#anyways lmk what you guys think

[haveihitanerve]

Reunion Continued

here you go-the rest

Curt sighed, opening the bottle and sitting down at the table. “Roland, id like to apologize. I left. I didn't think about you or the band i just- i just left. Because i was sick of being just the band. I wanted to be, i wanted to be me.” Roland nodded, staring at his glass. “I get that Curt. I do. But you left me.” he finally looked up and locked eyes with the man. Curt swallowed. “You left me. You never called, you never texted. Never even bothered to tell me where the fuck you were going. Or invite me to your wedding. I thought we were friends!” “we are.” Curt said softly. “Really? Because it sure as hell didn't feel like you were. It didn't feel like we walked through fire together. It didn't feel like we were brothers. It felt like you left me to burn alone.” Roland took a swig of his drink and looked away. “You've been gone what? Nine years?” “nine years, two months,” they started to say in unison. “three days, four hours, six minutes and-” they glanced at the clock. “24 seconds.” Curts lips twitched slightly before he sighed. “Rollie. Im sorry. I am. I- i shouldn't have ended it the way i did. But its not just my fault. The band was crumbling. You know it was.” Roland scoffed. “Don't fucking do that Roland. Im right. You know i am.” Roland rolled his eyes, staring at the table, but he couldn't contradict Curt. Wouldn't. Roland was an arrogant bastard. He knew he was. And he also knew he had a reason to be like that. He was a talented musician and really skilled at what he did. It was why he was so arrogant and full of himself. But Curt, curt had always been good. Always been down to earth and since they had been brothers, he had kept roland tethered. Grounded. It was what made him, would always make him, a better person than Roland. But Roland knew his friend didn't think like that. Even if he had called him an arrogant prick on more than one occasion. Roland sighed. “Fine. Yes. You're right.” he sulked. Curt tried to hide his victory grin, but didn't succeed. Roland sent him a withering glare, but it didn't have half as much heat behind it than it would have had with someone else. It never did. “Fukc.’ Roland muttered, standing. Curt shifted, standing as well, and blocked his path. “Roland. You've gone through some things this year. Its tough. I know you have been. Lets,” he shrugged. “Don't push me away. Lets just play something. Yeah?” He grinned. “What do you say Ro. Give me a chance?” Roland snorted, but couldn't help the way his heart lifted ever so slightly at the words. “sure curry.” 

An hour later they found themselves sitting on the couch together, knees touching, each strumming an acoustic guitar as they tried to fall back into the rhythm of old times. Curt sent a glare at Roland as the latters fingers flew across the strings, strumming almost scarily fast and accurate. “Damn showoff.” he muttered. Roland breathed a laugh, a light, easy thing, a sound that had not been rare in the past hour in Curts company. “Careful.” Curt warned, a smile tugging at his lips. “Or you might start loving me again.” Roland chuckled in response, strumming his guitar. He smirked, stopping, and cocked an eyebrow at his old friend. “What ever gave you the impression that I stopped?”

whooo. done. heres the link to the first half if you need it-

hope you enjoyed that.

i just reread it and theres defo stuff i wouldnt put or change now, but i think its okay for a first draft

[thetomorrowshow]

intruder

backstory of why jimmy and scott moved out of the super neighborhood in my empires superpowers au!

cw: murder (in SELF-DEFENSE) of an unnamed character, blood/violence, like a decent bit of it, injury, dissociation

~

Scott’s been missing for two days.

Scott’s been missing for two days, and Jimmy isn’t going to wait around doing nothing.

The news had come in the form of a knock on the front door, around 3pm on the first day. Jimmy doesn’t officially live at Scott’s house, but he spends a fair amount of time there, and now he pushes back from the kitchen table and heads to the front door, snapping on the mask that hangs on a hook by the entrance.

“Oh, hi, TJ!” Blossom says when he opens the door to find her on the step, flowers actively winding around in her hair. “Is Major around?”

Jimmy frowns, checks his watch. “Um, he left for work this morning, around eight? He shouldn’t be back until four, at the earliest.”

Why would Blossom be asking him this? Don’t they all have some sort of hero group chat?

“Are you sure?” Blossom’s smile drops. “Did he say he was headed somewhere else?”

“Just to work,” says Jimmy. “Why? What’s up?”

 Blossom bites her lip, the flowers in her hair wilting. “He never showed,” she says. “He isn’t responding to messages.”

That’s enough for Jimmy to shut the door and run back to the table, grabbing his cell phone. Then he returns, pulling it open again. Blossom is still there, looking a little surprised.

Jimmy pulls up his contacts, clicks on the one labeled ‘scott :) - super’ and hits call.

“You’ve reached Major, I’m probably winning a battle right now. Send me a text and I’ll get back to you when I have a moment.”

Straight to voicemail.

That can’t be good.

“Try the Mad King,” Jimmy tells her. “I’m still working until four, but keep me updated. Do you have my number?”

But Blossom never texts him any news.

And Joel tells him, that night, that Scott’s officially missing, and they’re moving Jimmy to a safehouse.

So it isn’t even 8pm when Jimmy finds himself in a small apartment downtown, the dim light of the setting sun half-illuminating the single room.

And Jimmy stays there all night, staring at his phone, as his worry crescendos over and over again, blowing out lightbulbs and spoiling food can by can.

They still haven’t found him in the morning.

Jimmy can do nothing but sit, alone, in this cheap, unused apartment of Joel’s, waiting for some message that his boyfriend has been found.

But there’s nothing, and Jimmy isn’t going to wait around doing nothing when Scott could be getting tortured right now.

Because that’s it, really. When Jimmy went missing, it was because some horrid, insane villain kidnapped him and ran experiments on him and treated him like an animal—

One of the blades on the floor fan comes off, crashing to the bottom of the fan cage.

Jimmy takes a deep breath.

He can’t continue to sit here on the ragged carpet (because there’s no furniture other than a single folding chair and a mattress) while Scott could be going through the exact same things that he had been subjected to.

Or worse, he thinks, pushing back a sickening memory.

So Jimmy packs up his little backpack that he hasn’t actually unpacked yet except to get his toothbrush, grabs the mask he’d left on the kitchen counter (which he balls up and shoves in the pocket of his jeans), and leaves, ready to find Scott.

Where does Scott usually go first?

He covers all of the city, but rarely ventures away from the most densely populated areas. Downtown is one of his favorites to frequent, as well as the pier.

Good thing Jimmy knows downtown like the back of his hand.

He catches the bus like it’s second nature, the schedule practically tattooed on the inside of his eyelids (despite the fact that he rarely rode the bus for fear of causing an accident. He learned it in case anyone ever asked him the bus schedule). He hasn’t spent much time out and about on his own, but he can get around and he’s lived with Lizzie long enough to know how to go somewhere by himself. That doesn’t mean he isn’t careful: he sits at the back of the bus with his back pressed against the window and watches everyone, careful to sort them into threat categories and keep tabs on everyone.

It’s exhausting. It always is.

It isn’t long at all before he leaves the bus at one of Scott’s favorite places—right across the way from the elementary school. Scott heads here first thing most mornings, keeping an eye on the children as they arrive at school.

The mask is scrunched uncomfortably in Jimmy’s pocket. He wishes he could put it on. He hates going out in public—not without at least a baseball cap.

It feels like everyone at this park is watching him.

Any of them could be in league with whoever took Scott. Any of them could have been one of the thugs that worked for Xornoth. Any of them could be someone he hurt in the past.

Every time someone walks past him, Jimmy automatically tenses. That woman could attack him. That man could crush his skull. That child could be a distraction. That man could grab him and pull him into an alley.

Jimmy shoves his hands in his hoodie’s pocket so that he doesn’t have to look at how they tremble. This is why he doesn’t go places alone. This is why he works from home right now.

This is why people need to not get kidnapped. Specifically the people that can help him not panic about being kidnapped.

Right, now, does he usually patrol around the school? Or just wait out front and watch the kids go in?

If he was Scott, what would he do?

Scott would probably patrol. He likes to be moving, likes to show off his skills.

So Jimmy hikes out of the park and crosses the road to the school, following the sidewalk all around the building.

On one side is an alley between some run-down apartments, and Jimmy passes through, keeping a close eye on anything out of place. Any knocked-over trash cans, any smears of dirt or dried blood on buildings, anything that could be the signs of a struggle.

He feels more and more anxious the further down he goes, swallowing back the thrumming of his power within him, the scar at the base of his skull burning.

He can’t cause an accident here. He's next to an elementary school, he can’t risk it.

Can he?

What accidents can he cause here?

Jimmy’s never really reached out with his powers before on purpose—not in a long time, not in a searching way.

But his powers can cause terrible things to happen, things as far away as inside the school, and if his power can know that there’s things that far away to ruin, then can’t he know, too?

So he reaches out into the surrounding buildings.

There are a lot of people here.

That’s the first thing he feels.

There’s hundreds of children in the school, and one of these buildings is an apartment complex, and Jimmy can’t see them or even really sense them? He just . . . knows that they’re there, in some kind of . . . sixth sense?

There are so many other things that he knows are there, but can’t verbalize. He simply knows, to an overwhelming degree, the contents of everything around and maybe there’s a reason he’s never done this before because he thinks he’s going to be sick—

“TJ!”

Jimmy flinches, hears something crash in the distance. He wheels around—this could be it this is the moment he’s kidnapped—, only to find fWhip standing at the mouth of the alley.

“Why are you out and about?” fWhip asks, moseying over, hands in his pockets. “Don’t you usually stay home from the cool parties?”

Right. He knows fWhip. Kind of. fWhip is nice, right? He helped save him.

Jimmy isn’t wearing his mask. Which is fine. It’s fine to not be wearing it, because fWhip recognized him anyways and his secret identity isn’t contingent on a mask anymore.

“Um, I’m looking for Major,” he says, head still spinning a bit. “He usually goes here every morning, and nobody saw him for his whole shift, so if he got kidnapped it was probably near—”

“Wait, Major’s missing?”

Jimmy frowns. “Yeah, did you not hear? He disappeared yesterday.”

fWhip checks over his shoulder, adjusts his goggles. “Okay. Not good. And if Major’s missing, why aren’t you in a safehouse?”

“Well, I was,” Jinmy says, looking down at his feet. How has he been caught already? He just barely left!

“But you couldn’t stick around when Major could be . . . being tortured?” guesses fWhip.

Jimmy shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah,” he says dejectedly. “But I can go back. The Mad King would—”

“Nah, don’t do that. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to. Do you need help looking?”

And before Jimmy can so much as process what he’s said, fWhip is reaching up to the window in the building beside them, testing the latch and finding it open.

“Let’s check out this place,” he suggests, shoving the window open and grabbing the sill, pushing himself up and into the window in an impressive show of upper-body strength.

Jimmy blinks.

He didn’t expect to be joined in his search.

Let alone by fWhip.

“Okay, nobody’s here,” fWhip calls out the window. “You coming?”

“Is there a door?” Jimmy asks halfheartedly.

fWhip shrugs.

Jimmy sighs, grips the windowsill (a bit lower for him than it had been for fWhip), and heaves himself up, legs kicking for purchase on the wall and arms trembling under his weight.

He falls back once, arm scraping a bit against the sill, then manages to pull himself up the second time, his ribcage pressed in painfully against the windowsill, where he hangs for a moment before tipping over and landing in a heap on the other side.

“Try to roll when you come in,” fWhip advises as Jimmy picks himself up. “It’s easier. And way more cool.”

“I’ll remember that,” Jimmy grumbles, brushing the copious streaks of dust off his hoodie.

“So we’re looking at an abandoned first floor of some office building, I think,” fWhip says, flipping a switch on his goggles. “See anything?”

Jimmy looks around. It’s a fairly large space, the concrete ground scarred by the torn-up carpet (some of which still lies in an awkward heap against a wall), a single dead office chair sitting in the middle of the room. Otherwise, there’s some brightly-colored papers in a corner, and—

The front door slams open.

“TJ,” comes a suspicious and familiar voice.

The Mad King is standing in the doorway.

“Rats,” fWhip says, frowning. “Did you follow me?”

“You and Mythics are always up to no good,” Joel tells him dismissively, before turning back to Jimmy, arms crossed. “Why are you here?”

“Um . . . looking for Major?” Jimmy tries.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “With fWhip? Come on, TJ, if you were going to break house arrest it should’ve been with someone respectable.”

“Hey!”

“Come on, back to the safehouse.”

“But—”

“TJ,” Joel says firmly. “We aren’t arguing about this. I’ll keep looking for Major, yeah? You need—”

“But I, I can help!” Jimmy insists. This isn’t fair, he shouldn’t be locked up when his boyfriend could be going through the worst experiences of his life—

“Jimmy,” Joel grits out. fWhip makes a ‘yikes’ face, turns to start going through the neon papers in the corner.

“Since Major has been kidnapped, they will want to get the people he cares about the most—you,” Joel stresses. “They will want to hurt you to get him to give up whatever information they’re looking for. That’s why—”

“I know, I know, but I can defend myself,” argues Jimmy. “It’s—it’s Sc—I mean, it’s Major. I have to help. And I know—”

“You’re helping by staying safe,” says Joel. “I’m not arguing about this, okay?”

“Who would have a bake sale and then put the signs in an abandoned building?” fWhip murmurs, examining one of the said signs.

Which is stupid.

This is stupid.

How does Joel expect him to just sit there?

How can he tell Jimmy to go hide and let Scott get hurt?

But there’s no point in fighting this.

“Maybe there’s some way you can help from the apartment, okay?” Joel says placatingly, and Jimmy rolls his eyes.

“Sure. Fine, take me back, officer.”

“Don’t get an attitude with me, young man,” Joel warns, sputtering jokingly, but Jimmy’s stomach squirms just the slightest bit.

He’s not a child.

“fWhip, I’ll be back here in half an hour, okay?” Joel says. “Let me know if you find anything.”

Then he strides out the door, Jimmy reluctantly following along behind.

-

Joel finds Scott the next day.

It’s a small place, a closed mechanic shop, near the East side of the city, where this particular gang of villains decided to keep him.

Joel finds him by checking the security footage of the elementary school. He sees, in the corner of one of the cameras, a couple of neon signs hanging on the side of the building fWhip and Jimmy had broken into.

Backing it up a little bit, Joel finds the car that carried the people who hung up the signs (something they did several hours before dawn).

And when he tracks down that car, he finds Scott.

Jimmy receives the text that Scott’s been found and instantly calls Lizzie, begging her for a ride home. Lizzie agrees, and when Joel and Scott come through the front door, Jimmy is there waiting, a frozen pizza in the oven.

Jimmy drops everything, his stress releasing in a little burst of power that crashes his phone and knocks all the cushions off the sofa, hurrying toward Scott.

Scott looks absolutely exhausted. His suit is torn here and there, his hair tangled and greasy, his eyelids drooping. But he gives Jimmy a small smile and acquiesces to a gentle hug.

“Glad you’re safe,” Scott murmurs. “I was worried.”

Jimmy chuckles, pitched a little high with nerves. “You were worried? Imagine my state!”

Scott pulls away, plants a small kiss on Jimmy’s lips before tugging off his mask, mouth twisting in a grimace.

There’s a large bruise on his cheek, and a small line of them down his jaw, but he otherwise doesn’t seem to be in very bad condition. Still, Jimmy frets, hands twisting anxiously.

“Where are you hurt? Do you need to get checked out? You really should go to the hospital, just in—”

“I’m fine,” Scott cuts him off. “Just some bruises. It’s all right.”

Even so, Scott stands there patiently, as Jimmy takes in every part of him.

He seems to be telling the truth. Nothing looks broken or like it’s bleeding too badly. He’s holding himself a little gingerly, though, that could be a broken rib—

Jimmy prods at his chest and Scott steps back, hands over himself.

“It’s not broken,” Scott says, teeth gritted. “Joel already tried it. Just a deep bruise.”

“Probably the worst kidnappers I’ve ever seen,” Joel calls from the kitchen, where he’d gone after pushing past the two of them in the hall. “Didn’t even know how to torture him properly.”

Torture? “Scott, I’m so sorry—do you need anything? Should I schedule you a therapy appointment?”

Scott bursts out laughing. “Thank you, baby,” he says. “I’m fine. I promise. Just tired.”

“And an idiot,” adds Joel. “How’d you manage to get kidnapped by such an incompetent lot?”

“Their signs said homemade croissants,” Scott moans, walking into the kitchen as if nothing ever happened (though his arm is still wrapped around his ribs). “You know I love supporting small local businesses.”

“’Twas your downfall,” Joel intones, snickering. “Sorry, mate.”

Jimmy follows awkwardly, not entirely sure how to behave.

Scott’s . . . fine?

He hadn’t even considered that as an outcome. He hadn’t dared to think that Scott might return without severe injuries, without being traumatized by the torture and greatly needing help returning to the real world.

Like Jimmy had been.

He doesn’t know what he can even do.

How can he help Scott when Scott doesn’t need help?

So Jimmy just kind of hovers, near Scott, as he sits there and eats pizza and jokes a little with Joel.

Then Scott leaves to go shower, and Joel shoots Jimmy a sympathetic smile.

“He’s fine,” Joel assures him. “He may be a bit clumsy for a while—his hands were zip-tied pretty tightly together—but he’s really fine.”

It’s hard to believe him.

But Jimmy just nods and resolves to not treat Scott strangely. He’s fine, after all.

If he’s fine, then so is Jimmy.

-

That night, there’s something wrong.

Jimmy wakes up quite suddenly, the odd sixth sense that he’d probed at the other day ringing with the notice that something is off.

He doesn’t know what. He doesn’t know what’s changed in their surroundings, but he knows that it’s not quite right and he needs to be aware of it.

Jimmy blinks open his eyes, glances over to Scott to reassure himself that his partner is safely there.

And leaning over Scott, a knife gleaming in their hand and poised above Scott’s chest, is a person dressed in black.

Jimmy reacts immediately.

He dives over Scott, knocking the man’s arm just as he sinks the knife down—Scott wakes with a cry of pain, the knife carving a jagged line in his chest and up his shoulder as the man is knocked off course.

Jimmy rolls off of Scott, faces the intruder for a brief second.

The intruder spits out a curse, then barrels into Jimmy, brandishing his knife.

Jimmy moves on instinct. He grapples with the man, twists his wrist with the knife—the man slashes at him, but Jimmy twists further until his grip loosens on the hilt, and then he takes the knife.

He spent hours and days and weeks training with Xornoth in knife work and he knows exactly how to attack to injure, which spots are the most painful without being fatal. He stabs the knife into the attacker’s upper arm, then into his side when he howls and twists away, and Jimmy can’t help but show off a bit as he flips the knife to his other hand and drives it into the man’s knee.

The intruder falls to his knees, and Jimmy’s head is pounding with the adrenaline, and he can’t move his focus from taking this man out entirely because he tried to kill Scott—

Jimmy spins around to be behind the man, hands on his throat—the man grabs at his wrists, nails scrabbling against his skin—and sends a burst of power out.

Under his sweaty palms, knife still tucked between the fingers of his right hand, Jimmy feels the man’s neck break. Not just the bone: his vocal cords snap—his muscles fall loose—his throat collapses, and so does the man, falling heavily to the carpet.

Jimmy stands there, panting.

Scott wheezes in pain.

Jimmy fumbles on the bedside table, grabs Scott’s hero phone with fingers slick with blood. He presses the emergency button on the side, holds it down for a solid five seconds.

Then he drops it back on the table, opens one of the drawers to pull out Scott’s mask.

“Jimmy,” Scott gasps, sitting up, clutching his arm over the slash in his shirt. “Are—are you okay?”

Jimmy nods, then he clicks on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in low, yellow light, and surveys Scott.

There’s a sheen of sweat over Scott’s bruised face, his eyes pained and confused (and concerned, and very very worried), but Jimmy barely registers that as his eyes find the wound.

His nightshirt is soaked in blood, spreading out from the slash, and it only takes one glance at the wound for Jimmy to know that it needs a professional to take a look at it. He doesn’t know near enough about injuries to know anything other than that it looks bad.

He leans over Scott (Scott flinches back) and pulls the mask over his face, carefully holding the knife pointed away from him. His hair catches a bit in the eyeholes and Jimmy doesn’t do anything about it.

"Major?" calls a voice from below, and Jimmy spins around, knife held out, as he hears the stairs creak with running footsteps. Was there back-up? No matter. There won’t be, soon.

A pajama-clad Blossom pushes open the door from where it's half-open (Scott always closes the door when they go to bed), her hands flying to her mouth when she takes in the scene. "Oh my gosh—Major, TJ, what happened? Should I call an ambulance? I'll call one—"

"Hello? Is everything okay?"

More footsteps, then Gem appears, mask pulled over tangled hair.

"Hi, we need an ambulance—the address—"

"What happened?" Gem says, echoing Blossom's words as Blossom turns away, one hand covering the ear not pressed to her phone.

Scott pushes himself up further, grimacing. "Intruder," he manages, nodding toward the body on the floor. Gem glances at it, before her eyes fix on Jimmy.

"TJ, sit down—where are you hurt? Where do you guys keep your first aid kit?"

"It's not my blood," Jimmy says, his voice too loud in his ears. He gestures with the knife toward the motionless body, the neck appearing kind of . . . squashed. "I'm fine. Check Major."

"Shoot, the attacker," Gem mutters. "Blossom, tell them that there's two or three people that need—"

"He's dead," Jimmy interrupts. "Don't worry about him. Check Major."

Gem blinks.

Meets Jimmy's eyes.

"Okay," she says after a moment. "I'll check Major. Did you kill him?"

Jimmy swallows.

"He was attacking us," he says stiffly. "He stabbed Major. I acted in self-defense."

Gem moves around and climbs onto Jimmy's empty side of the bed, still keeping an eye on him even as she checks out Scott, pulling away his shirt and asking quiet questions (to which Scott responds, his breath shallow and words faltering).

"The ambulance should be here soon," Blossom says, moving toward the foot of the bed. "TJ, you're covered in blood—set that knife down, let me help you."

"It's not my blood," Jimmy says again. "I'm fine."

"Okay, then—"

"You help Major," Gem says, slipping off the bed and coming back over. "I'll help TJ wash up. C'mon."

Numbly, Jimmy follows her out of the room, checking over his shoulder to make sure Scott is okay. Scott waves him on with the hand that isn’t held to his chest, and Jimmy continues down the hall, into the bathroom.

"We'll have to make this quick," Gem says. "Sit down. And give me that knife."

Jimmy doesn't want to give her the knife. He pulls it back to his chest when she reaches for it, thumbs the blade protectively.

"I need the knife to give it to Major, so that when the police get here we can have a convincing story without you in it. Make sense?"

After considering, Jimmy nods. It makes sense.

And that means he needs to not be here.

He hands over the knife. "I killed him," he says. "If they ask, Major stabbed him three times. Then he fell and broke his neck."

Gem shakes her head. "Okay. Wow. Okay. You know we don't normally kill people, right? Never mind. I'll go give this to Major."

Jimmy glances in the mirror as she steps past. There's blood spattered across his face, more in splashes on his nightshirt and shorts and arms. His eyes, cold and wide, peer back at him out of his pale face.

He needs to get out of here.

Gem returns after two or three minutes, handing Jimmy a jacket (one of Scott’s, he distantly notices).

"Zip that up over the blood, rinse off your hands, and let's go," she says. "We'll head to my place. Blossom will ride with Major in the ambulance. It doesn't look too bad, so he should be okay."

Jimmy obeys, letting Gem turn on the water so he can stick his hands under the cold spray.

For a moment, he's back there—just trying to scrub the blood off his hands from his first intentional murder in the sink with the broken handle.

Then he blinks, looking down at the sink, at the red running off his hands.

"Good enough. Let's go."

-

Joel joins them in Gem's dark kitchen after about two hours, stripping off a pair of gloves. He's fully dressed in his supersuit, his hair unbrushed and his posture stooped, looking more exhausted than ever.

"Gem, you have anything caffeinated?" Joel asks, opening a cupboard.

"Yeah, there's a pot of coffee already made. Mugs are in the left cupboard."

Jimmy watches as Joel finds a mug, fills it up with coffee, and then takes a swig of it black.

"Thanks," he says, face scrunching up at the taste. Joel doesn't like black coffee. Jimmy knows that. He always adds cream and sugar.

"Major's okay," Joel informs them, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table to sit across from them.

Jimmy's been here more or less in silence for the past hour and a half, staring at the wooden table. When they'd first come in, Gem had sent him to wash his hands and arms and face better than he had before, but there's nothing they can do about his sleepclothes, so he's just been sitting here in a blood-spattered t-shirt for a while. Gem had joined him after pulling a hoodie over her pajamas and starting the coffee maker, and has since sat beside him, working on a crossword puzzle.

"Major's okay, he and Blossom are at the hospital now. The intruder was pronounced dead on site. Major identified him as one of the men who kidnapped him."

Jimmy doesn't feel anything.

No sense of satisfaction at knowing that the man truly deserved it, no fear at how close they had been to getting killed, no guilt for his actions.

Nothing.

"TJ," Joel says hesitantly, "how are you doing?"

Jimmy shrugs.

He's still covered in the blood of the man he murdered.

"They say killing is like riding a bike," Jimmy says after a long pause. "You never quite forget how to do it."

Gem sighs. Joel winces.

"Right. Well, we don't really kill people, as a general rule. It's kind of, like, against the law."

The law.

As if the law applies to heroes and villains.

Jimmy's not really sure which one he is right now.

Neither, probably. Which means the law should apply to him, even if it hasn’t stuck in the past.

"I've never really been one to follow the law," Jimmy says.

"Sure, but as a person—"

He isn't a person. If anything was to prove that fact, it would be tonight. He hadn’t thought, he’d just acted, and even now the first feeling that he can even register is the feeling of not feeling. He isn’t a person.

He's a weapon.

He's a pet.

That's the word that triggers his therapy brain.

"I'm in a bad headspace," Jimmy interrupts Joel, using words that he'd rehearsed with Nora. "I don't feel like a person right now. I might be dissociating."

"We have to talk about this," Joel insists. "We can't run away from hard conversations—"

"I promised I would never kill again," Jimmy whispers, and, ah. There’s the panic. Detached and not quite real, but panic nonetheless. "I can't escape it. I'm not—I can't. I'm a weapon, I was made to be a weapon, I—"

"Stop that right now," says Joel firmly. "You are a person, and you just saved someone from being killed. It was self-defense, not mindless."

Jimmy almost laughs, because to some extent, it was mindless. He acted entirely on instinct, following the training Xornoth had given him, whether or not it was self-defense.

He doesn't like hurting people.

He never wanted to go back to being a villain.

It's not even that he's upset about killing that specific man. Screw that man, he tried to kill his boyfriend.

He's really just afraid that now that he's killed one person, he'll keep doing it. It isn’t like anyone can stop him. Nobody can stop him, not even himself, and he wouldn’t even care if his current state has anything to say about it.

"TJ," Gem says carefully, "why did you kill that man?"

Jimmy frowns. Why? "To protect Major."

"Do you have any desire to kill people outside of defense?"

Does he?

He's never had the desire to kill.

Not even when he was getting rewarded for it. Killing was something he did to survive, to escape severe punishment, or accidentally.

And here, he killed to protect. To save his boyfriend. He didn't get any satisfaction out of it. He certainly didn't enjoy it. He doesn't want to do it again.

That cuts through the foggy panic in his mind, the fear that he might keep going, that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

"No," he says, then stronger, "no. I never want to kill. I hate it. I only do it when I have to."

Joel lets out a breath of relief. "Thank goodness. Okay, next issue. You and Major clearly aren't safe here. Do you want to try to stick it out, or should we start moving you two as soon as possible?"

Jimmy hadn't even thought about it.

Of course they aren't safe here—he hadn't been safe alone, when Scott was kidnapped and he had to be moved to the safehouse. Why did he think that things would magically change just because Scott was here? Every villain in the city knows where they live. The rest of the gang that kidnapped Scott could show up on their doorstep at any time, even more angry than before.

Anyone could show up at any time.

Jimmy doesn't feel as secure as he used to feel, surrounded by superheroes as they are.

"We'll move," Jimmy decides. "As soon as Major is back, we're moving. It just isn't safe here."

They’ll move.

Then he’ll deal with this numbness.

-

"Hey!" Jimmy calls, running into the kitchen. "No! You aren't allowed to lift anything more than ten pounds, put that down!"

Scott sighs with an over-dramatic roll of his eyes, sets the box back on the counter. "It's not that heavy. And it doesn't even hurt right now."

"Just because it doesn't hurt doesn't mean it isn't injured, Mister," Jimmy tells him. "You don't want to pull out your stitches."

"You haven't let me help at all. Pearl already handled the actual heavy stuff, let me do something."

Jimmy shakes his head and picks up the box. "That's your own fault for getting stabbed right before we moved."

"We're moving because I got stabbed," Scott points out. "It's not like any of this was planned."

"You should have thought about that before you got stabbed, then."

Scott groans, then reluctantly laughs. "I guess I should have. Can I at least drive?"

Jimmy lets out a very put-upon sigh. "I suppose, since I don't have a driver's license, you can be allowed to drive. But only if you behave yourself."

Scott giggles again. "You're adorable," he says fondly. "You know I'm the Primary Protector of the city, right? I don't think you'd be able to stop me."

"And I killed a man last week," counters Jimmy. "I don't think you want to be on my bad side."

"Oh," Scott says after a moment. "Are we joking about this now?"

Jimmy shrugs. "We're in the laugh-or-cry stage. I'm trying to laugh about it right now."

Scott looks at him. Really, truly, looks at him.

Then he laughs. Just a little bit, but still a laugh.

"I love you," he says. "I'll help you hide the body next time."

Jimmy laughs a little, too, but Scott pauses.

"There . . . isn't going to be a next time, right?" he asks uncertainly.

"Oh, absolutely not. Not unless it's entirely necessary."

Scott nods several times. "Good," he says. “Yep. Cool.”

Jimmy turns back toward the door, box in his arms, and waits until he’s out of the house to huff, shaking his head (though a smile plays on his lips).

They’re okay.

He pushes away the numb feeling that threatens to seep into his brain and thinks and remembers and knows that they’re okay.

That’s good enough for him.

[queerstudiesnatural]

Fan favourite characters I dislike poll

[joshdiaz]

Taveeta Szymanowicz as Theresa Baptiste in Teen Wolf, Season 1

Theresa is not superstitious. It's easy not to be, in a small boring town like hers, until it isn't anymore. Scott McCall makes first line, Allison Argent blows into town, and suddenly everything is topsy turvy.

There is, first of all, the devastation of watching her crush get a girlfriend. She knows she doesn't have a claim on Scott, obviously, but that's kind of the worst part; even if she'd made a move, it wouldn't have mattered. When she got hit with a lacrosse ball last year during their shared practice, he'd run to help her, and a year later, she still couldn't stop thinking about it; Scott, on the other hand, was always helping someone do something, and probably hadn't thought about it since. She wasn't rooting for the guy to be unhappy, obviously, but pining had been a lot easier when no one else noticed him.

There is also the unfortunate fact that Theresa, generally, seems to be noticing a lot more these days. It's hard to accept that the rash of attacks in her town are really animals when she keeps seeing flashes of men with teeth. It's hard to focus when her thigh itches even though there's no scab there. It's hard to enjoy school dances when she has the deep, deep feeling that something is wrong. It's hard to talk to her friends when none of them are seeing what she's seeing and it's hard to figure out what she knows about what's going on when she has gaps in her memory. She'd read once that brains will sometimes do that to protect you, but she doesn't feel safer.

But it doesn't matter. Men don't have sharp teeth and she doesn't have any marks on her body and superstitions don't mean anything. This will pass, as it always does, and Beacon Hills will be boring again.

If Lydia Martin hadn't almost bled out on the lacrosse field the night of the formal, she might've been able to believe that.

@nolanhollogay

[amiharana]

ok I was reading thru your tattoo/flower shop au and I had to share the brainrot.

I hc revali as indigenous (particularly great plains native american) and oh man, what if at some point he very hesitantly brings up with link that he wants to get facial tattoos or something similar that's significant to him but he's nervous?? And Link goes out of his way to learn traditional stick-n-poke techniques so he can be the one to give revali his tattoos?? And it's like super sweet and meaningful for them both and Link feels honored that revali trusts him enough to ask? (and also revali is scared shitless and Link has to stop several times so he doesnt mess up and hurt revali more than it typically would)

like what if though???

ahem (taps mic) Hello can anyone hear me. i haven't written a tumblr ask in ages i feel ancient

first of all, i'm glad to hear that you still think of my tattoo/flower shop au haha it's been way over a year now since i wrote it. i still very much appreciate everyone who drew art for it 🫶 i've had a few passing thoughts about writing it into an actual proper multi-chaptered fic but i've been busy wrestling with school, work, and my personal demons for the past year that it's been quite difficult to even think about writing anything. thank you to anyone who's still here; i appreciate you a lot 🤍

i love the hc of revali as indigenous and i think it really fits in with the presence of the rito people as we're introduced to in the games, but i won't touch on that too much since i'm not indigenous/well-versed in indigenous culture. you know what i Am well-versed in though? these gay ass mfs

i had to reread my own au post for this Lord it's been too long, i wrote back then that i thought of revali as someone who isn't too fond of tattoos and doesn't have a great pain tolerance for them, and i still believe in that LOL. mixing that in with a hc where revali is indigenous is quite interesting, because i would assume that tattoos are an important/frequently appearing aspect of the culture? revali's parents have also passed in this au and he's alone with no family running the shop, so perhaps revali was estranged from his indigenous culture while growing up/at some point and became interested in trying to connect with it as an adult. maybe he came across the topic of traditional tattoos and after researching about it, he became interested in getting one but again because of his low pain tolerance, he thought it probably may never happen. well...

during one of their shared lunch breaks perhaps at a new cafe that's opened up on tabantha street, revali absentmindedly mentions his family and the tattoos. link immediately looks up at him from his food, those lovely blue eyes searching his face curiously.

"traditional tattoos?" he says, cocking his head at revali. revali blinks. well, of course link would have interest in the topic since he was a fellow tattoo artist himself, but the way he was looking at revali was...

"well yes," revali continues. "i suppose i haven't really talked to you much about myself personally, have i? i'm an indigenous hyrulean and my blood is descended from the rito tribe, but i'm not well-versed in my own culture." he mumbles the last few words, looking down at his coffee. "my parents and i lived on reservation land until i was 5 and then we moved away to a bigger city for work. there weren't many other rito there and so i didn't grow up with a lot of other indigenous folk. i don't know much about my family or my culture because of it, and even after my parents passed, it's never come up until now." revali glances back at link, who is now watching him with rapt attention. he looks away again, his cheeks beginning to warm. "i thought it would be nice to connect with my culture by getting a traditional tattoo of the rito tribe, perhaps something small so i can handle it. though, i wouldn't be able to travel to the reservation to find a traditional tattooist because of the shop and neither do i know of any tattoo artists nearby that could do it..."

"i'll do it," link says suddenly. revali looks at him again and blinks. link's eyes are bright and wide, blazing with determination. he's still holding his sandwich in his hands.

"i-i couldn't ask that of you," revali says, heart skipping a beat. "you'd likely have to learn an entire new and unfamiliar technique, and—"

"i'll do it," link insists, placing the sandwich down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. his eyes are still trained on revali, just as insistent as his mouth is. revali swallows.

"use a napkin, please," he mutters, passing link one. the blond takes it and grins at him. "if it's something that you greatly desire to do... i will assist you in offering as much information as i can. i... appreciate it, link." i appreciate you, he thinks but the words get stuck in his throat. link's smile only grows.

thinking about link who researches rito tribal tattoos for a few weeks and reporting and discussing his findings with revali during their mon/wed lunch breaks. thinking about link who spends countless nights staying up compiling everything he finds into a document, the different types of tribal tattoos and their meanings, researching the materials and tools needed for traditional tattoos, sketching different tribal symbols endlessly for the perfect one for revali in between tattoo sessions with other clients, thinking about where on revali's body it would go, thinking about revali's warm skin under his hands... let's keep it PG link 🫡

the day finally arrives when link introduces the tattoo sketches to revali. link probably shows him a few ideas of a small rito symbol on his fingers, wrist, deltoid, ankle, and even ribs. HOWEVER. i really like the idea of the winged rito symbol across the back of revali's shoulders to represent his wings in canon? so what if. link who sketched a drawing of revali's back muscles with the winged rito symbol and he doesn't mean to show it to revali since it's a much bigger tattoo than revali wanted, but revali happens upon it anyway while scrolling through the sketches on link's ipad.

"what's this one?" revali says pointing at it.

link glances over at the screen and flushes. "oh, i didn't mean for you to see this one," he murmurs. he uses two fingers to zoom in on the image slightly. "i just had an idea for this particular symbol, so i sketched it out because i thought it'd look nice. i know you wanted a smaller one, so we can just focus on the first sketches—"

"it's beautiful," revali cuts him off, voice soft and still looking at the winged sketch. "how much do back tattoos hurt?" and link is jaw dropped, staring at him with hearts in his eyes LMFAOOOOOOOO

thinking about link who actually reaches out to a traditional tattooist from revali's tribe and asks if he can mentor link so he can learn their technique??? maybe link and revali who end up traveling to the reservation together so revali can visit and link can learn directly from the tattooist??? revalink road trip and sharing a bed trope??? link would probably only take a week tops to learn the technique since he's like a prodigal artist and the tattooist is impressed. also revali getting to spend time with and learn more about his culture from others from the tribe who live there 🥺

if revali does get the winged rito symbol tattoo on his back, he probably wouldn't get it as a solid color, maybe link would incorporate more tribal lineart into it like the totk zonai imagery? i've never gotten a tattoo so i don't know if back tattoos or the style of solid color tattoos would hurt, but regardless, link would make revali as comfortable as he can throughout all the sessions 🥺🥺🥺

originally when i read this ask and you mentioned facial tattoos, i thought about link gently holding revali's jaw between his pointer finger and thumb to readjust the positioning of his face in the midst of tattooing him, and revali sucking in a breath at the contact WAHHHH but with the direction i took with this post, i also thought about link laying a flat palm between revali's shoulder muscles, feeling the warmth of his skin and tracing his shoulder blades with a featherlight touch and revali getting flustered but muttering, "are you going to keep me in suspense?"

link traces a line down revali's spine. "are you sure you want to get this tattoo?" he murmurs. "we can still do the smaller ones instead if you want. i know how you feel about it, with your pain tolerance and all."

revali snorts, trying to mask his nervousness. "i've already made up my mind. it's a beautiful piece that you put a lot of thought into and i'm not backing out now. besides..." revali's voice lowers into a mumble. "i wouldn't have gone through with it if it was anyone else. i trust you."

link's cheeks pinked in the sweet way they do when revali catches him off-guard, but he can't take it back. he doesn't want to take it back, because it's true; revali trusts link for this with everything he has.

hhh . AHHHH . i just think. yeagh.

[askblueandviolet]

hi im back from reading....with a couple minutes lf trying to reconnect to my wifi (cus it disconnected right after i was goign to make an ask,and wont..connect after)

ahEM!! BAI HE IS WITHHER PARENTS NOW?? AWWW, HOW DOES SHE LIKE THE HELMET⁉��⁉️

anyway, real, hershey is such s good dogn:3 pat pats for her yuhuh

ALSOALSOSOSLSLSLSKSDDM XIUYING RAAAHHH, HOWS BRO DOING⁉️⁉️ totally shoukd vidit the philippines soon hshhshs 😋😋😋

RAAAHHH IT WAS AMAZING READING THIS CHAPTERRR 😭😭 BRAVO, BRAVO,, so sorry if thid is somewhat long omg

throws another silly rock at macaculator

EEEEE HAGE A GREAT DAY‼️‼️🫶 OR EVENING IDK MAN

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[imminent-danger-came]

do you think MK is gonna have a circlet arc?? Going along with your eldritch mk theory jt could parallel his past life being contained and also more parallels to SWK and MK how fun

This ask has haunted my ask box for 3 days. Circlet arc??? CIRCLET ARC???? THAT WOULD BE TERRIBLE AND SO SO SO GOOD.

I have no idea if it would actually happen in show, but I have a feeling MK is at the very least going to have an "anti-circlet" arc. Go with me for a moment:

So, we know MK's bandana parallels Wukong's phoenix feathers in design, right?

MK with the two ends of his bandana and Wukong with the two feathers coming out of his cap.

However, MK's bandana is ALSO a parallel to Wukong's circlet:

And MK was given this bandana by Pigsy (presumably):

This is basically a long winded way to say that MK has already been "crowned", in a sense. Unlike Wukong, MK never needed to be controlled in the same way his mentor did at the beginning of his journey. MK, instead, was given morals and love by our wonderful Dadsy from a young age, which effectively functioned as a "circlet", if that makes sense.

So, the bandana, a symbol of both who he is/was raised to be and the crown, is already his circlet. As MK is now, he doesn't need a circlet to exert control over him because of who he is—a good kid who is trying his best to make the right choices.

But, you know, there was that really scary scene that one time where MK didn't exactly feel like MK and he kind of went off the rails...and...WHAT IS THAT

HIS BANDANA WAS DAMAGED BY HIMSELF IN AN EPISODE TITLED "Rip and Tear" !!?!??!?!?

SO.

Say MK were to rip his own bandana off, symbolically showing his complete decent into his "harbinger of chaos" role...that would mean another crown would have to go on to replace it, right?

Whether MK get's crowned symbolically with another bandana or an ACTUAL circlet remains to be seen, but the potential is definitely there! And I'm normal about it

[allur1ngs]

hear me out…

bada doing this trend💭

[amazingdeadfish]

Woah what's this? Shadowpuppet Good Omens crumbs?

[lunar-solarsystem]

so uh ima try a thing

give me a design component or something of the sort you think of for a character when you hear the word “virus”, the word “parasite”, or the words “abnormality or insanity”

or other similar words idk

trust the process, its for my tsams au (i may or may not use some ideas if i like em, im just curious what you guys might say)

moots i need help, join if you wanna :3 @ryomaandgundhamkin @theinfamousmaybelle @bumble-the-sun-bee @justdrawlynn11 @achickennamedcheese and other stalke- i mean followers if you wanna join

im curious

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

So sad you didn't like the dadsy moment. I thought for sure you would go crazy.

As far as I know David Breen wrote this episode and he's not new. Don't quote me, but I think the writing team is the same

Actually went back and edited my post twice earlier cause I had a buddy mention the mixing studios change and then I also was able to process more lol y’all must have the first version my B o7 I can’t believe my hcs have become canon

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 20 - Emotional Angst

title: waiting

fandom: 3rd Life SMP

cw: character death, and all that entails

~

Scott had almost (finally) drifted off to sleep when he hears it.

The shot of a cannon.

Loud, echoing, as if it had come from right beyond the little bunker where they're spending the night.

Fear steals into Scott's heart, taking his breath with it. That could be it. That could be the signal that starts the war.

All four of them stir—Scar sits up in the cramped bed, and the chair where Grian is curled up creaks as he shifts, and Jimmy slips out of the makeshift cot to creep over to one of the thin window slats, the moon just slightly illuminating his face as he glances from side to side, crouched slightly against the low ceiling.

They hear a couple of shouts in the distance, but nothing more. After several minutes, Scar lies back down, and the tense line of Grian's shoulders eases as his chair creaks again, and Scott lets his head lie back on the folded blanket that he's using for a pillow.

Jimmy stays at the window, though, waiting. Silent, but on high-alert.

Scott doesn't exactly relax—if Jimmy's watching something, keeping track of a spy, it could mean battle in moments and he needs to be ready.

He is ready, honestly, body poised to shoot up. His bow is leaning against the wall by the door, his sword in its belt beside it. He can strap that on in a matter of seconds, load an arrow to the bowstring just as quickly.

But Jimmy doesn't say anything. And after several minutes, he's still standing there, just looking.

Then, as Scott's still watching him (though blackness creeps quicker and quicker over Scott's eyes every time he blinks), Jimmy turns away from the window.

Instead of heading back to his cot, though, Jimmy stops by Scott's patch of floor.

He lies down there, next to Scott, back popping just the slightest bit as he settles.

Scott glances over at him. Jimmy's lying beside him on his back, hands clasped over his chest, staring at the ceiling.

"Scott," he says quietly, voice low enough that it doesn’t disturb Grian and Scar. "Are you afraid to die?"

Scott turns his own gaze to the rough ceiling of the bunker.

Is he?

He doesn't think so.

"If we die," he says eventually, sensing the sober mood hanging over the night, "I don't think we need to be scared. There's something . . . something after this."

He believes it. He doesn’t know what exactly he believes, but he cannot accept that this is the end.

Jimmy doesn't respond.

"Something . . . kind," Scott eventually settles on. "I don't think I have much reason to be afraid."

Scott doesn't say that whatever comes has to be better than this. He's sure Jimmy knows.

"Do you think this is it?" Scott asks after another quiet moment.

He waits—not necessarily for an answer, and not necessarily for acknowledgement.

He waits the same way he's been waiting all night.

"You'll go home," Jimmy whispers, breaking his silence without warning. "You'll see our hobbit holes again."

Another pause.

"Scott?"

"Hm?"

"We never built anything on that hill."

"Hm."

"Build something, yeah?"

Scott nods, just a shifting of his head against the gritty, sandstone floor.

Jimmy doesn't go back up to his cot. He stays there, on the floor beside Scott, and eventually his breaths even out into the slow draws of sleep.

And Scott waits.

-

Scott is the only one who attends Jimmy's funeral.

He and Grian had narrowly escaped the fight alive—he with a wound to the leg that twists his step and causes him to walk with a crutch, and Grian had caught an arrow in the fleshy part of his upper arm—painful, but not difficult to recover from. Scar had emerged unscathed.

And Jimmy had lain dead on the bunker floor, an arrow in his throat and several others piercing his body.

Scott had brought him all the way home.

And once he had returned (their beautiful stone walls, that he'd built up to protect them both and now are all but abandoned), he'd climbed that hill where they’d never built anything and dug a grave.

It's rough, hewn by tired hands, the fresh grass torn and overturned and many roots of the nearby tree chipped and cut off by his clumsy shovel. Still, Scott supposes, Jimmy certainly won't mind how ugly his grave is.

It's been one full day since Jimmy died. Twenty-four hours, almost twenty-five. Scott's been working on the grave since sometime before the sun rose, and now they've circled back around to mid-afternoon.

A full day alone. Waiting for the enemy to fall on him, take him by surprise as he is, laboring and wounded; or maybe waiting for friends to stop by, words of sorrow on their lips and help in their hands.

No one comes, though, for better or for worse. On the one hand, Scott gets the dignity of caring for his husband’s body without distraction.

On the other hand, he has to carry this weight alone.

And heavy it feels, especially when it comes time to part.

Jimmy is heavy in his aching arms, even with all his armor stripped from him, but Scott doesn’t mutter a word of complaint (not when this is the last time that he gets to hold him). He gently lays Jimmy's body in the hole, his fingernails crusted in dirt and his clothes soaked with sweat from the hard labor (and from the pain in his leg that hasn't stopped pulsing through his body).

Jimmy's eyes are closed. They had been when Scott found his body, the vestiges of a pained expression still painting his face.

He probably died as soon as the arrow entered his throat, but it's little comfort when his body is littered with so many other wounds.

Scott had cleaned the blood and dirt from his body before beginning work on the grave, but he hadn't been able to take the time to change Jimmy's torn clothes or brush his hair, or anything of the sort.

A war started yesterday, and there's already been far too many casualties for Scott to take his time.

Still, Scott takes a moment now, lying prone on the ground, leaning down into the grave.

He tucks Jimmy's hair behind his ear.

He rubs his thumb over Jimmy's lifeless knuckle.

He wipes a smudge of dirt off Jimmy's cheek.

Which won't change anything, because he's about to bury him in dirt, but it makes him feel more normal.

Scott had cried last night. Wedged into a corner of the Crastle, face buried in his hands, not able to bear the sight of the blanket-covered body laid on the floor near the door. He'd ignored Impulse when he offered to help Scott disinfect his leg, and then he'd ignored Impulse as the man knelt beside him and dressed Scott's wound without permission.

"Sorry," Impulse had whispered.

And Scott could only think that he clearly wasn't sorry enough. After all, Impulse had been one of the attackers. The arrow through Jimmy's throat had been Skizz (he'd declared his victory for all to hear), but any of the other three in Jimmy's body could have been from Impulse's bow.

He didn't stop crying, then.

Not until he had run out of tears.

Then he got up, and found a small pull-cart in the yard, and laid Jimmy's body there.

And even though he felt dry of tears, and still does, there's a lump in his throat and a burning in his eyes.

Scott doesn't want to cry again, but he doesn't seem to have a choice.

He lets the tears fall.

He lets his chest shudder.

And he waits.

It's not that he's waiting for Jimmy to suddenly wake up. He isn't waiting for anyone else to pay respects. He isn't waiting for help.

After a moment, Scott casts the first handful of dirt in—and it falls on Jimmy's chest, which doesn’t rise the way it ought to—and then he picks up the shovel and starts tossing heaps of dirt in, not even trying to suppress his tears.

And when all is finished, and the dirt is packed in nicely, and Scott's hands are washed and his clothes changed and his hair brushed, he waits.

[miyamoratsumuu]

I woke up at 3am again and I'm not able to get back to sleep for the life of me 🙏🏼 SO!!! I have a proposal in mind hihi

how would we feel about an mha actor!au smau?? 🙋🏻‍♀️

"being a romance movie director meant you knew all about the clichés, plot twists, and narratives that could happen in them. you knew how to handle and execute them in films, so why were you clueless on what to do when anonymous love letters were constantly scattered around set and addressed to you?"

and yk all the stuff about "actor x actor relationships are a pain to manage by their pr teams, but what if it was an actor x director relationship?" OK???

if ever I do this, I think it'd be clear who the character I do this with will be hihi

[fnaf-flags]

The Progress Flag picked from the FNAF Movie Poster!

[ID in alt text]

[fishtank32]

Lmk doodle page that turned into a dragonfruit doodle page. I love them sm.

[askblueandviolet]

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