilize con o’neill by insisting that he’s heartbroken/angry that his character was killed off and he’s just being SO POLITE/BRAVE ABOUT IT (because everyone in the canyon is a body language expert and they just know him so well they can tell he’s hurting)

c) come into my mentions and admonish me for “stirring the pot” ie posting rants about the canyon UNTAGGED to my own blog that nobody reads

d) tolerate/defend/protect a known sexual abuser in their community (and demand proof from victims of the severity of their abuse so they could decide if it was serious enough to even care about)

e) engage with a racist artist who made edward an unapologetic domestic abuser of izzy in their comic before s2 even aired, who also harassed other fans for outing aforementioned sexual abuser (who they vouched for)

f) extend more grace and humanity to izzy hands, a fictional white man, than to the actual flesh-and-blood human beings who worked on the show (“I’m glad the show was cancelled because they ruined my favorite characters”—meanwhile lots of queer POC are out of a job and you’re celebrating that)

g) call jes tom a “fucking idiot” for saying ed’s rejection of his leathers a trans allegory (which was a scene that he wrote that was informed by his own experiences as a trans person)

h) enable eachother to behave poorly because “there’s no right or wrong way to grieve” (I guess a fictional character death on a tv show you never really liked is ample justification for the mistreatment of people around you, even six months after the show ended?)

“gentlebeardies” largely want to be left alone but izzy fans NEED to be morally correct, and they NEED to be victims. they need to reinsert themselves into the discourse day-in and day-out but they also need to be handled with kid’s gloves because if their feelings get hurt or they experience any level of discomfort then they just HAVE to fight back.

sometimes I think the canyon so vehemently denies that izzy is abusive/manipulative and an antagonist (at least in season 1, less so in season 2) because they cannot (or will not) reckon with their own capacity for harm. it’s much easier to weaponize your identity to deflect any criticism at all, in good faith or otherwise.

#354.

related posts: #342