#and he probably likes a bit of pain i can see it

[syoddeye]

cut me down, level me | ghoap x reader | 3.2k cw: alcohol, jealous reader, nasty+mean ghost, harassment, nonconsensual touching/manhandling, masturbation a/n: title from i wish i was you by creux lies.

it’s johnny’s birthday.

you grouse the entire time you get ready. mood utterly unsalvageable even with the right playlist. the emergency bottle of prosecco in your refrigerator can’t rescue you either—it’s turned sour and vinegary, probably like the evening ahead.

johnny texts, his message asking for your eta littered with typos. he’s sent it not in your private chat, but the one with his worse half. 

he promised, repeatedly, that simon, the principal pain in your ass that—“he’ll be on his best behavior. hand on heart, i swear.”

you’ve heard that one before.

it doesn’t matter what you do. by the time the rideshare pulls up outside their flat, you half-consider staying in the car and heading straight back home. cozying up in bed with your laptop feels infinitely better than the prospect of enduring lousy company.

because for all johnny’s reassurances, you know simon. he’s the thorn in your side. the wedge between you and your best friend.

you were practically raised together after your family moved in next door. you spent as many holidays at the mactavish house as your own. even after johnny enlisted, nothing changed—you were still the first person he’d call with news, and he was still the one you trusted to share things you wouldn’t tell anyone else. 

and then, two christmases ago, simon arrived. six-foot-something stupid, he muscled his way in, taking up more space than he had any right to, crowding into johnny’s life like he’d always been there. 

“simon? it’s good to finally meet you. johnny talks about you all the time.” you’d said, hand extended, trying to make a good impression. neck craned to the man filling the doorframe. simon smirked, something flat and condescending in his voice as he replied, hand already hinging possessively around johnny’s nape.

“i thought only i could call you ‘johnny’. not ‘ow you make a man feel special, is it.”

you remember how he shouldered around you without another word, greeting the rest of the mactavishes with bourbon and presents like some drab mancunian santa claus.

johnny found you seething later that evening and delivered the first of a thousand apologies. said he was embarrassed by simon’s cold shoulder, and you forgave him—not because you believed him, but because you felt sorry that his boyfriend was a territorial buffoon.

a mistake.

you know couples spend most of their time together. you’re not stupid or naive enough to think they’d be any different, but somehow it’s worse. you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve spent with johnny one-on-one since they got together. simon’s always there, lurking. there’s no sharing with him.

you’ve tried to bring it up with johnny quietly, mostly over text, since phone calls and video chats are never private, but it’s like he can’t see his velcro boyfriend at his side. he doesn’t question it, not really. he’ll admit simon’s a bit rough around the edges, that his jokes cross the line or that his comments make your skin crawl, but he brushes them off. there’s always an excuse, some reason to overlook it. you just hope it’s only a matter of time before johnny sees simon for what he really is and breaks it off.

a no-good interloper, pissing on everything–

when you knock, it’s simon who answers the door. music spills out around him, voices rising and falling in the glow of light behind his broad shoulders. he looks at you, slow and deliberate, his eyes dragging from your shoes to your face, as if you’re a stranger. then he tilts his head in a silent well?

you’ve learned that it is you who must move around him, in all contexts. you are the invader. he doesn’t flinch when you cram under his thick arm braced against the door. he mutters a snide comment about the cut of your shirt—can see straight down that—breath fanning over your head. your face burns instantly, blistering hot. as you pass, the bottle of wine in your hand “accidentally” finds his ribs, and for a second, you feel a flicker of satisfaction.

“oops!” 

you flee beeline for johnny.

he’s already tipsy, the lush, but he’s at least happy to see you. 

“there she is.” his face is flushed from drink, and he pulls you into a bear hug, pressing a few sloppy kisses against your cheek. “i was just tellin’ simon it’s no’ my birthday without ye.”

you lean into him, briefly nuzzling his chest, breathing in his grounding scent. asshole boyfriend or not, how could you consider abandoning your boy?

“shameless flirt.”

“dinnae i ken it.”

he pouts when you peel away and excuse yourself, promising to find him after making the rounds.

you count maybe two dozen people spread through the house, a mix of old classmates, distant acquaintances, and soldiers. more arrive in waves, and you’re glad for the buffer. enough bodies between you and simon to keep him at a comfortable distance.

time moves in fits and starts. you drink enough to feel a buzz and resolve, half-heartedly, to enjoy yourself and mingle. there’s no shortage of good-looking men in johnny’s circle, and you might as well flirt a little. it seems like the kind of thing you should be doing, though your heart isn’t really in it.

you meet another john, polite but pointed about the ring on his finger. then kyle, who seems interested until he asks your name and then suddenly isn’t. after a couple more dead ends, you give up entirely, feeling more lousy than when you arrived. but it’s johnny’s birthday, and it’s bad form to leave before midnight. so, instead, you decide to keep to yourself and wait it out.

problem is, you start bumping into simon.

wherever you go—the den, the kitchen, the front steps for air—simon appears. he doesn’t make a show of following you, but you feel it all the same. his gaze finds you like a searchlight, dissecting you piece by piece. just waiting to say shit. his expression doesn’t shift when you glance his way, no shame in being caught staring. it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking, but whatever it is, it doesn’t feel particularly benign. his presence settles like a weight on your back. 

he doesn’t let you find any refuge with johnny, either. of course not. birthday boy is blissfully unaware, wrapped up in his own celebration, probably thinking simon’s sudden surge of public affection and attention are gifts. from across the room, simon’s gaze is heavy on you, his arm draped possessively around johnny’s waist, hand settling unashamedly on his ass for a grope. you catch his eye once, and without missing a beat, he leans in, planting a kiss behind johnny’s ear, making him squirm mid-conversation. 

it pisses you off. curdles your bad mood into a rotten one.

with an hour left until midnight, you try to avoid simon as much as possible. it probably seems petty to slip away the moment he walks into a room or to retreat into silence when he lingers too close, but you don’t care. he’s stifling and unbearable—like he’s decided to babysit you to make sure you’re on your best behavior. and there’s no telling johnny. you won’t ruin the night for him by stirring up trouble.

at one point, you take too long at the makeshift bar in the kitchen, and he corners you mid-pour.

simon clicks his tongue, shifting his weight just enough to box you in with his chest and shoulders. “what’s that now, your fourth? fifth?” his voice is low, a rough-edged drawl, head dipping and chasing your ear when you try to duck away. “keep this up, sweet’eart, and you’ll be sleepin’ it off between us.” the grin that stretches his mouth feels too sharp, his eyes glinting as he leans in, the heat of him unnervingly close, his bulk a deliberate intrusion into your space.

the image his words conjure arrives unbidden, sending a disorienting jolt down your spine. you see yourself there, curled against johnny’s chest, while another, hulking body melding to your back, presence suffocating and unwanted. the thought lingers for a heartbeat before it vanishes in a rush of disgust, leaving you like a dog with its hackles raised, bristling with the instinct to flee.

you shove past, wine sloshing perilously close to the rim as you go, his rasping chuckle drifting after you.

another hour passes in a blur, but you salute yourself—only a quarter-hour to freedom. problem is, all that wine’s caught up, and the door to the downstairs toilet has been locked for a stretch. you cast a casual glance around, your eyes tracking the shape of your persistent shadow, and find him finally occupied with the other john, his back turned to you for the first time all evening. it’s a quick, maybe ill-advised decision to slip upstairs, but you really have no choice. you have to pee before you leave, and besides, it’s a teensy fuck you to the man who’s followed you all night.

the music from downstairs hums through the floor, covering your movements just enough that you don’t bother to tiptoe.

their bedroom is unfamiliar, but johnny’s presence clings to the space in bits and pieces. a framed photo of johnny in his first uniform, his mother leaning against his arm. an old rugby medal, propped against a stack of books, a few of which you gifted him. on the wall beside the bed, a collage of photos: summers at the mactavish cottage, christmas dinners with both your families, johnny mid-laugh with his arm slung casually around your shoulders in more than one.

you spot an old toy soldier from the same set johnny used to make elaborate battles with when you were kids. it sits next to a half-empty bottle of expensive bourbon you don’t recognize, probably something simon probably picked out. the mixture of old and new, of johnny and simon, is dizzying. jealousy wells up in your chest. you were there for all those moments. you knew him when he played soldier in the garden, when he rolled his eyes through family holidays and snuck you out at dessert. you were the constant, long before simon’s shadow overtook everything.

you slink into the bathroom, eyes stinging and chest tightening. it’s the wine.

washing your hands, your eyes land on a half-empty bottle of cologne you don’t recognize. while the rideshare app spins uselessly, you take a whiff and hum. it’s johnny’s. you rub a fingertip over the atomizer, too paranoid to take even a quarter-spray. the residual will have to do. instead, you press a fingertip to the atomizer, then smear a trace behind your ear just as the app pings. finally.

you pull the door open, eyes trained on the app’s countdown and mind tangling with how to say goodbye to johnny. you don’t notice the figure outside until you step straight into it, a solid wall of muscle. you stagger, caught off guard, but before you can register what’s happening, he presses forward, steering you back inside the bathroom. your phone drops to the counter with a clatter. a hand smelling of smoke and salt clamps over your mouth.

“stop fussin’,” simon mutters, clipped with irritation. his fingers dig into your cheeks, forcing your jaw tight as he leans back just far enough to shut the door. you batter his chest with your fists, which he swiftly captures when he swivels back. “i said stop. need to chat.” 

your phone buzzes against the counter, the soft vibration loud against the marble. simon glances down, his expression darkening as he spots the car on the screen. with a tap of his thumb, he cancels the ride, lips curling into something that isn’t quite a smile. “sneakin’ out already? night’s young.”

your words are lost under his palm, protests garbled into nothing. heat flushes your face, humiliation prickling your skin as you try to twist free. glaring, you tell him how creepy he’s being, how weird he is, voice rising even though it’s barely audible. for a moment, his expression doesn’t shift, then something flickers behind his eyes, like a shark finding chum in the water. he leans in, his hips pinning yours, and his nose drags over where you’d rubbed the scent.

“you little thief,” he murmurs, voice thick with disdain. his hand eases just enough to let you speak.

“i thought it was johnny’s.” you finally say, throat tight, pulse fluttering at its base.

“it’s ours,” he sneers. “we share. everything.”

you scoff, the sound bitter in the small space between you. “you? don’t make me laugh.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

for a second, you stare in disbelief, chest heaving in shallow breaths. he still has you held against the counter, and you realize you smell it on him, too. 

you can’t have just this one thing.

word vomit comes out in a rush, spliced with the fury and frustration that’s been building all night, no, for months, mixed with the tang of cheap pinot. “you fucking stole johnny from me. he was my best friend, my johnny, before you. i’ve called him that my whole life. and then you—you show up, sap up all of his attention, and now he never has time for me. it’s never just me and him, you’re always fucking there.” the confession hangs in the air. it is more honest than you meant, but there is no going back.

simon tilts his head, looking down at you like he’s trying to figure something out, his hand firm under your jaw. his fingers press in, not quite hard, just enough to keep you there, and then he leans in close, his forehead nearly touching yours. you try to look away, eyes darting to the side, but he won’t let you.

“’s that what you need? johnny’s attention?” his thumb drags over the curve of your cheek, pressing until it hooks inside your mouth. “my attention?”

“no-awh! no’ yoursth!” 

your tongue brushes the pad of his thumb, a shudder rolling through you before you remember your teeth. he remembers too, yanking his thumb away just as your bite snaps shut, catching your tongue instead. you yelp, the sting immediate and hot.

he coos, low and mocking, his hand sealing over your mouth again. his weight presses you against the counter, pinning you effortlessly in place. your hands, useless against the unyielding plane of his chest, clutch at his forearm instead, desperate to free your face. then his knee jabs forward, knocking a muffled cry from your throat. the impact drives you onto your toes, the cupboard beneath you taking the blow and holding his knee steady, leaving you no choice but to remain perched, precarious and trembling, to avoid putting your weight on him.

“this ‘as been my problem with you since day one. you’re a dishonest and jealous woman. can’t be ‘appy for johnny. can’t be polite to me–”

you hiss and spit at that, outrage starting and stalling. he’s done nothing—as if he’s—unbelievable—but you’re wasting your breath, not merely because his stupid, meaty paw’s lodged over your mouth, but because it’s simon. two years in, and you know better. arguing with him is like shouting into the void. useless, exhausting. your calves burn from holding yourself up, thighs trembling under the strain, but he doesn’t let up, doesn’t ease an inch.

“always whining, always makin’ our boy feel like shit with your desperate, depressing texts–” his knee slides and nudges between your legs, finding the seam of your jeans. “–always runnin’ away from us, not letting it happen, be easy...”

your face finally turns, but he only leans in further, his forehead skimming yours, settling heavily against your temple. chapped lips graze your cheek, words spilling straight into your skin, warm air puffing through his nostrils like a beast. “trying to sneak out, makin’ me keep an eye on you all night…” you squeeze your eyes shut, heat crawling up your neck and over your scalp. this is bad. very bad. it’s johnny’s birthday, and his boyfriend has you cornered in the bathroom. your thoughts snarl in panic and guilt. you hardly register simon’s voice anymore, his lecture breaking into shards your brain can’t piece together.

until he says something that pierces the fog. growls it into your ear, close enough his tongue needlessly flicks the shell.

“i’m not ‘aving it anymore. you understand? you ain’t leavin’ tonight.”

simon unhurriedly tilts your head back, then presses you down onto his knee. you swallow hard, a noise catching somewhere deep and undignified. if he notices, he doesn’t let on.

“i’m gonna let go, and you’re gonna keep quiet. you’re gonna be a good girl, come back downstairs, and not go makin’ a scene. or do i need to spell out what ‘appens if ya don’t, or are ya as sharp as ‘e’s always makin’ out?”

you don’t need him to say it. the threat is there, in between your legs, and if you looked down, you’d see it between his, too. it doesn’t matter what you want. 

it doesn’t matter what simon wants, either, you think. if it did, you’d probably still be in the bathroom with him. 

he’s been abundantly clear. the only thing that matters is what johnny wants.

from where he sat you on the end of the bed, hands fidgeting in your lap, you glimpse movement through the cracked door. grunting. he told you to spit in his palm before he sent you out, and now you know why. his hand sounds slick and furious over his length. your stomach clenches, eyes watering from staring unblinkingly at the rug beneath your feet. you wonder if it’s not punishment but a prelude. or worse, his idea of a favor. a demonstration. as long as you’re good and quiet. as long as you stay.

when he comes, he’s nearly silent. a word or two gnashed between teeth in a whisper. a couple more pumps. then, the flush of the toilet and his zipper.

he doesn’t wash his hands. the animal.

simon lifts an eyebrow, and you scurry toward the door, though the snap of his tongue slows you. he stays a breath behind you as the warmth and noise of the party swallow you both whole, no one any wiser. instinctively, you angle left, toward the door, but his finger hooks through the back loop of your jeans, steering you elsewhere.

johnny’s in a merry state, glassy-eyed and slack-jawed, caught somewhere between shock and delight at seeing both of you settle beside him. you’re wedged in the middle on the couch, their solid thighs pressing yours. across the coffee table, the men you met earlier nod in your direction, and you return a stiff smile, pretending nothing’s amiss. johnny’s hand lands on your knee with a familiar squeeze, his grin boyish and lopsided. behind you, a heavier arm stretches across the back of the couch, simon’s fingers brushing your shoulder lightly. the scent of the cologne mingles with simon’s musk, wrinkling your nose.

johnny leans in, his voice an exaggerated whisper slurred at the edges. his eyes, wide and glassy, flit between the two of you with an almost childlike excitement.

“nice to see ye gettin’ along. just for me?”

simon chuckles. “told ya i’d be good, didn’t i?” his fingers curl beneath your collar, resting there. an ultimatum. “it’s a joint gift. ain’t that right?”

your eyebrows lift in a wider, strained smile.

“yep. happy birthday, johnny.”

[keferon]

Okay- I adore the Mecha AU.. so now I have to share MY terrible idea, dunno if anyone has said this yet but- you remember that in pacific rim when Raleigh & Mako DRIFT and they both experience each other’s trauma?

What if that happened with Jazz & Prowl?

Like-

One day Prowl starts noticing a difference in Jazz's behavior, noticing how he would suddenly tense up or flinch whenever somebody suddenly started speaking loud or in the morning he’d notice how he was soaked in sweat and shakily making his way to the wash racks. Whenever he’d ask if he was alright he was always met with a smile and a reassuring remark, yet he knew something was off and he wanted to help.

So then (once he’s fully healed) he suggests to Jazz that they should do trust exercises under the guise that since he doesn’t have another Mecha so they should strengthen their own bond for any future battles. Jazz is hesitant, especially since he blames himself for Prowl being in that situation in the first place, but he also wants to spend time with Prowl so he agrees.

Prowl probably would go to a secluded spot in the forest they’re in, somewhere safe where, once Jazz is relaxed enough he can ask him about these strange behaviors he’s recently been exhibiting. Surely nothing bad will happen and surely Jazz will be fine like he usually is…

The training exercises go well, Jazz is feeling fine and they’re both in the zone when suddenly a bad memory spontaneously starts to haunt Jazz and it triggers a PTSD-esque Episode where Jazz freezes up and is suddenly taken back to that horrible time..

The time he was strapped down to a bedbunk, his body writhing in agonizing pain, the constant sting of needles piercing his skin followed by an intense burning sensation that can only be likened to being burned from the inside out, his vision going blurry and his throat raw and bleeding from screaming and crying, his body shaking and shivering as a thick sheen of sweat coats his body.

And right now… because of the DRIFT.. Prowl sees it too, he not only sees it but he’s there, standing over Jazz's restrained body, he hears screams and sounds he never EVER wanted to hear, not from Jazz of all people. His precious partner, he’s looking down at him unable to help or protect him from these strangers, these monsters who are ignoring the ear piercing, spark-wrenching screams of pure agony. Worst of all? He can’t move, he’s frozen in place, forced to stand there helplessly as Jazz is begging for mercy, begging for someone to help him… and. he. can’t. move.

It lasts just for a moment but for both of them it felt like an hour until Jazz screams himself back into reality, freeing both him and Prowl from his nightmare. Prowl drops to a knee, his mind racing as he tries to figure out what the actual hekk he just saw until he feels Jazz pounding his fist against his chest, he can vaguely make out his choked up plea which scares Prowl as he’s never heard Jazz make that noise before. Prowl opens it and barely manages to catch Jazz as the man tumbled out into his own shaky servo in a trembling heap.

Jazz is slightly pale and tears are in his eyes as he struggles to catch his breath, he knows he’s not there anymore but he still feels it.

Prowl rushes back to Ratchets hideout where he the others are and calls for him, fear gripping his tanks as Jazz is still huddled in a fetal position, hyperventilating as he grips his soaked hair. Ratchet immediately recognizes what’s happened and quickly moves to help Jazz calm down before he has a heart attack which he is very close to having with how high his pulse is. It works but the man is so worn out from the stress that he just passes out.

I don’t know but that’s been plaguing my mind since I started reading your AU and I just HAD to share it lol, what do you think? How do you think Prowl would actually react to that? I figured he’d freak out as humans and their fragile bodies are still new territory for him.

Also sorry if it’s all a bit unclear or confusing or like- boarderline rambling I’m not good at storytelling and just stick to RP and making RP plots lol.

OH MAN. OH FUCK. YEP UH HUH YEAH. THIS. oh my god

Knowing Prowl, he would probably rush to learn every bit of information he can access about. You know. How to help someone in that scenario. Because he’s scared that something would went wrong while he has zero knowledge about humans.

But also. I think it would make him realise just how strong despite his small size Jazz actually is.

Jazz might drop something about his brain being over dramatic when it’s not helpful at all. While Prowl is just are you fraggin serious you’re a superhuman

[alikuarso]

To answer your question about Fresh: Fresh is actually a parasite! He dresses in his 90's-themed clothes and speaks in a silly way so that others underestimate him. His main and utmost goal is to Survive, and the way he does that is by infecting other people with his parasites and draining the life from their souls. Being seen as harmless lets him get closer to them and gives him easier access for possession. He hopes to eventually take over the multiverse, spreading his parasites in every corner of it and having absolute control.

He also has no emotions. He is capable of them, but for whatever reason he is unable to feel much, besides the rare instance of anger. He does frequently feel fear, though.

He is a bit sadistic, and he likes seeing others suffer. This is because when he takes over someone he drains their soul of life, which causes them pain. And to him, taking someone's body means safety, it means he can survive a bit longer as long as he's snatched their body. So he's come to associate the pain of others as something good.

And he's also aware of the creators/viewers, thanks to an event called the Loveball, which is canon to his character.

Going to copy and paste my own words for this [I was talking to a friend about Loveball]:

"So, like seven years ago there was a fandom-wide event called the Loveball, where people gathered their OCs and had them all attend an UTMV dancing ball. Fresh went, of course. There, he met a Frisk called Pacifrisk. Even knowing who he really was [90's parasite], they still believed he could be good. Before this, he hadn't ever really felt a connection to anyone, or even positive emotions in general. But Pacifrisk's faith in him made him feel positively towards them. This freaked him out. [No Fr@ns though, don't worry. That wasn't the intention for this plot.]

As a result, not only did he try to kill them, but he also went through with his plans: the Fresh Takeover [I forget what it's actually called]. His true reason for attending the ball. OCs were either possessed by the parasites or tried to fight against them. Apparently, some people used alcohol to ward the virus off, as Fresh hates substances such as that.

Fresh wanted to take over the multiverse, with this Loveball being the first step for his total domination.

But then right in the middle of things, a Sans AU [which I totally forget the name of X,D] grabbed Fresh and basically yeeted him into an alternate state of being. One where he could see the creators, all staring at him. An audience.

The Sans revealed the nature of Fresh's existence: That he was simply a character in a story. And if the creators got bored of him, he could easily be written aside and forgotten. Erased. His conquest didn't matter, in the end.

Predictably, this gave him an existential crisis. I'm not sure what happened after, but he stopped invading and went somewhere to contemplate his existence in a depressed state.

Afterwards, he had a new goal: To entertain. To convince the creators that he was worth keeping around. Similar to his previous goal of survival, but now with more dire stakes."

His creator @loverofpiggies has some posts about the Loveball, tagged under either the 'fresh sans' tag or the 'loveball' tag, which I recommend you check out! ^^

But yeah, to answer your question: The reason Fresh fought Ink was probably 1: because he saw it as a good way to keep himself alive and 2: So that he could be relevant and interesting to the viewers.

Hope this answered any questions you might have about him! ^w^

THANK YOU BECAUSE THERE'S NO WAY I WOULD HAVE FOUND ABOUT ANY OF THIS OTHERWISE😭😭😭 THAT'S A LOT

Now I want to draw fresh existential crisis mood, That's something I never would have imagined existed

Im still a bit confused about fresh not having emotions¿ but I think I got the idea, but still, why does he feel fear?

I think fresh is becoming my favorite now, help, error do something

(Thank you again for your time✨️)

[rottiens]

red in his cheeks, green in his eyes┊i. rin

✮ tags. . (18+), fluff (sfw), not established relationship, all characters are adults. no use of pronouns but afab!reader in mind, reader wears a dress and earrings.

✮ summary. . you always enjoy making your soon-to-be boyfriend blush; it's so simple that it's become a habit.

✮ wc. . 1k

✮ notes. . i want to make him blush and make him so uncomfortable that he doesn't know what to do with himself, my bad lskd | divider creds: cafekitsune.

Rin Itoshi is many things.

Some people may point out how good a soccer player he is, others will comment that he is cold and unfriendly. If you ask him himself he will tell you that he is (probably) resentful and vengeful.

However to you, while many of these things are true (especially the part about him being cold), you will highlight how good of a listener he is, especially since he prefers to stay quiet while listening to you direct the conversation where you want it to go and how you want it to go, providing occasional monosyllables or some vibration that comes from his throat rather than his chest. He will make contributions to the conversation about his personal life or his day exclusively if you ask directly about it.

Although the last few weeks, he has been a bit more talkative than usual (that is, complete sentences without you having to ask him about his day first).

Rin is someone sweet, at least in his own way. His good listening makes him surprise you with details you're not expecting, like remembering important dates or little details of what you told in a babbling outburst that you barely remember now and you like him, you genuinely do. You're able to see through him, really see what's hidden in his chest behind those layers of hatred and rancor that hide pain and Rin hates it.

Among the long list of things he hates, is your way of being able to read him so easily. Recognizing why there are wrinkles on his forehead, his wrinkled nose or pursed lips. He dislikes how gentle you are when you approach him, you treat him with the same gentleness in which a butterfly would sit on a flower and that settles his stomach, tightens his gut and makes him feel sick; to the point where he claims he has a fever, it's not normal the way his whole body suddenly starts to burn, his forehead and ears, his neck and chest tight, along with sweaty palms.

He dislikes how nice you are to others when most don't deserve it and also how pretty you look when you wear those summer dresses because they make others look, when no one else should be able to admire how beautiful you are.

There are many things Rin detests about himself, his brother and certain parts of your personality, but never you, or your presence in his room late at night or your high, excited laughter that comes straight from your stomach. He could never hate you, not when you look at him like you do now, with dilated pupils and eyes full of genuine concern. He didn't remember what it was like to be treated like that, not at least not since he was a child.

“You didn't have to come see me.” Rin says it more out of concern —you are sick, after all— but he tries to sound nonchalant, ignoring the incessant drumming of his heart. His crossed arms rest against his chest as he leans his body weight against the wall.

“Of course I had to, it's your last game, I had to come give you your good luck gift,” you say, a smile etched into your words and with a voice heavy with a cold, you almost sound like you just woke up.

It's halftime, and Rin has slipped out of the locker room so he can see you in the semi-dark hallway. Even in the poor lighting, the earrings he gave you for your birthday sparkle with excitement, a nice touch that goes so well with your impish smile and the outfit you've chosen for him.

“Gift?” His greenish eyes go to yours after scanning (he hopes slyly) your figure.

“Hm.” You purr as you lean in a little closer, invading his personal space. You take his arm, freeing it from the shield that covered his ribs, to intertwine your fingers with his. That simple contact is enough for the dizziness and numbness to take hold of him again.

His fingers tighten under the heat of your touch. And when you lean in for a quick kiss, his whole body stiffens, his eyes open wider, unlike yours. You're so close he can feel your chest press against his, as your perfume envelops him with a familiar warmth. Your lips linger together for an instant, not deepening the kiss that seems to be the promise of something more.

You've been dating for a few weeks, though calling it “dating” is debatable. You're still in that unlabeled limbo where you're two friends holding hands, shopping together, going to the movies, and occasionally sharing a kiss. Sometimes you'd like to know what Rin is thinking….

“If you win you'll have more of these,” as you pull away from him you lick your bottom lip, still tasting him in your mouth.

…Especially at times like these, where his cheeks are so red from a simple touch, where he knows how to hide his nervousness so well and yet his face always gives it away.

His eyes drift to the end of the hallway, to where the light of the stadium devours the shadows. From there, the bustle of the stands comes muffled, almost drowned out by the buzz of adrenaline coursing through your body.

Rin pulls away, pushing aside the fingers you had grabbed and allowing them to return to their usual space, on his chest. Then he heads toward the locker room, perhaps to wipe off his sweat and get some water before returning to the field. Before disappearing completely, he stops to look at you. Your hands hang clasped together, and your smile —that smile that warms his body— seems to light up as if all the lights are on you.

“Watch me score the next goal for you.” Your smile widens, revealing your pearly teeth, and Rin wants to die right there. The next words he tries to say get stuck in his throat a couple of times, as if an invisible hand is squeezing his neck.

“You look beautiful,” he says, with a heated face. “But I'm still pissed that you're here while you're still sick.” And maybe, just maybe, those are the most romantic words you've heard from him in weeks.

You know how hard it is for Rin to open up and express how he feels. Even so, you're willing to wait for him until he's ready to admit what you both already know. In the meantime, you'll continue to relish every opportunity to make him blush or feel uncomfortable in the sweetest way possible.

[digriv]

This is my favorite part of this 8 part comic btw.

— The fact that Xisuma calls Docm Doc

— The way that, as the stress amps up and Doc gets damaged, his voice gets fucked up too. It's all scratchy and distorted and I love how Shep shows that

— The fact that Doc loses his arm and just. Can't move for a bit. In fact, he's so filled with [android version of pain] and stress and a little confusion and fear, that he freezes up, his mind sorta having to catch up.

— The fact that Etho's a man on a mission (kill grian), so he's just trying to maim them so he can get out. He rips Doc's arm most of the way, then shoves him and it really keeps him down (for like, 15 seconds, though it also impairs him in the following fight. Very clever attack.)

— The fact that Xisuma's frozen, too. Xisuma can't move, you see how he freezes up in part 2, when Etho pulls out the back-of-the-neck port? How he stills, shock and fear and disbelief so, so present in the lines that sit above him.

— How Shep illustrates thirium!! I love it!! How Etho's left eye is just bleeding profusely and the fact that, when Doc gets damaged, thirium drips on his speech, and fills the air around him, and manages to distort his hearing, all very visual to us (and probably him, just not in a literal visual sense).

I reread this (soon to be) 8 part comic all the time, just to experience all the secondhand emotion again. Just to get to this part and the last— how Etho's determination turns into fear, and that turns into terror, and how his efforts are in vain and he's killed and Doc feels that.

Doc might've won the battle but he DEFINITELY did not lose the war, nor does he feel like he's won. Because, in a way, Doc fucking dies in that moment because he was in the cockpit as Etho died. He was both the aggressor and the victim as Etho died, and that's traumatizing. Not to mention his arm being ripped off and Xisuma nearly getting badly hurt.

Cause, in a way, Doc can stop worrying about his own damage and himself. As long as he doesn't implode from stress, X can repair him. But even a slight bonk on the head can leave X with irreparable brain damage, and Etho was slamming steel against X's helmet and it broke within a few swings. If Doc checks his fact database, steel + biological creatures (especially + blunt force trauma) does NOT turn out well.

Anyways that's why I love this comic so much. When the fic is posted, idc if it's 2AM ,, I'm readng it lol :]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [PART 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Don’t Let it Reach the Heart]

Finally! Part 3 is here!! yippee!!! As a refresher, this takes place at the beginning of season 9, when Doc and Xisuma try to boot Etho back up after he shuts down pre-Season 8 Finale, set to the vibes of Joywave’s Destruction from DBHC Etho’s playlist! Ouguguh I’ve been looking forward to posting this part so much; it has some of my favorite shots so far… something about the grey-fade of Doc going into shock, something about the last two pages with xisuma and doc’s expressions… idk!! i really loved working on these :] Hope you’re enjoying the horrific, horrific ride!! =w=

As a partially insignificant but Special-To-Me note: Xisuma has always referred to dbhc doc as “Docm”— this is actually the first time X ever calls him “Doc.”

[lairofsentinel]

Mourning with the Crows

Warning: I apologise in advance for my bitterness that sometimes spills into the text like the Blight when it comes to the murder of the Lore and tone that Veilguard has done to the DA world.

I've not seen this quest on YouTube or anywhere, so probably it's the only "extra" content you can have for Lucanis, and curiously is the only time where we can ASK HIM about something personal [his opinion on a topic that is not boring coffee or killing].

As it is obvious, it can only be triggered when you let Treviso be blighted.

Before this event, you have to do 3 quests that are the same one copy-pasted three times: go find X, they have became darkspwan, so you have to kill them. This is the fate of 3 crows we interacted with a bit more if you save Treviso: Heir, the crow-trainer [I laugh so much with this character, she can't be less crow at all, what they did to the lore?]; Fletcher, the faction vendor; and Chance Candide, an Orlesian Crow [yes, Orlesian... I'm dying, what's this?!] who gives you some quests about an affair between a Venatori and a Crow if you saved Treviso [and he is totally fine with a Crow abandoning the Crows for love... I'm mourning with the Crows too, for the Crows, for the whole lore]

Anyway, we go to the memorial that has an imposing statue of a Crow, as usual a nice touch of Antivan dramatics, probably the only thing they preserved about the lore.

Teia and Viago are there, and we see them remember the three Crows that we had to kill because they were too far blighted.

No matter what option you pick, Lucanis appears out of the blue with a very sceptical tone:

We are informed [implicitly] here that Lucanis certainly had no friends, just few acquaintances among the crows and local merchants and, of course, cafe workers. Still he wanted to return to that level of familiarity once he recovered his life from the Ossuary, despite the irreversible changes in him.

And here, only here, for FIRST TIME in the whole game, you can ask him something personal, something that makes him a bit more than just coffee jokes and assassin stuff: Do you believe in anything? The most ambitious, brutal question [for dav parameters, of course] we have in this game which has denied us not only the social conflicts of Thedas [and Tevinter in particular!] but also the religious ones. Of course, his answer is as bland as the game in general on these topics: He basically is an atheist, that due to an excess of pain and suffering, "wants to believe" that there is something else hearing people's cries. It's a strange argument to make, since suffering may reinforce the atheist vision of characters, but maybe this small bit of hope he wants to grab was inspired by his own situation in the Ossuary: maybe he found in Rook's action the answers to his pleas for the nightmare of the Ossuary to stop. And maybe he is hoping that after all this pain on Treviso, somehow, some power can help them to heal the city, as his pain was stopped with the presence of Rook in his life. Wishful thinking, Neve would say.

Still, the whole tone of this scene gives a constant atheist vibe to him: he knows there is too much suffering in the world for a big power not to act and help, so maybe, the natural conclusion is that there is no such power at all.

At the end of the scene we have the option to toast for 3 different concepts, each of them "attached" to each of the Crows in the screen: The memory of the dead, to Viago; The future, to Teia, and Vengeance, of course, to Lucanis.

[robo-writing]

hiii it’s anon who requested the chronic pain reader x Logan, I love that btw!

Recently, like for the past two weeks, random red spots have been appearing on my skin, and I probably got whooping cough again lmao- The doctors don’t know what the illness is, but they think it’s an autoimmune disease of some kind.

My skin as a result looks… At the very best lumpy. And I really hate how it’s making me look 🥲

so can I request another comfort request, with an afab!reader x Simon Riley with reader who’s going through at least something similar? If not that’s fine, I’m sorry for bombarding you 😭

You have trouble with your self-confidence at the best of times, but looking at yourself in the mirror right now makes you want to cry, truly. The large welts make your skin feel lumpy, irritated, and even under the layers of clothes all you can focus on is the fact they’re still on your body, taunting you.

You know it’s temporary, but every time you think about the deformities you feel the urge to curl into yourself and hide away. You’ve even stopped taking his calls, much to Simon’s annoyance, and after a week he’s had enough, knocking at your door urgently.

“Open up darling, lemme see you!”

“I’m sick!” Your muffled voice calls from your bedroom.

“I know where the spare key is love,” he replies, the tell-tale jingle making your ears perk up. “I’m coming inside.”

“No,” you weakly groan from beneath your covers. “I don’t want you to see me Si.”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, hearing the lock click into place as his heavy footsteps enter. You can see his shadow coming closer, and the best you can do is bundle yourself in your sheets.

“Love, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it, can you please leave?”

He shakes his head, moving towards you. “No can do. Just wanna make sure you’re alright.”

Slowly, he pulls off the cover and if you were in better health maybe you could’ve resisted better. You turn your head away from him, not wanting to see the disgust on his face at your blemished skin.

“Oh wow…” he says, and the surprise in his voice makes you shrink away even further.

“I told you it was bad,” you sniffle, tugging the sheets back over you. He hesitates for a bit, trying to find the right words.

“Is it chickenpox?”

You know he’s serious, but you can’t help but give a half-hearted chuckle at his words. “No, the doctors don’t know what it is yet.”

“And is it contagious?”

“No—“

“Then move over.”

You look over your shoulder, confusion written in your face. “I’m sorry?”

He doesn’t repeat himself. He takes his shoes off, throws them into a neat pile by the bed, then worms his way under the blanket, wrapping his arms around your torso much to your surprise.

“You’ve been hiding from me all week, I’m making up for lost time,” he mumbles, pulling you even closer to his chest. “Rest up; I’ll buy you some ointment when you wake up.”

Mouth agape, it takes you a moment to catch up, and when you do you realize two things:

1. You’re not getting out of this bed anytime soon.

2. Simon is the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.

[regularconvexheadcanons]

During Double Life, Cub knew there was something wrong. Someone was there, someone was tied to them and he could do nothing about it, Scar had vanished again and someone was trying to use him. It wasn't the Vex who did this, they'd go into a rage every time Scar was taken, one of their most valued servants. This was not the work of his own kind, it was something else trying to rewind Scar's nature and chain it to one of theirs. Grian was hungry. Hungrier than he'd ever been before, and nothing was helping. Scar said it wasn't too bad, it got like this every time, it wasn't too bad. it'd be worse next week, and then the week after, until he wished he felt the like he did now. Until the red haze set over and they could feast. If he listened closely, he could hear the screaming. Thousands of voices spewing hatred at the bond and their captors. And amongst that, a single familiar whisper from beyond the veil.

Ohhh yea double life angst, we love it

1: Cub could definitely feel some sense of Grian being bound to Scar. And probably also a bit of that Watcher stuff. The idea of the Watchers trying to diminish Scar's vex power so they could safety soulbound him to Grian without the vex/watcher magic is very cool. And Cub feeling that, knowing something's wrong, knowing the vex are angrier than usual for the start of a Life Series.

I can see Cub confronting Grian after week 2 or 3 when he's absolutely 100% certain that something is up with Scar's magic and Grian needs to stop it.

And Grian probably snaps back at Cub about the Vex. Because while Scar's losing vex magic, Grian's gaining some with the soulbinding. Because Scar's soul IS a vex soul, shared with Cub, and that's what turned him into a vexling. And Grian doesn't like feeling a growing urge to be chaotic or, or the vague sense of whether the vex are happy or, most of the series, furious at him.

After the life series, the double life bonds didn't disappear completely. Some pairs still felt a pull to be with each other (Ranchers, Boat boys), some still felt the vague echoes of eachother's pain.

And Grian and Scar kept some little bit of that corruption from each other's magic. The Watchers were aware of Scar, even more than before, as a threat, eventually leading to him being trapped after Secret Life. Grian still felt that pull towards the vex, including a woodland mansion in Limited Life and living in it, and the choice of a giant, glowing white smile on quiz-bot's face.

Even Cub still kept soulbound to Grian a little. Grian messing around with the sculk led to its interest in Cub as a target, choosing him as the one Shubble sent into the Evermore where he got possessed.

[violetren]

I know its technically A definition for empathy but I don't think spotting/recognising emotions in others is in and of itself always empathetic. Sometimes its just situational awareness.

For that reason I do think Weiss got a lot of her early practice dealing with Jacques' temper and learning to recognise what level of drunk her mother was. On the less traumatic side her family butler whom she seems to have known most of her life is all seven dwarves at once and there was probably some learning curve for learning which voice is angry/happy/dozy and so on, and whether its sounding that way because its directed at you or something situational.

So in that sense yes, kinda, Weiss's awareness of the emotions of others does come from how she had to survive and navigate her family.

Where it goes beyond awareness and into empathy I do think happens around the time she gets to Beacon. She takes the first step long before team RWBY is a thing in her life just by deciding to go to Beacon, and deciding she doesn't want to be her father's version of a Schnee.

Jacques is a coward and an asshole and has grown complacent in the wealth he married into, but he did manipulate, and cajole, and worm his way into being head of the richest family in Remnant that we know of. At some time in his life he was likely similarly capable and practiced at noticing emotions as Weiss, in order to manipulate them. Although I don't think Weiss has fully realised her skill, she has already decided to avoid doing things like her father and so is already disinclined to use her skill to manipulate in the way he would.

Then team RWBY does come on the scene. It's around now that I think Weiss starts to become cognizant that she has a skill, and its because for the first time she's actually kinda bad at it. She doesn't have as much experience with the more positive end of the emotional spectrum and so can be suspicious of it, waiting for the more common negative emotions she is used to and still responding to them when they aren't there. Which she gets berated for, she is called cold, she gets told she isn't helping, she gets told to loosen up and give people chances.

So now Weiss sorta knows she has a skill, and has some people to model positive uses of it. She sees that it can be more than just an observational skill for survival it can be a tool to build community, provide comfort, nurture others. Now Weiss has the puzzle pieces she was missing. Now she actually starts to behave empathetically. Now its about emotions and feelings, helping to acknowledge or nurture, instead of behaviour signals to identify and brace against. And once she starts I do think the fact that she knows loneliness and pain help her develop this at a slightly faster rate than some, because where others might flounder she can always reach for what she wishes someone had told her, but that only gives her a small leg up when it comes to comfort. She still has to do the hard yards learning to share and cultivate more positive emotions, and learning how to actually start a dialogue with someone who is going through it. And bit by bit she does.

When it comes to talking about Weiss I think there is a lot of talk about her walls coming down, and sometimes it can feel like kind of a passive thing, where the rest of team RWBY came in and slowly dismantled them, and I don't love when that happens RWBY helped, but Weiss still made choices, she had agency in the process. Weiss chose to practice kindness, and in doing so started honing her empathy. It's there from the moment she decided to follow Port's advice and went off to get Ruby a cup of coffee. She ultimately chose to embrace her emotions even if it risked making her more vulnerable, because it was an emotionally richer and more fulfilling way to be than what she had known. In doing so she began to achieve that initial driving goal of reclaiming what it means to be a Schnee back from her father.

Its not as much as a conscious choice as I am maybe making it sound like. I don't think she woke up one day and thought "I'm gonna put my skill points into understanding instead of manipulating" I think its more like the seed was there, it just finally found the conditions that would allow it to sprout.

And ultimately, yeah OP is right Weiss should be recognised more for her emotional awareness and empathy, because whether she knew she was doing it or not, she put in the work to develop her empathy. She could have refused to open herself up and turned that observational ability into something maladaptive and manipulative, the fact that she didn't is one of the most beautifully compelling things about her character.

Weiss is so deceptively emotionally aware and empathetic it needs to be recognized more. She was the one who first recognized when Blake was spiraling back in Beacon and called her out for it. She was the one who was there to be Yang's shoulder to cry on in Mistral and help her understand why Blake felt the need to leave. She was the one who saw how the way they treated Ruby was hurting her in the Ever After. The more you look for it the more you see it. Both on and off the battlefield Weiss is always the one there to support others sight unseen because she knows hurt and loneliness.

[tvrningon]

tell me why i’m on break and thinking of cyrillo giving you the darkest look bc you chose to bite him in the heat of the moment 🥲

[voidcat]

leaning in for a peck on the lips and telling your windbreaker darling they're so sweet they give you toothaches... only to be hit by a real toothache hours later

[sysig]

Dr. “Has to get a good grade in therapy” Doran (Patreon)

[steakout-05]

staffy expectations vs staffy reality (by someone who has an absolute sweetheart of an american staffy <3)

[mars-ipan]

experiencing any level of joint pain for longer than a day or two has only reinforced my belief that ppl with chronic pain are actually the strongest motherfuckers on the goddamn planet

[dutybcrne]

Me BSing hcs like: The fact that Kae is not only able to create a shield when he is dangerously low HP but also the fact that he is able to regenerate HP when he hits opponents with Frostgnaw is definitely due to him receiving his Vision when Diluc had tried to kill him in their Confrontation...but could it be possible that his familial ties to the Abyss Order could have influenced that HP drain of his-

[malkaviian]

oh right, last night i had a dream where i said to a friend seba has a stabbing kink, my brain even showing him all bloody and weak after the stabbing, and i woke up very ???????? and just...