#and finally he goes too far and it blows up in his face somehow

[youngpettyqueen]

The Joker is Wild is an episode that really doesnt work where it is in the show

the idea that BJ is set off by like. jealous rage or whatever over Hawkeye comparing him to Trapper just doesnt work so late in the show when there's been 0 indication that BJ is jealous about Trapper at all. it feels like it comes out of nowhere, just a half-assed sort of reason given to set him off

ive mentioned this before here and I know its a hot take within this fandom but the supposed Trapper Complex just doesnt exist. in the 8 seasons that BJ is present in the show, I can think of three times Trapper's name comes up around him

Period of Adjustment, where he brings up that he feels like he hates Trapper. should be noted that BJ here is at about the lowest point we see him at, he's in complete despair, and he's also blind drunk. he also specifically brings up that he feels this way because Trapper has gone home- it has nothing to do with Hawkeye

Depressing News, Hawkeye refers to BJ as being the 'same size, same shape' as Trapper, and BJ's reaction can be construed as being not exactly pleased about it. I think this reads more as him just not being happy about literally being called Trapper's replacement, not him being jealous

then, of course, The Joker is Wild

because of this it really just doesnt make sense for BJ to suddenly have this jealousy in The Joker is Wild, not this late in the show. it would've honestly worked so much better if this episode happened back in season 4, because then you could've made that jealousy believable with BJ still establishing himself in camp and Hawkeye still dealing with Trapper's departure. but as it is, set in season 11, it really just doesnt work. its such a He Would Not Fucking Say That episode

[gothghostiie]

having thoughts about price coming home from base and missing you a little too much

cw: manhandling, a single ass slap, fingering (reader receiving), gn!reader

he came home from staying on base for a while, he's always so tense after that. the stress from being a captain, the boys getting on his case, everything comes crashing down on him and he has no way to vent his frustration. sure, he can go to the gym or the shooting range, but it doesn't give him the satisfaction he needs. the only thing that does is fucking you, drawing those sweet, sweet moans and cries from you as he thrusts into you.

usually you make it to the bed or at least to the couch with him when he gets home, but somehow, this time not. he's more stressed than usual, and having you jump at him and hug him the second he comes home, peppering his rugged face with kisses and whispers about how much you missed him makes something in him snap. he drops his dufflebag on the ground and holds you in a tight grip, pressing his chapped lips against yours, you know the drill by now. you stumble backward with him, already knowing you won't make it to the bed so you aim for the couch - but not even that. he grabs you by the wrist to pull you back against him, a dark expression on his face.

"where do you think you're going?" he mutters, before quickly wrapping an arm around you waist to hold you up before kicking your legs away. he catches you of course, he'd never let yoh fall. instead he goes doen with you, tossing you on the ground with a hand behind your head to soften the blow. all you can do is gasp as he turns you onto your belly, pulling yout hips up in a rough movement. you don't even try to tell him to slow down or take you to the bedroom, he wouldn't listen anyway - and honestly, you don't wanna wait either at this point. he's pulling your pants down along with your underwear, hell he wants to rip it off at this point. he gives your bare ass a hard slap, gritting his teeth at the sigh of your hole, his already painfully hard cock twitching in his pants at your little wince.

"fucking missed you.. missed you so bad.." he whispers as he licks two of his fingers before pushing them into your hole, making you clench around them immediately while he works your hole open for him. you try to stay in place, not squirm away from him, you know it'd be futile. he's only satisfied when he has you stretched around three fingers, moaning and almost drooling from the pleasure he's already inflicting on you only then he pulls them out, leaving you gaping slightly. you let out a shaky breath, pressing your forehead against the ground.

"j-john.."

"I know, I know bird." he hums soothingly, rubbing your hip with one hand, the other opening his pants to get his cock out. he gives it a few strokes before shuffling behind you, rubbing the tip against your twitching hole, teasing you just a bit before finally pushing inside. a desperate, almost embarrassing moan leaves your lips, your eyes widen, he holds your hips in a bruising grip to hold you still. it takes him a moment to collect himself, he swears he'll cum on the spot if he moves now. he leans forward, leaning his torso over yours, placing gentle kisses over your back wherever he can reach for a good minute before straightening up with a groan. his grip tightens a little more when he finally starts moving, slowly at first, before the room is filled with skin slapping against skin, moaning, crying and grunting. it's a mess, it's loud, the neighbours are definitely hearing how much you missed each other, but both of you care far too little about anything but each other right now, and that won't change until you're both laying on the ground, fucked out and spent.

[heartfullofleeches]

Femboy slasher Yandere and Darling is giving me brain rot SO BADLY RN. Okay so what if yandere is a playboy, luring in his victims using his oh so perfectly hot body. One day, he goes out late at night to a bar and finds Darling hooking up with some guy. He plans on killing the both of them, but loses them in the crowd. When he finds them again, Darling is gutting the fool who thought that they would ever touch scum like him, and yandere can't help but plan their wedding.

(This could kinda go with what I had in mind so I hope you don't mind me merging the two- Mentions of Murder/Death)

Femboy Slasher Yan + Femboy Murder-Streamer Slasher Darling-

"Looking for some fun?~ Two cuties seeking third partner to celebrate their anniversary with. Location and pictures provided after a few questions. See you soon ;)"

" "You're making this way too easy, love. People might get suspicious."

"Whaaat? No way - ugh, this blows. I wish we could go to our usual spot, but there's too much attention around that area after that last guy you picked...."

"He was being too sweet with you - he had to die...."

"All he did was give me a free drink - on my birthday!"

Yan's Darling is so weird. Instead of movies of grabbing a bite to eat, Darling has a different idea of what the perfect date night is. They're lucky they're so damn cute in red-

Derailing from your ask a little, Yan actually never murdered anyone before he met darling. Robbed them blind and maybe left a few in the hospital, but he never killed anyone far as he knew or cared. He used his looks to lure people in and take everything from them once they were under his spell. One day, he catches word of another cute face frequenting bars and other places Yan chose as his place of business. He couldn't have that. Eventually, Yan locates Darling on the same night Darling is luring some drunk guy behind some dumpsters. Yan heads over, hoping to catch some blackmail he could used to get Darling off his turf, but what he saw behind those dumpsters was not what he was especially to see."

"Hey gang~ Oops, looks like someone's finally feeling the effects of the medicine I put in his drink. We'll have to cut this stream a little short tonight."

Yan watches as the person behind the dumpsters slits the man's throat - blood mixing with white foam bubbling from his lips. The person looks almost identical to the boy Yan had seen early, but now he's wearing some weird make. It doesn't take long for darling to notice Yan. Instead of rushing him, Darling reaches into the man's pocket and pulls out his wallet - throwing it at the other male.

"That's what you wanted, right? I've seen you around here before, but I thought you'd be good bait to lead the police off my scent when this guy here was found... Wanna be friends?"

Yan should run. He should scream - yell for help, but the way Darling is so carefree and nonchalant about their crimes..... It's the hottest thing he's ever witnessed.

Darling tells Yan all about their life. Killing people has always been more of a hobby to them, but somehow they found a community of freaks who'd pay hundreds to see a cute boy like them crack someone's skull open. Better than being stuck as at crappy cashier job in their book. Their first manager would have been their first victim had he not passed away in an accident the same week Darling planned to butcher him.

Darling and Yan quickly come to the agreement that if Yan lures people away, Darling will do the deed. Yan develops more of a crush on darling seeing how much pleasure and glee comes from killing for rhem. Yan is approached by someone who's cautious of their new friend and warns Yan about them. Yan kills their acquaintance in a fit of rage after they express their plans on telling the police about Darling. Yan realizes he hasn't been entirely in it for the money and has developed feelings for Darlings. Feelings he'll protect in any way necessary. Darling is so proud of him. They give him their favorite knife as part of his promotion to becoming their partner. The two become a team who passionately kiss in between disemboweling the poor fool who was stupid enough to answer their online ad.

[torakowalski]

Swimmer Steve Part 10!

I think it's time to start apologising to the real life athletes whose medals and finish times I'm stealing for Steve.

Today I learned that there were no semi finals for these races in 1988. The fastest 8 went through to the A Final to compete for medals and the next fastest 8 to the B Final to compete for 9th to 16th place.

(part one | part nine)

Eddie thinks his ass might have left a permanent dent in one particular seat on the second tier of the Jamsil stadium.

It's a good seat, close enough to the action to still be able to make out Steve's expressions before and after every race but not so close that Eddie will be tempted to shout anything out to him, specifically.

He'd sat closer to start with, near a group who turned out to be the friends and families of a couple of the other swimmers. But when they'd clocked him as American, they'd wanted to know who he was here to support, and he'd had to make up some bullshit about being an exchange student with a swimming obsession.

Now, he sits between some Canadian and French supporters, who are either too polite to ask why he's there or don't give a shit either way.

Steve's heats are going well. He's through to the A finals in all the strokes that have competed so far. Eddie's been watching as the roving press get more interested in him, sticking microphones and cameras in his face while he's still wet and breathless from a race.

Eddie got a postcard from Mike this morning, that just said, For the love of God, make him put on a shirt, so Eddie guesses at least some of the interviews are making it onto TV back home.

Tonight, Eddie's back in his favourite seat, waiting for Steve's first final, the 100m backstroke, and all of a sudden, he can't breathe quite right. This is it. Shit. If he's nervous as all fuck, he can't imagine how Steve must feel.

"Don't expect too much," Steve had said last night, sitting barefoot on Eddie's bed. "Dave, the other Team USA guy? He's the world record holder."

And Eddie's not expecting too much, he swears he isn't, but shit he hopes Steve doesn't come last. No matter what Steve says, that'd hurt him.

Eddie tries to cheer like a regular fan, when Steve comes out, not like a besotted idiot who got given kisses seventeen through thirty-one last night.

It's hard though, because Steve looks really, really good. He slides into the water, all graceful and strong, miles of skin and inches of swim suit and takes up position, feet and fingertips on the side.

Steve's in lane seven, so on the opposite side from where Eddie is sitting. Eddie slides forward in his seat, then a little further, then a little further more. If he goes any further, he's going to end up breathing all over the dude in front of him, but at least he can see Steve better now.

The whistle blows, the guys kick off, and Eddie finds himself saying, "Fuck," without any input from his brain. He's pretty sure it's loud enough in here that even the guy he's breathing on doesn't hear him.

Eddie can see David Berkoff, the one Steve said is gonna win, out front followed close behind by a Japanese dude and two guys from the USSR.

Steve's in sixth just before the end of the first lap, which is great, it's not last, but somehow he's in fifth by the time he actually makes the turn. Heading into the second lap, the final one, he overtakes one of the USSR guys and suddenly he's in fourth.

Eddie jumps to his feet, leaning all the way forward so he doesn't miss a stroke.

Twenty-five, maybe twenty metres to go, Steve pulls level with the other USSR swimmer. Eddie is gonna throw up. Fully puke out all his tension.

Steve's joint third. Right this second, he's joint third. Even if he falls back now, he's gotta be happy with this race.

Except. Except he doesn't fall back, he pulls forward. The guy from Japan takes gold, David Berkoff takes silver and Steve takes the motherfucking goddamn bronze.

Eddie screams. He doesn't care if it's not subtle or if anyone is turning to look. He couldn't keep quiet if he tried. That's his guy down there and he's an actual, honest to god, Olympic medalist.

Down in the pool, everyone is congratulating each other. A few people swim over to clap Steve on the back, but Steve's eyes are locked on the umpire, like he won't believe it until he hears his scores.

"Sakuzi: 55.05; Berkoff: 55.18; Harrington: 55.21," booms over the tannoy, first in Korean, then in French, then finally in English.

Steve's whole face breaks into a smile, and Eddie watches as he laughs to himself, incredulous. He pulls off his swim cap, shakes out his hair, and looks up at the stands.

Eddie wonders, for a second, what Steve's looking for, then he realises that it must be him. He waves, both arms over his head. He should be too far away for Steve to see, but Steve's smile widens, and he waves his cap in Eddie's direction.

What the fuck?? he mouths.

Eddie, who is also thinking, what the fuck, can't do anything but send him an exaggerated, over the top kiss in reply. It'll look like a joke, if anyone sees, but he means it with all his heart.

(part eleven)

[greenteabelle]

feeling some type of way about q!philza talking about his wings healing . 

as an immortal who has roamed the earth for centuries , q!philza knows how to adapt to his surroundings . against the blazing sun , thunderous rain , snowy blizzards and harsh winds , his wings have gotten used to adjusting to each type of weather no matter where he goes . 

then he wakes up feverish and sweaty on the train to quesadilla island , immediately aware of the sudden loss of weight off his back . he doesn't know what the federation did to his wings , how rough they must have been as they snipped his feathers this way and that , but it did the job . 

now bony and crooked , his wings are useless . 

so he binds them with bandages , eyes red-rimmed from tears , and keeps them hidden securely under his cloak . he pulls himself together and does what he has always done best : move on . 

when he meets chayanne , his wonderful , lovable son , he makes sure that the bandages are just tied a bit tighter . 

because when he is faced with the starry-eyed gaze of wonder for each heroic tale he spins before chayanne's bedtime , he can't bear to tell him the truth . chayanne doesn't need to know how far he's fallen from grace . 

how pathetic he's become . 

but he makes do with life , as he always does , and takes full advantage of the surprising resourcefulness of the island . 

the paragliders . then the tridents . then the grappling squok . the last one still freaks him out with its sounds , but he keeps one on him at all times . 

anything to feel that rush of wind blowing against his hair , the weightless moments in the vast blue sky . 

then he wakes up in purgatory with the other islanders , not a single item in his possession , and he does the only thing he can do .

survive . 

that alone is hard enough to accomplish , especially when there's a group of misfits looking to him for directions as the island does its very best to get rid of them . despite the odds stacked heavily against them , he is anything but a man who lacks faith . 

so they run as swiftly as they can , fight as desperately as possible , hide as discreetly as they're able .  

over the course of two days , q!philza finds himself standing up for members he's barely interacted with and stepping in with a fierce determination when they're threatened . 

somehow , in the shittiest place imaginable , q!philza has found himself another family to protect . maybe it's the adrenaline , fueling his desperation to finally have a family he can protect . maybe it's the habitual indulgence , finding himself fond over their amusing antics in the face of danger .

whatever it is , it makes him decide to trash the bandages that have grown worn and tattered and leave his wings hanging limply but exposed . 

because in such a fucked up world , who the fuck cares about ugly wings anyway ? 

the members notice , particularly q!jaiden and q!baghera , but they don't ask questions . 

slowly adjusting to the ever-changing obstacles that the island throws at them , they keep pushing and pushing and pushing . things get better . they always do . 

but sometimes … things are too much . 

sometimes there are one too many disasters . 

sometimes there are one too many altercations . 

sometimes there just isn't much hope left to go on . 

the first time one of those moments happen , q!philza finds q!jaiden and q!baghera still awake despite the late hour , huddled close to a campfire and their eyes dazed from fatigue . they're unusually quiet and twitch ever so often as the flames dance dangerously close to them . before he can stop himself , he asks them a question . 

“ could i preen your feathers ? ”

their matted wings haven't escaped his notice even since day one , but he didn't want to overstep at the time . perhaps even now he's overstepping , so he scrambles to retract his question with an awkward excuse , only for them to nod quickly without a moment's hesitation . 

so he shows them the ropes , and guides them through each step he takes as he handles their feathers with painstaking care . 

he also doesn't ask why they don't know how to do it themselves . 

just as he's done with both of their wings , he fully expects them to go to sleep immediately , finally finding some peace in the midst of constant chaos . what he doesn't expect , is for them to ask if they can do the same to his wings . 

his broken , pathetic wings . 

his first instinct is to refuse , as kindly as possible of course , but when he's met with the poorly disguised nervousness on their faces , what else can he do but say yes ? so he agrees , going against every instinct in his body for exposing the weakest part of himself to others . 

and when they touch the first feather , q!philza physically restrains himself from swiping at their throats with his sword , digging his nails into his palms with a white-knuckled grip . as they continue , he can't quite conceal the violent shudder down his spine , but it gradually resides that by the time he finally has the sense to check on them , he's horrified by the sight of blood on their hands . 

he immediately fusses over them , the guilt over not warning them beforehand about the razor sharp edges of his feathers making him sick to his stomach , but they only grin brightly . 

“ didn't we do a good job , philza ? look at your wings ! ”

sure enough , his wings look better . 

it's still tattered and utterly useless , but they do look better . 

“ you did great . let's find some bandages for your cuts and i'll teach you how to avoid hurting yourself in the future . ”

the next day , the three of them look the most rested they have ever been since the day they stepped foot on this island . 

so it becomes a thing . every night before they turn in , q!philza helps them clean their feathers and they do the same for him . eventually , q!cellbit , q!foolish and q!charlie join them when their curiosity is too obvious to ignore . their movements are clumsy and inexperienced , yet their touches are gentle . 

a new routine is thus added to each member's day , though it feels as natural as if they've been doing it since day one . 

one day , q!philza is gathering resources with q!etoiles for the team , when the latter makes an off-handed remark . 

“ by the way , phil , your wings look cooler than before . ”

“ aww , thanks mate . ”

then the words really hit him . 

slowly , q!philza extends his wings forward and sure enough , they look different now . there's visibly more feathers than before , almost covering his bones completely , and even a faint gradient sheen on them . his wings feel solid now , not just hollow reminders of what they once were . 

they look familiar now . 

when he sees the secretive smiles his members share as they see him spread his wings a little more , a feeling of overwhelming fondness fills his heart . how does he thank them ? how does he show how grateful he is for having members as wonderful as them ? 

he plans . 

every night , after their preening session and everyone has gone to bed , he sits on the edge of his bed , which is really just a straw mat , and spends just a bit extra time to stretch his wings and preen those feathers . there’s hope blooming in his chest , for the first time in a long time , and he persists . 

then on the final day of battle , q!philza spreads his wings . 

across the expanse of the blood red sky , he soars .

[satansapostle6]

Kids | Rodrick Heffley

Spotify Playlist Link

Rodrick Heffley becomes obsessed when he finally meets his thirty-five year old band mate, Bill Walter’s, younger sister.

Warnings: Mature themes/language. Drug use. Violence. Almost smut. Choking. Semi-public. Knee riding.

“The Angel From My Nightmare”

“10 Things I Hate About You”

“Alright, go have fun. Come get me if you need something,” Sara told her younger brother.

“Do you have to stay?” Connor complained as she and Lauren sat at a table.

“Sorry, kiddo. We gotta have fun too,” she teased. “Go. Have fun. We’ll be all the way over here, you won’t even know we’re here.”

That turned out to be completely wrong.

“It’s super crowded in here… Even Heather Hills and her friends are here tonight,” Lauren observed.

“Ew. She puts the ‘bully’ in bulimic,” Sara muttered.

“Yeah, even I’m not that far in denial,” Lauren agreed, turning as everyone noticed a loud feedback coming off of the DJ’s microphone.

The music stopped, and no one knew what was happening.

“Alright, enough of that,” Rodrick Heffley’s voice blasted over the speakers, replacing the music that had been playing.

Everyone at the roller rink stopped to see that he and the rest of the band had set up near the DJ booth, completely hijacking the music.

“Oh my God,” Lauren whispered, looking to Sara. “Did you know about this?”

“No,” Sara hissed, looking at Rodrick in horror.

“We are Löded Diper, and we’re here to blow your minds,” Bill joined in.

“Oh my fucking God,” Sara murmured, trying her best to blend into the crowd as she scooted as far down the bench as possible.

But she quickly found that anonymity definitely wouldn’t be in the cards for her tonight.

“I’m Rodrick. Rodrick Heffley,” a shaky voice breathed into the mic.

“Hurry up!” someone’s dad yelled, more irritated about not hearing music than the whole music hijacking situation.

“Alright, uh… I’m here to sing one song. It’s a very special song, that goes out to a very special girl. Sara? Sara Walter?” Rodrick desperately searched the crowd for her.

He eventually found her, staring right at her as everyone in the roomed stared, including Heather Hills and the other ‘popular’ girls. Sara’s eyes widened with rage as her little brother and his friends all stared in her direction.

“Sara,” Rodrick stared, his eyes full of fear. “I… I’m sorry. You’re the prettiest, smartest girl in the world.”

Sara’s face went pale as she slowly turned to Lauren with all eyes on her.

“What the fuck?” she mouthed silently.

It seemed no one had anything to offer.

“Sara, I know you’re probably mad at me, and you probably should be. You’re beautiful, and you’re kind, and I don’t deserve you,” he blurted out as everyone watched.

Heather and her friends were now whispering and pointing in disgust.

“Listen, Sara, I get it if you never wanna talk to me again… But I really, really like you,” Rodrick announced in front of the entire building.

“Get on with it already!” another impatient onlooker shouted.

“Right, yeah, here goes,” he continued, rambling as he signaled to the band to start playing. “This song is for you, Sara Walter.”

Bill waved to her excitedly, completely unable to read the room as he tried to make the situation less intense. She watched, completely frozen as the band started playing. It was a bit rocky in the first few seconds, but then, she immediately recognized the song after the first few chords.

Struck by the effort that went into coordinating the entire thing, Sara could hardly control her racing thoughts. She didn’t know whether to be angry at Rodrick for the spectacle, or charmed by the gesture, or creeped out by the entire thing.

“And I’d give up forever to touch you…” the sixteen year old boy sang shakily in front of the crowd, his vocals questionable at best.

“'Cause I know that you feel me somehow

You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be

And I don't want to go home right now,”

Some people in the room, namely Heather’s group, laughed and whispered as Rodrick took the stage. Eventually, the teasing throughout the room got to be brutal, but he still persisted, trying his best not to break.

“God, he’s an idiot, but I still feel kinda bad,” Sara murmured.

“Sara. I’m gonna be completely honest with you,” Lauren raised an eyebrow. “You need to go kiss that boy right now.”

“Seriously? I’m just gonna run back into his arms because he made a fool of himself for me?” she reasoned. “That’s his whole brand!”

“Sara,” Lauren reminded her, her approach stern but caring. “Would Jake Anderson ever have performed your favorite slow song for you in a room full of people, even if his singing was pretty dog shit?”

Sara sat in silence for a moment as everyone still looked over at her, trying to gauge her reaction.

“What about Tyler Hayden? Or Lenwood Heath?”

“Okay, I get your point,” Sara said softly.

“I haven’t seen anybody give this much of a fuck for you since you were with Nadine,” Lauren admitted. “And you know how much I liked you guys.”

“Yeah,” Sara thought, considering her options.

“I think he really means what he says. Even if he’s fucking stupid,” Lauren told her.

Sara just sighed, looking up at Rodrick on the platform as he sang for her, never taking his eyes off her even once. It was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“And I don't want the world to see me

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

When everything's made to be broken

I just want you to know who I am,”

He sang like his life depended on it, which it kind of did. As much as Sara hated to admit it, she saw a look of genuine regret in his eyes that day. All she could think about was how much she really did like Rodrick, all the way until the end of the song.

It ended and a complete silence washed over the room, as just about everyone just stood around waiting for a resolution. Even security had been waiting until the spectacle was over to intervene. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it was the first time that yielded any interesting results.

Of course, Heather and her friends wouldn’t stop whispering, but Rodrick refused to pay them any mind. He cleared his throat as the song ended, staring out at Sara with a sad, dopey look in his eyes as he prayed she’d forgive him.

“Fuck it,” Sara muttered to herself, walking out onto the rink.

She marched up to the platform looking both angry and confused. Rodrick didn’t know what to expect, and slowly stepped down in shock. He stood right in front of her, walking up to her as he waited for her to react to him in some way.

“I’m sorry,” he started to apologize, “I didn’t know how to make it up to you—”

“I don’t care,” she said finally, a resolve in her eyes.

“What does that mean?” Rodrick asked, ignoring the girls who were pointing and making fun.

“That means, fuck it, Rodrick Heffley, I’m really starting to like you too.”

Rodrick’s grunt of surprise was muffled into a spontaneous kiss as Sara jumped into his arms, which was met with a mostly positive reaction from their audience. He was hesitant at first, slowly warming up to her again as he scooped her up in his arms, kissing her lips like he’d never get the chance to again.

After a moment, they remembered where they were, and Rodrick awkwardly set her down on the ground with reluctance. He looked up and down nervously, not sure what to say now.

“Can we go?” Sara asked, uncomfortable as she looked around.

“Yes,” he nodded automatically, willing to comply to her every whim, “Yes. We can.”

After being kicked out of the roller rink, again, Rodrick and the rest of the band walked out to the parking lot, reviewing their performance that night.

“You know, I know we’re metal and all, but that was fucking beautiful,” Ben seemed to be teary-eyes.

Rodrick and Sara stepped outside for a moment, as she leaned against the wall in silence, trying to think. Knowing what might comfort her, Rodrick pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, opening it as he offered it to her. Nodding appreciatively at the gesture, Sara took one and held it in her mouth as he lit it for her.

“I’m sorry,” Rodrick blurted out finally, a pained but far away expression on his face, “I, uh… I didn’t know how else to show you I meant what I said. That I really, really like you.

“It’s okay,” Sara sighed, just hoping to move on from the issue, “I understand. Really. We all backtrack. I’m over it.”

“No, really. I don’t want you to think I made a scene just to distract from the way I acted,” he said slowly. “I really meant what I said—”

“Rodrick,” she said, eyes wide open, “It’s fine. It’s done. I’m over it.”

“No, I owe you an explanation,” he sighed, “I… I’ve just never had a real girlfriend before…”

“Dude, this isn’t exactly breaking news,” she looked at him with dead eyes.

“Okay, can you just not be a total fucking asshole for like one second?” Rodrick demanded with laughter.

“Okay, fine,” she threw her hands up in surrender, “I’m listening.”

The look on her face was less than convincing.

“You’re a bitch,” Rodrick laughed, no longer able to take himself seriously, “You’re a fucking bitch,” he pointed at her, his finger less than an inch from her face.

“Oh yeah?” she teased with a light chuckle, cigarette butt dropped to the ground and forgotten.

“Yeah.”

He stood in front of her, trying to remain serious as he leaned against the wall, his hand resting just above her head.

“You’re a fucking bitch,” he repeated playfully, trying to perfect his more serious demeanor.

“Am I a bitch, or are you just a little bitch?” Sara proposed, intentionally provoking him.

“No. You’re just a bitch,” he promised her.

Neither were sure exactly how it happened, but as he got in her face and challenged her, he attempted to jokingly pin her to the wall. At first, this entailed his arm resting on her chest, but then suddenly turned into something else entirely.

Rodrick didn’t intend it at all, but suddenly, the both of them found his hand slipped as he held her by the throat, still grinning.

“You’re such a fucking bitch,” he told her, before coming to and realizing that he was actually choking her.

First, his eyes fluttered as he realized the mistake he’d made, but once he saw he’d reaction, he felt himself giving into it.

“Fuck,” he moaned out loud, his finger pads pressing on her pressure points harder.

She softly sighed in excitement, the contact with the pressure points heightening the experience even more. Rodrick looked at her with pleading eyes as he choked her, admiring her gratuitously.

He leaned in to kiss her, groaning into her mouth as he pressed her against the wall with his large hand wrapped around her neck. She reacted by pulling him in by the collar, making him feel something even more euphoric. She deepens the kiss, tongue slipping into his mouth as he slowly moved his leg up her body, not stopping until his knee trailed down to her center.

For just a moment, he stopped kissing Sara, huffing softly into the warm skin of her neck.

“Is it bad that I kinda wanna see you fuck my knee right now?” he wondered.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “And it’s hot.”

He chuckled happily as he sucked on her neck, roughly biting and sucking. He pushed his knee against her, practically fucking her with it against the wall behind the roller rink. She quietly groaned in frustration as she tried to align herself perfectly on his knee.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he gasped, eyes closed as he kissed all over her neck. “I hope you know you could ask me for anything. I’d do anything for you, or to you.”

“You’re so sexy,” Sara whined.

“I’m serious. If you wanted me to, I’d eat it from the back, and enjoy it,” he said completely deadpan. “All I wanna do is take you home and lay you down and make you come any way I know how.”

“We should probably stop this,” Sara thought intuitively, “Before this wall ends up pregnant.”

“I can’t control myself when I’m around you. And not cuz I think you’re hot,” Rodrick stated. “Honestly. I just see you and I wanna give you everything.”

“You already have,” she confessed, never having seen anyone so willing to risk things for her.

-

A/N: not sure if this is good, wrote it after doing a line

-

[stargirlfics]

Hey. I absolutely love your head cannons. I have another one for you. Alfred turning reader down gently because he thinks she is too young for him. She is really hurt but does not want him to know. But he realises that she withdraws from him. Then he finds out that she is actually older than he thought.

Thank you so much! 💕

Ooh I love a little angst and this gives me some unrequited love vibes, but with a happy ending once he realizes he misunderstood!

Actually me, withdrawing and having a breakdown cause i would probably be too young for him dhdjdj

Just thinking about the ache there, the fact that Alfred turns you down gently, somehow an even bigger blow that way because you mustered up the courage to tell him you’re interested in him like gosh, the gentleness and respect he would show you while telling you he can’t reciprocate would almost make it sting more because he’s being the endearing, kind man that made him so attractive to you in the first place!

Maybe the hurt extends both ways a bit because Alfred had been looking at you also, pretty much since you’d come to stay at Wayne Manor and put in charge of upkeep of the manor’s library. Bruce had hired you, I imagine as a surprise to Alfred after he’d mentioned to Bruce one day that he was going to need help restoring and keeping up with the extensive library.

So Alfred went to Bruce with a few nonchalant questions, nothing out of the ordinary when he passed it off as inquiring about a new hire but the answers leave him a little disappointed and he’s a bit caught off guard at just how disappointed he is, Bruce dropping a comment about how he wasn’t the youngest person at Wayne Manor anymore, you were.

He hadn’t specified how young but that didn’t matter, Alfred already thinks that means too young for him to be interested in, it wouldn’t be appropriate especially because you were working for him and staying in the house. He wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable or make you feel pressure when he’s sure you wouldn’t be interested in an older man like himself let alone your employer at that.

But you’ve spent more and more time near each other and all those little chunks of time and conversation build up and you both blossom a crush for each other quietly, blind to each other’s lingering eyes! Until the moment you finally decide to tell him and it’s so hard not to crumble in front of him when he says,

“I’m far too old for someone like yourself, miss. I would only stifle you. You deserve someone more your age, a proper relationship and those days are behind me I am afraid.”

I would be in shambles. 🥺

He thinks he’s done you a favor, shown you as much mercy as possible, trying to put the fault in himself in hopes that you’d move on painlessly, that it wouldn’t hurt you so much as it hurts him to have said that but he’s misunderstood that also!

It hurts more than you expect, for so many reasons and it hurts to be around him, to face him when all you want is for him to grab you and tell you he doesn’t care about anything that may keep you from being together and that he just wants you. So you withdraw, you start avoiding him, you’re no longer in the library when he expects you to be, he doesn’t even catch you in passing anymore it’s like you’ve shut yourself away and he’s made restless about it.

It worries him, Alfred hates the thought of you being hurt by him, that he thought your confession of interest in him was surface level. He feels guilty but knows it’s for the best, it just wouldn’t be right for him to pursue anything. He had to start getting you out of his thoughts. Thoughts he realized seemed to be frequent.

Maybe after that Alfred goes to Bruce again, mentions that he hasn’t seen you lately, wondered if you were sick or on vacation and Bruce clocks the slight tinge of concern in his voice and that’s when he asks if something had happened between you guys. Please the drama, the way assuming things gets us nowhere but hurt feelings!

Alfred explains what happened and that he turned you down and Bruce is like….when I said youngest I meant by a year and it’s a big ohhh moment for him and also a relief because he feels much more confident in tentatively pursuing something, still worried about what lines were crossed by all this but also not being able to ignore how much he wanted to see you right now, that he missed your presence.

So he’s excusing himself then because now he understands and he’s got an apology and some confessions of his own to tell you, his feet carrying him to the one place he knows he might find you…in the library where this all began.

~

The hurt/comfort vibe is really everything to me! Thanks for this headcanon, anon hope you enjoy this little ramble of what it might be like! 💞

[peachm1lkk]

More than death

Synopsis - You and Edgar come to a compromise on how you wanna spend your last few minutes of living.

Warnings - Extremely Dubious Consent + Reader death Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Mild Gore, Blood As Lube, Wound fingering, Creampie, Canon-Typical Violence, Arguably Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Coercion, Crying, Aftermath of Torture/Edgar p3, Sadism

Pairing - Edgar x Reader

A/N - Cross posted this on AO3 / Edgar as a character is hard to write about... Sigh, I would still let him beat me up but god did I hate every moment of writing dialogue with him.

You barely register the fact that you are alive until you can feel the dampness of your breath warm against your face. Each heavy, painful inhale only brings you to more awareness.

Admittedly, it's not enough to make you attempt anything risky other than to turn your head to where there was a small hole in the bag you were in.

The cool air is a godsend for how much your lungs burn.

A few minutes, or more realistically, a few seconds into your shaky deep breaths of fresh air, you finally registered the voice of someone else, not too far from where your body probably was. And if it weren't for how sore your throat was, you probably would have screamed for help. In hindsight, maybe it was a good thing that your throat was so coarse that it felt like blood would've bubbled up if you even attempted to speak above a whisper. Because your silence was able to let you register whose voice it was: Edgar.

Somehow that little realization made you lose the tiniest hope of getting out of this alive even with the events that had just transpired not too long ago still fresh in your mind.

When he goes quiet, your mind panics, with what little survival instinct in your body screaming at you to get up. But you just... didn't move, stuck in place from the disgusting mix of fear and pain.

You ball up your fist shut once he starts fumbling with the bag you were in—maybe praying that he'll somehow make some convenient mistake thatll let you make it out alive. The tension in the air is palpable, and for a moment, time stretches until it feels like an eternity has passed. The rustling of the bag grows louder, your heart beating in tandem with the anxiety that grips your chest.

Then, abruptly, the bag is pulled away from your face, and you gasp at the sudden influx of moonlight. Your eyes squint against the brightness, forcing them to adjust to the world illuminated by the full moon. Edgar’s figure looms over you, a confused expression on his face. “Oh shit—” Your only good eye struggles to see him in the light; he awkwardly glances away from you. “Hi… I really thought you were dead.” You find how awkward he is a little annoying; he was the one who had literally tortured you last time you were awake.

“You look awful,” he finally says, his eyes fixated on where your face had blistered and bled. “Well boiling water was poured onto your face and you were stabbed and beaten with a bat… and then electrocuted to death.”

He corrected under his breath, “At least I thought it was to death.”

You frown a little, glancing past him and instead towards the forest— If it weren't for his existence it would've been almost peaceful. 

“Hate to be so blunt but, do you want me to just… kill you? There's no point in theatrics anymore, there's no camera recording now.”

You work up the strength to speak, cringing at how pathetic you sounded “W—why can't you just bring me to a hospital?” you stammered, struggling to get basic words out without the feeling of tearing your throat to shreds.

He frowns at your comment, “You were just the main character of a snuff film.” He bluntly retorted, “If I get you actual help I'm getting the death penalty.”

Even though you knew he would've said no it didn't help lessen the blow, tears slowly building up in your eye. “I won't- I won't tell anyone, please-”

“Oh, ‘you won't tell anyone’, yeah right. How can I believe that?”

Your voice slightly cracks, “I— I don't know, just please, I don't- I don't wanna die!”

“Oh come on! We're not near any civilization and you're going to die soon.” He places extra emphasis on his words, “Can you even see anything? Like at all? After all that, there's no way you're not completely blind.”

You nod your head desperately, telling him what you assumed would've let you live a little longer. 

“Seriously I'm surprised you're not in at least shock.”

He cringes a little at your sobbing, maybe a little annoyed. “Here, feel this?” He's ‘kind' enough to bring the shovel up to your hands letting you feel around the rusted metal. 

“Yeah, I was gonna use this to bury you. But now things are a bit different and you're alive.” He leans In a little more, eyes narrowing as he repeats that dreaded question “Do you want me to just kill you now? You won't feel a thing.”

You somehow doubt the validity of that statement. 

“I'm showing you one rare display of mercy here that I've never shown anybody else.”

A tremor of panic coursed through you, igniting the remnants of your fight-or-flight instinct. “No! Please, I—” You inhaled sharply, desperation clawing at your throat. “I— I don’t want to die,”

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as if this entire thing was a mild annoyance. It probably was to him. 

“Then what do you want?” he snapped, frustration spilling over. “Do you want me to call someone? Realistically, I can’t just take you home, can I? This whole thing is a mess!” 

“Just… just leave me here. I won’t tell anyone.” Your voice was raw and thin, but an ember of defiance ignited within you. “You think I’d go to the cops after this? You’re wrong! Just let me go!”

He tilted his head, studying you with an expression that danced between curiosity and disbelief. “And what’s stopping me from just… burying you right now.” The way he said it made it sound less like a question and more of an objective statement as if there was no room to argue.

You swallowed hard, fear curling in your stomach like a coiling serpent. “If I’m going to die, why can’t it be on my terms…” The words slipped out, raw and unfiltered. “You’re gonna be the last face I see regardless. Can’t I at least choose how see you in those final moments?”

Edgar’s brow furrowed as he considered your statement, his grip on the shovel tightening. For a fleeting moment, you think he’s gonna ignore your plea- maybe toss you into some random river nearby.

But surprisingly his frustrated expression lets up, a sickening smile that bordered on a disgusted grimace forming on his face, “You're willing to spend your last few minutes of life fucking the same guy who almost killed you earlier.”

“I— I don't know, I guess…” You quietly admit, “If this is it, I’d just rather not spend it in silence.”

“I guess?” He repeated, chuckling at your hesitancy even with the smile on his face you can tell his distaste only increased. “Even after all this time you make my life a living hell.” He sighed, staying silent for a moment as if weighing his options. "If this is what you want, fine.” 

He lifts you out of the trunk of his car abruptly, not caring to be particularly gentle about pushing you down onto the forest floor 

The cold earth bites against your back, a pained groan leaving you from the sudden repositioning. You blink up at Edgar, a mix of confusion and dread swirling in your chest as he hovers above you, looming yet oddly contemplative. 

“Just so we’re clear,” he starts, his voice low and serious, “I'm killing you right after this, there's no stupid ‘Stockholm’ or whatever gross tropes you read. You’re just some quick fun for me.” There’s an edge to his words that sends another wave of terror coursing through your veins.

You swallow against the bile rising in your throat. “I know… I just—” 

“Just what? Wanted to share a last moment with me?” He raises an eyebrow, smirking as if the absurdity of it all is somehow amusing to him. He pushes your shirt up just enough to expose the area he stabbed, blood still dribbling out of the gashes- but compared to when he first shanked you it was a huge difference. 

The sharp pain radiating from the wound felt distant now, and so was every other movement you struggled with— Letting him tug your pants and underwear down your legs enough to expose you, 

You stare up at the moon, the cool night air offering no respite from the humiliation washing over you in waves. A part of you desperately wants to fight back, to claw at Edgar's eyes and make him pay for everything he's done. But your battered body won't cooperate, and the prospect of living through tonight—even if it's just for a few more minutes—seems too alluring to pass up.

Edgar, sensing your resignation, traces a finger along your thigh, and up your torso- Stopping to trace along the periphery of your wounds. "Don't cry too much…” he mumbled aloud, the statement confusing for only a moment before Edgar's fingers pushed into your wound, the pain like a fiery branding iron against your skin. 

You can feel the sharp edges of his nails digging into your flesh, making the wound even more agonizing. With each painful movement of his fingers blood spills out, the pain almost paralyzing despite how you could feel the warmth of your own blood coating your skin. Finally, with a good amount of blood gushing from the stab wound in your body, he pulls his fingers out. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks, an infuriating grin spreading across his face, his voice dripping with mock concern. Your attention was fixated on the painful throbbing that seemed to match the rhythm of your heart.

You wouldn't have answered even if you could, “ Awh, poor baby.” He cooed, giving away his false sympathy from the light chuckle he broke into. Leaning back from you, his clean hand worked to pull his pants down just enough so that he could free himself. 

Using his now bloodied hand to stroke himself to a full erection, Edgar's twisted grin only grows wider as he sees the look of revulsion on your face. "Don't tell me you've gone shy on me now," he teases, his words dripping with sarcasm. He positions himself between your legs, the head of his erection already slick with pre-cum and your blood, teasingly brushing against your entrance. 

“To be honest,” He started, breathing a little shaky as he slowly pushed into you. The lubrication your blood provided was a godsend as he slid into you much easier had it been dry, it's hard to get turned on when you know you're gonna die soon after all. 

“The only good asset about you is- is your body,” He huffed, his smile slightly widening once he finally bottomed out.  "But even that is damaged goods."

Staying still long enough that you wonder if it's for your own well-being, a small whimper leaving you as he finally pulls out- the sudden emptiness almost depressing until his hips slammed back up into you. Forcing a strangled whine to spill from your lips

You gasp, the sensation while not entirely unwanted being a little startling— “A-ahm Edgar—” You started, even though you had nothing to say. His name spilling from your lips was more of a prayer than the curse it was. 

“Look at you,” he sneers, his voice not entirely free from tremor sultry, “This is—fuck— what you wanted, right? A moment before the end? Getting fucked by your soon to be murderer?”

“No… no,” you manage to choke out through clenched teeth, shaking your head violently as if trying to dislodge reality.

Edgar laughed, mocking your denial. "Save the act," he retorted, thrusting into you harder this time around. Each heavy thrust jolts your body upwards before dragging you back down to meet his crashing hips. 

 "I can tell how wet you are for me, even with all this blood your practically dripping." He whispered, his movements becoming even more savage as if trying to punish both of you for your conflicting emotions. His breathing grew ragged, and beads of sweat formed on his brow. 

The angle he was fucking you in didn't help either, legs propped up on his shoulders- 

The pressure pushes deeper within you, each thrust reverberating through the trees. It felt wrong—so brutally wrong—but when he was fucking you so damn good those base morals get thrown right out the window.

“Shit-” you’re gasping, a sick part of you wishing that this moment never ended, whether it be for your own survival or if you were that desperate was unknown even to you “That’s not it- I-I-” 

“I-I-I-” Edgar mocks, in a voice octaves higher than usual. Fucking the rest of that sentence with a harsh roll of his hips, knocking bruisingly at your cervix. “C’mon now- tell me- might as well spill all those secrets now.” Kissing uncharacteristically softly at your ear lobe, your nails digging into the dirt beneath you “M’your class partner, remember?” he teased, a bitter reminder of what got you into this mess. 

You'd laugh if you weren't trying so desperately to take a deep breath in without having him knock it straight out of you. 

“Fuck!” you’re keening when another one of his slams leaves you gasping for air, feeling like he was driving into your very womb. The curve of his cock grinding against that spongy spot inside of you that had you seeing stars, quite literally and figuratively. 

“Shit—” He grunted out, his movements becoming increasingly erratic, his hand rubbing sticky circles all over your puffy clit. 

The humiliation and pain of your situation meld with the building pleasure, swirling together in a sickening mixture. You can feel your orgasm building, coiling deep in your core threatening to snap with each heavy, wet squelch that comes about with your bodies connecting. 

"Tell me," he pants in your ear, his hot breath against your neck sending shivers down your spine, "tell me you want it."

Hating yourself for even considering it, you swallow your pride and whisper, "I... I want it." The words catch in your throat, but the admission is enough to spur Edgar on. In a move you don't know if you consider hilariously in or out of character for him he kisses you, 

his lips crashing against yours with a fierceness that caught you off guard. You can taste the metallic tang of blood on his lips, mingling with something primal, something that ignited a spark of reckless abandon within you. 

With every thrust, the tension coiling in your core grew tighter. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the otherwise tranquil forest, each thrust punctuated by grunts and gasps that you couldn't even discern what came from who. 

You feel yourself climbing higher and higher, teetering on the precipice of release. Edgar's fingers dig into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer as he drives into you. The pain from your wounds mingles with the pleasure, creating a dizzying cocktail of sensations that threatens to overwhelm you. Coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. 

A final thrust sent shockwaves through your body, your back arching involuntarily as the tension finally broke. You cried out, the sound mingling with Edgar's own grunts of pleasure as you unraveled beneath him. Your entire being lit up with euphoria, a high that was so intense it almost made you forget where you were—almost.

Edgar’s breathing hitched as his own hips stilled, heavy pants and moans warm against each other's face as you both chased the remnants of your climaxes. For a brief moment, you were lost in the afterglow, in the bliss that was entirely wrong, yet so right in this twisted reality. Thighs quaking as your gummy walls milked him for all its worth. Whatever that couldn't fit inside you spilled onto the forest floor with a reddish hue to its milky color. 

You didn't even notice the coolness of a blade pressed against your neck until you felt the searing hot pain of your throat being painfully slit, blood spurting out onto his clothes and bubbling up out of your mouth. The warmth of your own blood trickled down your neck, pooling in the hollow of your collarbone. You gasped, choking on the metallic taste that filled your mouth, each breath coming in sharp, desperate pulls.

But he doesn't stop kissing you, and you— broken, desperate you— didn't stop either. Clinging onto the warmth of his lips, not stopping until your breathing stopped and you're finally limp in his arms.

He watches with a morbid fascination as your body slackens beneath him. Blood continues to flow from your neck, painting the forest floor a deep crimson that twinkled under the moonlight like spilled stars. 

Edgar's breath came in heavy, labored gasps as he slowly relented, pulling out from you with a slick sound that seemed to mock the intimacy you just shared. The thought of at least dressing you before he goes on to bury your corpse briefly passes his mind, but he quickly dismisses it. 

Edgar leans down, his breath ghosting over your cooling skin. “This… was a nice stress relief, I didn't expect it would feel that good.” His eyes trail further down to his bloodied clothes “Maybe next time…” he trails off, lost in contemplation as if considering how he might do this differently another time—another victim.

[callivich]

Gallavich Canon Divergent Prompts

Prompts for fics, headcanons, or discussion, art, etc. Interpret these however you like and feel free to use them as just a jumping off point, you don’t have to stick to the exact prompt! If any fics like any of these have already been written, please feel free to recommend them to me!

Mickey’s injured badly in 3x05 and ends up hospital rather than the Gallagher kitchen. As he’s unconscious, Ian is desperate to be able to stay with him. So, he accidentally refers to Mickey as his boyfriend and is allowed to stay in the hospital room. Ian’s hoping Mickey will allow him to help him as he heals but what will Mickey do when he wakes?

Ian doesn’t go straight to jail after blowing up the van, he ends up in hospital with burn injuries. When Mickey learns of this, he knows he’s going to have to turn himself in and cut a deal to somehow get back to Ian. But first…he’s gotta get back to Chicago and sneak in the hospital at least once, just to see if Ian’s ok.

Mickey gets out of jail quickly in s6 but doesn’t get back into contact with Ian. He comes up with a very lucrative money-making scam - he signs up to an escort company & poses as an escort on their app. Then when he meets up with men, he robs them and threatens to blackmail them if they report him. Somehow, Ian discovers Mickey on this app and he’s worried. He thinks Mickey is actually working as escort and he’s concerned. He creates a fake profile to try and see if Mickey’s ok and safe. But as they talk via the app, Mickey starts to like this new guy - he’s funny, good at sexting, kind - and he doesn’t know if he wants to rob this guy. What happens when they do meet up?

Mickey doesn’t think, he just runs - from his dad, from the wedding to Svetlana, from his whole fucked up life. Ian is devastated that Mickey has left but glad that he hasn’t gone through with the wedding. But he can’t let him go off like this. After months, he finally tracks him down - living in another city, under a different name, building a whole new life for himself. Ian thinks they finally have a chance of happiness together but Mickey is still scared and pushes him away….However, Ian’s never given up completely on Mickey so far, and he’s not going to start now.

S4. Ian is offered a opportunity that seems too good to be true by one of his regulars at the club - an apartment with discounted rent on the West Side. When he reconnects with Mickey, he’s excited about the deal and he wants to take it. Mickey, just glad to have found Ian, goes along with it…but is the apartment as good as it looks?

Ian never blows up the van, never becomes Gay Jesus. He does go through a difficult period. He struggles with his medication but slowly begins to get back to feeling like himself. He realises he needs Mickey. Without telling anyone, he decides to take a trip to Mexico - with no plan apart from seeing what it’s like there. It’s a big place, he’s never gonna find Mickey. He doesn’t expect to, he just wants to feel close to him. But then…he sees a familiar face…..or at least…he thinks he does.

Everything’s the same up to the middle of season two - when both the Gallagher and the Milkovich kids are taken into foster care. Ian and Mickey end up in the same foster home, separated from their siblings but both secretly pleased they’ve ended up together. Suddenly, they’re in a nice home with kind foster parents. Oh yeah, and they get to share a bedroom….

Terry, angry that Mickey is out of prison and living with Ian at the Gallagher house, kills Paula and frames Mickey. The police fall for it and arrest Mickey, who promises Ian he’s innocent. Ian believes Mickey but when the police don’t and it looks like Mickey’s going back to prison for a long time - Ian decides to play detective and find the real killer….

Ian really can’t sneak out from the group home in s3 and he has to turn down the sleepover. When Terry comes home early, Mickey realises he and Ian could have been caught. It puts a lot of things into perspective.

After their hookup in s1, Ian finds himself a little bit obsessed with Mickey. Which is why he’s secretly following him to the abandoned buildings. He expects Mickey to shoot cans or something but instead he spies him prying a brick out of the wall and pulling out a battered notebook. Later, when Mickey leaves, Ian goes and retrieves the notebook. In it, he finds drawings and notes - a journal of sorts. As their relationship progresses, he keeps secretly checking the notebook to find out Mickey’s true thoughts.

Post s6. Ian knows Mickey is out of jail but he hasn’t seen him. He keeps thinking he’ll run into him around the neighbourhood. The last place Ian expects to see Mickey is in the waiting room of his therapist’s office. Apparently a condition of Mickey’s release is therapy. It’s all awkward looks as Ian leaves and Mickey goes in. But slowly, they begin to reconnect….

S10. Ian has a good parole officer who gets him a receptionist/admin job at a private clinic on the West Side. It’s not exactly what he had in mind but he’ll take it. Only thing is, there’s a familiar face who works at the clinic - Ned. Mickey isn’t pleased with this but Ian wants to keep the job. But as time goes on, he starts to realise how bad his earlier relationship with Ned was….

3x05. Ian doesn’t think about the consequences when he sees the drunk lady with the shotgun. He just runs as fast as he can and tackles Mickey out of the way. And gets himself shot in the ass. Ian tries to play it off, to act like he would have done it for anyone. But that’s obviously not true. Mickey is in shock, not only seeing Ian get shot but knowing the reason why. It changes everything.

Ian is set on joining the army but a chance meeting with Clayton stops him. Although Clayton doesn’t know Ian well, he realises something is wrong and offers him a place to stay. Ian accepts and over time opens up to his biological father about his relationship with Mickey. Wanting to make up for all the lost years, Clayton decides to play matchmaker and find Mickey - hoping to bring him and Ian back together. But it’s not that easy.

They get married at city hall. And it’s all good. For a minute. An attempt on Mickey’s life by the cartel leads them into witness protection. They’re told it’ll be temporary but it’s not easy when they’re sent to a random town and given new identities. Can their new marriage survive all this drama?

More Gallavich prompts here

[comfymoth]

idk if i’m just incredibly lost or if you have posts that already talk about it but what’s the “situation” between leon and milo (like they’re history with each other)

you have to imagine my face when i saw this in my inbox, ok, you have to imagine my evil sinister grin, rubbing my evil little paws together, Evilly. yesss. YESSSS finally an excuse to ramble about my guys, ohoho, today is the day!!

i mean the easiest way to summarize it is just. they had the kind of childhood friendship a lot of gay kids have, the kind that’s overly intense and not fully understood, so eventually it just imploded. and then they kept trying to be friends, over and over again, and it kept being overly intense, and it kept on imploding. multiple times throughout high school. because they Never Learned.

the starting incident, though, was in middle school.

or, really, the starting incident was in first grade, when milo kissed leon while playing house. just as part of the game, he was just mimicking what he saw his parents do, but that was the catalyst for the whole stupid thing. because years later, in middle school, that would be his excuse for why they should totally kiss each other “as practice”— they’ve technically already done it once, so one more time wouldn’t matter. it’s basically like it doesn’t count!

it’s terrible logic. the kind of nonsense excuse only an infatuated twelve year-old can come up with. but leon is Also an infatuated twelve year-old. so he goes along with it.

it isn’t just a one time thing, either. milo keeps finding excuses to do it again, and again, “for practice,” or “as a joke,” and eventually without any justification at all. it’s just a weird game they play, and it’s fun, for a while. but eventually leon gets frustrated with it. because the more common it gets, the harder it gets to pretend that this is something normal friends do. at least, for leon it does. milo never acknowledges that there’s anything off about this at all. which is weird, right? because he’s always the one asking for it, it’s always his idea, and yet he acts like it means nothing. he never wants to talk about it. he never acknowledges it when leon tries to hint that maybe he does. leon genuinely isn’t sure if milo understands that this isn’t a normal game, or if he does and he just doesn’t care about what it might make leon feel. so he kind of starts resenting milo for it. he stops playing along, and he starts getting distant.

and that freaks milo out! because he has no idea what leon’s feeling— from his perspective, leon agreed to this in the first place because it meant nothing, so he’s acting like it doesn’t because he’s terrified of ruining things by taking them too far. and now despite how hard he’s tried to play the game by what he thinks are leon’s rules, he’s somehow ruined it anyways! and leon won’t tell him what he did. he won’t tell him anything. no matter how milo tries to fix it, leon just stays closed off, so milo starts to resent him for that.

when milo finally gets fed up and accuses leon of being a shitty friend, leon has the exact same thing to say to him. everything just blows up, they have the worst fight they’ve ever had, and the entire time neither one of them brings up what it’s really about. they end it swearing they’re never going to talk again, and still not knowing why the other one was really upset.

they would attempt to become friends again at multiple different points over the years. never Actually sorting any of this drama out at Any point. and instead consistently falling into the same fucking pitfall of insane gay tension mixed with zero communication over and over again.

in fact, they will not finally sit down and get closure on this specific event. until they are in their twenties. because they are morons.

[bioshook-wynand]

Since my friend and I are playing Bioshock 1, i wanted to share some of the things that have happened so far:

- We sat and watched the plane fully sink

- "OUGH?!" < her reaction to the giant Ryan statue

- Right off the bat she didn't trust Atlas and said his wife and child aren't real

- Every security bot is named Jeff

- The wrench is also Jeff(rey Bezos)

- We spent 30 minutes trying to get to Steinman because I forgot I has to throw the bombs at the debris blocking the entrance

- We went through 4 nitro splicers before I realized something wasn't right. I do this everytime. I literally replayed Bioshock like 2 weeks ago and forgot how to do that

- I've died more times in this playthrough than I ever have in Bioshock 1

- Keeps asking me if Atlas is evil, I keep telling her no and that he's my babygirl

- I've been spoon feeding her Atlas propaganda so hopefully she'll trust him by the end

- LOVES the little sisters, terrified of big daddys. She screamed the first time we had to fight one

- I tried to get the first bouncer stuck behind the register in the Medical Bay, but absolutely shredded him before I could

- The women were too stunned to speak

- We sat under the floor of the McCracken Crab trying to kill a Rosie. I died.

- I also hid under the floor of the Fisheries and smacked Splicers that walked overhead

- I got killed by a (different) Rosie like 5 times before I finally killed her

- Also ran from the third Rosie repeatedly before I finally killed him

- She chose target dummy for our first real plasmid

- I've only ever used it when losing control of the plasmids. So I've only used it once-

- Me: God I hate Andrew Ryan

Her: Bash his brains in

Me: *Hephaestus flashbacks* Oh I'm gonna

- Spider splicer: *angry screeching*

Me: New wife for you

Her: Great, thanks

- Hates it everytime I say "Snappies"

- I spent way too long looking for the final spider splicer before realizing I could take a picture of a dead one

- She did trust Peach Wilkins though (Somehow??)

- "I've got a really bad feeling about this" intensifies

- Yelled "THIS IS YOUR MAN⁉️" When Atlas walked out and almost missed Ryan's speech and the splicers bc of it

- Predicted the sub would blow up, but was shocked when it actually did

- I think she begrudgingly trusts Atlas now, his acting is peak

- I also went on a 2 minute rant about him and she made fun or me the entire time

- *finds a crawlspace full of Atlas posters*

Me: Oh my god, this is where I live!!

Her: NO

Me: With my Atlas posters and my.. Pistol bullets??

Her: N O !!

- #1 Langford stan (she's in love with her)

- Got jumpscared by the Houdini splicer that appears behind you (We both screamed)

- I was laughing bc his shadow was looming over us, then slowly turned around and we had a staring contest before I finally shot him in the face

- I've literally never seen him just sit there before?? He always disappeared as soon as I turned around. Wild

- She compared Langford writing the code on the window to 11307 from Danganronpa (iykyk)

- Cue disappointed sighing (Not really, I laughed really hard)

- This entire playthrough has just been me aggressively hitting on Atlas and her reevaluating our friendship

- Not even the posters are safe

- "Who is Atlas?"

Me: My husband

Her: UGH

- Saying "This is for me!!" every time I see an Atlas poster

- She is genuinely considering killing me

- Made me harvest a little sister to see what would happen 😔 We reloaded tho it's okay

- I've found so many secrets in this playthrough, including a vent that goes to a meat locker in the Farmers Market

- It felt like I was getting chased by everyone in Rapture while trying to make the Lazarus Vector

- I also (somehow) shot the big daddy in Langford's office while fighting splicers

- That was terrifying

- *Enters Fort Frolic* Me: It's about to get real silly

- I've been hyping up Cohen this entire time because I knew she would like him

- Unfortunately, she does

- She gagged at the "expectant mama" line

- Got jumpscared AGAIN by the splicer in the basement of Sinclair Spirits

- "SINCLAIR WHAT THE FUCK"

- I can never find the record store when I play Bioshock, this time was no different

- I gave up and went after Hector instead

- When we met Silas Cobb she yelled "KITTENS??"

- She agrees Silas is a discord mod

- We spent like 2 minutes straight trying to catch Hector and Silas

- I also got jumped by a bunch of splicers every time I tried to kill a bouncer

- She lost it at Cohen walking down the stairs

- "HIS GAY ASS WALK"

- I smacked Cohen after his speech and immediately ran

That's all so far, but we'll hopefully play some more this week!

[giggly-squiggily]

Since I’m absolutely losing my mind simping for him, here’s some ler Kurama HCS!

Ler Kurama who chuckles sweetly as he tickles someone.

Ler Kurama who says “now, now, no trying to hide from me. You’re quite cute when you’re laughing like this.” When his lee hides their face.

Ler Kurama who is so evil with anticipation. He’ll wiggle his fingers above their tickle spots until they’re curling in on themselves and whining for it to either A) stop or B) start already

Ler Kurama who likes to tickle Yusuke as a stress reliever (and let’s be real, Yusuke doesn’t much mind it either)

Ler Kurama who inadvertently follows the “ler goes for their own death spot first” rule and always goes for Yusuke’s legs when he starts.

Ler Kurama who somehow cannot be caught and having the tables turned on him (except for Hiei bc they’re about equal in strength)

Ler Kurama who ALWAYS wins tickle “fights”

Ler Kurama who sneaks a vine to wiggle against Kuwabara and Yusuke’s sides when they’re bickering in public. “Not now, you two. Remember where we are.”

Ler Kurama who is somehow the biggest instigator of chaos amongst the four of them??? If the two humans even put so much as a toe out of line, he looks at Hiei and the two nod in complete understanding.

Ler Kurama whose teases are so freaking evil even though he’s got that serious tone. “Aww, you’re quite amusing. Now, what happens if I were to try here? Or here? Oh, dear. That one seemed to really start you up. Perhaps I’ll stay here for a minute.” (EVIL)

Ler Kurama who has a LOOK that tells Yusuke and Kuwabara that he’s not goofing around and he will not hesitate to wreck them right there.

Ler Kurama who constantly checks in on his lees to make sure they’re comfortable and not in pain. He stops as soon as they’re ready, and never wants to push them too far.

Ler Kurama who gets caught up in the fascination of tickling the boys more often than not. “The human body is so intriguing.”

Ler Kurama who tenses when Hiei places his hands on his thighs with a menacing grin. “It sure is, Suichi. Why don’t we discover if the great Kurama shares the same weakness as these two hooligans.”

Ler Kurama who finally gets paid his due…

JWJSJWJSJKWKSKSKSMS AHHHHHH 😍😍😍😍😍😍 DUCKY THESE ARE MAGNIFICENT!!! I personally headcanon Kurama to be such a ler, so these are MAJESTIC!!! 🥰🥰🥰 Thank you for sharing!

Because you’ve gifted me such a delightful set of Ler headcanons, and because you’ve ended on such a great transition; allow me to provide some Lee!Kurama in return…

Lee!Kurama who’s laugh is so soft and prince like and will be damned if that changes.

Lee!Kurama who breaks near instantly the second someone touches his knees/the terrible spot beneath his thighs.

Lee!Kurama who covers his face when laughing and struggles to remain composed cause it tickles like crazy and he doesn’t wanna kick anyone in the face ajznnans

Lee!Kurama who also has a ticklish neck- soon discovered by Yusuke who wanted to see where he hid his rose in a hair.

Lee!Kurama who can tease like nobody’s business but if you call him a “cute little fox” he gets beyond flustered, cheeks red and unable to make eye contact (Don’t even get me STARTED if you sing-tease at him)

Lee!Kurama who was the untouchable tickle monster until Hiei finally figured out what tickling was (I headcanon he isn’t all that familiar with it until he spends a good amount of time with the boys) or Yusuke and Kuwabara teamed up. Now he’s got somewhat of a challenge to deal with.

Lee!Kurama who’s ears are so sensitive he can’t stand someone blowing air against them (*cough*Hiei*cough* *cough*Yusuke*cough*) If you puff even slightly he’ll squeak and get all giggly and just- Ahh!

Lee!Kurama who’s more sensitive to firmer tickles along his thighs and legs. Hiei once squeezed the ever loving hell out of his knee to try and make him wince only to earn a series of snickery laughs and yelps.

Lee!Kurama who loves tickles cause he doesn’t get them all that often and it feels nice cause it’s a change up from the daily grind of bruises and wounds ala battles or whatever. He loves how close they make him feel to whomever he’s tickling or being tickled by.

Those are the ones off the top of my head wjsjjwjsns but YEE KURAMA AHHHH! 😍😍😍😍😍

[nullshocked]

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜💗💖💕💘🤎🤍🖤 sorry i mean uhhhhhhhhhhhh dealers choice

Send a Heart + a Ship For a Brief Snippet 💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft

He’s waiting outside the bar, chainsmoking through a pack of cigarettes when someone asks: “Are you Jean?”

The name always makes him tense. He only lets two people call him Jean anymore: Promise because she’s known him long enough that she’s allowed to, and Virgil because that’s his partner. The only other people who know that name that are people he doesn’t want to talk to, and frankly? Jack has no clue who the fuck this man is. Some older human, made haggard by too much alcohol and the late hour. No names or memories spring to mind.

“Sorry,” Jack grunts. “Wrong guy.”

“You don’t remember me?” The man asks. “I came by so many times.”

And looking at him, Jack thinks he might sort of recognize him. Or rather, he recognizes the kind of man he is. There were a lot of men like him back then, their faces rendered foggy and incomprehensible by the shit he was using. And that just means he has even less reason to talk to him. He takes a drag off his cigarette and blows smoke in his face.

“Fuck off.”

The man doesn’t like that. Beer makes him as mean as it makes Jack stupid enough to pick a fight. He grabs Jack’s arm and Jack stops listening to anything he has to say. Panic seizes him the way it does when anyone suddenly grabs him, kicking and shouting, trying to twist himself out of his own jacket just to get away.

He nearly tumbles over when something slams into the man and knocks him over, wobbly knees struggling against the momentum of the man hitting the pavement. It takes Jack a few seconds to register Virgil, the taller man placing himself between Jack and the man. The elf doesn’t even have to say anything. The man takes one look at him, scrambles to his feet, and staggers down the street away from them.

Jack works his jaw and leans against the wall. “Asshole.”

“You okay?” Virgil asks quietly.

“Couldn’t take no for an answer, that’s all.” Jack fishes out another cigarette from the dwindling pack, fingers shaking as he goes to light it. He feels sick to his stomach. More nicotine isn’t likely to help that, but if he doesn’t keep his hands busy he’ll just end up tearing at his own skin.

“Can we go home?”

“Yeah.”

His free hand finds Virgil’s arm, fingers tangling in the sleeve of his coat. Jack always feels strange showing any outward affection to him in public, feeling ridiculous and clingy for doing so. But right now he doesn’t want to stray too far from the other man. His nerves ease a little more with Virgil close to his side.

When they get back to the apartment, he finally breaks down and cries—angry, bitter tears, frustration and sorrow melding together until it overwhelms him. He presses his palms into his eyes and starts to sink to the floor, but Virgil catches him in his arms and pulls him in.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” He feels pathetic and weak, that somehow all this time can pass and yet it never stops. Something finds him, sometimes a man and sometimes a memory, and it all comes flooding back again.

Virgil doesn’t waste words. He holds Jack in his arms and lets him cry, his fingers massaging the base of his neck. And when Jack runs out of tears to cry, he bends down and kisses the corner of his eye, then his forehead, then the tip of his nose. And then he takes Jack’s face on his hands and kisses his lips, long and slow and gentle.

“You’ve got me?” Jack murmurs, more statement than question.

“I’ve got you,” Virgil responds softly.

[couthbbg]

What You Like

Kris Letang/Erik Karlsson • Rating: E • Ch: 1/2 • 12k

What could Karlsson possibly want, showing up at Kris's hotel room at one in the morning after a blow out loss? Surely nothing good.

Read on Ao3

Finally finished my kriserik fic! It's a BDSM AU, the first in a series of fics. This fic is finished, second chapter will be posted soon. Preview under the cut!

“Tanger!” an unfortunately familiar voice calls, somehow much too loud even muffled through the door. “I can hear you in there. Let me in!”

Of course, Kris thinks. There’s not a single soul on the team he’d want less at his door at one o’clock in the morning, after that shit show of a game no less. Just at the sound of that voice, Kris feels his poorly buried anger bubble up again, prickling at his skin. Three goals against, three goals against with this three-time Norris trophy winner on the ice, and now he wants to show up here, at Kris’s room, in the middle of the night? He must be drunk, Kris thinks, stalking to the door. He must have a fucking death wish.

Kris yanks the door open, hard, though the automatic mechanism at its hinges makes the gesture less dramatic than he was going for.

Karlsson smirks like he can tell. “Hello,” he says far too happily. He should be miserable. He should be groveling. Kris opens his mouth to let Karl know exactly where he can stick his good cheer, but before Kris gets the words out, his overtired brain finally registers the scene in front of him—Karlsson in sweatpants and an inside-out t-shirt, a suitcase propped by his side and a garment bag slung over his shoulder. Karlsson, with all his things. At Kris’s door. At one in the morning.

“Absolutely not,” Kris says flatly, shutting the door in Karl’s face. Or he would have, if it weren’t for that fucking mechanism slowing it down, giving Karl enough time to wedge the side of his shoe against the bottom of the door. Karl doesn’t try to open the door more, just slides over so he’s still visible.

“A pipe burst in my room,” he says, something odd in his voice, maybe disbelief or humor, the exact opposite of the fury Kris would be feeling if that happened to him.

Even foggy and exhausted, Kris can follow that explanation to its likely conclusion. The huff of laughter he lets out is anything but amused. “You’re not staying with me,” he says. “Go find Sid.” Team captain, team dom—Sid’s the resident fixer, the solver of problems, even maddening, smug Swedish problems, smirking at Kris like this is funny. Like it’s not one in the morning, and they didn’t just get their asses handed to them by the Blues.  

“Ah,” says Karl, his smirk widening, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “I tried his room first, but. He’s a bit busy.” Karl has the audacity to wink at Kris, as though Sid’s getting up to something exciting and indulgent, instead of the much more likely scenario. Given that Sid’s sub was on the ice for another three of the eight goals against them tonight, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he might be up to. And Sid’s not like Kris. He doesn’t revel in the punishment aspect of being a dom. Kris knows for a fact that Sid’s not enjoying whatever’s going on in his room at this hour any more than Geno is, and the fact that Karl is winking about it just makes the ire in Kris’s blood boil that much hotter.

“Find someone else,” Kris grits out. “I don’t share. It’s in my contract,” he adds and then tugs again at the door, hard enough that it must hurt Karl’s foot, still propping it open.

“It won’t be for the whole night,” Karl goes on, apparently unmoved by the vitriol in Kris’s voice. “They’re getting another room for me, it’s just not ready yet. Just thirty minutes. Maybe forty-five.” Then, unbelievably, Karlsson gets an elbow into the crack of the door and starts to pry it open.

“So wait in the lobby.” But Kris’s counteroffer goes unheard.

For one wild moment, as Karlsson genuinely wiggles to squeeze himself through the gap and into the room, Kris feels like he might actually physically stop him. There's a familiar thrum under Kris's skin, his hands twitching with the need to grip Karl’s arm and twist it. They’re the same height, and Karl is strong. Kris would need to use his whole body to shove Karl out, or maybe, against something, the closed door, or a wall. Kris would shove him, and Karl’s head would thunk against the wall, except he’d like that, probably, would smirk at Kris about it, and then he’d—

Kris snaps back to himself just in time to see Karl hanging his garment bag up in the closet, making himself right at home. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have noticed Kris’s short bout of insanity. He just sits at end of the other queen bed, the remote somehow already in his hand.

“Are you watching this?” Karl asks, then doesn’t wait for answer, just flips through channels faster than he could possibly keep up with.

Read the rest on Ao3

[tanjir0se]

The Ghost of You ch. 6--Wounded, pt II

Sangeiyuu/Sabigiyuu angst and hurt/comfort Words: 24k (so far)

Sanemi finally makes sense of Giyuu's mistake

FULL CHAPTER UP NOW ON AO3

He abruptly realized Sabito was grinning at him again, having started on a tangent about setting Giyuu up with a “nice corps girl”, asking his various preferences on height, eye and hair color, personality.

While Sabito rambled, Giyuu’s eyes dropped down to his fingers where he ran his thumbs over his scars nervously. Sabito glanced from Giyuu’s nervous hands to his face, red and reddening more by the second, his brow furrowed down in that serious way of his when he was thinking very hard that Sabito found very cute but would not admit to. 

“You can’t set me up on a date if I don’t even know how to kiss.” Giyuu finally mumbled. Sabito waved his hand dismissively. 

“Oh, that’s easy . Just practice on me!”

At first Giyuu thought he’d misheard him. Slack-jawed, he blinked at Sabito, still grinning at him as if he hadn’t just verbally pulled the floor out from beneath him. Practice?! Practice was for swords and breathing and footwork, not for kissing! The entire idea was…well it was—

Have I always been breathing so fast? 

“Practice?” He finally asked. 

Sabito pushed himself up onto his knees. “Yeah, it’s easy! You can practice on me and that way you won’t be nervous when you kiss a real girl.” 

Giyuu was certainly nervous now. Sabito was a little better at hiding it, but Giyuu could see the way his ash-grey eyes were open just a little wider than usual. Giyuu rose onto his knees to meet him. Their knees brushed together and Giyuu still couldn’t meet his eyes. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. 

“Ok, close your eyes.” Sabito instructed. He was a little surprised at how readily Giyuu obeyed. A little more surprised when he felt Giyuu’s hand closing around the fabric of his pants at his knee. Briefly he considered just blowing a raspberry in Giyuu’s face to turn the whole thing into a joke, but Giyuu’s pale face, his lips set tight together and shaking, seemed to give off a moon-like glow in their dark room that stopped the instinct before it began. “And hold still.” 

Giyuu squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could and squeezed the fistful he’d somehow grabbed of Sabito’s pant leg even tighter. His breaths through his nose were quick and shaking, his stomach full of that queasy excitement you get when you lose your footing and begin to fall, heart leaping up into his throat and stomach dropping into his feet. He felt Sabito draw closer and heard him take in a breath and hold it. He held his, too.

Their noses bumped together before their lips did; they both shifted slightly, in the same direction, and bumped together again. His lips barely grazing Giyuu’s, Sabito whispered. 

“I said hold still.” He hoped Giyuu couldn’t hear the horribly boyish waver in his voice.

“Sorry.” Giyuu choked. Could Sabito hear how loudly his heart was beating?

“...And quit talking.”

“Sorry.”

He felt Sabito’s hand on his shoulder to hold him steady, tug him forward. Is his hand shaking?  

“Ok,” his breathy voice shook against Giyuu’s lips, so close they were brushing; Does this count already? Is it too late to back out? “Here goes.”

[bonesandthebees]

[“And honestly, it’s no fucking wonder you pushed Jack off that roof.”] - Wilbur.

Wilbur and Tommy both have some sort of final blow. The thing that goes too far, if you will. This is Wilbur’s blow to Tommy. I’m pretty sure Wilbur said he didn’t particularly care that Tommy did it. I cannot for the life of me remember the correct words. Either way, Tommy was very worried about how Wilbur would react to him pushing Jack off a roof. But Wilbur made it clear that he wasn’t upset about it and they stuck together. Now Wilbur throws it back into Tommy’s face. The thing is. It’s not like Wilbur’s upset about it. His opinion hasn’t changed. And he’s not wrong either. Which we learn when he doubles down (because of course he does).

[“Like I said, you’re impulsive and you think you know better than you do. You make decisions for other people because you think you know what’s best for them, but the reality is that you don’t know jack shit. You’re a child who’s in way over his head,” he said, the phantom blood still lingering on his lips.] This, as Wilbur so kindly puts it, is Tommy’s biggest character flaw. Everything Wilbur says here is right and he’s fully allowed to call Tommy out because Tommy’s entire reasoning for wanting to take Wilbur out (which endangers everyone), is that he Knows that Wilbur won’t run when he still can’t read Wilbur's mind. He’s also an 18-year-old who has no idea what he’s doing.

And you can tell this hits home because it’s when Tommy stops arguing his point and aims to hurt instead. He immediately uses Wilbur's age against him. Something Wilbur trusted him with and only told him very recently. It’s a low blow, but Tommy can go lower.

[“Then where’s your goddess now?”]

I think this might be the most painful thing he could have said. It also proves how we'll he knows Wilbur because he know it will have the intended effect. He knows Wilbur doubts, but he can’t get him to follow through. He knows Clara hasn’t done shit for Wilbur. If she wanted him out she would have given him a goddamn vision when he had the chance. I think Tommy fully believes Clara doesn’t give a damn about Wilbur.

And the question hits because that’s what Wilbur has been wondering the entire time. He’s been wondering since the moment he entered Kristin’s domain. Where is his goddess? Why can’t she get him out? Why won’t she send him a vision? What does she want from him? Why did she pick him at all? I’m still not entirely certain if she can see him in Kristin’s domain, but we know she can sent him visions. Yet she doesn’t. Maybe that has something to do with his wavering faith? Maybe that makes it harder to receive visions. Either way, she’s not there and both of them know it.

(7/?)

-🌲

yeah, wilbur knew exactly how badly that was gonna hurt. although he didn't say he 'didn't care' in those exact words, he did tell tommy that he understood why he did it, and wasn't upset about it. but then he throws it in tommy's face again which of course makes things spiral.

wilbur was completely right though. he's right and he knows it, and a part of tommy also knows he's right but doesn't want to acknowledge it. one of the less obvious consequences of wilbur's kidnapping and the resulting friendship between crimeboys is that tommy has been lucky that everything he's done so far with wilbur has worked out. somehow, he does understand wilbur in a way others don't and can read him really easily, but this has also given tommy a lot of unearned confidence. just because things have worked out so far doesn't mean he's a mind-reader, but to him it feels like he is, so it's bleeding into his other choices.

so yeah, tommy has to fight back. the age thing was dirty, the goddess comment was his too far moment though. he's able to pick up enough to know that wilbur has a lot of insecurities with his relationship to clara, and how important he is to her. and you're right, he fully thinks that clara doesn't give a shit about wilbur. so yeah, that hits way too close and wilbur ends the fight immediately by telling tommy to get out.

can clara see him down in the temple? wilbur doesn't know, so you don't either. does she care? wilbur doesn't know, so you won't know. this is another reason why i love leaning into limited povs. you can never truly know what's going on with a literal deity, so the questions start piling up with no proper way to get answers.