#and while it was cool i couldn't justify that

[fictionadventurer]

August: Day 8

Adventures

Went to a thrift store and the library's used bookshop.

Bought a copy of Around the World in 80 Days that looks more readable than my current copy (so long as it's not an abridged children's edition). May make a new cover for it.

Bought a book about the basics of astronomy. If I'm going to write about an astronomer, I need to know a tiny bit, and this looks like it's written for idiots with short attention spans, so it'll be great for me.

Bought the coolest pop-up book I've ever seen. For a quarter. I'll have to show you guys pictures.

Treated myself to Youtube videos about Victorian literature. Indulged in a few Gutenberg downloads. Read the first chapter of Lady Audley's Secret and this may derail all my reading plans until I finish.

Accomplishments

Read a few chapters of Heretics. Am now halfway done.

Tire. Twice.

Signed up for a CPR refresher course

[coff33andb00ks]

Hopeless - LN

Lando Norris x fem!reader (mentions of Charles Leclerc x fem!reader) Summary: and you know damn well that for you, I would ruin myself a million little times Word count: 2012 Themes: angst, forbidden love(?) Song: can i be him by james arthur Warnings: cheating, charles is a bad boyfriend, cursing, Oscar knows everything, barely proofread, not a happy ending Notes: I watched one too many she chose me/did she? tiktoks and this was born. Also please don't take this as me condoning cheating (unless you can cheat with Lando).

Lando isn't one hundred percent sure how it began, not really. He remembers the first move, the bit of shock when you didn't reject him, but he doesn't remember how – or when or why – he fell for you. He knows he didn't just wake up one day saying to himself right today's the day I fall in love.

It all started so innocently. Right? He found out you liked gaming and casually invited you to his place to try out his setup when you mentioned you were looking to upgrade. He'd expected Charles to come with you but had shrugged it off, too excited to share his love for gaming. You stayed most of the afternoon, laughing and he'd had the tiniest of crushes by the time you left. And when you upgraded you asked him to come over to help you set it up.

Crush: intensified.

He's pretty sure he liked you so much because you didn't talk about racing with him. He could be "normal" around you, just like any other guy in his 20s who loved video games and driving fancy cars and blasting music. Soon he was dropping by or inviting you over on off days. He didn't think anything of it. You were a friend, and Charles obviously didn't mind, so why deny himself the pleasure of your company?

Crush: die-hard. To the point Max and Oscar teased him about it.

He likes you most in his apartment. On race weekends at a track you were calm, cool, and collected in designer brands, the picture perfect girlfriend of everyone's favorite Ferrari driver. But at his place, you were… Y/n. Yapping nonstop and dancing in his living room, curled up under a blanket on his sofa watching the latest period drama, in his kitchen baking treats he isnt' supposed to eat.

It was, he thought after hugging you goodbye one night, kind of like having a girlfriend without the stress.

He still dated. Casually. Because he couldn't justify putting all the time and effort into finding a girlfriend. It was so much easier to sleep around and be friends with you. Fucked up, yeah, but easier.

Then on an off weekend you showed up unannounced, looking like you wanted to cry.

And he would have done anything to keep that from happening.

"I just needed to get away," you said, and Lando nodded, letting you in and pretending the smell of your perfume didn't affect him.

You didn't want to talk about it and he didn't pressure you. He gave you the remote and fixed you a drink and parked himself on the other end of the sofa with his laptop to edit some photos while you found some old movie to put on.

"Lan?" you asked after a while.

"Hmm?" He didn't look away from his laptop.

"If Charles…" You sighed. "If he cheated on me you'd tell me wouldn't you?"

"Immediately," he said without hesitation. Then, as your words registered, he saved his progress and closed the laptop, slowly turning to look at you. "Do you think he's cheating?"

You shrugged, eyes firmly on the TV.

"Y/n. C'mon, talk to me." Lando set the laptop aside and picked up the remote to mute the TV.

"I'm just being stupid."

He waited, and then listened while you listed off the reasons you were considering that Charles was cheating. How he'd stayed out late the night before, had left early this morning for a last minute trip to the Ferrari factory. Facing you, he moved closer, until he could hold your hand. Then, when you finished, he rattled off the usual signs of cheating to see if anything matched.

You looked at him oddly. "Got a lot of experience with cheating?"

Lando giggled, as he always did when asked a stressful question. "What? Me? Nah."

"Fucking liar," you muttered, rolling your eyes.

"No, no, I never lie when I'm fucking," he said, wondering why the words were coming out of his mouth before he finished saying them. Glancing upwards, he pinched his brows together. "Well, wait, maybe I have… Like when it's mediocre but you need to get off so you say it's good?"

You laughed, which was always his goal with you. He loved your laugh, adored the way you threw your head back, and always joined in as soon as the snort you despised escaped.

"Oh god Lan," you giggled, and moved to hug him.

And he knew he was a goner. Because you felt so good in his arms. He hugged you close. He knew the healing power of a good hug but also held onto you for more selfish reasons, committing the feel of you tucked so close to his memory, breathing in the scent of you. Easing his grip as you began to pull away, he felt his breath catch in his throat when you paused, looking into his eyes.

"Thank you," you whispered.

"You know I'm always here for you." He smiled. He liked that he could make you feel better. Then, because he couldn't help himself, he had to go and ruin everything. Reaching up, he lightly smoothed your cheek with his fingers. "If he is cheating, he's a fucking moron. You're not even my girl and I can't find anyone that compares."

He still can't remember how you'd initially reacted. Surprise, probably. Maybe a little shock. But he would forever remember the way you'd breathed his name, as though Lando were a prayer, and that you'd both leaned in at the same time.

And he was certain that until his last breath he would recall every detail of what had followed. The kiss, everything pure and perfect, your hands on his neck. Him pulling you closer, both of you moaning. It had been frantic, every shred of neediness and longing pouring from his mouth to yours, every late night dream running through his mind, each fantasy he'd allowed himself to think of coming true before he'd tasted your skin.

You stayed the night, and he'd discovered that you'd fantasized, too.

***

"You good mate?"

Lando blinks, seeing Oscar in the doorway. "Yeah," he lies, rolling his shoulders. "Just thinking of strats for tomorrow."

"You've been listening to the same song for almost an hour."

Fuck. "No I haven't." He pauses the song, rubbing the back of his neck and finally moving to finish dressing. "It's a good song."

"What's going on with you? You've been acting weird for a couple months now," Oscar says.

Lando swallows the shame. It's not that he feels guilty. He's content with the arrangement between you. Not that anything is set in stone, but it's an unspoken agreement. You're still with Charles – who, it turned out, was cheating but it was a minor fling – and he's single. Technically. In his heart, he's yours.

He almost laughs because it's so beyond fucked up now.

But he can't let anyone else find out. He's been around long enough to know that you'd be the one labeled as a whore. Even though everyone's aware of Charles' infidelity, it would be your fault. And Oscar…

For someone whose entire persona is I really don't give a fuck I'm here to race, the bastard knows everything. He's like a cat. He's always there, and even when he's not listening he soaks it all in like a sponge.

He spritzes a little more cologne on himself and pulls on his hoodie. "Dunno what you're talking about, mate."

"You haven't gone out to celebrate since Miami."

Of course he hasn't. Miami was the night he'd gotten just drunk enough to dance too close to you. The secretly snapped pictures of his face in your neck are still popping up on social media. "It gets old after a while, Osc."

Oscar folds his arms over his chest and leans in the doorway. "For me, yeah. For you? Not buying it."

Goddamn the sponge cat for being so observant. Lando shrugs, maintaining he façade of yep I'm good. "Osc—"

"Is it because of y/n?"

Ice water floods his veins. He can feel the blood draining from his face and his palms begin to sweat. You've both been so careful, Miami notwithstanding. He never takes you out, makes a point to not sit too close to you in a group setting, and is his so-called normal self anytime someone else is around. It's different alone, but – oh. "You mean in Miami?" he asks casually, fixing his necklace and lifting his foot to tie his shoe.

"You were weird about her before Miami."

Oh god. "It was just a stupid crush." He ties his other shoe and checks his pockets for his wallet and hotel key. "I'm over it now."

"Lando."

"What?" He practically snaps the word out and instantly regrets it, but he can't talk to Oscar about this. Oscar will never be able to understand. "Look, I gotta go, need to get rest for tomorrow."

"Oh. I thought… I guess you are over it." Oscar gives a tiny shrug.

Lando freezes. "Why are you talking in riddles?"

"You didn't see them fighting?"

He jerks his head to stare at his teammate. When he speaks, his voice nearly cracks. "Fighting?"

"Well, arguing. I don't know what about, I didn't catch any of it. I only saw him trying to talk to her and she shoved him and stormed off."

No wonder you haven't replied to his texts. His hand aches to pull out his phone and call you to check on you. To make sure you're okay. You and Charles don't fight often but Lando knows of your tendency to go and cry until you figure out a resolution. "What did they fight about?"

"I don't know."

Lando swallows anxiously, pulling out his phone and checking the time. "Where'd she go?"

"No clue."

"You're really no fucking help," Lando mutters, shoving his phone into his pocket and brushing past him to leave the room.

"Thought you were over it?" Oscar asks softly.

Lando freezes again, anguish twisting in his chest at the thought of ever being over you. "I… She's my friend. It's… Y/n… She's…"

"She's what?"

Everything but his. Real and true and more than he ever thought he could have. His daily sunshine and his nightly fantasy. The open ear when he's having a rough go, the tight embrace when he needs grounding. His source of peace and his greatest torment.

"Fucking hell, mate," Oscar whispers.

"I gotta go," Lando says.

And he leaves, not sure why he feels so anxious all of a sudden. Everything feels off. He tells himself it's because Oscar knows, or at least thinks he knows, and that's got to be the reason. He's fine. You're fine. Nothing's changing just because you had a fight with Charles. It'll blow over and by morning things will be as they have been.

The trip to the hotel seems to take forever and he's even more uneasy as he sits in traffic a few cars back from the valet. He should have gotten an Uber or caught a ride with someone. Despite the air conditioning going he's sweating, because you still haven't replied to his texts, and when he tries to call you it goes straight to voicemail.

Hey y/n, call me when you can?

But you don't.

He stays up late, hoping you'll at least send him a text letting him know you're okay. His sleep is restless, plagued with the worst possible scenarios. When his alarm goes off he hits snooze one too many times and so has to rush to the track, trying to push everything out of his mind as race time approaches. Checking social media so he can engage with the team posts hyping up his and Oscar's starting positions, he can only stare at the screen when Instagram loads.

You. And Charles. Cozied up like soulmates. There's candlelight and flowers.

But all he can stare at is the diamond on your finger. And, just beneath the photo, Charles' short caption.

She said yes.

*~end~*

[stuck-writing-sickos]

In Poor Taste [P4]

[Series Link]

(Yandere × F! Reader)

[Warning: misogyny, explicit language, violence, harrassment, bodily harm]

(A/N: i see some of yall find Lukas so offputting 🎯yall not rocking with him? Why❤️What for✨️ is it his personality 💕is he vile and disgusting 🥹? do u hate him💋? Do u wanna beat his ass 🫶? )

You were never crazy about spoiled rich men. They were nothing but troubles.

He didn't expect to see a familiar face in the tight, dim, sweaty corner of Tokyo. He regretted going to this silly punk rock concert in the first place, but he did say this morning that he would go to one so he could talk to you about it. Mostly he was set on going because he wanted to try out something new, something to talk about - his peers wouldn't set foot near this underground coffee. It was unfortunate that he had no genuine interest in the music - it was loud and complicated. Unpredictable. The guitar might sound cool, but there wasn't a groove to which he could chill and bob his head or trip balls on mushroom while making out with a stranger. No trippy backdrops here - just the dim, anxiety-inducing colored stage light.

So he was there at a standing table way back, watching the crowd dance and scream. He found it strange - the hair, the makeup, the eccentric clothes. The only thing he would safely get behind was the fishnet and leather skirts that some girl really rocked. Sometimes, the girls over at the States would wear that to bars or theme nights. He liked that. He didn't like the way he feel here - half aroused, half judgemental. He would rather the tight sportwears on tanned blond surfers or yoga instructors. The ones who earned nods and hums and vile comments from his frat brothers were he to kiss and tell. Being attracted to them made him feel normal. Accepted. Approved. He wouldn't be caught dead eyeing these women.

But his friends weren't here, so he got to look. Never tell, though. Or if he did, he would say "oh, they dressed crazy", or "their eyeliner were scary", or "their piercings freak me out".

Deciding that it was time for another beer, Lukas begrudgingly went to the bar again. He felt anxious and alone, sticking out like a sore thumb. He earned quite some looks from women, but he couldn't be so sure if they liked what they see or if they could tell he was a poser who only came just to say he did it. He couldn't read their expressions, partly since he was drunk, partly because he was now considering the cultural differences, even if only for a morcel. He was made aware of it most pointedly this morning: the couple faux-pas he made with Sakamoto might have been intentional, but the guy's lack of reaction made him question how big of an insult he had put out there.

Sakamoto made him feel defensive, though Lukas decided not to dwell on it. He wasn't one to feel insecure, especially with guys like that - soft faced and soft-spoken. His big round eyes and sickly skin made him look like a woman, too. At least, Lukas would acknowledge that he was tall. But that was his only saving grace.

He wasn't explicitly aware that he was feeling more territorial over you. It wasn't about you anyway, it was by default. Even in the past, he had done these things - putting down other men to get to women. They were his wingmen, he would justify, they weren't supposed to outshine him. When it was his turn to wingman, he definitely let his brothers dog on him for days. It was common and understandable. If anything, Sakamoto should make ways for him. A girl like you wouldn't suit that guy - he was too uptight and serious. What would two high-strung people do together? You should be with someone who know what a good time is. Also, he saw something Sakamoto didn't - a glimpse of your tattoo. Those family-man wouldn't know how to deal with that. How would he take bring that up to his family? They would freak. Even his sister's "31:25" tattoo freaked his parents out, and they were already the most liberal rich family in his neighborhood.

Yeah, Sakamoto should leave you to him.

Settling in on a barstool, he ordered another beer, then repeat himself when the bartender couldn't quite make out what he was trying to say.

Lukas let his eyes scan the people sitting near him. Only a few, he noticed. It wasn't a crazy crowd to begin with.

After this beer, he'd go home.

As the bartender come back with his bottle, Lukas noticed something he didn't expect. From the crowd, you emerged, making your way toward the bar. He blinked, trying to see if he was mistaken.

No... that was definitely you.

All black from head to toes, you treaded silently like a death omen, your sleek heels clicking. Your short sleeved turtle neck and your tight pants started a heat within his chest. Your face wasn't any different, though - just the usual look. No crazy eyeliner, no bold dark lipstick. Seemed like you did not come here to impress the crowd.

You didn't notice him. Hopping onto a stool at the other end with your back facing him, you ordered something.  You knew Japanese, or just enough to get by. A lot of expats got to that point eventually.

Lukas debated on confronting you about your lies - you said you would be at dinner with a friend. Or maybe he could do that tomorrow.

He didn't peg you for such a casual liar.

Lukas hatched another plan: he could observe you, and see how deep your lies could go. Sipping on his beer, he followed your movement. You adjusted in your chair, still with that calm manner you carried yourself. Then, his eyes rested on your skin left bare by the bold backless top. You looked good, but clueless. Would you know the implications of such a shirt? The way your body moved in it... men would think you were asking for troubles. Bad men. Asshole men who didn't know they were pigs. At least he had the decency to admit that he was a pig, but he was an honest pig who respected women. He was a pig who knew to ask once, then if rejected a couple more time just to make sure, then he would leave it alone. Most pigs wouldn't know to even ask.

You sipped on your pink cocktail. That was cute. Your right now style reminded him of those ravebabes he met during spring break, but you were more subtle and quiet. Your movement were less urgent, and your clothes were less exposing. It was a nice feminine touch.

Your moment of rest didn't seem to last long. A man had chosen to sit down right next to you. This man was lanky, dressed in a very unbuttoned black button-down. He started to chatter, first in Japanese, then in English. Another sleazeball trying to test out his games. Lukas wondered when would be appropriate to interfere.

Your body language made it clear you weren't interested, but not afraid. Immediately covering your drink, you tried to turn your body away. The man seemed not to mind. If anything, his speech seemed more excited, his hands moving around like a stupid puppet. Desperate, Lukas thought, that was not a good look.

Deciding your half-finished drink wasn't safe anymore, you laid it on the bar and stepped down, trying to leave. Upon this, the man caught your wrist, forcing you to turn his way. Lukas' stomach twisted - here it was, the moment where he step it and scare off this asshole.

A loud, off-tune note shred through the music. Lukas looked at the stage. The band played on, but it seemed there was a technical issues with the guitarist.

The momentary distraction cost him his chance to intervene. When he turned his eyes back to you, he was hit with a strange scene - in a swift movement you twisted your arms around the man's and grabbed onto his forearm, forcing it down so hard he stumbled. Your face, now turned sideway during the commotion, was eerily calm when you talked. Lukas heard "Sir... I said no."

The man said something in Japanese, something that sounded bitter. Probably a curse word. Lukas jumped off his seat just as the stranger swung with his free arm to slap you across the face. The bartender seemed to have decided that whatever was going on was enough, and she rushed to you. Before she could, you clenched your idle fist and landed an uppercut so hard the harrasser let out a cartoonish "oof", his limp fingers releasing you as he stumbled backward, hitting right against the bouncer who appeared as if from the shadow.

Something in Lukas awakened in that moment. Your stone cold feature and your bruised knuckle left him slack-jawed. He stepped closer, intending to ask if you were okay. Once again, he was interrupted.

"Sir and ma'am, please explain what happened", the burly bouncer commanded. The pathetic guy excitedly tried to speak, but you only crossed your arms and watched. Your eyes was set on the sad attempt at vidication, but you were patient to let him finish his spiel.

"Is it true that you attacked this gentleman unprovoked, ma'am?"

"I apologize for the commotion, sir", your bowed, hands now hanging right atop your knees. Pulling yourself back up, you continued, "this young man seemed to have taken my rejection poorly, and he had slapped me across my face. I understand that my punch was unseemly, but I did that in an attempt to protect myself. He had gotten ahold of my arms and hit me, so I was fearing for the worst."

The bouncer's scowled, but he decided that he had heard it all. His big hand grabbed onto the stranger's wrist, and together they exited out the backdoor.

The fight definitely grabbed some attention. Lukas stood watching you look around, soaking in the side eyes. Taking in a breath, you dusted yourself off and hopped back onto a barstool. The thick, moist, cigarette-dense air fell heavy in Lukas' lungs. He felt his heart drumming, his body hot from an excitement he couldn't surpress. Something about the way you fought hit him like ecstasy.

He wondered if your punch hurts.

Lost in the unprecedented euphoria, he could only gaze at you as some women came up and asked if you were okay. You reassurred them with a familiar smile, one he had seen you wore at work. Your voice was soft again as you thanked the chirpy crowd for their concerns.

Lukas didn't say anything to you that night. He went home and let the image of you and your victorious knuckle bruises lull him to sleep.

___

"Do you need me to find out who he is?"

Yuki wasn't happy when he asked that. The sight of your bandaged hand and the medical patch on your face stirred his stomach with guilt.

"No, of course not", you shook your head, "I'm fine! Really, it was nothing."

Yuki pursed his lips. The lunch he packed himself suddenly tasted like cardboard.

He tried to make it easier by reminding himself that at least Lukas didn't push to have lunch with you today. In fact, the guy had been stoic for the entire morning. Even though you weren't around, Lukas had somehow been working on his computer silently instead of sprawling on his chair like a slacker. Perhaps you had reminded him about his attitudes at work?

If you did, Yuki was impressed that the newbie knew to listen. He didn't think that kid would be the type to do so.

"Sakamoto, please don't worry. I had fun, and your set was great."

He looked down. He knew he wasn't directly to blame, though the guilt never went away- he was well-acquainted with this sort of harrassment. Right in his childhood home he had witnessed worse. What grated him the most was the silence afterward. The way his mother's frail form would hunch, casting a bent shadow on the shoji, her hands cupping her face. He was too young and small to do anything but stand in the hallway and watch as she eventually moved, mute and rigid. He heard the folds of her clothes creasing against one another and the floorboard barely creaking under her feet.

She couldn't have fought back. She was sickly. When he grew into his middle school uniform, Yuki tried to fight on her behalf but his teenage body bounced off his father's sturdy chest. His father was a merciless man, strong like the grey stone wall surrounding their mansion. Yuki remembered the disappointment in the old man's voice as he lamented "my only son is emotional like a woman, and weak like one, too."

"I see...", he said to you, his voice weary. He didn't know what else to say. He didn't want to bring up the fact that when he saw your tug of war, he let his hand slip across the strings, messing up the song. He had planned to jump off the stage, but his lead singer had tugged on his sleeve and eyed the bouncer who was already coming your way. What was there to tell you? He couldn't say that he had almost done something. Either he did something or he did nothing. In this case, he did nothing. Yuki tried to find solace in the fact that you held your own, but he couldn't. You shouldn't have to, not right in front of a friend.

Another wave of bitterness hit him when he remembered Lukas standing there watching, hesitant to interfere, tall and awkward like an useless telephone pole. Yuki wondered if he should bring Lukas up, but he decides against it. He didn't want you to feel worse - a friend and a junior watching you getting hit, that would not brighten anyone's day. He felt sorry for you to have to deal with two cowards.

Well, if he couldn't feel better, the least he could do was to keep you from feeling worse. He had been of no help with his stupid sad face. After all, this should not be about him. Yuki shamefully put his feelings in the corner as he tried to think of something that would cheer your up.

"Hey, would you like to check out a cat cafe this weekend with me?"

Your eyes lit up.

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's right down the street from where I live. I have been meaning to visit, but it would be awkward to go alone."

Yuki already visited. He liked their cakes and tea. Still, he saw no harm in a little white lie to make his invitation seem more natural. He would hate for you to get the idea that he felt obliged to make up for what happened. That would be a transactional spin on what was supposed to be a gesture of friendship.

"That would be so nice! I also was hoping to relax a little lately..."

The knot in his chest unraveled at that.

___

You were intimidated by Lukas' switch-up. Since morning, he was quiet. Upon seeing your bruises, he asked what happened, to which you gave a vague respond about tripping on the sidewalk. No more inappropriate attempts of flirting nor small talks - he appeared to be engrossed in the tasks you handed to him. You found it simultaneously nice and unnerving, so a part of you were glad that you were scheduled to teach until lunch. You were worried that if you were near him for too long, you wouldn't be able to resist asking him what triggered this change.

You thought of asking him to join you and Sakamoto for lunch, remembering the agreement you had made the day prior. Though, by the time you reached the lounge, he was getting ready to leave. "Please don't mind me", he said with an oddly soft smile, "I need to pick up something at the convenient store nearby. I hope you and Mr. Sakamoto have a good meal". His out of character veneered grin hit you like a brick.

By the time afternoon rolled by, Lukas occupied only a corner of your mind. You were mowing through the last days of school, teaching, writing, planning the end of year school festival. When you landed from the whirlwind and came back to the lounge for your last hour, you barely noticed the junior colleague who was still hunched over his laptop. Brushing past him, you got settled. Your tense body completely dropped its guards as you melted in your chair.

Your gaze met with a bottle of cold green tea in your cubicle. From the thin condensation, you figured it hadn't been around for long.

"Afternoon", Lukas' voice echoed from the other side of your corner, "you seemed tired. It's not much, but I hope you feel a little more refreshed drinking that."

"Mr. Lukas... it's so nice of you. I'm embarrassed to not have anything in return."

He didn't move to look at you.

"Don't mind it! You had a long day."

His tone was cool and distant, a long shot from the flirtatiousness you had to suffer so far.

"Really, thank you, Mr. Lukas. I do like this brand a lot, so this definitely made me feel better."

There was a quick pause before he spoke again: "I'm glad."

He moved at last, turning to you. You missed his gaze as you twisted open the cap and took a sip.

"If you don't mind, I would love your opinion on the powerpoints I made so far."

"Of course", you nodded, rolling your chair his way. He arched back, giving you the space to take a look

Your attention was on the mistakes he had made. You had a flaw: you were a perfectionist. Despite your lack of vocal reaction, you knew you could be critical when you saw someone take over your work incorrectly. It comes with expertise. Still, you had trained yourself to manage the uneasiness and maintain an encouraging attitude - something your close friends called "softening the blow".

You often forget, though, that your face could betray you.

"Okay, you did great so far", you said, neglecting to meet his eyes, "but I want to make some notes here. Would you mind?"

"Not at all."

For someone so surprisingly tough, you lacked an eye for details. You didn't see the look on him as he watched your hardening face and bandaged knuckle as if he was starving.

[we-out-here-simping]

You, Me, Lonely.

(s.h. x reader)

from the river to the sea (educate yourself and help however you can)

Summary: you love Steve, Steve loves you. But maybe you both want different things from life.

Warnings/tags: reader menstruates (reader has uterus), abandonment issues, the ‘six nuggets’ talk, suggestive

Word count: 3.4k

masterlist

a/n: huge huge huge thanks to @procrastinationprincesses for helping me out with this fic and giving it an ending (ur amazing sanjana <3)

writing and posting something because i might have to go MIA for a lil bit (miss me while I'm gone will ya?)

fic is inspired by ‘You, Me, Lonely’ by FIZZ i absolutely love this song like its so close to my heart ughh what can i say I'm a little bitter about the six nuggets scene 

also if you couldn't tell already I have major abandonment issues and an anxious avoidant attachment style. It will reflect in what i write soz :(

In the quiet of the night, you wish for this to last forever. That you'll have him forever.

When you came out of the shower you found him asleep on his side of the bed. His side– the one closer to the door. ‘so I can protect you from anyone who'll try to steal you from me’, he had justified it when you asked him why he was adamant on that side.

you had turned off the bedside lamp ten minutes ago, slipped under the duvet, as quietly as possible so as to not wake him up. on your side of his bed. your bed.

He always sleeps on his stomach, one hand under his pillow and the other extended a little towards yours. His body moves with steady and slow breaths, back rising and falling under the covers, head peeking out from under the rumpled up duvet. his cheeks are squished against the pillow cover. His hair is a mess from the lack of hair product, and still damp from the shower he took before you. There's a few strands of his brown hair sprawled across his forehead too. With your softest touch you brush them away from his eyes.

You wonder what he was dreaming. you hope it was something nice. He looks calm, at peace, and very, very pretty.

You look at him and you know you love him. You want to love him forever.

Love had never seemed like the type of thing you’ll get– like it wasn't meant for you. But then you met him. This boy. This boy who you never thought to be your type. You never thought you even had a type. But his boyish charm and stupid grin won you over.

Your heart doesn't skip beats around him anymore, and you’d think that that means he doesn’t have that same effect on you anymore but that would be wrong. You don’t think you’ve ever loved anyone as much as you do to him. You don’t look at him and get butterflies in your stomach, you look at him and… you’re sure. your heart is quiet and sure. You don't think you’ve ever been sure before.

You want to be sure forever.

He feels like the comfortable still of rain after a scorching hot summer, like the calm and cold breeze that cools you down. Like standing at the top of the mountain, looking at the clouds and valleys below, he feels like the crisp air that fills your lungs. Like the comfort meal your mom makes– the one you can never really recreate, the one that tastes the best when it comes from her. 

You love him and you know. You know. You know he likes you, loves you even. 

Steve Harrington loves you like a dream, and you're worried that one day he’ll wake up, look at you and realise that he deserves so much better. He’ll wake up and he’ll leave for work and he’ll bump into a pretty angel of a girl with a disposition as bright as his. And he’ll never return. people fall out of love. People fall out of love all the time.

You wish for him to love you forever.

How long is a forever anyway?

You wonder what it'll be like. When you're older, with wrinkles, white hair and weaker limbs. 

It's like you see it.

You and him in a bed– just like now but older, wiser, more tired. His back turned to you. There'd be distance between you two, you’d want to move closer and hold him– but you wouldn't. You’d just stare at the back of his head, counting all the grey hairs you’d memorised like all the moles and wrinkles on his skin.

You’d notice his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest and you would have known him so long and so well that you'd just know that he wasn't actually asleep. you'd know why he wasn't asleep.

there'd be a pain in your chest. You would know what it is, why its there. You would gulp and try not to think about it.

“Do you always stare at me in my sleep?” his groggy voice pulls you out of your own head.

You blink, multiple times. Forever, right.

He softly smiles up at you. You blink away before moving to lay on your back, the sheets rustling with your movement. “sorry I woke you up”, you mumble an apology, staring at the ceiling, you fail to hide the shake in your voice.

“Y’kay?” 

“Yeah.” the sheets beside you ruffle but you keep your eyes trained on the ceiling. it seems inevitable. You know, one day it'll happen and despite having expected it, it’ll be the greatest heartbreak of them all. 

“Thinking ‘bout somethin’?” he sounds a bit more awake.

“When am I not?” you shake your head and laugh hoping he doesn't notice that it isn't real, thankful that the curtains didn't let in any moonlight and that you had turned off the lights.

“What is it?” but this is Steve, he doesn’t need to see you to know how you’re feeling.

“Nothing.”

“Were you lying about liking the pasta I made?”

“No, Steve it was good”, a real laugh slips out of you, and you finally look at him. He’s leaning on his elbow, the messy head of hair in his hand, looking down at you. You suddenly wish it wasn’t so dark so you could see the colour of his eyes, the moles and freckles on his skin.

“Then what?”

“Nothing.” your gaze moves back to the ceiling.

“Must be something if it's keeping you up”, you feel him shift closer to you. He smells of fresh shower, mint, shaving cream and washed laundry. 

“No, I'm just….  not sleepy.”

“Yeah?”, he raises his eyebrows with a sly smirk, “Well, I know a way to make you sleepy”, he leans down– both arms caging you in, landing a kiss on your neck before trailing further up to your lips. and its lovely, so god damn lovely, you don't want it to stop but this hurts.

“Ste– mmph– Steve stop”, you turn your face away, because if he keeps going, you think you'll cry, palm pushing flat against his bare chest, “I’m– I'm not in the mood.”

“Okay, I'm sorry”, he moves back onto his one elbow. The silence gestates for a while, you can feel his eyes on you. The ticking of the clock is the only thing heard through the room before he softly says, “Hey, please tell me what's happening?”

“Nothing”, you shook your head, “I’m just tired.”

“You just said you're not sleepy.”

“J– just go back to sleep okay? sorry for waking you up”, you turn onto your side, face away from him. 

He sidles up behind you after a second or two, warm breath across the back of your neck, you squeeze your eyes shut. “yeah, like that's gonna put me to sleep", he mutters behind you.

His arms snake around your waist, pulling you in closer, “C'mon, you know I wont be able to sleep after fighting”, burying his nose in your hair– he sighed.

“Did you just sniff my hair?”

“Yeah, I do all the time. smells s’good."

"You pervert", you both laugh lightly at that, your hand going for his around your waist, before your smiles fall and silence takes over once again. 

You lick your drying lips, you forgot to put on lip balm again, “We’re not fighting, Steve.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You take in a deep breath in, fingers drawing patterns on the back of his hand, you breath out, “m’sorry.”

His arms squeeze tighter around you, he lets out a quick sigh before placing a kiss on your shoulder, “I’ll forgive you if you tell me what’s going on with you.”

“Steve…”, your voice trails off, you're not even sure what you were going to say.

“Is it— Is it your…. Uh, that time of the month?”

That makes you want to roll your eyes at him and smack his chest but you restrain yourself, you’re not sure if you want him to see your eyes right now anyway. Instead, you sigh,  “I had it last week, Steve.”

You got it in this very same bed. Awoken by cramps in the middle of the night. and Steve, your lovely Steve had given you a hot water bag while he took off the sheets and put on fresh new ones and then gave you a soft massage that put you to sleep.

“right... yeah, sorry," he says all sheepish, “So what is it then? Did someone say somethin’ at work?”

“No.”

“Did I.. " he hesitated a little, "did I say something?”

“...no”, you curse yourself for pausing before saying it.

“I did, didn't I?”

“No, no. you–”

“honey, you should tell me if I ever say stupid shit– you should call me out immediately–”

“You didn't say anything stupid or whatever. I'm the one who's being stupid.”

his hold on you loosened, he shifted back to give you space to turn around, “What did I say? Hey, look at me,” you finally turn in his hold, facing him “what did I say?”

“We’d have the cutest little kids, won't we?”

“..what?” You stood infront of the kitchen sink. your hands stopped their scrubbing at the pot you were washing. You tilted your head towards him who had his head rested on your shoulder, his arms around your waist.

“Little Harringtons”, you could hear the smile on his lips.

“Harringtons?”

“Or maybe we get our names hyphenated. That works too, it’d be cute”, his hands hold your waist, his duty of drying the plates abandoned. “They’d have my fabulous hair, and your pretty, pretty eyes– cutest kids around the block”

“Our kids?” you repeated dumbly.

“Yeah, and six of ‘em. six little nuggets. They’ll make up half of a football team”, he giggled, warm air hitting the side of your face, “Doesn’t that sound lovely?” he smiled at you.

“...yeah. Yeah, it does.” you smiled back at him which only made him grin wider. His arms tighten around you again, and lips start a trail from behind your ears to down your neck.

You scoffed softly "You’re supposed to help me wash dishes you filthy animal." 

“Oh, fine,” he gave you an over dramatic sigh, before his hands left your sides, skin feeling lonely as ever.

“No, it's fine. I’m almost done anyway", you went back to scrubbing at the bottom of the pot, "Just go and take a shower, you reek.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll go!” he groaned, playfully as a kid, before he leaned against the counter, looking at you with his ‘Harrington charm’. His voice is silky when he asks, “Will you join me?”

“Steve." you said it almost as a warning.

“I don’t hear a no.”

“Okay then, no.”

“Tomorrow morning…?”

“I have an early shift tomorrow, you horndog.”

“We'll make it work.”

“No.”

“Okay", he sighs, “come up quickly though, I wanna be the big spoon today”, pecking your cheek before leaving for the shower upstairs.

Looking at him, you brush the now mostly dry hair falling on his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. Your fingers lingered there, you smile, “nothing, Steve.”  your thumb rubs back and forth on the apple of his cheeks. “You didn’t say anything. it's stupid.”

His hand reaches up to hold your fingers in place, he turns his head a little to kiss your knuckles, “okay, I didn't say anything” he kisses your knuckles again, gaze stuck to your face, “but could you tell me what it is you think you’re being stupid about?”

God, I love him, you think. “Don't worry about it”, your voice barely a whisper as you attempt to give him a smile. You move closer, planting a slow kiss on his lips which are so much softer than yours– he never forgets his chapstick.

And god, you needed this, your brain stops when you kiss him. thoughts quelled and its quiet again. After some time though, your throat starts to burn and your chest is on the verge of a sob. So, when you pull away, you fail to hide the stuttered breath that you take in.

Steve knew there was something to worry about, but when he hears your breath that almost sounds like a sob, he’s immediately on high alert. Before he can brush your hair out of your face to look at you, really look at you, you bury your face in his chest.

It takes him a second to realize that you’re crying and it breaks his heart because you’re trying to hide it.

“Baby..” he feels you curl in further, your face warm against his skin. He moves to pull you in closer, palm holding the back of your head. He just wanted to take away whatever it was that was bothering you. He tried to pull away to get a look at your face to help you calm down but you wouldn't let him. He settles on carding his fingers through your hair, rubbing circles on the little sliver of exposed skin between your t-shirt and shorts, hoping it gives you some sort of comfort.

"Honey", it is then that you finally let in a shaky breath. he feels the skin where you hid your face get wet maybe with tears, sweat, snot, he didn't care-- he just wanted to take all your pain away.

You both stay that way, and you're suprised by how much you sob, how hard you heave. You weren't sure how long you stayed that way, maybe minutes, maybe hours, however long. It feels like forever.

At this moment, encased in Steve's arms, breath hot against his skin, despite the nose plugged with snot, lashes clumped with tears, eyes squinted shut, you think this is comfortable. Yet it hurts. Because you'll have to pull away. It hurts so damn much because you know how this can go, you know it can hurt so, so much more. You know it will hurt.

You want this to last forever, however fucking long one of those is.

So, you hold on longer because, you’re selfish with your love for Steve. You're selfish because despite the heartache, you’ll have him, for as long as you can.

His hold on you gentle yet firm, as if afraid he'd break you. In your head, he already had. He tries to pull away again, to look at you but you can't. Your eyes still squinted close, willing it all to be a stupid dream. “Honey, I promise you whatever it is, you can tell me”, he says, voice soft as feather. Of course it's not a dream.

Your tongue betrays you, “Its…s–” stupid. Silly. It really doesn't feel stupid or silly, but god, you're so scared that you can't say it, you didn't want to say it because if you do it’ll come true, wont it?

“Whatever it is that you think is stupid," he assured you as if he could read your mind, "I still want to hear it because I know I won't think it's stupid."

suddenly it burns, and you need air. you sit up and try not to think about how ridiculously not pretty you probably look with snot running down your face, “What if- what if we- we end up hating each other?” you manage to say through hiccups.

“What?” he sits up as well, he says as if you had said the most ridiculous thing, “I'll never hate you, honey.”

For some reason, tears fill your eyes again at that, “Steve, you don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“No. Ste– people fall out of love, Steve- all the- all the time.” It terrifies him how convinced you sound of it.

“Do..... do you think you’ll fall out of love with me?”

The question startles you, its evident in your wide eyes, “Wha– what?”

“Do you think… you’ll fall out of love with me?" he repeats, "You think you’ll hate me?”

You shake your head, the tear that had been sitting on your lower lash finally slides down your already tear-stained cheek.

“Good." he wipes the wet trails left behind with his thumb, "then, why would I hate you?”

Your face twists into an expression that Steve wasn't sure what to describe it as. a deep frown on your lips, chin wobbly, brows scrunched up together, eyes red and tired yet nostrils flared. “‘Cause", you start but before you could continue another sob leaves you. you look down at your lap, trying to catch your breath. it takes you a minute before you begin again, "do you remember.... what you said about our kids?”

He nods, heart clenching at the way your voice breaks, “I don't think I can… do that”, he doesn't think he's ever heard you sound so broken. “I– I don't think if I– if I want that.”

He sits silent and you think this is it. maybe forevers aren't that long after all.

More tears fall, more sobs leave you, you don't bother to wipe them. What's it matter anyway? He hates you already. He's probably thinking of a way to let you down easily because he is kind like that “Honey.. I want a family..” you feel your heart ripping in two and you just can't look at him.

“And I want you to be a part of that family. I– I want you to be the person I built a family with, no matter the size." He wipes at both your cheeks again, making you look at him, "even if its just us.”

The relieved smile he expected from you isn't there, instead, you frown, the crease between your brows deepens. the part that hurt the most was that you push his hands away, “you’re saying that now, but what happens when years down the line, when we’re old, you– you end up resenting me. Y- you love me right now, I know. But how do you know you wont end up hating me like, ten years later?”

“I dont want to watch you grow old and hate me and then leave me, Steve. I’d rather end this now if we’re destined to just end up unhappy together.”

“We’re not. Okay? We’re not. I know I wont hate you, ever.” He reaches for your hands again. He kisses your fingers before continuing, “And I know that I want you, just you and whatever that– that that comes with. We could never have kids and I would never hate you for it.”

“You won't be happy", you say meekly, like he'd be mad at you for speaking what was on your mind to him, “You wont hate me but you wont be happy either”, you muttered, chin ducked into your chest.

“Honey”, he hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your head to make you look at him, to make you understand. “you’re what I need to be happy. You make me happy. And.. I’d hope you need me to be happy too”, a wet chuckle escapes you at that. A hint of a smile on your face despite the tears.

“You do, don’t you?” he clarified with a soft smile of himself.

You nod, "yeah", letting out a loud sniffle.

“Good. I know its scary but you’ve gotta put your trust in me. Trust me enough to believe in me when I say that you are what makes me happy. and I am happy."

He wipes away gently at your face, ridding it of the tear stains, “Sometimes, you’ve just gotta trust. I promise I’ll never break it.” 

You sob again but it's lighter than before, you wrap your arms around his neck and feel the weight you felt get lifted, you sniffle into the crook of his neck, "thank you."

You feel his lips on your hairline, "Let's go back to sleep, yeah?"

"Yeah. You still wanna be the big spoon?"

"yeah, I think you need to be the little spoon today." he pulls you down with him, your back to his chest, kissing the skin behind your ear he finally settles in beside you.

You call out his name, he hums in response. "how long do you think a forever is?"

"I don't know, honey."

"Can we stay like this forever?"

"Um.. if you mean us staying forever then yes, definitely forever. But, if you meant me being the big spoon forever, baby, I'm not sure if I'll be able to commit to that."

You laugh, "I love you." you confess.

"I love you too."

[after-witch]

Scaramouche + “I regret to inform you, my Lord, but I believe I may have fallen ill while you where away.”

The words you put so neatly to paper were done on a whim. You were bored and restless, maybe a little bitter, that someone who refused to let you access the greater wide world would feel justified in leaving you alone--not literally, though you hardly call a handmaiden and guards who won't converse with you outside of stilted repetition of their orders much better--for weeks at a time. Even if it was on some important business, something he couldn't get away from, and so on, as he told you.

So you wrote them down in a flourish,. To worry him, to bother him, maybe that was one and the same. You expected to get a vexed letter back... maybe even new orders to the guards to bring in a physician to examine you

What you didn't expect was to be woken in the dead of night by the sound of furious footsteps and snapping words, by the clang of guards' armors as they sprang to attention on what would have been an otherwise boring night watch.

What you didn't expect was your bedroom door to fling open, revealing Scaramouche, eyes wide and pupils large, breath puffing out in a furious huff.

But that is exactly what has happened, and now you're sitting up in bed, hair askew, your own eyes wide with fright. You cling to the luxurious blanket covering you in your thin night clothes.

"M-My lord!" Because what else is there to say, when your Harbringer husband storms in when he isn't supposed to return for another 4 weeks?

He's standing next to the bed before you can think or blink, face pink with exertion and perhaps anger.

"What's wrong? Have those idiots I left in charged called for a physician yet? Do you have a fever? Have you thrown up? You were the only one who bothered to write of your illness. I should have their heads."

The barrage of words leaves you at a loss. You didn't think he would be this upset.

"I... I..."

He grabs at you, clutches at your wrist, fingers pressing on your pulse, fast and frightened from your unexpected awakening.

"Spit it out," he says, but rather than pure irritation there's something woven into his words that gives you pause.

Fear?

Perhaps it's this realization that gives you the courage to push forward. You swallow and speak slowly, giving your voice some much needed hoarseness for good measure.

"I'm... feeling better now," you say, voice tiny and unsure. "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have worried you. I had a terrible headache and stomach pains, but it passed a few hours after I wrote my letter, and I didn't think to change it."

His lips curl into a frown. He looks you over, perhaps taking in whether or not the sweat on your forehead is from heat or nervousness or the aftermath of illness.

And then his hand goes to your forehead, and your stomach clenches--it reminds you of your mother.

He tsks.

"You're still warm," he says, after some consideration.

Are you? Or is it a lie he's telling to make you feel better? Or to make himself feel better, for having come all this way in such a state?

"Lie down. I'll have a servant bring you something cool."

There's nothing to do but ease yourself back down on your pillows, watching the Harbringer that has made yourself your husband, and wait to see what comes next.

[carlyraejepsans]

UTY!Flowey, "lore" and how to criticize a fan prequel without being an insufferable pedantic, a guide by Biscia.

(for my muskless fellows, here's a transcript of my thread on Undertale Yellow that I posted on Twitter. enjoy!)

There's this really frustrating attitude in fan spaces i like to call "lorepilling" where people are substantially more concerned with encyclopedic knowledge of details & minutiae (so called "lore") in place of full-text thematic/narrative analysis as if the two are mutually interchangeable.

It's especially common in large franchises and story heavy videogames, and it's like... Are You Treating This Piece Of Art Like A Trivia Battle Or Are You Treating It Like A Story

This is coming from a person who is also deeply autistic about UTDR trivia btw, I'm just saying that when it comes to transformative *stories*, depending on the impact it has on character, themes, and narrative structure... lore is expendable.

Ultimately this is why most of the UTY criticism i see (on twitter specifically) falls flat. What does it matter if "lore" means Flowey couldn't chronologically be there when the justice human fell, as long as the game narratively justified his presence in the story in a compelling way?

The real criticism, in the end, is that it didn't.

He's a plot central, main cast character from the canon returning in a cast of mostly OCs and what does he have to show for it? An admittedly sick boss battle in 1/3 endings, sure but... not much else. He has no significant "presence" in the story, no tie, interaction, or even just... an opinion on the rest of the cast. Which is a huge miss when Flowey's meta role is to be Thee completionist player mirror. He's the OG lorepilled UT fan! He's an opinionated little shit!

This isn't to say that UTY *didn't* engage w/ his metanarrative. When me and @a-town-called-hometown first started playing the game (we were both skeptical of Flowey's inclusion), he immediately said "It would be really cool if they made it so this has been going on for a while and Clover has no idea". Which is precisely what the game did in the neutral ending, and what I will openly say was the most well written & well executed part of this game's story...

...a part we almost didn't see, because the pacifist ending disappointed us so much we lost all will to replay.

To put it in the words of my friend Mel @clowwwnbytes, there's a deafening hollowness to UTY Flowey's motivations & core principles where his guilt towards Chara—and resulting black and white thinking—should be. You're telling me Mr Kill-or-be-killed, "sacrificing yourself to do the right thing is stupid", would stand there after 1000s of failed attempts to make Clover survive, look on as they make the same mistake Asriel he did, and fondly call them friend? Cue the guitar, roll the credits?

He would lose it. Oh my god he would lose his goddamn mind, he would throw the nastiest temper tantrum in the world. Are you serious? How dare you. How DARE you. All this effort, all my patience, and you just let yourself DIE for a few worthless idiots? I should've let you ROT!

*clears throat* sorry got a bit too into character. as i was saying.

I can understand a UT prequel wanting to distance itself from the canon Chara storyline in order to form its own identity, but then turning around and choosing Insane About Chara The Character™ for a sidekick is... far from optimal. In the end, Flowey comes across as underutilized and inconsistent, with a whole lot of wasted potential.

This is an issue I have with UTY's character writing (original AND returning) and story structure as a whole. Lots of inconsistent character arcs, tonal dissonance, overuse of situational sadness... it's an amateurish work, after all, and you can feel it. There's no shame in that.

(Though, there ARE some issues that i take more seriously with its writing, especially when it comes to its two main female characters—Ceroba's lack of narrative agency and depth borders on misogynistic writing imo. But that's a topic for another day)

Over all, UTY was an incredible piece of collaborative transformative work, with gorgeous art and a genuinely incredible OST, which... would have benefited from more experienced writers. But hey, you can only ever learn by trying!

For all it could've been a better story, it certainly did not fail to entertain: both when my friend was playing it, and after in our many discussions of its writing, its faults and how it could've been improved (royal scientist!ceroba character fix you will always be famous. to ME!)

I'm sure this project served as an incredible source of experience for the developers: as individual creators AND as a team. I look forward to their future projects!

but also if i have to see another person say UTY is better than Undertale i might turn into The Jonker.

end of the essay! really couldn't stand any of the pedantic ""criticism"" I'd seen of this fangame so far, so i had to say my piece as someone more versed in analysis. happy to elaborate on anything in the replies or in my inbox!

[diazsdimples]

Here's a cute fact about the first year of Buck and Eddie's relationship. Buck decided to surprise Eddie with one gift for every week of their first year together.

It started completely by accident because they were going for a walk, and Buck realised it had been a whole week since they'd finally confessed their feelings for each other! So, while Eddie found a public bathroom (he's got the bladder of a child and Buck teases him so hard for it), Buck ducked into a tourist shop, panicked at all the stuff that was there, and found Eddie a small, carved elephant. He presented it to Eddie while they were on the beach, all shy and cute with a little "happy one week, baby."

The second week was also accidental - Buck had been at the grocery store and found a pretty red rose, and had a flashback to Eddie grumbling at one point that all his girlfriends expected him to get them flowers, but no one ever got him flowers! So he got Eddie the rose and politely pretended he didn't see how misty eyed it made Eddie.

The third week was a little book on cool fungi that Eddie had spotted when they were looking for a birthday present for Chris. He'd been looking at it wistfully but apparently couldn't justify the price (Buck could though, so he bought it and hid it in Eddie's locker)

By the 4th week, Buck's realised he's started a Thing. He woke up on the morning of the 4th week, and hadn't found anything so h went outside, fretted around a bit and fond a really cool rock, which he gave to Eddie. He told Eddie that otters have favourite rocks and Eddie reminded him of an otter, so therefore needs a rock of his own. He stole it back later that evening and painted it in a pretty orange/pink pattern that Eddie loved.

And so it continued. Buck would find something small (or maybe something big, like one time he accidentally bought home this big grand clock he'd found at the antiques store and Eddie teased and teased him about it when he said it was for Eddie because "baby when have I ever shown interest in clocks") every week, and every week Eddie would hold him close and thank him for the gifts.

Around the 48th week, Buck realised that 1. they've become hoarders a little bit and 2. it's almost been a year and what the fuck does he get his boyfriend that already has 48 other gifts?? He goes to Hen and Chim and Bobby about it, and they're also at a loss, because as Bobby says, it's not like Eddie's short on things these days. Chimney very helpfully says "well I would tell you to get him a skateboard that doubles as a backpack but that was last week's gift so..." It's only then that Hen asks if he's ever considered asking Eddie to marry him.

That's it sorted. Buck's going to get Eddie a ring for the 52nd week. Nothing feels right when he goes to jewelers, though. They're all too standard and boring, and nothing feels like BuckandEddie. He ends up finding this very cool lump of obsidian in a box from his travels, which he takes to the jeweler and asks if they can turn it into a ring. They can't, because it shatters, but they do make a band out of gold and create an inlay of obsidian in the band. Buck plans this big, elaborate proposal for their 1 year anniversary, which naturally Eddie accepts. Eddie makes Buck promise never to buy him anything again, which of course Buck can't do but he makes the gifts a lot less frequent and more practical.

[sophiethewitch1]

Before any asks come in, I figured I'd do some for my current crowning hyperfixation, which is the boys. Did one for each of their initials but Dick got two because I couldn't choose <3

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! , gen soft yandere behavior, murder, kidnapping, dacryphilia, sadism/masochism

D = Darling (Beyond Morality, is Any Act Justified in Their Pursuit of Their Darling? Is Consent Merely an Obstacle to Be Overcome?):

Dick: Dick is the most moral of the yandere batfam, and considers doing the right thing very important. Of course, you’re still much, much more important but… He’ll definitely start small. He’s manipulative. Always begging and pleading for a little more of your time, whining when you don’t give it. And he does it openly, too, not even trying to hide it. Maybe that will absolve him of some of his sins, he thinks a little pathetically. Things like murder and other crimes are harder for him to get into, as he’s quite loyal to Bruce’s code. And he probably wouldn’t kidnap you, just move into your house instead, then your bedroom, then under the covers and with your arms around you. Very slowly, so he doesn’t scare you away. And as someone who has experienced s/a before, he wouldn’t do that to you. No matter how desperate, no matter how many nights he spends taking a suspiciously long time in the shower, he’d never do that to you. In the end, he just wants you to be happy so… so the other stuff doesn’t need to matter as much.

Damian: Damian has a very black and white form of thinking. It took Bruce a hell of a lot of work to change that, and with the advent of you in his life, he swings right back to that black and white. Morality is thrown right out the window when it comes to getting you, to getting you to love him. Murder? He’s done it before. Kidnapping? He’ll keep you safe with him. He’s a romantic, though (like they all are) and he wants you to love him back. He’s irritated that he can’t force that, that if he broke you, you wouldn’t be you. So in the end he won’t ever do anything too far, nothing that would truly get in the way of his goal. Still, with the kidnapping thing, you guys are just going to get stuck together for a while, because he’s certainly not letting you go. The two of you are just gonna have to suffer together till you inevitable fall in love with him. Don’t worry, he’s got a plan!

J = Jealousy (Does Jealousy Course Through Their Veins, Leading to Possessive Outbursts and a Relentless Need to Eliminate Perceived Threats?):

Jason: Jason is so unbelievably jealous it sometimes physically hurts. Like he’s being burned alive by it, which, well, he knows what that’s like so he can say it with confidence. He finds your presence calming, usually, but that first time he sees you laughing at a close friend’s joke, he realises you bring out every emotion in him. This time, fiery rage from the literal pits’ of hell. He won’t ever hurt you (and if he ever thinks of it, even for just a moment, the pure horror is enough of a cool bucket of icy water over his head to snap him out of it) but others? Oh, oh no. He left that silly ‘no killing’ code behind a long time ago, and he’s very glad for that as he beats one of your admirers into the concrete. And if you have other yanderes under your thrall? You’ll find yourself constantly breaking up fights, and maybe one day, cleaning up a body. Even then, Jason doesn’t like seeing you touch them, so he does it for you instead. What a sweet guy, eh?

R = Regret (Would Guilt Ever Be a Foreign Emotion, Overridden by the Conviction That Their Actions Are Justified? Is the Idea of Letting Their Darling Go Inconceivable?):

Richard/Dick: Constantly. Dick is constantly suffering under the weight of his choices, the way he’s treated you, the things he thinks about you. And even as he does it again, does worse, he’ll still have that bit of guilt in the back of his mind. He wants to stay with you, to fucking climb inside your rib cage and live next to the comforting sound of your beating heart, but he knows that’s all unhealthy. He sometimes can’t banish the guilt from his head, sometimes it’s overwhelming, and those are the moments he’ll back off a bit.

T = Tears (Does the Sight of Their Darling's Suffering Evoke a Twisted Pleasure, a Morbid Satisfaction Reinforcing Their Control?):

Tim (Going to play around with this one a bit, if you’ll forgive me): Tim is purely fascinated by you. He’s one of the yanderes who gets obsessed with you first, and falls for you second. Your tears, just simply by being a byproduct of you are fascinating to him too. And yeah, they turn him on. Everything about you turns him on, but the sight of your weepy face, has his cock weepy too. As a sadomasochist switch, he likes it when you’re suffering just a little bit. It’s just too cute to resist. But on the other side… he likes when you make him cry too. He likes when you hurt him, as long as you’re paying him attention, looking at him. He’ll cry all you like, if you think it makes him cute, too.

[partycatty]

anything with Lord Raiden.... please.... GILF fuckers need something 😞

lord raiden > you unwind me

raiden can't seem to control himself... only when you're around.

warnings: idk it's kinda mushy ig, possibly ooc raiden. i played 8-12 and yet for some reason he's one of the hardest characters to recreate on paper.

notes: not stopping til we can power all of chicago.

[ masterlist ]

• you can't say you didn't notice how touchy he was, i mean, it was considerably obvious considering the distance he kept from the others.

• hands behind his back, posture straight, eyes down and concealed by the width of his hat. he was an enigma, yet you somehow made him twitch like no other.

• he was visibly unsettled around you, falling quiet with tight lips or even stuttering over his words momentarily before forgetting his mortal crowd.

• "if we were to attack from the northern border—" raiden's thick arm stretched past you, just barely brushing against your arm but his towering form sending warmth down your back.

• "excellent observation," his hand would fall to your shoulder, squeezing tight. you've had to pull away before his nails dig in on several occasions.

• "your form is off," the telltale indication of flirting in most men, his large hands on your hips as he corrects your mistakes in the thickest silence you've ever been in. jesus, does he even breathe?

• the smoky air of netherrealm flooded your senses, making you lose your momentum in the siege. raiden would often check on you from a distance as he obliterated demons and the like, but when he noticed a flying creature honing in on your position, he quickly teleported to your side and pulled you in close, teleporting you elsewhere on the battlefield. your body was significantly more... mortal than his. and with his incredible form, you were no more than chest height. the rest of the battle was a hot blur.

• you have also been a victim of electrocutions on multiple occasions, to the point where you almost had to host an intervention. he was so on edge around you, for a reason you couldn't pinpoint.

• "lord raiden," you welcomed yourself into the room with a bow, holding a metallic item he requested you retrieve. "i have the—" as he reaches out to grab whatever it was, the current from his fingertips reaches what felt like your entire nervous system and you jolted, yelping at the sudden shock.

• you'd walk into the surveillance room, hoping for an update on the spy cameras assembled at the black dragon's hideout. while it wasn't even raiden's priority, you observe that he stuck around anyway. you were dressed more down than unusual, relishing in the cool air on a hot summer day with a tank top with your work pants. when raiden locks eyes with you, the surveillance monitors go haywire, eventually blue screening. everyone knows who to blame.

• you can't really say you're opposed to it, either. he was a large man that was good with his hands, well-spoken, mature, what wasn't to like? he was the perfect eye candy during debriefings, though you knew better than to act on your little crush.

• "not sure what sparky's issue is over there," johnny murmured, pointing a thumb in raiden's direction. you both glance over, realizing raiden was quite literally doing nothing but standing there pretending to be useful. "he's short circuited more times than i can count in the last week alone. do you know how many monitors we've had to replace?"

• "it's hard being a protector of an entire realm," you attempt to justify his behavior. "you should talk to him."

• "yeah, because the god of thunder needs a therapist," johnny sarcastically chuckled, crossing his arms. "you give it a shot. he likes you."

• "he likes all of us," you defend yourself. "that's kind of his job." johnny shoots you a knowing look before turning to find cassie. you decide to take the moment of rare silence in the special forces to approach raiden with casual intent.

• "lord raiden," you smile politely, lowering your head for a moment. "on behalf of the special forces, i'd like to have a word with you." he gives you a hum of agreement, yet he's the one that grabs your arm and pulls you aside, out of earshot of others. he locks the door behind him as you two stand in the hallway.

• "er..." you feel yourself beginning to sweat, the seven foot tall man stares blankly at you, jaw clenched and arms crossed as he awaits your words. "i... we... have noticed a significant number of incidents pertaining to you or your powers. we were just wondering if everything is alright, and if you need anything, we—"

• "that is more than enough," raiden holds a hand out at you, and you swallow thickly as he uses your full name. a thunder god is not someone to be in trouble with. he pauses for a long time, eyes darting between yours. his lips part as he struggles to articulate his thoughts. "though i must admit i agree with your observations. i have been... unwound as of late."

• "unwound?" you repeat, perplexed at his wording. "is there something wrong, lord raiden?"

• he hums for a moment, lowering his head. "you will have to forgive me." your heart flutters at his usage of you, rather than the SF.

• "i do," your voice lowers into a more gentle tone and you feel the human urge to place a comforting hand on his arm. when you try, though, you feel your hairs raise up the closer you get. "sorry." as you pull away, a flush to your cheeks, raiden grabs your hand and squeezes it a little too tightly. that funny feeling disappears, and is replaced by a new one.

• "i have been earthrealm's protector for billions of years," he starts after a long pause. "i have seen the horrors afflicted by corrupted gods, i have taken part in the bloodiest battles of mankind. i have gained it all, and lost it all."

• you're stone still, wondering where he's going with this sudden burst.

• "but nothing... nothing," he squeezes even harder. "has torn me apart, piece by piece, more than one... little mortal." the glow of his eyes feels like it burns into yours as your cheeks heat up.

• "i feel as if i have known for since the dawn of time," he confesses, his face eerily still. "you'll have to forgive my bluntness. this is not my strong suit."

• "what isn't?" you had a feeling, but you needed to hear it to be sure.

• "...feelings, i suppose," he averts his gaze, clearly turmoiled by this realization. "it's you. you unwind me."

• "...me?" you reply incredulously. sure, you liked him, but what the hell do you do when a thunder god confesses to you? "you like me?"

• "if that is how you choose to word it, then yes."

• "oh." your eyes focus on his hand enveloping yours so easily. it's a few moments before he tugs ever so slightly, and the static feeling returns to your skin.

• "forgive me," he insists again, a wave of shame overtaking him. "i suppose it was a ridiculous ask of you to return those feelings. i would advise for you to for—"

• "i like you, too," you mutter, never once envisioning the time where you'd have to say such a thing. "i just didn't... expect it from you."

• raiden never smiles, as kind of a man as he is. you had maybe seen it once or twice, but it never quite reached his eyes. this time, however, he was glowing more so than usual as his lips curled upward. at first, it looked strange on him, but it quickly warmed your heart to know that you struck a chord in him.

• "that... brings me joy," he admits, and you can tell he's physically restraining himself from a full-on grin.

• well, what now? you two fall silent for a moment, electricity (for once, not real electricity) coursing through your veins as you relish in the moment. you wonder if he's waiting for a kiss, or for you to say something. these internal questions are answered when he takes a step closer, looming over your figure. his hands can't quite figure out where to land, eventually settling on the sides of your face. he drinks in every detail, every crease and flutter of color in your eyes like he just might forget if he looks away.

• you raise yourself on your tippy toes, eyes flicking between his glowing pupils to his lips. just as you decide to close your eyes and move in for a kiss, you feel him physically pull you away.

• "not here," he gently insists, dropping his hands to slide down your arms and hold yours. "i would rather it be memorable."

• "i'm sure it'll be memorable anywhere," you insist, almost feeling desperate for a kiss from him. you wonder if it'll feel staticky. "if it's with you, i mean."

• "you're too kind," he runs his thumbs over your knuckles. "we have time, my dear. all the time we need."

• raiden wanted to take it slow, you assume. who knows when the last time he had feelings was, or if ever. mutually agreeing to keep things under wraps, you shake your giddy feelings and reenter the room with your coworkers, glancing up at raiden. his lip twitches though his face is stoic as always.

• "did he take it well?" johnny asks in a low voice. "or did he strike you down, or something?"

• "...he's fine," you try to wave it off, sweating at your temples. "peachy, actually."

• your eyes find raiden again, standing across the room. this time, he's not pretending to do anything. he's just staring back with a friendlier glint within the glow.

• "he seems in better spirits," johnny shrugs as he follows your gaze. "told you he liked you."

• "i guess you did."

[starrclown]

Silly little double post cause I thought of this SECONDS after my original post bitching about the Hotel.

I have a theory on why people don't complain about the black characters designs of Hazbin Hotel. (I'll talk about it at the end)

Let's talk about the 4 black characters of Hazbin Hotel that people defend the designs with their LIFE.

First up:

ALASTOR

Alastor has been confirmed to be a mixed Creole man from Louisiana. Does he look like it? No. No he doesn't. If you told me this man has the whitest parents this side of hell then I would believe you. There I nothing visually that gives away he may have black features. Nose shape, lips, not ashy grey skin (something well see just you wait), thy couldn't even be dammned to give him curly hair or nothing! He doesn't have no black features and it's really off putting.

People argue that he has a white parent, a part that could play in him not having black features. I will remind you all again that I am not mixed. I am white. Mixed people can look any way. There is no specific way for mixed people to look. But cmon. No black features at all? Nothing? Personally I believe that Alastor want designed to be black. I believe that Vivziepop only made him black to justify him using voodoo. This is only speculation but to each their own.

Side note but the way yall attack people, mostly on Tiktok, about redesigns or re imagines is actually depressing. Could make a whole rant on that in general.

Next up:

VELVETTE

Thir is similar issues with Alastor and Velvette. No textured hair, no nose shape, no difference in her lips, ashy grey skin. While I like that Velvette changes hair styles every episode, personally I think that Velvette should have more black hairstyles. Like Velvette with braids or dreadlocks would be so cool. To this shows credit, Velvette did have a afro in episode 8. Honestly that should be her starter hair before she changes it. That would be so cute. Manifesting Velvette with a afro.

3rd:

Sera

Sera I would argue is the best designed black character. She actually has more pigmented brown skin and her hair I think is supposed to resemble dreadlocks. Personally I think their is room for improvement. She could be browner, less ashy looking, since she actually had a nose it could be a different shape then just straight, their could be more detail for her hair. While she's the best designed character, their is room to grow.

Side note: Y'all hating Sera too much. I see fanart and animatics of her being this blood thirsty killer that is jus destroying hell. Yall she is actively shown in the first 2 minutes of Hazbin not agreeing with the exterminations and actively frowning at the idea of murder. Sera is great I don't know what yall are on.

Last and certainly least because oh my god:

Emily

This is not a black woman. No I don't care that Viv said she's or that her Bible page says she is. Where is any black features? Her skin is gray, she has pencil thin lips like me, a white boy, she has stringy straight hair, and no nose at all.

This goes along with Sera as well but people say that they are angel's and don't have to look like black women because their angels and don't have a race. Which 1. Is wrong because Emily's Bible page said she was a youthful 20 something black woman and 2. If their angel's that dont have races then that fine. But.

DON'T SAY THEIR BLACK WOMAN AND THEN NOT DESIGN THEM LIKE IT.

If Viv just left them raceless then the would have been fine. But that not what she did. She made them black and then back peddled when people said that they didn't look like black woman. She tried to have her cake and eat it too. No, I don't care their angel's, if your going to give them a race then commit to it.

Let's get on to my conspiracy theory. I've noticed something in the Hazbin Hotel fandom that I think is the reason for the dismissal of the black characters no having black features.

Fanart.

I'm going somewhere with this is swear.

Go to Tumblr or Tiktok and see the art people create of Hazbin Hotel. You'll notice that people give Alastor and Velvette brown skin, they give Emily curly hair, they give Velvette full lips and different black hairstyles.

People make their art of the black characters looking black so when people see it they associate it with the show.

This is of course just a theory but I've noticed it alot and I think it's a pretty damn good explanation.

Sorry if this isn't as good as my other rants, I tried to get this out quickly because my theory was bothering me.

Asks are always open, art is always here, commissions are open, black lives matter.

- ⭐️StarClown⭐️

[bubble-dream-inc]

Cod men + what cars they drive

⤷ feat. The 141 + König

a/n: this is v self indulgent and the sources are the voices in my head thanks

CAPT. JOHN PRICE → 1970 Ford Mustang

☆ I can see Price being all about classics and old cars, so it makes sense that he would have a Mustang.

☆ However, if we had to think more british, alternatively i could see him with a Ford Capri, the british equivalent of the Mustangs.

L.T. SIMON "GHOST" RILEY → 2021 Jeep Wrangler

☆ Ghost couldn't care less about what he drives. He doesn't care for car brands, looks, and, let's be honest, my man's a terrible driver.

☆ With that in mind, he decided it would be better to have a sturdy car, for harsh terrains, and something more familiar to what he is used to driving in missions.

SGT. JOHN "SOAP" MACTAVISH → 2017 Honda Civic

☆ I can't justify this one. It's just the vibes. ☆ It might be a basic car, but it's reliable and looks cool, so i think that would be his reasoning. Gaz would laugh at him for it though.

SGT. KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK → Audi A8

☆ Kyle is the youngest of all of them, and we can assume he gets one fat paycheck by being in one of the most elite taskforces in the world. Plus, he's rarely home, so he's got to make his rare driving worth it.

☆ So it's plausible he would blow a big part of his payment on an expensive car, but that's ok because he would look incredibly hot while doing so.

KÖNIG → 2013 Honda Pilot

☆ Listen. It wasn't his first choice. König hates being noticed, so, logically, he doesn't like big cars at all.

☆ However, he was forced to get this one since it was one of the very few cars that he could fit inside comfortably, considering how absurdly tall he is, so he just accepted it and grew fond of it.

[dead-girl-tells-stories]

DP x DC Prompt

This, but it's because their flight home was canceled due to Gotham's airport being destroyed. And they didn't want to drive all the way back.

The reason it all started was because Tucker was really bored and was getting a bit frustrated when he couldn't get past one of WE's many firewalls. He had already skimmed through everything else and concluded that Gotham's Brucie Wayne was a literal angel sent from heaven to one the worst cities in the world because he committed a crime so horrific that not even God could look him in his pretty little face anymore and that firewall proved it!

So to cool his head off, he decided to hack into a bank. Banks were pretty easy, right? Almost anyone could do it with just enough knowledge and the proper equipment. What he DIDN'T expect was just how EASY it was to do so. Laughably so, to the point it made him cry.

Did Gotham's rouges or Gothamites in general not like money? Not even the small-time rouges? Because he KNEW those operations that they try to pull off cost money. Shit tons!

So when his laughter became so disturbing that his friends and even his frenemies got concerned, all he had to do was show them what he found out. Which sent them spiraling into laughter as well. Like, c'mon, even Amity Park's bank was more secure than that and they only had fucking GHOST CRIME!

As the tears began to dry, and the laughter turned to giggles, one of the girls suggested something.

Star: Why don't we, like, rob it or something?

The hotel room went silent and Star started to fidget. Then she started to ramble.

Star: I mean like, we don't have to. It was kind of a joke anyway, since their security's so bad ya know, and I'm pretty sure we're gonna be here for a while and-

Dani: Star, baby, sweetie, honey. Why are you justifying yourself when we were all probably thinking the same thing, right?

Nod and hums of agreement filled the girl with relief.

Wes: Besides it's not a class trip unless we cause some trouble right?

They all then pilled into the bed and around Tucker as his finger flew across the keyboard.

Tucker: So, where are we hitting up first?

[nalyra-dreaming]

What big plot twist do you think will happen this season? This made me scared, everyone already knows that ep5 happened differently, could Sam be talking about something else?

Oh... I don't think I have a definite answer here *laughs*

My gut feeling... says it's connected to the (possible) Amel hint we might have seen already (in ep5 & 6).

I... I mean. Let's dissect what Sam says a bit:

an unreliable element to the books (memory? contested stuff?) that this twist (seems to build on)

it's not necessarily the truth (once more)

the order of things (the order of the books? another mix-up by pulling other events forth?)

the twist is "really fucking cool" and can be "justified" by the above

Let's keep in mind that the show/Rolin has already stated that they want to keep Jacob and we know that he took these pebbles and spread them around NOLA and we have this image:

... in s1 there was talk of "a brute in Madagascar", where I for one couldn't come up with who that might be.

... That brute does not necessarily need to be involved.

However, staring at this quote (lol), these are my thoughts:

I think it will have to do with Louis (and by extension Lestat)

I think it could have to do with Amel

I think it might have to do with the brute

I'm not convinced Louis will become the core

I think whatever they came up with lies within the rules of this universe...

... but is still so far out Sam needed to think about it

Another incident of Louis being... well, incapacitated is in Blood Communion. Maybe they switched the iron for the pebbles... if you catch my drift^^. If they bring in Rhoshamandes here already, and if Rhoshamandes would actually ... IDK... steal the core? As he tried to do?

However, that doesn't explain why Sam would need to "justify" it.

And, as with the DV in episode 5... when he says there is justification...

... I think it must have to do with them. Meaning Louis, Lestat (or Claudia). One possible twist could be to have Claudia actually survive, however, I think that would have repercussions for all the rest of the books, as said before. Which... might what he is talking about here?! But then Louis would be out and looking for her, as said before, I don't think that would work.

In this universe the books have not been published yet, so the event Armand warns of in s1 might happen... but again, I don't see it as needing to be "justified".

On the other hand there was this rather intriguing pic by Eric Bogosian a while back, where he posted the coffin pic.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Eric Bogosian (@ericbogosian)

I do not think that "The Devil's Minion" is ready for Daniel to get turned next season.

So maybe, just maybe this has to do with him.

Maybe it has to do with a change to Daniel. Maybe he will get a new body. One that has been prepared and is waiting for him. Who knows. (tagging @cbrownjc here for reasons^^)

I don't know. My gut feeling says Louis or Daniel, but since Sam says it is not "in the books", then... well. He also says it is "in this season", so maybe it isn't the finale after all. But preparing the finale.

Whatever it will be I think they will hook it into the rules of the universe, so that when we see it... we will know^^.

But I honestly cannot guess what it is yet.

(well, apart from the above, lol)

[aimbutmiss]

Buggy sighed in frustration as he clenched another important document that he absolutely couldn't care less about as he tried to make sense of the words on it. Crocodile rolled his eyes at his "dramatic theatrics", as he put it. And while Buggy did indeed hold the sigh a bit longer than necessary, he could argue it was a very justified reaction. The words on the paper were basically alphabet soup in his brain as it completely shut down, unable to process any more information.

He rubbed his eyes as if that would somehow fix the problem. He felt closer to death with every second he spent inside the dreary office tent. The room was suffocating, filled with the smoke of Crocodile's never ending cigars. Buggy desperately needed fresh air and exposure to direct sunlight, or a poor crew member was going to find his corpse under all those papers by the end of the day.

"Croccy, it's been hours... How many more signatures do you need from me?"

Crocodile puffed out the smoke in his mouth as he spoke, making the air in the tent even heavier. Buggy had to hold himself back from coughing as he kept his eyes locked to the other man's unimpressed ones. "You're the one who insisted on reading all the documents when I already had done so. You could have just quickly signed all of them and left by now if you weren't so stubborn."

"Of course I have to read them! How can I trust you? You could be making me sign away my life to the slave trade for all I know!"

Crocodile laughed menacingly, the only way he knew how, as far as Buggy had seen. "No one would pay good money for you, clown. And if I wanted to sell you off I would have done it by now."

Buggy crossed his arms with a frown, ready to argue with his business partner, but he was cut by a low-ranking worker entering the tent reluctantly.

"I'm saved." He thought as Crocodile got up to talk to the poor man. He took the moment to sneak outside, limb by limb. As he put himself back together outside of the tent, he took the sunlight in with a sigh and cracked his back in relief. He was unfortunately too old and certainly too sexy for an office job. Being an Emperor was supposed to be more flashy than this god dammit!

He locked eyes with the shaky man as he left the tent, and gave him a reassuring smile. The man visibly relaxed, smiling wide as he bowed down before leaving Buggy's presence.

Buggy hated how much Crocodile ruled by fear. These were his men! He was responsible for their well-being and happiness! Well, he couldn't even protect his own well-being so how could he do the same for his enormous crew...

"Don't think so hard, your head will explode."

Buggy jumped in his place as Crocodile spoke in his ear. Too close! When had he snuck up on him? He was too tired to deal with this.

"I'm gonna go now."

"Not before you sign the papers."

"I'm tired..."

"Then don't read them."

"But I want to!"

"THEN GET BACK IN THERE!" Crocodile pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his cool after his outburst. "Okay, you either go in willingly or I'll drag you in there myself if I have to." He moved his hook at an angle, making the light reflect off its sharp edge menacingly. And Buggy probably should have listened, but something snapped in him.

"Stop threatening me with that damn hook of yours! You know I can't get cut."

"But you can get pierced, can't you?"

Buggy gulped, sweat forming on his forehead but not daring to drop. "... You wouldn't dare."

"And why's that?"

"Because..." Buggy stared the scary man in the eyes and was somehow overcome with boldness he couldn't explain. "Because this" he gestured to his face with exaggerated motion "is what sells your shitty personality to everyone!" He was spitting out the words like venom, emphasising every word slowly. "You need me. Certainly more than I need you. You're just an overgrown accountant, but I'm a fucking Emperor. I leave, and the thousands of men under me also leave. You are nothing without me. So stop acting like you can get rid of me without consequences. I dare you to pierce me with that hook."

"..."

Buggy smiled smugly. "I'm gonna take a nap now."

He was lighter than a feather as he made his way to his tent, the smile never dropping from his face. He did it! Well, he wasn't quite free but it was certainly a step in the right direction. And sue him, he was fucking proud of himself.

As he left with his head in the clouds, he was completely unaware of the scene he left behind him. Crocodile was fuming. He felt hot with anger and another annoying, sticky emotion eating at his insides. He completely ignored Mihawk, who had been a witness to the whole conversation.

The swordsman raised a brow in question at the man's silence. "What are you gonna do now, go masturbate?"

Crocodile stared daggers at the man before turning into sand and flowing away. And he absolutely did not masturbate to thoughts about the clown. Ridiculous Hawk Eye really thought he knew everything...

(and he did.)

[monsterblogging]

So, it finally clicked that while the average person does in fact broadly comprehend that people are neither good nor evil - they're good and bad, and have free will - they also can't understand why some people would fully commit themselves to completely awful causes or to being a terrible person throughout their entire lives. They can't really picture how this works, because they can't imagine themselves choosing to die on a hill of Being A Terrible Person.

This void in their comprehension is where the myth of the Ontologically Evil Person is very likely to come and settle in sooner or later, because it seems to finally provide an answer that makes sense of otherwise senseless cruelty and violence. Agonizing questions like "Why would my boyfriend spend so much energy on making me feel like shit and breaking me down?" "Why would this historical figure decided to kill all of these people?" and "Why would this guy go start a cult and murder everyone?" are finally given an answer, and the formerly-bewildered person finally has some peace of mind.

Because of this, the myth of the Ontologically Evil Person is incredibly hard to get out of people's minds once it takes root. For one thing, bad ideas are like bad habits; it doesn't really work to tell people to Just Stop With Them, because without something else to take its place? They're going to fall back on it.

And if somebody's been traumatized from abuse? The last thing they want to hear is that they're basically dehumanizing their abuser and that's not cool, because it feels to them like the other person is taking their abuser's side and telling them to get fucked. Even if this not what's happening, the survivor's brain is currently operating on fight/flight/fawn/freeze mode, and a brain operating fight/flight/freeze/fawn mode is keyed to making snap decisions to try and remove you from the danger as soon as possible, which means categorizing everything into black and white. This person couldn't care less about the history of eugenics right now; literally all they care about is being safe.

"Okay, so if the Ontologically Evil Person doesn't exist, how the hell do you explain those fuckers over there?" some of you are probably asking.

Here's the deal. Literally every human being alive can and will do terrible things if they're sufficiently scared and desperate. They're in no position to appreciate that nearly all asshole behavior can be explained by a lack of critical social and self-management skills, or by a lack of access to self-improvement (including being too traumatized to trust means of self-improvement).

People who are scared, insecure, and under high levels of stress will often cling to anything that makes them feel better, because they want to feel safe and secure and not in psychological and/or physical agony. (Stress does an absolute number on your body, too.)

Being reliant on a shitty behavior, belief system, or product for some measure of feeling secure and safe is how you get people saying things like "If I didn't act mean, everyone would just walk all over me!" or "I was really depressed before I found this, so if I gave it up I'm going to get depressed again, and I might hurt myself." (And there might be some truth to this one! This might indeed happen if they give it up cold turkey, and without finding an alternative!) It's how you get people conducting """scientific""" studies to """prove""" that their bigotry is totally justified and not at all irrational. ("Well of course these people are genetically inferior, they wouldn't be poor and disease-ridden if they weren't... what do you mean, systemic inequality and uneven healthcare access? No that's obviously fake and made up by More Bad People.")

People also act in unhealthy ways to deal with personal insecurities implanted by parents or society. You have people out there whose parents drummed it into their heads that second place was for worthless losers, or that no one would love them if they didn't look or act a certain way. You have people who absorbed the idea that acknowledging the basic humanity of shitty people means that they have to forgive them and personally help them get better and just suffer through the abuse in the meantime.

This is how people choose to die on the hill of Being A Terrible Person. They weren't ontologically evil. They were scared, and they thought they saw a fortress on the top of that hill that would keep them (and perhaps also their loved ones) safe.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for giving someone an ultimatum without letting them know and then ghosting them when they failed said ultimatum that they didn't know about?

This happened a while ago, but I still think about it occasionally.

So I (18F at the time) had a friend, S (18 FTM) in high school. (when this takes place) We weren't super close, as we'd only met senior year and would only hang out at lunch, since we had no classes together. We had a pretty average high school acquaintance/friendship.

Then on the Friday before finals/graduation week, S confessed that he thought I was cute and asked me out on a date. I said yes, as I had a secret crush on him but didn't act on it before, as I didn't want to ruin the friendship/make it weird. So I was glad my feelings were reciprocated. We cuddled and held hands at the rally that day (too nervous to actually kiss or anything in front of the whole school yet) and exchanged numbers with the intention of going on a date in the near future, as he couldn't go after school that day.

This is where I feel I might be justified.

After I got home, I texted him "hey we never actually decided on a day/time for a date. I'm free any time, when is good for you?" And we ended up deciding to meet up after school the following Monday. Then we spend the weekend texting about dumb shit.

Monday rolls around. I don't see S at school, but figured it wasn't a big deal, as we didn't actually have any classes together. After school, I wait by our agreed upon meeting place and he doesn't show up. I text him, asking what was up and he responds that he didn't go to school. He didn't feel like going, so called out "sick". (I'm not belittling his sickness, he literally told me that he wasn't actually sick, he just didn't feel like going to school and had his mom call him in sick)

For whatever reason (I was young? Dumb? Bored? Liked him? All of the above?) I forgave him for standing me up and told him we could go on a date whenever he was free and was able to get a ride or I could get a ride to his place if he wanted, as S lived in the next town over. (Neither of us had cars and public transportation in our area was not great)

Then he strung me along for an entire summer. We would text almost daily. (I use the word "text" very loosely- he exclusively used snapchat- I actually grew to HATE snapchat during this time, as he refused to text on the phone and insisted I download snapchat just to talk to him....bro wtf) We'd mostly talk about inconsequential shit- what show we were watching, what music we were listening to, etc. Every once in a while, I'd go "so...about that date...?" and he'd blow me off, making an excuse about not having a ride or something lame.

I gave him an out pretty early on. After the 2nd or 3rd excuse, I said "hey it's cool if you asked me out on a dare (it's happened before) or if you changed your mind or something. I swear I won't be mad, just let me know now so I don't waste my time" S insisted that he actually intended to go on a date, he just had transportation trouble.

This is where I may be the asshole.

So, after a whole summer (I think it was the end of August or maybe even September) I got fed up and decided in my head to test him secretly. I decided (without informing him of my plan, of course) that I was going to give him one last chance to take me on a date or I'd ghost him. I would ask him one last time when he was available to go on a date, and if he still made excuses, I would ghost him.

So I did just that. I asked him, he made some excuse about not having a ride, and I cut off contact. When I thought of this test, I had also noticed that lately, I would always be the one to message him first and initiate conversation, so I also wanted to test if he would contact me first, as a 2 in 1 test.

HOWEVER, I didn't block him. I just stopped contacting him first and ghosted him with no explanation. He could've contacted me at any point, but didn't.

I never saw or heard from him again.

I know he's the asshole for asking me out, standing me up, and stringing me along, but am I also the asshole for giving him an ultimatum without his knowledge and ghosting him?

What are these acronyms?