#and it's on him to figure out what to choose from here

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

ephemeral

Pairing: Batfam x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k words

Summary: You were forgetting something. However the most frustrating part was you couldn't seem to remember what exactly it was that you were forgetting.

A/N: This was inspired by this post by @bonefanatic! I know that it's Yandere!Batfam in the OG post but as soon as I read it this is just what it inspired. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

You were renowned for forgetting things.

You'd always forget to bring your keys the day when your mother happened to be running late. You'd forget your pencil case on the day of exams and forget your bus pass on the rare days that your father didn't give you a ride.

On sunny days you'd forget to wear your sunscreen. On rainy days, much like today, you'd forget your umbrella. Now, when you were a young girl, running back home through the rain wouldn't matter. In fact, you had vague memories of your feet splashing through puddles, hands shielding your face from the pelting rain while you and an old lover got soaked to the bone.

You could hardly even remember those days; just the sound of splashing puddles and the deep petrichor, the cold of the rain mixed with the warmth of someone's laughter...

A coo brought you out of your thoughts and your eyes met those of bright blue. The baby strapped to your chest gave you a semblance of a toothy smile, his teeth only beginning to come out and you returned it, leaning in to rub your nose against his, revelling in the giggles it brought out.

The sweet boy, who only ever saw you, was the reason you couldn't let yourself get wet, standing in the shade of an apartment building and choosing to wait out the rain.

You gave your baby a once over, making sure that he didn't get wet in your effort to reach the building. He looked fine and his clothing wasn't wet, although he did seem a little cold. You held his tiny hands in between your palms, repeating the process with his feet until you were satisfied.

The door of the building swung open and you immediately covered Thomas' ears to protect him from the cold breeze, letting him burrow his face into your chest.

In came a man that had to be larger than anyone you had ever seen in your life. Clearly, he had been caught in the rain, his boots were soaked and so was his leather jacket. He donned a motorcycle helmet, and your stomach lurched at the thought of him driving that out in this weather. Without realizing it, your eyes glanced over his figure, wondering if he had possibly gotten hurt.

When you brought your eyes back up from his muddy boots to his face you were slightly startled. When had he taken off his helmet? His blue eyes stared back at you, shock apparent on his features before he had schooled them back to monotony.

"Are you lost? I don't think you live here." His voice was low and gravelly, but it found a familiar place in the back of your head.

You gave him a small smile, "No, I'm just trying to wait out the rain. I forgot to bring an umbrella, and I really don't want my son to get sick."

His eyes glanced down to your son and you curiously watched as something swirled in his eyes. Longing perhaps? Maybe he had some baby fever? It didn't quite seem like that though...you just couldn't put your finger on it.

"Would you like me to call you a cab?"

"I already tried. The streets here are too narrow for a cab to drive through so I'd have to walk a bit before I'd reach the road."

He nodded, taking a beat before he responded, "Wait here."

And then he took off for the stairs and even though he looked relaxed, you saw him taking multiples stairs in a single step, resisting the curious urge to tell him to be careful and not to slip because of his wet shoes.

He didn't make you wait long, reappearing in less than 5 minutes with an umbrella and something else in his hands.

"Oh, I couldn't."

"Please, I insist. I don't think the rain is going to stop anytime soon and there isn't anywhere for you to sit down," He said earnestly, placing the umbrella in your hands, "I already called a cab. It should be waiting for you at the corner."

"Thank you, young man." You watched him run his fingers through the cute little tuft of white hair bashfully before he handed you something else—a fuzzy blanket patterned with bats.

You looked curiously up at him, "For the little guy. He looks cold."

You really wanted to refuse, but Thomas' nose and ears had begun to turn red from the chill and with the blanket he'd be better protected as you walked to the cab. So, you bundled up the baby in the cozy blanket and thanked the man again who said goodbye with a melancholic smile.

While taking the cab home, your fingers traced over the embroidered monogram in the corner of the blanket that looked like it was brand new.

T.W.

***

You don't know what it was about the travelling circus that had you so enraptured. There was just something about watching the acrobats soar through the sky like birds, as though they were weightless, that made you feel equal parts worried and in awe.

It was unusual. You didn't enjoy watching gymnasts while you grew up and you had certainly never visited a circus, and yet while sitting in the seats for the performance of Haly's travelling circus for the 4th time since they had arrived at Gotham, you couldn't help but wait in anticipation for the show to begin.

Thomas was clutched to your lap, every bit as excited as you were, when a man with dark hair and blue eyes—a common feature here in Gotham, it seemed—sat next to you.

You spared him a glance, only to find him staring back at you with a small smile and a cone of roasted chestnuts in his hand. He handed you a pair of ear protectors.

"They're handing it outside the tent—wouldn't want the little guy to hurt his ears."

You thanked him with a smile, placing them over Thomas' ears and giggling when he laughed at you pointing at the man who returned his toothy grin with one of his own.

"Would you like one?" He offered, holding out the warm chestnuts for you to take and you obliged, thanking him and relishing in the taste and the immediate warmth that spread through your body.

"So, what brings you to the circus?"

Your arms tightened around Thomas, resting your cheek on the top of his head as you contemplated the answer, "I don't know. I just like the acrobats. Every time I watch them, I feel comfortable, like I've been watching them my entire life. Which is weird because I've never seen acrobats before Haly's circus came to Gotham."

You looked back at him, "What about you?"

"My mom used to be an acrobat here. After I lost her, I like to visit, so I don't forget her." He explained, eyes scrolling across the bright colours of the circus, taking everything in. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to comfort him.

He looked down at Thomas, watching as the baby gave him an innocent grin that had returned with a sad smile and giving a delicate little pinch to his pudgy thigh before looking back up at you.

"I really don't want to lose my mom a second time."

***

One thing you really couldn't appreciate enough before having children was the freedom to shop for groceries all alone. Now, after having an infant, something as simple as stocking the fridge turned into a long and arduous feat.

You’d have to get Thomas dressed, make sure his nappy was changed, and time it just right—long enough since he’d eaten that you wouldn’t need to change him again, but not so long that he’d get hungry and need you to breastfeed him in the middle of the store.

Not only that, you'd also be stuck pushing a cart around with him strapped to your chest because he was still too young for the shopping cart.

And finally, the most torturous part of this whole excursion—the car loading. Most of your bags were heavy and packed full, and you couldn’t load them into the trunk with Thomas strapped to you.

So, you’d carefully place him in the car seat, turning on the engine and air conditioning to cool the car after its time baking in the parking lot. Then, you’d haul the heavy groceries into the trunk, turn off the car, take Thomas back out, return the trolley to its rightful place, and—once again—secure him in his car seat before finally heading home.

You stared at the cart full of groceries—enough to last you at least 3 weeks so you wouldn't have to make another trip for a while—trying to summon the energy to load the heavy items in the blasted vehicle.

"Mo—Ma'am?"

A young man approached you, a half-drunk coffee in his hand and your brows twitched. Just how many coffees had this boy had today? You shook your head of the thought. Why would you even care?

"Do you need some help?"

Giving him a polite smile, you shook your head, "I'm okay. Thank you, sweetie."

He gave you a sad smile, and it made you immediately want to take your words back and to give him the world instead. The feeling confused you even more. Why were you so concerned about him? And why did he look so sad after you refused his request? If anything, he should’ve been relieved that he wouldn’t have to do any work.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind." He tried again, this time placing his hand on the handle of the trolley, his hand just a hair away from yours. It was peculiar—your instinct for stranger-danger urged you to pull your hand away, and yet, you felt an equally strong urge to place your hand over his.

You smiled again, "I guess I'll take you up on your offer."

He was stronger than he looked. Despite his scrawny frame, he easily lifted your bags into the trunk, loading everything and shutting it in record time. Dusting off his hands with a proud smile, he turned to you as if expecting praise—only to deflate when he caught you watching him with a small, lingering smile.

It was as though he grew sadder with each passing second, his expression dimming as he gave you one last longing look before turning that same gaze to Thomas, "I’ll return the cart for you. Why don’t you strap him in?"

You nodded, thanking him again, "Thank you so much for your help."

Using Thomas’ little fist, you waved goodbye to the boy. He returned it with an expression far too tired for his young face. You resisted the urge to tell him to get a good night’s rest, instead watching him push the trolley away through your rearview mirror. A pang hit your chest at the sight of his slumped shoulders.

***

A figure collided with your back and you would have been knocked over if he had been any taller, however when you looked down, a young boy with dark hair and beautiful green eyes looked back up at you.

"Ummi..." He murmured, before he even had a chance to stop himself and you frowned in concern for this child who couldn't have been more than 9 years old who all of a sudden looked so small and unsure and something in your soul reached out for him.

You leaned down, well, as much as you could with a baby strapped to your chest, "Did you lose your mom, sweetheart?"

He flinched, eyes going wide and his bottom lip began to tremble in a way that made you want to hold him to your heart and soothe him, "Yes...I have lost my ummi...and I wish she'd come back....I miss her very much."

You reached out a hand before you could stop yourself, almost reaching for him to run your fingers through his hair and scratch your nails lightly against his scalp—

"Damian!"

Your hand froze an inch away as a man, slightly older than you, ran up to him. When your eyes met his, a rush of something surged through you—so intense and so sudden that there wasn’t even time for an epiphany.

All you knew was, you had met this man before.

Only, you couldn't remember when.

"I'm sorry about him. You know how kids are." The man with familiar blue eyes told you, flashing you a charming smile that had done an incredibly good job of hiding the misery underneath. And yet, you still saw past the mask. And still… you chose to look away.

You smiled up at him before glancing down at Thomas, now realizing why this curious stranger's eyes felt so familiar—your son looked up at you with almost identical ones, "I do know."

The man followed your gaze to the happy baby in your arms and you watched as the corner of his lips had dropped from the calculated smile he had worn. It was like he had frozen in time and the more you watched him, the more despondent his expression became.

His son—Damian. Why did that name sound so familiar?— looked up at him with concern, now grabbing his hand and tugging him away.

"Baba." He said softly, finally managing to knock the man out of his stupor.

"Oh," He finally spoke, looking down at his distressed son, "I'm sorry, miss. I hope my son didn't hurt you or the baby. If you need any medical bills covered, you can contact this number."

He handed you a business card and walked away before you could even argue about how absurd it was that you would ask for him to pay your medical bills over his adorable son bumping into you. It was an honest mistake!

You could only watch them walk away before your eyes looked down at the Wayne Enterprises business card.

"Bruce Wayne, CEO."

'Bruce'

You swore you had heard that name before.

And yet... you'd forgotten.

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

DC Taglist:

@tchatso

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

@isawachickeninatree

@uxavity

@battlenix

@capricorn-stark

@evermoore580

@dumbbitchgalore

@fuckingjinkies

@some-lovely-day

@that-one-fangirl69

@eloriis

[sloaneispunk]

“betrayal at its cost”

dark!frontman (hwang in-ho) x you

when in-ho could no longer keep up with his facade, he had to choose between gi-hun or you

──── ●▲■ ────

part one

“i think the control room is right above us! we just need to push past the guards, can you buy us some time?!” gi-hun shouted over the roar of gunfires.

“are you sure? what if you can’t find it?” you asked, slumping behind a wall as you reloaded your gun with the last bit of ammunition you had.

in-ho watched closely as you carefully held the now fully loaded gun. he noticed your entire being trembling, shaking even, with adrenaline or fear, your eyes were filled with regret as the team fought hard against the guards.

“jung-bae! come with me, the rest of you should stay here and help y/n and in-ho!”

“but we’re almost out of ammunition! they’re going to notice soon!” hyun-ju stated, noticing the last few rounds everyone had.

everyone sat in silence for a brief moment. it was as though the reality of the situation had just hit. nobody had any idea how they were going to outsmart the guards, let alone the front man.

just then, you leaned forward towards a guards motionless body not too far away. in-ho instinctively shielded your body from the guards which somehow stopped firing their guns at that exact moment.

it was strange, but there was no time to argue.

you reached inside the pocket of the guard, fumbling around before you pulled your hand out, just one round of ammunition for the guns in hand.

“i think they all have an extra round in their jackets! we just have to head to the room where we came from, get the ammo and we’ll be able to push them further back enough to reach the control room.” you said as everyone nodded.

in-ho however, looked at you with a small glimmer in his eyes. maybe you were smarter than he thought, he loved it. but then again came a question, how will he deceive you when the time comes for him to be the frontman again?

“i’ll go!” dae-ho exclaimed, raising his hand high in the air.

“i’ll go with yo-”

“no. you’re staying here.” in-ho cut you off.

“but-”

“no, dae-ho will be okay. you should stay and help us.” in-ho argued, making you frown in confusion.

“come back as soon as you can dae-ho, we’re all counting on you.” player 246 said as dae-ho nodded.

with that, dae-ho, gi-hun and jung-bae were off, leaving you panting heavily as the gunfires refused to cease.

“you’re shaking.” in-ho stated, taking your hand.

“i’m okay, it’s just the adrenaline.” you tried to play it off, pulling your hand away when a bullet shot right past your shoulder.

──── ●▲■ ────

part two

what gi-hun wasn’t expecting was the number of guards who were expecting them. he and jung-bae had no choice but to take over behind walls of a staircase where they had nowhere else to go.

“what do we do, gi-hun? we’re running out of ammo!” jung-bae shouted, sweat dripping from his forehead.

“we wait for dae-ho to come back. he’ll give us the ammo we need and we can get to the control room!” gi-hun replied as he picked up the walkie talkie. “in-ho! as soon as dae-ho gets back, get him to come give us the ammo, we don’t have much time!”

“got it.” in-ho replied.

“i don’t think they can last! i’ll go up and help them, you guys wait for dae-ho!” he instructed the group. “y/n and you come with me.” he said, pointing to another player.

the three of you grabbed your guns and headed up the way gi-hun went. somehow, in-ho didn’t look like he was afraid at all. he didn’t bother inspecting each corner to check if it was safe and he knew where every turn was.

something was definitely wrong with this and you knew it.

when you found gi-hun and jung-bae, they were hanging on for dear life. there were way too many guards up on the staircase for them to take down alone.

“in-ho, you’re here! where’s the ammo?” gi-hun asked.

“dae-ho hasn’t came back, i figured we come help you in the meantime.” he replied, easily shaking off the fact that he had just abandoned the plan.

“i think i saw another way behind on the way here, we should check it out. we might be able to take the guards down from there.” you explained as gi-hun nodded.

“stay safe, keep the walkie’s on… in-ho, take this.”gi-hun took his last round of ammo he had, giving it to in-ho.

──── ●▲■ ────

part three

“you sure you know the way?” in-ho asked as you led the way as you insisted. “i don’t think it’s that way, my dear.”

“i swear it is!” you insisted, turning the corner but again, you were met with a wall.

“you’re cute. it’s this way.” in-ho said, pulling you back from the way you came from.

“how do you know?”

“i’m just more observant than you.” he shrugged.

believe or not, in-ho was somehow right. he led you right behind the guards that threatened gi-hun and jung-bae.

you took your place carefully behind a wall, aiming your gun, so did in-ho and the other guy.

but just as you were about to take a shot, an even louder one rang loudly. you dropped your gun and dropped to the floor, your back slamming against the wall as you covered your ears. the shot was near, it wasn’t something aimed at the guards further up.

when the ringing came to a stop, you checked yourself, seeing if it was a shot that hit you. when you were clear you looked at in-ho.

his demeanour had changed, he had a cold look on his face, the same cheerful in-ho gone. looking down, you saw his hand…

the gun in hand, pointed straight at your fellow player while now laid on the floor in a puddle of blood, choking.

“in-ho?” you managed to utter out, body growing cold in fear of the man standing in front of you.

“yes?” he replied, drawing back his gun, eyes not meeting yours.

“w-what… did someone shoot-? how?” tears were now forming in your eyes as you crawled towards the body, pressing your hand against the man’s wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“y/n, please step away from him.” in-ho asked, voice calmer than ever.

when you didn’t budge, he asked once more, extending his hand out to you. “please y/n?”

you slowly moved away from the body, taking his hand.

it was so wrong, you knew that he did it. he had double-crossed you, but why were you still being drawn in by him? you couldn’t help but follow whatever he asked you to.

“good girl, now come here.” in-ho smiled, wrapping his hands around you, holding you tightly in a hug. he kissed the top of your head as you let out shorts breaths.

he took the walkie talkie from his pocket, bringing it up, slightly pulling away from you.

you took a step back, but in-ho held on tightly to your arm.

“young-il? what’s going on? did you take them down?” you heard gi-hun over the walkie.

you opened your mouth to call for help but in-ho moved quickly, bringing his hand from your arm to your mouth.

“gi-hun…” in-ho said into the walkie, faking an exasperated voice. “…they got us, i’m sorry… it’s over.”

he then leaned down towards the poor player choking on the ground on his own blood. the gurgles of his blood sounded so ghastly.

“no! young-il! young-il? what’s going on?! what do you mean?!” gi-hun shouted, his voice being echoed throughout the stairway.

then in-ho changed the channel of the walkie talkie.

‘wrap it up.’

you struggled under his grip. you weren’t sure what to do, but you knew in-ho was not the man he was anymore. this man was a monster, a betrayer at it’s finest.

“are you scared?” in-ho asked, cocking his head to the side.

you nodded.

“but i’m still the same young-il. the young-il you trust, the one you love.” he smiled. “let’s go, we have so much to do together!”

[yierrem]

dating headcanons - zzzero men edition pt. 2 ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

ft. gn! reader x asaba harumasa, billy kid, and seth lowell ; a follow up to my previous dating hcs (which can be found here) and a response to a request ( ^ω^ ) first post of the year（≧∇≦）i hope you enjoy reading!!

asaba harumasa

very clingy. when you're not together, he'd be texting you random little updates or beg for your attention just for the sake of talking to you if calling momentarily isn't an option. sometimes he tries to use you as an excuse to get out of work, but after he's done it a couple of times, you've become immune to always bending to his whims and suddenly he's whining about how you don't love him anymore.

["wait i'll look at your texts later brb love u ^3^" "so you hate me."]

an avid quality time enjoyer, if i've ever seen one. he's content with lazing around with you or doing mundane tasks that don't require much physical effort. likes cuddling against you when you're just sitting engrossed in doing something with your hands and reading or watching something together.

even though he usually appears and acts lighthearted, deep down, he's genuinely happy with you and the relationship you share. he cherishes every moment you can spend together and wishes it could go on for as long as he lives. you're the person he refers to as family when on one of his much-dreaded doctor appointments.

alongside the nightmares he already has regarding his sickness, he'd have times when he'd wake up in a cold sweat from dreams of losing or leaving you and the people he cares for. thankfully, on the days you sleep over, he has you; he's comforted by the sight of your sleeping figure and clings to you for the rest of the night.

on a lighter note, sharing a bed with this man is probably a chaotic experience on a dreamless night; initially, you'd both fall into slumber comfortably cuddled against each other, but the following morning, one of you would be seconds away from suffocating in a vice grip.

billy kid

loves playing games with you. he's usually competitive when playing against you but when you're both on a team together, he's suddenly the biggest cheerleader there is. if both of you lose, that's totally fine! you'll get it next time. what matters to him is that you had fun together.

deeply appreciates it and enjoys when you match him nerd-for-nerd, even if you don't share a lot of similar interests. you take turns randomly info-dumping about any piece of media or activity you're into and both of you pay genuine attention to whatever the other is talking about. he loves listening to you passionately talk or share anything about any topic because you do the same for him.

adding on to the previous point: both of you make jokes about liking your favorite fictional characters or celebrities more, just to be playfully petty.

["if you had to choose between me or monica, who would you pick?" "...well, yes!" "..." "alright, then. between me and /insert favorite character/--" "that's unimportant."]

after spending so much time with him, you already know which maintenance products he likes for himself or his guns. kind of like how other people know what shampoo or body wash their partner prefers. when you see he's running out and you buy them without telling him, he'll notice and be weeping tears of joy.

if you take a while to open up to him about certain things, he's alright with that and will tell you to take your time or give you the space you need. he's been the same when it comes to sharing his past with other people and understands that some things do take courage to tell.

seth lowell

despite having been in a relationship for a while, he most likely still gets easily flustered from any vaguely flirty quip and intimate gesture that comes from you. you could use this knowledge to your advantage but do have mercy on the poor guy.

[there was one instance where you gave him a quick peck on the lips without giving much thought to it before leaving and all he could do was stay where he was with his brain buffering for a whole minute.]

even though he's somewhat shy about expressing his admiration or appreciation for you and sometimes stumbles through his words when doing so, he's sincere in everything he says and does for you.

you're one of the very few people he trusts with touching his tail and ears. it's come to the point where when you're both just laying together, he wouldn't mind the feeling of your fingers gently rubbing on a certain spot on his ears while you run your fingers through his hair.

he appreciates that you see him for who he is and acknowledge his efforts to get where he is now. your affirmations, whether spoken or unspoken, mean much to him and he feels like he can truly be comfortable when he's around you.

sometimes, he unknowingly acts or does very attractive things and it just blows your mind. he'd steer you by the waist from bumping into things or, if you're shorter, accidentally pin you against a wall/surface when trying to reach for something from a high place because he just wants to help! you should be more careful, you know. but you've already mentally imploded while your sweet, sweet boyfriend remains clueless.

[alexa-fika]

Kid reader/dokucha stealing coats/capes, like shanks cape, doflamingos, corazons, or kids fluffy ass jackets, laws coat that he had during wano etc.

woah id thought there would be more characters with capes bit i can only think of shanks- everyone else has just giant coats that none of them wear correctly except for the fluffy coats that doffy, cora and kid has (tho he had the other one before he lost his arm-) how do they not fall of the shoulder?! now in just ranting whoops

Coat Stealer

with Red haired pirates and Kidd Pirates

A/N ps I forgot my annotations in my laptop :p. Anywhoww that’s where you are wring nonnie! In the red haired pirates alone Benn, limejuice, yassop and Lucky have been seen wearing capes! There’s Luffy too and Rayleigh! And Boa…Jinbei…er well you see my point! 😂 Regardless i was just going to give my take for this but figured a drabble would take my point across better was hating on this but is it actually passable?? What do you guys think? Ya like?

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for reader in japanese for the enjoyment of reader and oc characters readers alike!

Dividers by @/firefly-graphics

Red Haired Pirates (Shanks Cloak)

“Ha! Ha! I am the Captain now!” Dokucha cheered as they climbed their way to the table, a familiar cloak engulfing them as they did.

“Hmm, Captain, you seem to have shrunk; what’s up with that?” Beck drawled, nursing the drink of his hand as he looked up at the child

“Shut up!” They yelled, shrinking slightly at the pointed glare the first mate sent them

“S-sorry, I meant quiet?

“…”

“Quiet, please?”

“Better,” he nodded, taking a sip from the sakazuki

“I’m Captain Shanks! Bow before me, peasants!” They called arms raised in victory

“I think that was the wrong Impression, Dokucha,” Lucky snickered, taking a bite from his meat

“Why don’t you try something the Boss always does?” Beck suggested

“Oh! Okay!” They nodded, clearing their throat

“I am Captain Shanks! I love women and alcohol and, and and breaking kids hearts!” They roared at the top of their lungs

“Huh? Did I get it wrong?” they asked, tilting their heads confused seeing as Yassop and Lucky doubled over laughing, Beck doing a spit take upon hearing the kid's’ words.

Kidd Pirates ( Kidd’s Coat)

Heat jumped from his bed as his door shot open, and a red ball of hair was thrown in. Curious, he approached the familiar coat, quirking his head as a small face popped up from it.

“Dokucha?”

“Uncle Heat! Help me!”

“W- What’s wrong?

“Hide me, please!” They begged as they threw themselves on the floor in front of him

“Oh. I’m guessing it has to do with his coat?” He asked, frowning as they nodded their head

“What do I get out of it?”

“Are you serious, uncle?!” They shouted, an incredulous look on their face as they shot up

“Sorry, kid. When it comes to the Boss, I’m not doing it for free. You better choose quick, though,” he teased. Before Dokucha could ask about his words, the sound of doors slamming, curses ringing, and stomping feet sounded behind them, causing Dokucha to blanch out.

“Anything! Please just hide me! I was just so cold, and he was in the shower. I forgot to put it back, please!”

“Eh, not worth, sorry.”

“Uncle?”

“Boss, they’re over here!” They gaped at the man, horrified at the betrayal, until the door behind them shot open, and something grabbed hold of them. They let out a cry as Kidd threw them over his shoulders, saying no words as he left the room.

“You better sleep with one eye open, Uncle!” They hollered as Heat simply waved them off, a teasing smile on his face as they continued trying to fight their way off the Captain’s hold

What we thinkin?

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

@hannahbarberra162

@epochal-oracle

[mareastrorum]

Been chewing more on how C3 wound up here. What’s throwing me is the strange shift from the cast’s unflinching “yes, and” game in C2 to a misplaced feeling that they need to choose correctly in C3.

I want to be clear here that this isn’t a criticism post because I genuinely don’t know what’s happening here. It’s just odd behaviors that seem to signal a problem, and I don’t know what solution would resolve it. I’m not going to be so presumptuous as to hypothesize about any cast member’s thoughts.

In the Cooldown for C3E118 (and offhandedly previously), Laura and Ashley expressed some nervousness about making big decisions because they’re worried about making the “wrong” choice. Without more, that attitude alone would explain much of the party’s indecisiveness about key campaign questions. After all, their characters are the two Ruidusborn of most interest to the campaign villains, and other characters (especially Orym, Laudna, and Ashton) have insisted that Imogen and Fearne take the lead on Predathos.

But this isn’t a story in a vacuum. C2 got completely derailed multiple times. The Mighty Nein decided to steal a pirate ship and leave the continent the campaign was set on; shortly after they returned, they decided to reopen a collapsed tunnel to go the opposite side of the continent; then Caleb returned the Luxon Beacon and made themselves heroes of an enemy nation instantly. That’s not even getting into the fact that Molly died before the Nein got to Shadycreek Run (which absolutely would have been all about his backstory) or that Twiggy left an incredible magical artifact that wasn’t supposed to be given to the Nein. Each time, Matt adjusted and made it work. Granted, C2 was more of a sandbox campaign, but Matt demonstrated his flexibility as a DM time and again.

Like, as a general rule of thumb, DMs shouldn’t offer options that would torpedo the campaign. It’s rational to avoid situations that have a genuine possibility of undercutting the game. Matt has been DMing for a long time; he’s done a very good job of finding ways to make the campaign work regardless of the decisions the players make. Even when players do something directly against the signals he threw out (like Ashton trying to absorb a second shard despite consistent, dire warnings that it would kill him), he works with the players to come to a reasonable solution (Ashton survived but the shard wouldn’t take, and he got some character moments out of the failure). We, the audience, know Matt is good at pivoting when he needs to.

In addition to taking the players’ curveballs like a champ, Matt also takes big swings for the sake of the story. In C1, Matt broke his biggest city with a dragon invasion, then made a new god leading an undead titan to go stomp out the world’s oldest civilization. In C2, he let the players go off the map whenever and still made the digression relevant to their character arcs every time. Not to be parasocial, but if we can figure out that that Matt can handle this sort of thing, the players certainly have a better feel for it than us.

So what is going on in C3? We know Matt isn’t scared of breaking Exandria or destroying the pantheon: he set that possibility in motion as the default ending if the players did nothing. CR literally did a mini series about the start of the end of the world with EXU Calamity. Laura and Ashley were also in Downfall and making big choices between the gods and mortals. Breaking stuff is what they do!

Where did this idea that there’s a “wrong” choice come from? That type of thinking kills a lot of great improv, and the whole point of the “yes, and” exercise is to shake it off. While it’s incredibly obvious to say not to think that way, the real issue is sorting out why that mentality has taken hold at all. That’s a problem no amount of fan discussion is going to resolve.

[inexplicifics]

Is the Ask Game still on?

If so, I would be so delighted to hear about one of these (dealer's choice):

- L/A/M - the one with the dream soulmates

- L/M - the one with dom!Lambert because I'm really really normal about this idea.

- G/J - the Little Red Riding Hood one

Or

- L/A/M - mer!Lambert edition

Of course the whole list here made me giggle, so it's hard to choose from. And look in the end I didn't even choose one 🤭

Such delightful enthusiasm! Have a bit of dom!Lambert:

Lamb finds a table near the stage, as promised - a booth, in fact, with high walls and a padded seat. He settles into the back of it and pats his lap, giving her a surprisingly encouraging smile. Milena settles across his thighs warily, sitting sideways - she hopes he didn’t mean her to straddle him, given that she’s wearing a skirt and it would be both awkward and extremely suggestive. His hand settles on her waist, steadying her and tugging her a little closer, and he makes an approving sound deep in his chest. “Comfy, darlin’?” he murmurs. Milena shifts slightly, figuring out that she feels least precarious if she leans against his chest. He’s broad and warm and steady, and his hand doesn’t stray from her waist. It’s - “Yes, sir,” she says softly. “Very comfortable.”

And a bit of little red riding hood:

“They’re all so boring,” Jaskier complains. “They don’t want to know anything but what our ancestors knew - hells, they barely want to know that! They don’t want to know what’s going on out in the world! Hells, they don’t even want to explore the forest, it’s all ‘But what if the Wolf should get us’ - ridiculous!” “Do you not fear the Wolf?” the golden-eyed man rumbles. “No! I don’t think the Wolf even exists! I’ve been wandering around this forest for how many years, and I’ve certainly never seen a giant white wolf, have you?” The golden-eyed man makes a low, amused sound. “No.”

[tellmegoodbye]

It's my first (official) Wip Wednesday of 2025!

I couldn't decide which WIP to share, so we're double dipping today.

Thank you @thisbuildinghasfeelings @carlos-in-glasses @paperstorm @strandnreyes @bonheur-cafe @whatsintheboxmh @nisbanisba @carlossreaders @heartstringsduet and @lemonlyman-dotcom for tagging me!

This first snippet is from my spicy d/s fic, and I know @heartstringsduet will appreciate me finally sharing more of this fic.

TK Strand is no stranger to submission. He fancies himself somewhat of an expert on the subject of his own likes and dislikes, and if he happens to enjoy a little bondage here or a little dirty talk there, he's not about to shy away from that. The concept of total submission is so much bigger than that though, and TK isn't sure if he's ever been able to fully wrap his head around it. To him, there's power in being held down, knowing he can give as good as he takes, knowing that he could easily have his partner a shivering mess beneath him, but choosing to give his body over to them instead. Being overpowered and fucked so hard that he could feel it in his marked up thighs all week – that is power. That is freedom. But he would never go as far as to call it subspace – not when every description of it he's ever come across is so much deeper and fulfilling than anything he has ever experienced. Part of him wanted to chalk it up to fantasy, something that might just exist in stories that are created specifically to be thrilling and sexy. And he was okay with that. He never had any desire to create such a feeling and simultaneously turn everything he's ever known about the power of sex on its head. He's never felt safe enough. Then Carlos Reyes came barreling into his life.

This next snippet is from my murder mystery AU!

Sharp gusts of wind nip at his wrists and neck, seeking out every small expanse of exposed skin currently unprotected by the material of his APD windbreaker, which he's come to realize is a size too big on him. It figures that his uniform isn't a perfect fit just yet, but he would have preferred to find out on a warmer day is all. This must be what he gets for transferring in the middle of January. The crime scene is particularly obscured by the medical examiner's van from where he's standing, and TK can't see where Carlos went, but he's not particularly concerned with his whereabouts at the moment. He takes a deep breath and takes an inventory of the scene around him, grounding his senses with each exhale. There's a flurry of flashing lights. From cell phones, from cameras belonging to the local news station. The sound of each snap of a picture mingles with the murmurs and footsteps from onlookers, drowning out the distant sounds of traffic on the other side of the alley, where the rest of the world moves forward in spite of the tragedy before them. There's a muted commotion accumulating along the flimsy police tape. It rattles against the forceful winds, a harsh, piercing noise dragging TK's attention away from the familiar dread that lies beyond the border. He's stepped over that line so many times and faced some of the worst horrors this world has to offer, and yet taking those first steps never seems to get any easier. “Strand,” Carlos’ voice snaps through the hazy chaos. “Get over here.”

Tagging: @ironheartwriter @emsprovisions @sapphic--kiwi @literateowl @eclectic-sassycoweyes @nancys-braids @captain-gillian @alrightbuckaroo @theghostofashton @morganaspendragonss @carlos-tk @henrygrass @futures-tense @goodways @decafdino @lightningboltreader @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @reyesstrand @butchreyes + open tag!

[wittyandobsessed]

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Gregory House x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | slight jealousy, slight angst.

Stacy has come back into House's life, turning everything you had upside down. Who will House choose?

The day Stacy returned to Princeton-Plainsboro was the day everything started to unravel. You’d seen the way House’s eyes lit up when he first saw her, the way he straightened ever so slightly despite the ever-present ache in his leg. It was subtle, but you noticed. You always noticed.

At first, it was just consultations. Stacy was here because of her husband, Mark, and her concern for his health had brought her back into House’s orbit. You told yourself it was fine—professional, even. But then the stolen glances began. The lingering conversations that ended with wistful smiles and old memories. You watched it all unfold from the sidelines, your chest tightening with each passing day.

You weren’t sure what hurt more: the way he looked at her or the fact that you knew you had no right to be jealous. Three years. Three years of sarcasm, teasing, inside jokes, and quiet moments where his sharp edges seemed to soften just for you. Three years of circling each other, both too stubborn—or too scared—to make the first move. And now, Stacy had returned, sweeping in like a storm, threatening to undo everything you thought you and House had.

Everyone in the hospital could see it. The way you lit up around each other, the way his barbed comments never quite had the same bite when they were directed at you. Even House’s team teased you about it sometimes���Cameron with her knowing smiles, Foreman with his bemused headshakes, and Chase with his barely concealed amusement. And then there was Wilson, who seemed to make it his personal mission to nudge House in your direction every chance he got.

But none of that seemed to matter now. Not when Stacy was here, with her history, her shared memories, her connection to him that you could never compete with.

One afternoon, you found yourself in the diagnostics office, trying to focus on a patient file. House was across the room, leaning over Stacy as they pored over some test results together. You couldn’t hear their conversation, but you could see the way he smiled at her, that rare, genuine smile that you’d thought was reserved for the few people he actually cared about.

It felt like a punch to the gut.

You looked away, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your emotions in check. But Wilson, ever the perceptive one, caught the look on your face as he walked in.

“You okay?” he asked softly, coming to stand beside you.

“I’m fine,” you lied, your voice clipped.

Wilson didn’t buy it for a second. He followed your gaze to House and Stacy, his expression softening with a mix of sympathy and frustration.

“You know he’s screwing this up, right?” Wilson said quietly.

You frowned, finally looking up at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Stacy,” Wilson said simply. “She’s a ticking time bomb. She’ll blow his life apart again, and he knows it. But he’s House. He can’t resist touching the stove even when he knows it’s hot.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not like he and I…” You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Wilson sighed, pulling out a chair and sitting down beside you. “Look, I know you don’t think it’s my business, but I’ve watched you two for three years. You’re good for him. Better than anyone else ever has been. Including Stacy.”

“Yeah, well, apparently he doesn’t see it that way,” you muttered bitterly, your eyes flicking back to House and Stacy despite yourself.

Wilson hesitated, then reached out to place a comforting hand on your arm. “Give it time. He’ll figure it out. And if he doesn’t, then he’s an even bigger idiot than I thought.”

The tension in Wilson’s office was palpable, and it wasn’t just because of the stack of paperwork he was avoiding. He paced back and forth, his jaw set, his usually calm demeanor stretched thin. It wasn’t often that Wilson let his anger boil over, but today was different. Today, he was done watching you suffer and done watching House bury his head in the sand.

When House finally limped in, his cane clicking rhythmically against the floor, he barely looked up from the Game Boy he was holding. “You summoned me, oh mighty conscience of Princeton-Plainsboro. What’s the crisis? Did the cafeteria finally run out of jello?”

Wilson’s glare could’ve burned through steel. He snatched the Game Boy out of House’s hands, earning a startled grunt of protest.

“Hey!” House started, but Wilson cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“Enough, House,” Wilson snapped, his voice laced with uncharacteristic venom. “I’m done watching you play your games while you screw this up.”

House frowned, his blue eyes narrowing. “Screw what up, exactly? My thriving career as a professional jerk? Newsflash, I’m doing just fine.”

Wilson crossed his arms, his expression hard. “Stacy.”

That made House freeze, if only for a second. He shifted his weight, leaning more heavily on his cane. “What about her? She’s leaving tomorrow. Crisis averted, no need to send a fruit basket.”

Wilson shook his head, his frustration spilling over. “You don’t get it, do you? Stacy’s not the problem. You are. You’re clinging to her like she’s some kind of lifeline, when all she’s doing is dragging you back into the past.”

House’s jaw tightened, his defenses snapping into place. “She’s a part of my life. Of course I care about her.”

“No one’s saying you can’t care about her,” Wilson shot back, his voice rising. “But there’s a difference between caring and sabotaging yourself. And right now? You’re sabotaging everything good in your life because you’re too scared to move forward.”

House snorted, his usual sarcasm kicking in. “Let me guess. This is the part where you play the wise best friend and tell me what’s good for me.”

“No,” Wilson said sharply. “This is the part where I tell you that you’re an idiot. And that you’re hurting her.”

House blinked, his brows furrowing. “Her?”

Wilson stared at him, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. “You know exactly who I mean. And don’t you dare pretend you don’t.”

House opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. Wilson took a step closer, his tone dropping into something almost pleading.

“She’s in love with you, House. And you know it. Hell, everyone knows it. But instead of doing something about it, you’re running back to Stacy because it’s safe. Because it’s easier to chase something you’ve already lost than to take a risk on something real.”

House looked away, his gaze fixed on the floor. For a moment, the room was silent, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights.

“It’s not that simple,” he said finally, his voice low.

“It never is,” Wilson replied. “But you’re not stupid, House. You know Stacy isn’t what you need anymore. She’s your past. She left you, and you’ve spent years convincing yourself that if she ever came back, it would fix everything. But it hasn’t, has it?”

House’s throat worked, but he said nothing.

“And then there’s Y/N,” Wilson continued, his voice softening even more. “She’s here, House. She’s always been here. And she’s not asking you to be perfect. She’s just asking you to let her in.”

House finally looked up, his expression unreadable. “What if I can’t? What if I screw it up?”

Wilson smiled faintly, his anger ebbing into something more familiar. “You probably will. But you’re already screwing it up by doing nothing. And if you don’t try, you’re going to lose her. Not because she’ll stop loving you, but because she’ll realize you’re not worth the pain.”

Those words hit House like a punch to the gut. He leaned heavily on his cane, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk for support. For the first time in a long time, he looked… uncertain.

Wilson stepped back, giving him space. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But you need to figure out what you want, House. And you need to figure it out soon. Before it’s too late.”

With that, Wilson turned and left, leaving House alone in the office. The silence pressed down on him, the weight of Wilson’s words settling in his chest. He thought about Stacy, about the easy familiarity they’d shared, and the way it had felt to be needed by her again. But then he thought about you—your laugh, your sarcasm, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

And for the first time, he began to wonder if Wilson was right. Maybe Stacy was just the past. And maybe you… maybe you were his future.

That night, you stayed late, avoiding the quiet of your apartment and the solitude that would force you to confront the knot of emotions tangled in your chest. The office was mostly empty, save for a few nurses and late-shift doctors. You were sitting at your desk, pretending to work, when House limped in, his cane thumping softly against the floor.

“You’re still here,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence.

“So are you,” you replied without looking up.

He made his way over to your desk, leaning against it in that casual, cocky way he always did. But tonight, there was something different about his demeanor—something hesitant.

“Rough day?” he asked, his tone almost… gentle.

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the question. “You're asking because you care or because you’re bored?”

He smirked faintly. “Maybe a little of both.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward despite yourself.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights.

“Stacy’s leaving tomorrow,” House said suddenly, his voice low.

You froze, your pen hovering over the paper in front of you. “Oh,” you said, trying to keep your tone neutral. “Guess Mark’s doing better, then.”

“Yeah.”

Silence stretched between you again. You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t dare look up.

“She asked me to go with her,” he said finally.

Your heart stopped.

“And?” you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“And I said no.”

That made you look up. His expression was guarded, but there was something vulnerable in his eyes—something raw and unspoken.

“Why?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

He hesitated, his fingers drumming lightly against the handle of his cane. “Because I’m not the guy she wants me to be. And I’m not the guy I used to be. Turns out, I’m… okay with that.”

You stared at him, your chest tight with a mix of relief and confusion. “House, what are you—”

“You,” he interrupted, his gaze locking onto yours. “You make me want to be better. And it scares the hell out of me.”

Your breath hitched, his words sinking in like a stone dropping into water.

“House…” you started, but he shook his head.

“I’m not good at this,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But I’m trying to figure it out. For you. If you’ll let me.”

You didn’t know what to say. For once, the words that usually came so easily were nowhere to be found. So instead, you stood, stepping closer to him until you were within arm’s reach.

“You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” you said softly. “Just… don’t shut me out.”

He nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Deal.”

And just like that, the weight that had been pressing down on your chest for weeks began to lift. It wasn’t a perfect resolution—not yet. But it was a start.

[deeplyshalllow]

Omg I’m a moron… for over a decade… I’ve interpreted the DTL lyrics as being:

Nothing matters, [except] knowing [the mantra] “Nothing Matters”.

Like hakuna matata. But just now I realised it’s

Nothing matters, [so] [the act of] knowing nothing [is what] matters

🤦🤦🤦

Still. Oof, depressing.

The causes you care about don’t matter to those in power. Trying to do or say anything about it is not fashionable, nor acceptable amongst your rank of society. It’s futile and only makes you look like a fool, it brings embarrassment and ridicule upon your associates and family, it causes disagreements and fights. All of which will make your life miserable. (There’s a cost, there are things you’ll lose, there are bridges you’ll cross…) So don’t talk about it, stop thinking about it. Heck, don’t think at all. And life will be so much easier for you. More bearable. Yikes to go grimdark, Fiyero is lucky he was just kept away in universities and not sent away for a lobotomy or something, that is if Winkie Country’s politics weren’t aligned with Animal rights

to get lighthearted again:

Don’t wish, don’t start, wishing only wounds the heart. […] Elphaba could be that activist, but Fiyero can’t be like Elphaba….. OR CAN HE *dramatic music change* (❗️Fiyero has been emboldified. ❗️Fiyero no longer gives a twig. ⁉️ Fiyero has been given a gun— wait who signed off on that, wai—)

My ex therapist once said that I overthink and care about things too much, so I’d better stop, because it was making me sick and was going to kill me. And yet, the thinking and caring too much, was also what was keeping me alive. What a Catch-22! /s Go figure!

I also realised:

Make sure you’re where less trouble is rife!

Is not

Make sure you wear less,

And therefore not suggesting that Fiyero’s go-to defence mechanism, if he finds himself in trouble, is to start stripping off. Turn that fight break-out into a fight make-out. Make love not war. For over ten years I’d thought “yeah that sounds like a philosophy he’d have.”

Ten plus slutty, slutty years

The notion of “you’re not here to be politically controversial, you’re here to promote cheer/ your job isn’t to think, your job is to stand there looking handsome” (a variation of being seen and not heard, oh dear [FOOTNOTE]) … like when Mme Morrible and Glinda prevent Fiyero from speaking to the crowd in Thank Goodness comes to mind. On the one hand, the assumption that he’s incapable of knowing anything would allow him to acquire great information as a double agent, but on the other hand he’s successfully barred from knowing that the public celebration is for his own engagement, which he wasn’t even asked about. They didn’t think he could be trusted to consent to an engagement?? Ouch. And yet they trusted that he would perform/feel socially pressured enough to people-please and accept without fuss.

To take it way further, it could even be argued as if Glinda couldn’t trust him to not be “stupid” and choose the “wrong” fiancée… (even if she thought it would be for his own good and keep him safe from trouble in the long term. If this had been the case it backfired spectacularly)

Fiyero really do be out there getting objectified and treated like an object in Act 2- it seems out of his control compared to Act 1 where it was on his own terms.

What are your thoughts on the engagement, by the way?

Do you think it encouraged any spark of resentment towards Glinda?

If they had gotten married— ie, if there was a larger time gap between Elphaba returning to the Emerald City and Fiyero still couldn’t track her down— do you think Glinda and Fiyero’s married relationship might echo that of Nessarose and Boq? In which one feels kept/caged [FOOTNOTE] by duty, and the other possessive/fearing abandonment?

(Even more grimdark au where this married Fiyero’s growing stress, depression, and risk of disobedience puts him on Morrible/Wizard-prescribed medication, which Glinda wants to believe is helping him stay happy and carefree, when really it’s just keeping his thoughts muddled… I’d cry… why did I make myself sad like that??)

* THE FOOTNOTE: any comparisons of Fiyero with Animals (given his book origins as ambiguously indigenous/a poc) outside his political alignments is unintentional on my part. But the ammo is present, I guess. Dehumanisation is a Wicked theme. But I’m leaving that potential can of worms to the pros though

This Ask turned into a terrible flow of consciousness, SINCERE apologies, *hits ask anyway*

Yeah, honestly, poor Fiyero. I think the interesting conundrum about him, and one of the reasons he's so depressed, is that he should be in a position where he has some power. He's a prince possibly an heir to the Vinkus, he's what everyone in Oz loves, handsome, charming and generally good. But it's very obvious that he thinks he can't actually do anything, so he doesn't try ("those who don't try, never look foolish"). He sort of lets life pass him by at the beginning of the musical, doing what others expect of him.

And then there's Elphaba, who isn't at all what Oz wants, but even so she does fight, she does do what is right and she cares more about her cause than what people think. And I think that is what changes and inspires him - because suddenly there is a way to do good, it opens up a world for him that he wouldn't otherwise know, and by act 2 he is happy to divert from his expected path to explore this.

Fiyero and Glinda, on the other hand... Glinda is who Fiyero would expect to end up with - both personally and by society. It's the path everyone expects both of them to take. It probably would be where he ended (or at least with a girl like her) if it wasn't for Elphaba giving him another option - a path he'd prefer. So Glinda, who is different to Fiyero because she does her best to stick to the path that is intended for her, ends up having to be the one to pull him along that path (hence the surprise engagement - clearly he wasn't proposing fast enough!)

Ultimately, of course, Fiyero is given the option to choose and follow Elphaba (the unplanned path) but had he not? I think had he not met Elphaba, he'd have probably been content enough, not happy but not knowing much better, with Elphaba but no opportunity to leave? Yeah, I think it would be an unhappy marriage, by this point in the musical, though Fiyero and Glinda clearly do care for each other, they don't actually have much in common, especially not in terms of morals. I think Fiyero would resent standing there smiling when he could be doing good, and Glinda would start blaming him for ruining the happiness that she always expected to have when she married him. I think you can already see traces of this in Thank Goodness tbh.

I hope that answers your question :)

[erasinglines]

where did they go from here? he didn’t have an answer for that. now that he thinks about it, he never has. all they’ve been doing is taking it day-by-day, doing whatever they could within their power to just figure it out. neither were perfect at it, in fact, miller’s been entirely flawed in this process, clinging to whatever remnants were still between them, no matter how crumbled and shattered they had become. it’s better than not trying, he thinks— to have allowed the physical distance, the pain of seeing her with someone else, get the better of him. would rather fight everyday, tooth and nail, to remain in her life, if that’s where she wanted him. he would do anything she asked. and of course he wishes this had all been different for them; that he’d found a job locally, instead, that he’d fought harder when she insisted that he just go, aim to reach dreams that came to fruition, that only ever felt possible, because of her. it wasn’t the cards they’d been dealt, though, and that’s a painful truth he’ll always have to live with, the ache if it radiating in his chest, cracking his ribcage. at least, now, they were both willing to make this work, as best they could, no matter how confusing, how difficult, it’s all become. that’s why there’s relief twining into the smile that tugs at his mouth— at least they had this, here, time spent together, grounding them in a moment that will soon be lost. “ i always want you around, too— there’s never been a day when that hasn’t been in the case. ” there never would be, either. and even if his desires run much deeper than that, even if he isn’t entirely sure he can only be her friend, he chooses not to speak on it, knowing how much damage he’s already done, tonight. “ and i’ll try to not make things too hard on you, hm? even if i can’t help it… not sure what you want me to do when it comes to just standing, but i’ll do it. i’ll even learn to keep my mouth shut— maybe they can be my new year’s resolutions. ” he teases, corners of his mouth only lifting until it’s a full-pledged grin, across his countenance. it’s safe here, again, this space between them, which only emboldens him all the more, turning his hand until he can lace their fingers together, feeling the jolts of electricity that course between them. “ i happen to like your unfiltered thoughts, though, ” even if they’re hard to hear. “ actually, maybe that should be one of your resolutions; think i want to hear more of them. ” because this streak of honesty, as difficult as it has been to hear, at least meant he knew where they stood. and he hears it at the same time she does, the echoes of voices inside, counting down to the start of a new year. it cuts him off from saying that he always wants her, always has, and he doesn’t know if that’ll ever go away. he doesn’t make any effort to move from this spot, though, gaze soft, knowing, as he traces the contours of her face, all the parts of her that he has memorised. “ yeah, we probably should… fletcher will be looking for you too, right? probably freaking out that he’s lost sight of you. ” his words aren’t bitter either, the strain of their night dissipating with each moment that passes. his gaze ends up at her lips eventually, drawing around their outline, a small step closer without thinking twice about it, free hand reaching for her hip, fingers splayed along it’s most prominent part, 3, 2, 1…

despite their harsh words and jilted whispers to each other tonight, at least one good thing came from it— their newfound honesty with each other. it wasn’t easier, per say, to know these things about each other and their respective relationships, to hear how unhappy they both were with a new partner, but she can’t deny how relieved she feels to know it’s not one-sided, that neither of them could really let go of the other, no matter how hard they try, or who they find themselves with. it seemed impossible, really, considering just how ingrained he is in her soul, in every fiber of her being. it had always been like that, since the moment they met; almost as if it was meant to be this way, that he was the only one who was ever capable of filling that empty space inside of her. it’s just another reason why she hates that he ever questioned it, that he entertained the thought that her and fletcher’s relationship was better than what they had, based on some lie she spewed just to rile him up in a moment of weakness. even then, she wouldn’t blame him if he couldn’t forgive her for it, if she somehow ruined this, that day, and in all the moments since, without even realizing it. but once she sees him step closer to her, too, and hears the timbre of his laughter, real and warm, not torn from the darker parts of his chest, that worry begins to slip away, replaced by something that some might consider even more dangerous— hope. hope that things would change for the better from this moment onward, that they would maintain their honesty with each other and no longer fall into the trap of miscommunication and jealousy. they could be mature about this, couldn’t they ? only time would tell. “ of course i want you around, miller. i always want you around, ” she smiles softly, looking up at him in earnest, knowing that he would never purposefully hurt her— it’s something she thought about a few weeks ago, too, looking up at him, seeing the love and tenderness in his eyes as their bodies intertwined, knowing that she was always safe with him. “ but yeah, actually, you have made things super hard on me— it’s cruel and unusual punishment to see you across the room, looking like you do, and know that i can’t touch you like i want, ” it’s spoken teasingly, attempting to drain even more of their previous poison from this conversation, attempt to start anew, entirely.  “ i haven’t been very fair on you, either— i actually think i’ve probably been the fucking worst, with all the stupid shit i say. i don’t think i have a filter, with you, and i definitely should, ” she chuckles, soon pausing then, to reach out for his hand, running her thumb against his. just a simple touch to ground her in the moment. “ but we’ll start over, and if you still want me here, then i’ll be here. however you want me. ” if they couldn’t be more, she would take whatever she could get. it’s only seconds later when she hears the noise of the bar rise past the brick— the countdown to midnight was happening now. “ shit, we should probably go back inside, hm ? eden’s probably looking for you. ” and it’s not spoken with any previous jealousy or malice, but concern, afraid that this might cause more strain, despite not making any sudden movements away from him. 

[midnight-mismanagement]

I’ve been thinking about That Church SceneTM and idk I think what hit me hardest was how Spike is talking about his former pre-soul mindset and how naive it is. He says “and she shall look on him with forgiveness and love and everyone will forgive and love and he will be loved” because while pre-soul he knew he was a monster and he knew he had done horrible things, he was okay with those things, he was a vampire after all, but he felt horrible for what he did to Buffy, but even then he still had a bit of hope. From the outside looking in, Angel’s soul seemed like the “button” for the “be good” switch. It would be the “piece that would make [him] fit” so he would be the “kind of man who would never [hurt her].” The “be a man not a monster” switch, that would make him be able to tell right from wrong and never hurt the people he loves anymore. But...the soul is not a “be good” switch. I don’t really know what the soul exactly is, since it’s never really concrete in the lore, but it doesn’t just make him fit, it doesn’t turn him into what he wants, but what it does do, is make him much more aware of himself and what he’s done, and he comes to the realization that no, there is no forgiveness. There never will be, he will never be worthy of it. He is condemned. He says “it’s okay now, right?” with hopeful despondency because he knows it will never be okay. Spike has always wanted acceptance, and love, and he sought it from places he would never get it, and now he knows he will never get it because he shouldn’t.

So when he goes up in flames by the end in heroic sacrifice and all that jazz, he’s happy he even got to have an ending like this, he’s finally doing something right. And when he comes back in Angel, as a ghost with no ability to affect the world around him (except annoy the crap out of Angel) he feels he is on borrowed time. In the moment of burning up, he didn’t have to think about if he would end up in hell or the aftermath, but with Pavayne toying with him, tugging him in to hell, it’s a slow torture of what he’s known all along, even if he didn’t fully want to face it. He is still condemned. And yet, given what he believes to be the one opportunity to stave off the inevitable for however longer and get a body, he still chooses Fred’s life over his own. And Fred tells him “you’re someone worth saving.” She doesn’t condemn him. She believes in him, like Buffy did, and this time it’s someone he doesn’t have a rocky past with or romantic feelings with, she just sees him for him and wants to help. And in the end he gets a body while she loses hers, and it’s because Angel and Spike did the “right” thing because it’s what Fred would’ve wanted. I think soulless him would’ve saved Fred, even if it meant condemning so many others. 

And on the day he thinks will once again be his last before the big suicide mission showdown (which he was the first to volunteer for), he doesn’t call Buffy to give her the pain of finding he’s alive only to die again, instead he goes to a bar and reads his poetry, the window into his shameful, soft soul that was stamped on and laughed at the last time he was a human, and hopes for acceptance. And he gets it.

[longroadstonowhere]

back on my yuuga aoyama bullshit

[froggomcdoo]

you ever read a work of fiction so good that you immediately need to find more and consume it but it doesn't have any more and there will likely be no more so you just suffer and think what if.

[lieut-dundy-le-vesconte]

>dundy crosses himself in return, then squeezes his hands back, looking him in the eyes

n-normally... well normally the preacher and the confessor don't see each other >he offers a smile, a small laugh but this isn't... normally >he shifts forward so that they're close, so that their knees are touching, and then he shuts his eyes, bows his head. it'll be the same if he just doesn't look at him. he tries to put himself in that space. it's been... it's been a damned long time, and he's nervous, and scared, as he always is before confession, scared to lay himself bare in the eyes of God, scared to confess all that he's done, scared to forget something or leave something out... scared that God will hear him, this time, for the liar and cheater he is

>he has lied. at confession. so many times. and so many times they have told dundy God can hear your thoughts, God can see you, but dundy's always seen God as more a captain of a ship than some all-knowing being, a man who guides all the people of the earth towards some common goal he hasn't yet figured out, who offers support when needed, when reached out to. He can hear my prayers, dundy knows this, but he knows also there is no possible way God can hear his thoughts, that loudly and clearly.

>so many times, he's confessed what he's wanted to confess. he's never trusted priests, even though he knows he should. he's heard too many things about people in his town being ratted on because of rumors spread from the confessional... and dundy's never trusted the booth to be a totally private space. he's grown up on ships. there's no thing as true privacy. they've told him, you won't be absolved if you hide things in confession, if you don't lay your soul bare, but dundy's never been one for that. he's never trusted... he's never trusted God enough to be honest with him. he's tried. oh he's tried, but time and time again, just as He has now, God has proven himself untrustworthy, always letting dundy down.

>but now? holding john's hands in his? a protestant, a scottsman, and he french, irish, and catholic, and he is to confess to this protestant who is committing sacrilege in his name... here, where God can hear them the loudest... now, dundy is totally and completely honest. he doesn't pick and choose. he lays it out, exactly as it is, or as well as he can. it's been a long two years. as he speaks, it's with a measured cadence, a quiet voice, steadily, easily, and the sins he lists are listed as they come to him, all the bad he can remember, all that he's sinned over all of his life. once he starts, he doesn't stop, hoping he won't leave anything out.

i'm sorry father... john... i'm sorry john for i have sinned... i have not been doing my job as well as i try to. i have behaved unbecomingly of an officer. i have been drunk, too drunk, sick with it, and i have been drunk on duty. i still practice Papism when is should be Protestant.i have not taken God's words lightly. i have used his name in vain, derogating his honor. i have stolen from other men and other ships, and i have stolen money and goods from prizes. i have been negligent at my stations. i have caused quarrel and disturbance among fellow sailors, and i have provoked hatred amongst my neighbors. i have been disobedient in duty and in battle. i have struck a superior officer. i have questioned command. i have harbored hatred in my heart, i have killed.. i have killed a-at least fifty... i... i don't know how many people i've killed, but i have killed so many, and many i have enjoyed killing. i have hated my fellow sailors as well as my neighbors, i have acted on this hate, i have sought revenge, and i have acted on this revenge, and in doing so i have harmed those i love or who loved me. i have slept with others who are not my own, i have gotten myself off, i have practiced sodomy and slept with other men at least eleven times... i have manipulated, cheated, and lied to others, more than i can count, for my own gains and purposes. i have withheld sins from confession. i have made up sins in confession. i have not loved God with my full heart. i have hated God, i have doubted God, i have lost my belief in God. i have been hopeless. i have never trusted him. i don't trust anyone. i am lost and i am scared and i am unworthy, and i believe my sins are too great and God too weak for absolution to ever be achieved. i have tried to absolve myself of my sins myself. i have seen pain as a sign of love. i have not been a good man. i have tried too hard and not realized when i'm unwanted. i have been awful to everyone. i haven't loved anyone enough. i have loved them too much. i am hopeless, utterly hopeless, and i have wanted death too much for death to ever want me...

>he stops, worrying he's said too much. he's never been this honest, this open with anyone, and suddenly he's so self-conscious about it, about everything he's just said, it's too open, too real, too much, too honest— and at the same time, he knows there is so much more he could say. he keeps his eyes shut. forces himself not to look at john, though he wants to, though he wants to beg for forgiveness in his eyes, to see him speak it. he knows he can't. he knows if this is confession as it was meant to be, then he cannot look at john. john speaks for God now. through him, God hears dundy. through him—

>dundy opens his eyes. he meets john's gaze steadily, not fighting the tears

i'm sorry, he says, i'm sorry i'm terrible... at everything that i do

>he hovers in the hallway. francis suggested he talk to dr. goodsir, but it wasn't really an order, and dundy thinks he's fine besides. the pain doesn't hurt any more than it's been hurting (which is a lot, which he figures is normal; it should be hurting), so he's probably fine, who the fuck knows, who cares, but he knows for sure he's fine. it's not that bad. he starts forward, towards the hatch, then stops at @ltgeorgehodgson's door, hovers, considers, doesn't knock. george doesn't want him. why is he even considering trying??? just go home, henry. just go back out into the cold and dark where you fucking belong because nobody wants you. just go.

>he steps away from the door and starts forward again

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

well, I am officially on to season 2 of "Miss Scarlet and the Duke", and based on the first episode at least, the writing does seem to have improved a bit?? this may be a case of First Episode of the Season Syndrome (added nuance and subtlety to kick the season off but immediately dropping back down to mediocre levels until the finale), but I'm hopeful that many of my complaints about the first season won't be as present going forwards!

but also, oww. the end... that was... yikes. my heart hurts now. 😧

[secondpersonpoetry]

hi! heard the released “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call” (which i’ve seen you’ve heard live, if i’m not mistaken!!) this morning and i don’t know if there’s really a particular vibe/dynamic/ship hrpf-wise (personally haven’t yet been able to put my finger on it) that quite relates but the lyrics have been rotating in my head all day and i was wondering if you had any thoughts? hope you have a good one! <3

OH ANON HAVE I EVER SEEN IT LIVE!!! and the second that song came out i zoomed it straight into my fic playlist and unfortunately there are so many guys this could be. right now the one that's resonating is, of course, the golden boy and his haunted ghost themselves: mcstrome.

i am thinking about connor, specifically, after the stanley cup final. that game seven. how angry he was, how loud the silence when they told him he won the conn smythe. how close he's come before and again and again lost. there's nobody else to blame but himself. he's in the empty room and he knows why (1)

at!! your best!!! you were magic!!! oh, golden boy. connor the anointed, of course. at the very beginning of his career we always knew he was something special and who wouldn't have fallen in love with him? weren't all of us a little bit dylan strome in awe of the generational talent? we were all bathed in radiant light just by being in the vicinity (2)

don't even tell 'em that you know me breaks my heart (3). in terms of building a narrative i think i've said before there is a universe where connor/dylan were together before the draft and to protect both of them, dylan breaks up with him. connor says i love you and dylan says i don't. because he doesn't, you know? he loved connor. he loved davo. he can't be in love with connor mcdavid, first overall pick of the edmonton oilers. i'd rather be hurt forever than have to watch us try to make this work and destroy us.

and after connor mcdavid left the otters, dylan strome captained them to a memorial cup win. what a haunted home, eh? to be captain of the team you and your best friend were on, only now he's left you? don't call me to tell me about your rookie season with the oilers--we both know about your broken collarbone. don't call me to tell about becoming the youngest captain in franchise history when i stepped into the shoes of your captaincy here. don't call me. (4)

narratively: dylan's the one who broke connor's heart and his own but by god it wasn't easy. we both know what happened, you went first overall. please don't make this harder on me. please don't call.

this verse can be about the weight of dylan having to live up to connor's standards and always being measured by him. i would just like to bring up the connor stepping stone chart for absolutely no reason as well (5)

we are, at long last, at the potential future of now: dylan strome, happy, smiling, thriving on the washington capitals. connor, on the oilers. i'm not yours, dylan can say. haven't been for a long time. it took some time but i made this. please don't call and ruin this for me, stay out of my life. i don't want you or need you (6)

[p.s. this took a while because when i received this ask i was a) immediately possessed to write this verse by verse breakdown i had never thought of before and then b) immediately plagued by the idea of making you a little graphic (above the read more) and finally got to do it after banging out all the actual lyric thoughts two (?) weeks ago. emerging two and a half hours later from the fugue state of GIMP with 37 layers in this bad boy hope you enjoy!!!]