#and one of them i just straight up abandoned

[leighsartworks216]

Yes This Fear's Got A Hold On Me

Zayne x gn!Reader

Literally drabbled this out earlier while cooking dinner bc it hit me so hard. I think I'm just in the mood for putting Zayne through angst rn

Title from "Death" by White Lies

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fear of death, overthinking, domestic moments, established relationship, rain/storms, recklessness, self-sacrificing behavior, cooking/food

Word Count: 1,767

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Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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“I can’t answer the phone right now, I’m too busy kicking Wanderer butt! Leave a message and-”

Zayne sighs and hits the end call button again. Every call goes straight to voicemail. He can’t help but be worried.

The rain is coming down in torrents outside. It hits the windows like angry fists. The wind howls like wolves in the night. The streets are flooded, but even if they weren’t you took your bike into work today and all public transport is closed. He called your coworkers earlier, just on the off chance you actually listened to the shelter in place warnings, but they said you’d left an hour ago.

His pacing is going to eat through to the apartment below if you don’t turn up soon. He tries calling one last time. Not two words into the automated message, he’s ending the call and shoving his phone in his pocket.

He shrugs on his coat, prepared to make the last ditch effort of going out there to find you himself when there’s a knock on the door. One sleeve hangs half off his shoulder as he swings it open. His heart is caught in his throat.

You force a smile through chattering teeth. A puddle forms under your feet on the welcome mat, with smaller puddles trailing down the hall from the elevator. “My hands are too pruny,” you manage, gesturing with a nod at the door handle and its biometric lock.

He doesn’t quite register your words, pulling you inside hurriedly. Your shoulders are soaked with water where he touches them. Your whole body is soaked with water. He helps you take off your coat. It drops to the floor in a wet heap to be dealt with later. “Did you walk all the way here?” he asks. He already knows the answer.

You nod. You tuck your hands in your armpits, desperate to contain what little warmth you have left as he helps tug off your shoes. Your socks are soggy and uncomfortable. A forceful chill wracks your entire body, before settling back into the consistent, exhausting chills they were before. “I was gonna call, but my phone died.”

Well, that explains his last 20 minutes of frustration. “I’ll scold you after you get warmed up.”

“‘Preciate it.”

He shakes his head as he takes his coat off to wrap it around your shoulders. It’s ever so slightly warm from the short amount of time he had it on, enough to provide a smidge of relief.

Your steps slap against the hardwood as you’re led across the floor he was pacing only minutes ago. He leads you straight to the bathroom and abandons you by the sink to start running the water for a shower. You whine at the sight of even more water.

��Aren’t I wet enough?” You know it’s for the best, but you feel oddly reminiscent of a cat being forced to take a bath.

Zayne doesn’t dignify your complaint with more than a stern look. As the water runs, steam starting to billow up overtop the glass doors, he returns to you and steals the dry outer layer you’d only just gotten. You whine again, unbidden. He has the decency to look a little sorry as he continues to strip you down. “You’ll be warm soon. While you heat up, I’ll make you dinner.”

You shiver. Goosebumps raise up all over your body, exposed to the unforgiving air. You rub your arms. “You don’t have to.”

“It’s for my own sanity, if you must know.”

On any normal day, Zayne’s hands usually ran pretty cold. You liked to joke that it was because he’s a doctor, and all doctors seem to have cold hands all the time. Right now, they feel so warm against your skin as he helps you into the shower, under the blessedly hot water. He doesn’t pay attention to the water that gets on his sleeves as you cling to him. You think you see a hint of a smile before you close your eyes and put your face right under the spray, shuddering with the temperature shock.

“Take your time. I’ll leave some clothes out for you.” He shuts the glass door and gets to work gathering the soaking wet clothes left behind. If you didn’t get sick after this, he’d have to write it up in a medical journal as an unexplained phenomena.

“Thank you~” you call out.

He shakes his head, though you can’t see it. You really drive him up the wall, sometimes. Walking for an hour through a monsoon for no justifiable reason is up there in the most stress-inducing things you’ve done on the ever-growing list he has. And yet, here you are, thanking him as he takes care of you, fighting against the possibility of a cold that hangs overhead like an undeniable certainty. God, he loves you so.

He closes the bathroom door behind him and beelines for the laundry room. All your clothes go into the wash. Your coat gets hung up to air dry. He stuffs your shoes with newspaper to draw the water out. Then, to the bedroom, where he pulls out some fresh, dry clothes for you to change into. He sets them on the bathroom counter, listening as you quietly hum to yourself. At last, he gets to work preparing your favorite hot drink as he works on making a batch of soup.

All the while, his body readjusts to the fact that you’re okay. He hones in on your humming while he chops up vegetables, willing himself to relax and release all the thoughts that had plagued him before - terrible images, all made worse with his own medical knowledge putting names to all the conditions and effects that could have destroyed you. The rain knocks on the kitchen window as a cruel reminder of what could have been.

But none of it happened. You’re here. You’re only a couple rooms over, taking a shower. You’re here. You’re going to drink from your special mug and sigh with the first bite of your soup. You’re here. You’re going to be safe in his arms tonight, fast asleep, not face-down under the harsh flood-

The image of your bloated body, drowned and lifeless, jolts through his system like an ice bath.

You’re here. You’re here. You’re here.

He stirs the soup around the pot.

The water of the shower shuts off when it’s just about done. He pulls down two bowls from the overhead cabinet and ladels some into both. Though he doesn’t really have an appetite, he knows he should eat something. Maybe the normalcy of a quiet night in will bring it back. For now, he puts more of the savory concoction in your bowl than in his.

Your socked feet don’t make much sound as you shuffle through the apartment to the kitchen. The sleeves of one of his many cardigans is bunched up at your elbows, as they’re far too long on you otherwise. The sight of you in his clothes - something he didn’t lay out for you to change into, nonetheless - only makes the fear in his chest ache even more.

You smile at him, apologetic and grateful all at once. “I’m ready for your lecture now,” you say. He can see the way you seem to brace for it. The way you avoid looking him directly in the eye, like a child who knows they’ve done something bad and is about to be grounded for it. The way you pick at the threads of the cardigan, restless and anxious. The way your shoulders bunch up toward your ears without you even realizing, preparing for the blow of his scolding.

It’s all too much.

You look up at him with wide-eyed confusion as he crosses the short distance between you and wraps you up in a tight hug. His face is pressed securely into the crook of your neck. His hands rest on your back, drawing you close to his body. The warm air of his sigh graces your skin when you hug him back.

“Zayne?” You gently pet his hair. He doesn’t let you pull back to see his face.

In all your time with him, he’s never hugged you like this before. You can feel the way his fingers curl around the knit of his cardigan, the slight shudder in his breath, the tension in his muscles.

“Please,” he whispers - begs, “don’t do that again.”

Slowly, as the realization begins to sink in, you squeeze him tighter.

It’s easy to throw yourself into danger - you do it every single day at work. If you get hurt, you’re saving someone else the pain. If you get a scratch, a civilian doesn’t. If you break a leg, someone else gets the chance to run away. It’s a commendable trait for a Hunter.

You didn’t realize how painful that would be for someone else.

“I thought… I thought getting back home would… I didn’t want you to be alone.” The explanations all feel hollow, for how true they are.

“What if you didn’t make it?” he questions. His voice is tight with emotion. It’s locked away under a layer of severity. “Nobody had any idea where you were. All I knew was that you weren’t at work. If the storm overpowered you, we wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t know.” He holds you tighter. “I’d rather spend one night alone than the rest of my nights alone. Do you understand?”

You nod immediately. “I’m sorry.”

He exhales shakily. “Please, think of your own safety first. Just once.” His fingers slowly release their hold on you. His shoulders fall as he reluctantly lets you go. His eyes stare into yours like a turbulent forest, trees kicked all around by hurricane winds. “Are you still cold?” he changes the subject. You let him.

“A little.”

He takes your hand and leads you to the counter with the bowls of soup and your favorite mug. “We can eat this on the couch. By sitting together, we can conserve our warmth.”

You tug on his shoulder lightly. He leans down without restraint, watching you. You kiss his cheek. “I love you,” you remind him, feeling as though you need to after the hell you must have put him through.

He closes his eyes for a second, taking in those wonderful words. When he opens them again, the hurricane has been reduced to nothing more than a light breeze. He looks at you with all the love of winter giving way to spring. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Villain’s Protector (Part 3) - Closer

Summary: The reader's in a bad spot when she's cornered by three infected intruders. But when the danger passes, she and Ben need to decide if they really can live together or if they'd be better off on their own...

Masterlist

Pairing: Soldier Boy x reader

Word Count: 3,700ish

Warnings: language, violence, life-threatening situations, death (minor characters), mentions of past torture

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving this week! Please enjoy Ben being an asshole/also his hilarious attempts at making up for it...

________

“Oh my god!” Both men spun their heads towards the back door, giving you a chance to make a break for it. You had to deal with the woman but at least you had a chance against her. In three large steps you were in front of her, ducking down to miss her punch. You kicked her knee, the woman shrieking and falling, giving you a chance to kick her back and shove her into your bedroom. You dove into the one across the hall, slamming the door shut behind you. Ben’s suit was draped over the back of a chair, his gun still in it’s holster.

Fuck it. 

You abandoned barricading the door, barely getting across the room before it flew open, all three of them standing there. The gun was in your hand within a second, finger squeezing the trigger blindly. You hit one of them, the other two shouting behind him. You jumped to the right to avoid the woman, getting a few more rounds off. She went down when a blur slammed into you. You crashed back against a window, falling through it and straight onto the back deck. Something sharp was in your back and your hand was empty, eyes blearily opening as the red streaked man stood over you with the shears.

“You could have been one of us, bitch.” He opened the blades and drove them downwards, straight for your torso. 

With a swift breeze, he was gone. You blinked rapidly, Soldier Boy standing over you, staring off to the side of the yard. Every muscle ached but you managed to look, spotting the man impaled on the shears about two hundred feet away in the grass. Strong hands turned your head, Ben’s face almost…worried? 

You blinked, reaching up to grab his wrist, his eyes wide.

“You have glass all over. You need-”

“Are you wearing fucking oven mitts?” You smiled, Ben staring at where your hand rested on the pink things. “Pink oven mitts?”

“Shut your mouth,” he said, pouting when you sat upright with a groan. He ripped them off, kneeling beside you with a grimace. “Uh. How true is that whole can’t die thing?”

“That’s actually really smart,” you said, nodding to the mitts. “If they can’t touch your skin, maybe we can keep you safer. Keep us both-”

“Y/N!” He grabbed your shoulders, eye twitching. “Do not lose it on me. Will you die if I rip that giant shard of glass sticking out of your back out?”

You shook your head, already pulling pieces out of your legs and arms. He sighed, gripping the glass and pulling it out fast, your heart skipping a beat.

“Warn a girl,” you grit out, hands reaching for anything to grip onto through the pain which meant his shirt before you. 

“You’re bleeding a lot,” he said. Shaking, you buried your face in his neck, breathing hard. “Y/N-”

“Take the rest out.” He tore your ruined shirt and jacket off, cool air hitting your back. He didn’t speak as he pulled out the other large shards you felt there but he flinched when you jerked into him and yelped. 

Finally, you felt they were all gone, your head throbbing angrily but you knew it’d dissipate soon.

“I totally had that guy by the way,” you mumbled. Ben’s chest rumbled beneath you, his warm body lulling you into a calmness. “Was that a laugh, Benjamin?”

“You are something else.” With some effort, you leaned back, Ben grasping your chin and turning your face. “Shit, your cuts are healed already.”

“I’m just that special,” you said, trying to stand but falling straight against him when a sharp bolt of hot fire ran across your back.

“You heal fast but the pain-”

“Takes longer. I’ll be better in an hour.” You didn’t move from where he cradled your body against his, Ben’s body strangely relaxed. “Bet you’re happy. You got my shirt off.”

“You do have great tits,” he mumbled, tucking your head under his chin. You raised your eyebrows, gaze focused out on the lake. 

“Ben, there could be more people nearby. We should probably move somewhere-”

“In the eighties I hired a young couple to take care of this place. They had a baby at the time I think. Landscape. Cleaning. That’s why that woman and those men were here. I let them live here in exchange for upkeep and I forgot they were here. This was my fuck up.”

“It was an accident, Ben. I don’t blame you. I’m fine.”

“You don’t realize you screamed when I took those glass pieces out, do you? The only reason you were in there alone was because I pissed you off again. I fucking forgot. I bring out your fucking shell shock, I screw up and you’re shaking in pain because of it. That’s not what a man does.” You sighed, taking a deep breath.

“Soldier Boy, you are ridiculous.” You moved your head so you could face him, Ben’s jaw clenched. You let your head fall onto his shoulder, offering a smile. “I’ve known evil men. Shitty, evil men. But you? You put on pink oven mitts which I’m confident you’ve never worn anything that shade in your life for fear it would shrivel your dick up. Yet, you did it for me. Here you are, apologizing in your own, albeit half-assed, way and look at that. Your dick is still just as big as it was an hour ago.”

He pouted, turning to look at the waters of the lake, ignoring your attempts at getting him to acknowledge his idea of what a man was wasn’t the only one . “Why did you break me out of that CIA black site? The truth this time.”

You closed your eyes, turning your head back under his chin when sharp, stabbing pains started up in your abdomen again. You tried to bite back the whimpers that caught in your throat but a few slipped through, Ben squeezing you tighter, anchoring you.

“Because there’s nothing worse than being trapped, unable to die, only to spend every waking moment in pain. All you want it someone to rescue you. So that’s what I did,” you said quietly.

He hummed, shifting his arms around you, holding your body against his.

“Do you still think I only want to use you, Ben?” He was quiet, slow steady beats of his heart thrumming underneath you for a moment.

“I could be evil. People thought that about me once upon a time. It’s how I ended up in Russia.” You shrugged, Soldier Boy shifting beneath you, soon carrying you back inside bridal style. You poked open an eye, Ben watching you closely. “I was trapped for a reason. Give it five minutes and you’ll hate my guts again.”

“Why would I hate the boy that wears pink oven mitts for me?” you teased. He rolled his eyes so hard you swore they were going to pop out the back of his head. You let your eyelid fall shut, head lolling back until he adjusted you. “If you end up screwing me over, then fine, you’re a monster. But until otherwise, will Mr. Evil please get me into a bath tub?”

“Your generation is fucking insufferable,” he grumbled, walking across the deck, in through the back door.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say, Satan.”

“What did I say about shutting that fucking mouth?” 

“Ben.” You opened your eyes when a door creaked, Ben setting you down in a large claw foot tub a moment later. You tilted your head, his face a mixture of annoyance and wanting to get out of the room as fast as possible. 

“What?” he growled, turning the water on warm and slow for you, setting some towels down next to the tub. 

“Just wanted to say we had a whole conversation where we didn’t fight. I think you’re in serious danger of losing your asshole status if you keep this up.” He gave you his bitch face and dropped a bar of soap in your hands. “Admit it. You like this, being yourself again.”

“You are weak and pathetic and like all women, you need a man to save you and then complain about us in the same breath. I ain’t a fucking pussy so don’t get fucking comfortable with me thinking I’m like your fucking girlfriend. I give the orders, not you.” He stood up and slammed the door on his way out.

So much for that progress.

You and Ben kept your distance after that. You spent most of the day cleaning the blood off the walls and floor while Ben disposed of the three bodies in the nearby woods. It was dark by the time he returned, the house smelling of disinfectant.

He threw his boots on the ground and gave you a glare as you ate a bowl of beans at the dining room table. He stormed around the kitchen, narrowing his eyes at the pot on the stove and the empty bowl on the counter beside it.

“Beans? I’ve had fucking paste shoved down my gob for weeks and you make me fucking beans?” You finished off your dinner, leaning back in your seat with crossed arms. He puffed out his chest, pointing a finger. “Don’t you fucking start, bitch.”

“Does it make you feel like more of a man to yell at me? Maybe you even want to hit me. Fucking go for it. We both know I can take it.” You got up, getting in his face and throwing him off guard so much so he stumbled backwards. “You want me to think you’re a monster? Go ahead. Hurt me. Insult me. Prove me wrong. Show me just how awful you really are deep down and that there’s no shred of a soul left in there.”

“Shut the fuck up!” he shouted, towering over you, his face turning red. 

“Do it!” He growled, grabbing your arms, picking you straight off the ground.

“Look at me!” You were ready to kick him in the nuts when you noticed the red on his face was…bright. Too bright. Infected bright.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll help you alright.” You put your hand to his face, Ben instantly dropping you, both of you falling to the ground. This felt different than before. There was no sharp pain from the redness your hand absorbed from his face. No, it was warmer, a slow burning sensation that built up and up and had you gritting your teeth.

He gasped and choked before rolling away, your body falling back on the hardwoods. You panted, staring at the wood beams crossing the ceiling when Ben crawled over, staring down.

“I got some of their blood on me earlier when I killed that guy. I think it got on my face,” he breathed out. You nodded, giving him a thumbs up. “It must act slower that way?”

“Depends. Am I a weak, pathetic bitch?” you said, Ben lowering his head. “Good. See, we’re all good.”

“You didn’t scream this time at least,” he said, helping you sit up against the cabinets. He sat back against the fridge behind him, both of you catching your breath. “Why?”

“The more a particular…injury happens to me, the recovery period from the pain shortens. You didn’t have the streaks in you fully or else you’d be dead so it wasn’t as bad this time.” He shook his head, running a hand through his brown strands. “What?”

“Your powers suck.”

“Not powers,” you sighed, Ben pursing his lips. “I swear. I’ve never taken compound V in my life.”

“Well then you must be a natural born supe. Is Reaper your dad or some shit?” 

“No,” you snapped. Ben held up his hands, giving you just enough of a pout to make you feel bad. He got up and scooped some beans into a bowl, glancing at you once. The floor creaked, your eyes drifting up to watch him settle down across from you, slurping up his dinner. “Why are you eating on the floor?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, woman,” he said with his mouth full and a roll of his eyes. “Can I eat my dinner where the fuck I want to?”

“Of course you can.” He made a face, pointing his spoon at you when you parted your lips. 

“I swear to God if the next words out of your mouth are to argue with me, you will not like the outcome,” he barked. You swallowed down your comment about how the chair and table would be more comfortable. If he wanted to sit his ass on the hard floor, fine, that was on him.

You closed your eyes and tucked your knees up to your chest, lowering your head to rest it against them. 

“You’re a pretty good liar. Most women are but you put them all to shame.” You frowned, lifting your head wearily. He stood, setting his empty bowl on the counter before squatting down right in front of you. Long fingers grasped your chin, turning your head left, then right. “Your jaw is clenched so hard you could snap a tree in half.”

“Fine. It hurts whenever I absorb that red matter stuff from you. There’s nothing either one of us can do about it so why does it matter if you know?” His grip on your chin tightened, just hard enough to make you wonder if he was considering killing you.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that.” Ben’s grip loosened, his thumb wiping away the wetness that’d gathered under your eye.

“Like what?” you whispered, intense green eyes boring straight through to your core. He leaned in closer, his breath hot.

“Like I’m going to hurt you.”

“This was a mistake. Just cover yourself up when you go out and you should be okay,” you said. You got to your feet and barely made it out of the kitchen when his hand landed on your shoulder, freezing you in place. “Forget about Reaper. You’re free Ben. Just live your life how you want to.”

“Why the hell are you trying to get out of here so badly all of a sudden?” 

You closed your eyes, clenching your fist when a wave of burning heat flooded your veins. “Why do you care if I stay?”

“I can drown.” You turned around, furrowing your brow. Ben raised his chin, nodding once. “I nearly did as a kid, out in that lake.”

You both looked out to the dark water, gazes slowly drifting back to one another. He sat down on the edge of the couch arm, running a hand through his hair. He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes, head shaking as he glanced at a knot of wood in the floor near your feet.

“My father took me out in a rowboat to the middle of the lake when I was a boy. Maybe seven, eight? He threw me over the edge, told me to start swimming.” His eyes met yours, his smile faltering. “It wasn’t until I started to sink did he pluck me out. He was so…disappointed in me the whole way back to the dock. I was convinced he’d throw me out any second. I never told my mother what happened but somehow she knew. It was the only time I ever saw her argue back against him. She ended up showing me how to swim over the next week right where it’s shallow at the shore edge.”

“Why are you telling me this Ben?” you asked quietly. He shrugged.

“You can either be terrified that something more powerful than you will kill you and that fear makes you run from it. Or…you can be a man and face it, tell that thing it’s not more powerful. You learn to respect each other’s power and work together.”

“A lake doesn’t snap your neck in your sleep when it gets mad at you,” you whispered. He sighed, his jaw clenching slightly. “You just…you’re so mean to me that I couldn’t even tell you were infected until you were literally ready to pummel me and I saw the red streaks. Ben, I didn’t know you wouldn’t hurt me. I read the CIA’s file on you and god, you’ve hurt so many people Ben. People you supposedly cared about, loved even. How the hell am I not supposed to be terrified of you? Maybe I was wrong and we should just go our separate ways.”

You headed down the hall, pausing when you heard him walk up behind you.

“If you stay…I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“It’s the end of the world, Ben. Forget about Reaper. What could you possibly give me that’d make me okay with staying with you?” You glanced over your shoulder, Ben’s face strangely soft.

“My word.” He held out his hand, fighting back a frown when you narrowed your eyes at it. “I’m fucking trying here.”

“Not good enough.” You stormed into the bedroom, grabbing a duffel from the ground as he huffed. You started to shove some things inside when he cleared his throat.

“Please stay.” You poked your head out in the hallway, Ben gritting his teeth. 

“Did you say please?” you asked. He rolled his eyes. You stepped back out, crossing your arms. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

“Good-”

“If you drop the Solider Boy shit and act like Ben. Act like the kind of man you wished your father had been to your mother.” His face went white in shock, Ben’s jaw dropping open slightly. “See? That normal guy is still inside of you. You know it’s wrong to be a dickhead. You fucking know it’s wrong and you do it anyway. But you have to stop. You have to be better. Not perfect, just better. Or else I’m gone Ben and this world gets a lot harder for both of us.”

“I…will try if tell me one real thing about yourself, why you don’t die.” He stood his ground, lips pressed into a thin line. You looked away, leaning against the door jam.

“You know how…you know when you did the Compound V trials and all the other participants died except for you?” He nodded once, tilting his head. “That was because your genes are advantageous. Your genes could handle that…evolutionary leap.”

“Like a Punnet square.” You raised your eyebrows. “I’m not a moron.”

“Well, yes, sort of like that. Your gene mixture basically was special. My genes are also…special.” You frowned, Ben’s fingers reaching out to graze your cheek. Your eyes wandered up to meet his, his green eyes curious, guarded. You crossed your arms, looking past him. “My genes, eventually, would have allowed future generations from my bloodline to be natural supes. Millions of years down the line. It’s incredibly rare. Think of it like if your genes and mine were in a race, I’m starting a hundred million miles ahead of yours and we’re racing to the same point.”

“You would get there faster,” he said quietly. You nodded. 

“Reaper found out about my genes. He ended up, activating those special parts of my genes and transfused me with his blood when he did so. He didn’t know what would happen but it gave me the ability to not die, like him. It was all an experiment to him.”

“How’d he do that? Activate them?”

“Through eight years of torture.” Ben stared at you, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “Everything was forced on me, all because of my stupid fucking genes. Do you finally understand why I saved you?”

Ben nodded, letting you slip into your bedroom. You lay back on the old mattress, body in desperate need of sleep and rest. By the time you managed to get out of your jeans and under the covers, the door was cracking open. Ben was carrying something, a mug. Steam billowed from it as he set it down on the nightstand. Then he was leaving, nearly pulling the door shut behind him when he stopped.

“There are things I would say to you if I wouldn’t be a pussy for saying them.”

“Ben?” He looked over his shoulder, catching your smile as you sat up and took a sip of the hot tea. “That’s good enough for tonight. Thank you for the tea.”

He nodded, hesitating once more. “Drink that and then go the fuck to sleep. You look awful.”

“Goodnight to you too.” He grumbled and pulled the door shut, leaving it open a sliver to let in some light from the hall. You heard movement outside and heard a chair scrape along the wood floor. With you mug in hand, you tiptoed over, opening the door.

Ben was sat in a chair right outside your room, frowning when he saw you. “I thought I told you to sleep.”

“What are you doing?” He rolled his eyes.

“Just go to the fuck to sleep. We need to get a game plan together in the morning and you won’t be able to do that if you’re a zombie. Go before I make you.”

You took a sip of tea, offering him a tiny smile. “Try to get some sleep yourself at some point. It was a long day.”

“Y/N…” he warned. You took a big swig of tea and handed him the mug, Ben cautiously taking it.

“I think I’m starting to get you, Ben. You’re an acts of service kind of guy.” He stared at you like you had three heads and shook his own. “I’ll explain someday.”

“Alright, that’s it,” he stood, watching you scurry back to your bedroom. You plopped into bed, Ben pointing a finger at you before sitting back down. You tugged up the covers, putting your back to him as a wave of exhaustion hit you. 

You were just barely holding onto consciousness when something heavy draped over your body in the cool room. 

“She would have liked you,” he mumbled. You burrowed into your sheets, letting sleep overtake you.

That was until four am.

That’s when you woke up to screaming.

___________

A/N: Part 4 coming soon!

[f1shart]

thoughts on johncutio (johnny/mercutio)? I think its be funny

i havent thought nearly as hard about them as i have tankbalt but hey

THE JOHNNYCUTIO CASE

i say johnnycutio instead of johncutio cuz im a hater and john makes me think of that burb LOSER....

sorry this list isn't as detailed as tankbalt but ... c'mon it's tankbalt

just some silly little guys that get attacked on a daily basis by a young man of their rival family

speaking of rival family: FAMILY FEUDS. don't bother with those montys, they're a gang of backstabbers. don't engage with those smiths, they'll zibble zorp your ass. their lawn isn't even that pretty anyway.

they dont necessarily have signature colors like tankbalt but johnny wears a lot of red/orange and mercutio is associated with green/blue because of his childhood outfit/family color (complementary again 😇)

soooo muuuch 🫧🫧🫧🫧🍃🍃🍃

both their paternal figures were involved in some shady ass shit (pt9 - pollination heh, and abandoning his past family question mark? pat - not beating the mafia allegations you can't tell me he's NOT modeled after the godfather look at those brows)

their families make actually good food compared to their rival families (military rations and...... british food 😨)

canonically/fanonically attractive. mercutio has two people crushing on him + maybe tybalt in fanon, johnny has one but is often the target of the affections of ripp and/or tank in fanon

canonically doomed. johnny ends up working retail in his 30s (ts2ds/gba), loses his pupils and ears; mercutio fucking dies (romeo and juliet)

cool noses i guess. beautiful hooked nose on mercutie pie and that straight ass nose johnny got from Literally No One. he does share it with vidcund, however... giggles. How Curious.

piercings and black nail polish coded. Final verdict: Bisexual.

been in the drafts for 4 months sorry anon

[lu-is-not-ok]

Again, since Sin Resources are even in-text described as feelings the Sinners themselves feel (from Sign of Roses observation log, describing the mechanic of sapping Sin Resources: "It was like some… emotion in me was getting snapped in half." and "Everyone told me that it was as though the bottled—up feelings inside them were melting away.") I don't see how it can be argued to be coming from anyone else other than Gregor himself.

The reason why it's possible for the Lust to "come from his arm" rather than specifically Gregor himself is because, despite his perception of it being otherwise, they are both still inherently part of one being. After all, his arm is a PTSD allegory - even if he may see it as him not being himself when in the middle of reliving his trauma, it is still a part of him. This does not apply with Hermann - a completely different person with seperate feelings and experiences.

There is currently no precedent for a situation where someone's E.G.O requires the feelings and experiences to come from a Completely Different Person. You'd have to have a really good reason for such a massive break from the rules and conventions to happen, especially when E.G.O are as a concept so inherently tied to the very self using them, to the point where E.G.O of the same abnormality can represent vastly different things for different people. It's a leap in logic that I simply can't stand by when the explanation of Lust coming from Gregor himself, just simply a part of himself that he wishes to be divorced from, is much more fitting with established lore and still explains why he can't fuel it himself.

I never disagreed with you on the fact of emotional and spiritual fulfillment being a part of Lust - it very much is so. But to say it has nothing to do with the idea of base desires at all is to actively ignore a massive amount of visual motives, design choices, and narrative points.

Base desires in this case aren't just, as you put it, "cannibalistic eating and fucking". Human connection could be said to be a base desire in the context of Limbus's narrative as well - aren't so many stories in Project Moon's world focused on how people will form relationships and care for one another even when the world actively stands in their way and punishes them for it? Humans are inherently social creatures after all.

Isn't that the point of Heathcliff's Lust, that his wish to connect with Catherine is so strong that he's willing to do anything to earn her back? Isn't that why for Erlking that Lust is replaced with Gloom, since he has fully abandoned that wish and instead is focused on destroying every Heathcliff that contributed to hurting Catherine? You could argue this Lust counts as emotional fulfillment too, but it's certainly no "higher goal" - it's a simple base desire of being cared for and to care for another, born in a household where such care was actively witheld.

Also the interpretation that Bloodfiends somehow seek out "enkephalin" is just. Straight up wrong and I have no idea where you got it from SFGHGF. We know Enkephalin comes from the central nervous system, Faust says so in Canto 1: "Enkephalin can only be extracted from the brain and the spinal nerves." It has no connection to blood whatsoever.

The Bloodfiends explicitly need Blood, the difference here however is that it's not a literal physical need - it's a conceptual one. It's not that the Blood they consume is Literally Consumed For The Emotions Held Within, but rather that, conceptually, to them Blood is everything they are. It's the culmination of their being - their feelings, ambitions, worth, reasons for existence. Without Blood, there is no Bloodfiend, because on a conceptual level it's the only thing their self is. It's a base need inherent to them as beings on an abstract level.

It works similarly to how Mermaids are formed through their human selves becoming one with the Whale that digests them, down to the conceptual level where it becomes impossible to tell where the human the Mermaid used to be ends and where the Whale it is now a part of begins. Or how many Singularities work by directly interacting with abstract concepts rather than physical reality, like K Corp's Tears bringing things back to a conceptual "previous state" and thus requiring to be processed with an idea, a concept of what that previous state even is in the first place to be able to work properly.

The connection between Lust and Addiction is explicitly made through the Mirror Dungeon floor packs - one of the Lust-themed floor packs has the name "Addicting Lust". Also, while Gregor does smoke, he is never actively pointed out to be smoking as much as Ryoshu does - someone who is consistently called out for being a chainsmoker to the point Vergilius only ever refers to her when telling people to not smoke on the bus. When Gregor is shown to smoke, it's primarily done in response to negative emotions - he's stress smoking, a Gloom-tinted action rather than Ryoshu's Lust-tinted chain addiction, which she does so frequently and unconditionally that she knows the exact time it takes her to finish a cigarette.

Goddammit the two-in-one theory is even supported by GAMEPLAY MECHANICS

HONG LU'S BASE ID IS SPLIT BETWEEN RUPTURE AND SINKING

Yuuup. I haven't mentioned it on here but yup.

Fun fact, he's the only Base Identity who uses two of the Major Status Effects rather than the usual one!

And just to add to it in case you think that doesn't matter - Faust is the only Base Identity who doesn't inflict any Major Status Effect, and we know she usually sees herself as more of a vessel for the Gesselschaft than a seperate person herself.

So clearly, there has to be Something to it.

[sol-iscus]

Ekko.....Amanda needs to count her days. That boy got put through a psychological wringer this season. The poor bastard has to fight his way out of the Arcane both physically and psychologically, just to get transported to an alternate timeline where he had everything he ever wanted. Then his sense of morality just had to kick in the moment he experiences the slightest smidgen of joy, so he goes back to his own timeline, only to have to talk a suicidal Jinx out of blowing both him and her up (five plus times in a row,by the way). Then on top of all that, he has to go be a child soldier in a war that had exactly fuck all to do with him.

If Ekko snapped after this season, I don't blame him at all. That's a child going through all that. Alone. No parents. No siblings. No partner. No actual friends (the Firelights don't count). Vi essentially abandoned him this season because she was so wrapped up in Caitlyn. He lost everything and everyone that mattered to him. And he's expected to just be strong and soldier on and rebuild by himself (with the knowledge of how different and better things were in the alternate timeline) after all of his fresh trauma. We all know Vi wasn't going back to Zaun the second she shacked up with Caitlyn,so he can't even lean on her either.

The fact Ekko's trauma was never really explored either...... Losing your adoptive father and uncle back to back is crazy work for an adult,much less a child to respond to. Yet he never gets a moment to really sit with his feelings because he's got work to do. I also haven't missed the fact that Jinx was heralded as the Zaunite revolutionary......as if Ekko didn't lay the foundation for a revolution by creating the Firelights. Or a scientific revolution with the Z-Drive. Like, damn, this teenager did so much with so little. And he gets no credit for it.

(Ekko,I'm sorry. This show really did you so dirty.)

FACTS. FACTS. STRAIGHT FACTS. Ekko literally recreated tech from scratch in the alternate timeline because it didn’t exist, to save a timeline that is practically in ashes. That’s how intelligent the guy is. Then he comes back and has….nobody to lean on whatsoever, like you said. It’s gut wrenching and I’m getting angry thinking about it.

Saves EVERYONE and yet no one he truly cares about is even alive or doesn’t even take a moment to show up at the end of it all to hug him. The state of the firelights tree is unknown. I can only presume with Viktor gone, the tree is okay now? We’ll never know.

As Ekko is gone, Piltover has a the audacity to attempt to recruit Zaunites to essentially die for them. It’s disgusting. He would not stand for this.

The current state of Zaun is worse than it was in season 1 and I hope that he at least still has the firelights hideout. It’s disheartening, the way things went.

[anxiousthoughts365]

Hiding

CW: language, angst

'You're such a twat.'

Sirius lifted his fuzzy head from his shaking hands to find Regulus standing beside the library table he'd been camped out at for the past 16 hours. His younger brother's back was ram-rod straight, his face paler than usual with his anger. Sirius, tired and distraught, had to fight against the urge to flinch away from the other boy's near tangible disapproval.

'Nice shiner, by the way,' Regulus added, no hint of amusement in his tone as he appraised the purple swelling around Sirius' eye. It had only stopped throbbing about an hour ago, but Sirius had been purposefully pressing at it, trying to feel some of his internal pain in a more physical way. It hadn't been helping.

'What do you want, Reg?' Gods, even his voice sounded ruined. Probably from having cried for so long ...

'I want you to acknowledge, once and for all, that you're a complete and utter twat,' Regulus drawled, raising one eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest.

'What for this time?' Sirius sighed, scrubbing at his good eye. He really wasn't in the mood for this, but his relationship with Regulus was just beginning to heal, and they had both been making a concerted effort to be on their best behaviour with each other recently. He had to forcefully remind himself of that when Regulus scoffed.

'Fair question. This time, it's for what you did to Lupin.' Sirius' head snapped up so fast that he heard his neck crack. His eyes were almost painfully wide as he gaped at Regulus, who continued as though nothing had changed. 'It's one thing to abandon your family, Sirius. It's another thing entirely to actively endanger two students. One of whom has spent literal years of his life doing his utmost to avoid anyone finding out about his ... Monthly problem.'

Sirius' mind was whirling so fast with the revelations pouring out of his brother that all he could think to say was, 'You know?!'

'Of course I fucking know,' Regulus spat, his eyes - so like Sirius' own in so many way - narrowing to sharp slits. 'It doesn't take a genius to put these things together. The scarring, the fatigue and limping after the full moons, the way he looks ready to eat anyone who so much as breathes near him in the days leading up to it ...'

Despite himself, Sirius felt his heart-rate quicken, panic swamping him as he turned the words over in his head. Regulus knew. He knew about Moony, had been able to work it out. It was another risk to Remus, and Sirius couldn't stop his mind from spiralling as he assessed the danger, as he wondered what he could offer his brother to make him keep the secret. But Regulus huffed and rolled his eyes before Sirius could even speak.

'Luckily, most of the students in this place are too stupid or too self-absorbed to look into these things.' Sirius swallowed his rising bile and stared at his brother, waiting for him to go on. Regulus was frowning again as he growled, 'Calm down, I'd have nothing to gain from exposing him. Besides, it takes a pretty shitty person to betray a secret like that. Especially if it's one of your best friends' secrets.'

Sirius tried to pretend that the words weren't an icy dagger through his heart as he stuttered, 'But how ... How did you -'

'People can be quite careless with what they'll share when they think they have nothing left to lose,' Regulus murmured, his face shifting into mild disgust and annoyance as he slipped into the chair opposite Sirius'. 'I stumbled across him in the Astrology Tower last night on my Prefect's rounds, and he spilled the whole story. You're all just very lucky that it was me who ran into him at the right time.'

'I really fucked up, Reg,' Sirius muttered, looking down at his hands. The skin around his nails was cracked, dried blood crusting along the cuticles from where he'd been relentlessly picking at them.

'I would say that is a vast understatement,' Regulus sniffed. 'But I didn't just come here to tell you how pathetic and worthless you are. Seems you're already doing a good enough job of that yourself. I actually came to tell you that you should apologise to him.'

'I already tried,' Sirius grumbled, indicating his bruised face. He thought he saw Regulus bite back against a laugh, but decided to let it go. He deserved much worse than his kid brother laughing at him right now.

'Well, then you try again,' Regulus said. 'And you keep on trying, until the day that he's ready to hear it. And you do that, Sirius, because if you don't, you are going to lose yourself in all of that lovely fear and self-loathing that Mother so kindly instilled in us from an early age, and you will ruin not only yourself but everything around you. Lupin included.'

Sirius blinked, trying to wade through what Regulus was saying. Was his brother trying to be ... Nice??

'Why are you telling me this?' he asked, trying and failing to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

'Because despite what you may think, Lupin and I actually have quite a lot of things in common. And one of those things is that we both still care about you, against all evidence that it's not advisable for our wellbeing.'

The mixture of grief and hope and guilt and shame was so hopelessly tangled inside him that all Sirius could do was burst into tears. If what Regulus was saying was true, then some part of Remus still cared about him, even after the awful thing that he'd done. That meant that there could still be a chance at fixing this, at righting the pain he had caused Remus. But he knew that even if he did somehow make this right, he would still have to carry it with him for the rest of his days.

The weight of those emotions were so all-encompassing that it was a while before Sirius felt something tapping lightly at his shoulder. When he felt able to, he wiped away his tears and looked up to find that Regulus, looking deeply uncomfortable, was awkwardly patting at him, seemingly in an attempt to comfort him. The gesture was nearly enough to set him off again.

'He hates me,' Sirius breathed instead, trying to focus on one area of progress at a time.

'As he should, considering what you did,' Regulus sniped, retracting his hand and leveling his solumn gaze at Sirius. 'But that doesn't meant that he won't forgive you, one day. Not now, not tomorrow, maybe not for months. But if you give up, Sirius, he'll never understand that what you did has hurt you almost as much as it has hurt him. And if you never let him see that, then you will truly lose him forever.'

'When did you become such an expert on these things?' Sirius sniffled, reluctant to admit that what his younger brother had said was incredibly logical and also surprisingly motivating. He was suprised when the other boy's mouth flicked up momentarily in a barely-there smile as he leaned across the table towards him.

'I read,' Regulus whispered conspiratorially, almost making Sirius laugh. Almost. Then the uncharacteristic mirth was gone, and Regulus was standing, smoothing his crease-free robes. He turned away, but paused to add, 'Oh, and by the way, you can tell Potter that he can back off now.'

'You've talked to James?' Sirius breathed, his ribs aching as though someone were trying to force them apart, to split him open. Although being ignored by Remus was soul-crushing, it was still a close contest as to whether it was his silence or James' that was hurting Sirius the most.

'He has been talking at me,' Regulus clarified, then suddenly adopted a strangely lax posture, his face taking on an artificial optimism and sincerity, and Sirius blinked at the uncanny likeness of James as his brother burbled, 'I can't talk to him, because he royally fucked up, but I can't let him spiral, so you have to catch him for me.' Regulus shook his head, and immediately he was his cold, calculated self again as he stalked away, shooting back over his shoulder, 'I don't care how you do it, but he is to be informed that he has been returned to my list of people who do not exist. Consider it payment for my sage advice.'

And then Regulus was gone, sweeping away without a trace left that would indicate that he'd ever actually been there. But the things he'd said, the way he'd pulled together the floundering parts of Sirius' mind and given him a clear path out of all of this? There was no way that Sirius would ever be able to forget what his brother had done for him.

Wiping his face on his sleeve, he sighed heavily, then reached for a roll of parchment, and began to write down everything he had never said to Remus, but had always meant to, in the hopes that something might come up that he'd be able to use to explain what he'd done.

He got a little lost when the first thing that came out of his quill was, I love you.

[your-highness-immortal]

Okay, so. This is very important about Arcane and I need to set the record straight.

The parallel universe that Ekko and Heimerdinger end up in is JUST ONE VERSION of "What could have been." This is not to say that it was the ultimate best version of what could have been, but rather a timeline where Vi couldn't have accidentally abandoned Powder into becoming Jinx. She didn't even get to have the conversation with Mylo where Powder hears him call her a jinx. That's just a singular variable out of many that could have been changed to seemingly create a better timeline.

I point this out because it does not mean that for Piltover and Zaun to be at peace, one of either Vi or Jinx has to be dead.

We don't have to make conclusions based on just the 3 timelines we actively get to see. What if the Zaunites decided to not go over the bridge inciting violence at the beginning? What if Silco really was strangled to death at Vander's hands? What if Jayce never came down to Benzo's shop? What if Markus didn't kidnap Vi and throw her in prison?

It hurt to see that Vi was dead, but it helps to know that they don't have to be separated for them to be happy somewhere.

[mokutone]

here's some recent flubs + failures from the past month!

[serpentface]

Does Janeys know that Brakul has a wife and son? How would he react if he learned?

He actually does know and has known pretty much from the beginning.

Early on in his stint as a POW turned mercenary, Brakul would repeatedly invoke his wife and son as reasons he could or could not do certain things + to insult Janeys like 'okay but some of us have actual, tangible responsibilities in this world and people who depend on them. Like my wife and son, who I will be returning to immediately when my contract is over. You're never going to see me again. On account of my wife and son.'

When he started actually Liking Janeys and wanting to be with him, and seeing a chance to Avoid All Consequences And Never Go Back Home, he gradually reversed course (and attempted to rationalize it to himself) like "Ahhh they'll be fine. I mean everyone probably thinks I'm dead and/or an oathbreaker anyway so Sirudan's gotta be remarried by now. My brother probably got in on that, and he really has his shit together so they're in good hands. Honestly it will be worse for them if I go back. They're better off without me. They're fine. It's not a big deal. I'm soooooo single and unattached btw" And Janeys was like "Okay. Yay."

13 years down the line Janeys almost never thinks about it and when he occasionally remembers it's like

He does not give a shitttt about the wife/child abandonment angle whatsoever, but he's aware that Brakul still has some attachment to them and regrets over skipping out, and he's kind of insecure about it. The concept of Brakul having a child out there completely independent of their whole Thing also makes him uncomfortable in ways he can't really put his finger on. He's not actually scared that Brakul will return to his ex-wife though, like even with all his profound insecurities and abandonment issues he knows there's not a chance in hell that he's gonna actually attempt to make amends. Bottom line is he doesn't like to think about it, and mostly doesn't have to.

[hanzajesthanza]

“what does geralt get from that friendship…”

another post examining the weight of geralt and dandelion’s friendship… because i don’t think people recognize how painful and debilitating loneliness can become.

the witcher as a deconstruction of the genre takes fantasy tropes to their most logical ends—it asks us to consider what The Lone Swordsman feels, looks into the humanity in a Cold-Blooded Killer. and it turns out he’s not cold-blooded at all.

that despite some superhuman abilities, he laments and worries and curses himself, just like any other worker of any other profession. just as the farmer is scorched by the sun, the washerwoman’s back aches, and the scholar goes half-blind studying, a witcher deals with all of the pains and annoyances and dangers of his job in a mundanely human way.

but the farmer, the washerwoman, and the scholar have something the witcher does not have—they’ll always be seen as human and part of their society. at the end of the day after enduring all of their labor, they have their wife to caress, festivities to attend, and taverns to frequent. but for a witcher? after the killing is over, what does he have? no one and nothing. not even a thank you. he is met with fear and hatred everywhere he goes, baseless bigotry and dislike.

I did my job. I quickly learned how. I’d ride up to village enclosures or town pickets and wait. If they spat, cursed and threw stones, I rode away. If someone came out to give me a commission, I’d carry it out.

so he faces not just loneliness, but being deliberately ostracized and cast out from society. geralt can’t even find a polite word in most settlements, much less a friend.

‘(…) Tell me, where should I go? And for what? At least here some people have gathered with whom I have something to talk about. People who don’t break off their conversations when I approach. People who, though they may not like me, say it to my face, and don’t throw stones from behind a fence. (…)’

this kind of loneliness is not a mere inconvenience. it’s completely altering to your self-perception and ability to see the positive in the world.

each day is not lived, but endured.

day in, and day out—forced to the most difficult and lowest labor in order to survive, and knowing that were you to die, no one would search for your body, few would miss you, hell, they might even spit “good riddance”.

in this situation, to find a friend, is not only friendship, but a rescue.

without dandelion, geralt may have drowned—drowned in solitude, amidst a sea of strangeness.

‘(…) And I’m alone, completely alone, endlessly alone among the strange and hostile elements. Solitude amid a sea of strangeness. Don’t you dream of that?’

No, I don’t, he thought. I have it every day.

because dandelion is not only a bright soul, characteristic rippling laughter and the strum of a lute, but someone who will intently listen to geralt, someone who mutually enjoys his company.

‘(…) you almost jumped out of your pants with joy to have a companion. Until then, you only had your horse for company.’

someone who doesn’t see him as strange and at the fringes of society at all, but as an utterly normal man.

and doesn’t impose demeaning, sappy sympathy onto him, but sobering and realistic “quit your bullshit” which ridicules the very thought that he should internalize societal hatred.

Do you know what your problem is, Geralt? You think you’re different. (…) [You don’t understand that] for people who think clear-headedly you’re the most normal man under the sun, and they all wish that everybody was so normal. What of it that you have quicker reflexes than most and vertical pupils in sunlight? That you can see in the dark like a cat? That you know a few spells? Big deal.

dandelion isn’t “willing” to accept geralt for himself—he already has accepted him. and to him, it’s no difficulty, it’s nothing worth discussing, because he sees no abnormality and no strangeness in him.

while others “prefer the company of lepers to witchers,” dandelion has already offered geralt to share his room and board. not out of sympathetic pity, not out of fetishizing curiosity. because… they’re friends.

and what else does this friendship save him from?

not only from others, but from himself.

worse than enduring others’ apathy and hatred is one’s own thoughts—the darkness and negativity which builds from witnessing and experiencing such behavior.

dandelion’s ability to counter and dispel geralt’s pessimism and self-flagellating tendencies—again, not out of pity, but out of friendship—is undeniably invaluable. someone to rescue you from your darkest thoughts, when you begin to spiral.

and in this darkness, all you can do is cry. you cry, beg for someone to help you, please—

Help! Why doesn't anyone help me? Alone, weak, helpless – I can't move, can't force a sound from my constricted throat. Why does no one come to help me? I'm terrified!

to be alone, the saga reminds us, is worse than a death sentence. to be alone is to “perish; stabbed, beaten or kicked to death, defiled, like a toy passed from hand to hand.” to be alone is to suffer, and to be with someone is to save them from that suffering.

'(…) I wouldn't like anything bad to happen to you. I like you too much, owe you too much-'

'You've said that already. What do you owe me, Yennefer?'

The sorceress turned her head away, did not say anything for a while.

'You travelled with him,' she said finally. 'Thanks to you he was not alone. You were a friend to him. You were with him.'

it is true that geralt has saved dandelion countless times, helped him, gotten him out of some scrape… but to ask what did geralt get in return? are you kidding me?

did you ever consider that it is dandelion who saved geralt?

by being with him. by being by his side. by being his friend.

indeed, dandelion has rescued geralt, countless times, from the yawning jaws of endless loneliness. he’s helped him, chased away the danger of geralt’s own rumination. and he’s gotten him out of scrapes, his own insecurities and bitter helplessness.

so what does dandelion give geralt? what does geralt get from their friendship?

an amusing question. what one gets from friendship is the friendship itself. and that is more than enough.

[princesstarfire1234]

God reminded of the fact that Earthspark season 2 is kind of mid compared to one, especially in the themes department :((

Elaboration in pic since this person explained it better than I could:

But then brain was like... man, yknow what could've possibly helped solved both of these problems? Scavengers...

I AM insane yes but ALSO CONSIDER ONCE MORE TF FANDOM:

Earthspark Scavengers being well-meaning Decepticons that AREN'T actively trying to kill literal children and INSTEAD find/create a Chaos Terran by accident, grow very attached to them, and end up taking care of them... (affectionately dubbed Connie maybe, idk, could be any kid but I do like Connie, she's silly)

(PS: read tags idk i think I rambled too much in there and now I'm too lazy to move all of it up on the actual text post)

[rexscanonwife]

I recently purchased the new book 'secrets of the clone troopers' that's written and narrated by Rex as sort of a memoir and it's AWESOME with tons of information and beautiful illustrations! 🥺💖💖💖

And we all know that trauma comes free with your fucking clone troopers but NOT HIM CONFIRMING THAT THEY ALL HAVE DADDY ISSUES? 😭😭😭😭

[puhpandas]

the fact that the interview implied that ruin is the actual ending for the glamrocks as we know them and they're just going to be stuck there to rot and degrade until their happy ending is finally shutting down and being free of suffering like good god😭

[musical-chick-13]

OCD: We don't know what the qualifications of "being a good person" are, or at what point you stop being one, so we're just going to avoid everyone all the time so we don't hurt them :)

Me: But if. You avoid people. How can you help them. Also what about the people you already know who have a vested interest in continuing to talk to you? Wouldn't this hurt them? This doesn't make any sense.

OCD: No :) It doesn't :)

Me: But then--

OCD: Good luck :) :) :)

[fullmetall]

thinking abt hohenheim 2day

[ninjagotohell]

I just read a whole wacky thread of people arguing which parent was bad Garmadon or Misako and I’m no longer scared of the Misako defenders