#be gone you miserable pos

[creelarke]

REBLOG IF YOUR BLOG IS NOT A SAFE PLACE FOR RADFEMS

REBLOG IF YOUR BLOG IS NOT A SAFE PLACE FOR TERFS

[jitterbugjive]

Okay... I'll Accept Holiday Letters...

So, anyone who has followed me long enough knows by now how I get around the holidays. Seasonal depression kicks in, and bad memories of old toxic Thanksgivings and Christmases flood my brain any time I see or hear reminders of them. Plus there's some trauma from living in poverty and having very little around the holidays and the only people willing to exploit my mentally ill mother for work was the Salvation Army who basically pay pennies. And there's a whole lot more I don't like, like the cold, Christmas Carols, etc.

However.

The last couple of years I finally got to have proper family holiday get togethers since the toxic people in the family are gone now, and it was very healing for me. I still despise the holidays, don't get me wrong, they are mostly miserable for me. I generally tell people to not address the holidays with me.

But... I've been going through a LOT this year. Especially the last 6 months with my mother being manic and getting her whole life messed up. I've also been dealing with another family member experiencing psychosis on and off as well that I haven't felt comfortable talking about. The results of the election and things Oregon was voting on are not helping me feel any better, and I fear that winter depression is going to be hitting me like a truck. I can feel it creeping in already now that the weather is getting under 40F. On top of that, my family isn't in a state right now where anyone can feasibly host Thanksgiving or Christmas, so it's a bit of a lonely one this year. Sure, I have friends I can spend time with, but I was just getting used to the family dinners. Overall, this is just going to be a very hard winter for me.

And for once, I'm going to ask people to lend a bit of the Holiday Spirit (tm) my way, because I really need some pick-me ups to get through the rest of the year. Basically all I'm asking for is for people to send me letters of encouragement through my PO Box. Gifts and fan art are welcome too, I keep all my fan art safe. I'd prefer not to get flat-out christmas cards unless the cards are really nice or creative and have a lot of thought put into what's written in them. I could just really use some kind words and there's something that feels a lot more personal about physical letters that I can store away and pull out on a rainy day.

Please note I have a pea brain that can't read cursive very well, so if possible I'd prefer it be in plain print or typed out.

If you send treats they need to be shelf stable and properly sealed, no home baked goods.

My P.O. Box: (Can be addressed to Jitterbug or Jack)

16055 SW Walker Rd #274Beaverton, OR, 97006

And if anyone's feeling generous I do have an amazon wishlist that people should be able to buy and send stuff from without needing to be the middleman. I don't update it much and a lot of stuff is outdated but you should be able to organize it by priority to get a better idea of what things I'm most interested in. You can even add other stuff to the order that isn't on the list and it will still be shipped to my P.O. Box!

AMAZON WISHLIST

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

Proto-Stella Was Chill And I Miss That

One thing I really liked about proto-Stella on the instagram accounts before the official series is that she didn't feel like a bland caricature even though she really didn't do anything except just seem disconnected with her husband's affair. In the first picture, I have seen stans say this is an indication that Stella was always meant to be abusive which is pushing it when it looks more like she's trying to keep up an image. And I think with proto-Stella she is someone who is more into keeping up an image even if there is no love between her and her husband. And I actually like that interpretation instead of the one dimensional make my husband miserable at all cost cliche we got.

I think they did this because they believed it would make Stolas too unsympathetic if they went the route of him having a chill wife and yet he still cheats on her. On the other hand, I actually think it would have serviced him if she was chill but still tried to keep an image up to high society because she still had to play a role because in the scene where she had her bathrobe up she didn't do anything violent except maybe just ponder why the heck her husband is wearing her wardrobe.

I could still see an arranged marriage being a thing here but instead of just making his life miserable she is just apathetic and shows it through just keeping up face and just not that interested in her husband's affairs. In fact, I think it would so be better for Octavia than a raving mother making an unsettling atmosphere. Proto-Stella probably would be classist but she wouldn't see the imp as a threat since again if this was actually an example of how hell treats marriage she would just see Stolas' thing for an imp as just him having a concubine which again is a thing that was common in earth royalty for centuries. I still think if the Goetia royalty was anything like real royalty marriage is more business like while affairs with lower concubines are more for pleasure and she could just treat Blitzo as just a lower raced boy toy her husband keeps to relieve himself.

Overall, the homelife is not forced volatile but just feels like it's apathetic and a wife who is just in her own world which I think would have felt more compelling but still have Stolas be questioned if that was the way to handle things. Maybe even have Stella just say she doesn't care about his affair but please at least keep it discreet so that he won't get in trouble or even say he can keep his secret by doing favors for her thus keep focusing on the og premise where the gang could go to different missions at her wishes. And seriously, make use of her friends by having her be in on her husband's business and say they want some requests as well for them to fulfill due to having certain humans they want targeted or have as personal slaves/servants.

However, when the series happened well let's just say we saw the demonization occur and the new design which set her as the one dimensional domestic abuser we see her in canon. And again gone is that chill and there is nothing but an annoying shrieking harpy made to make Stolas look like a uwu baby and not the fact he did something that caused the family structure he supposedly built for Octavia to be destroyed. All that potential that I mentioned thrown out the window so that we can have this false impression that Stolas is a saintly good dad and not a scummy pos. And again this is where the moon deal began and how his character deteriorated.

If I would give anything is to have that pro-Stella be there. Like I almost think you could change the whole story and it would be better than the canon project. You would have to change things like the assignation because she no longer wants Stolas dead but you could make her a red herring and would insulted that anyone would accuse her of killing the father of her child even if he cheats on her regularly. It would be fun if the twist that one of her circle friends was the one who wanted the hit because maybe they are in love with Stella and want to get with her since they think Stolas is too good for her. Also with the Andrealphus connection he could still be her brother but he could learn about Stolas' affair and the IMP business and Stella says he can arrange a request due to blackmailing her husband again tying back to the premise. And eventually due to how many people begin knowing about Stolas renting out his book it would get more harder to hide it until things unravel.

When you look at a proto example of a character and see how they ended up it can be very disheartening to see how so much potential was given up. Stella is not exception and I want that type of character we saw before her redesign because it looked like it would have been fun to just see someone who was this chill character who just vibed and tried to keep up a somewhat normal appearance as the wife of a high ranking goetia member. But we needed to have an excuse for why he was compelled to cheat, instead of actually have Stolas as a moral character. Even if Stella is apathetic, what would his daughter think. With an apathetic mother she probably wouldn't feel as unwelcomed in home because of her mother was more chill, but at the same time she feels not okay with her dad having basically a side piece. And again most of all it would make sense why Stolas could trust his daughter to be with her mother because she is a chill person and not someone you have to walk on eggshells. In other words, proto-Stella would fit better storylines for this family to navigate with having Blitzo introduced in their lives.

[thesoftboiledegg]

"Mort: Ragnarick" was pure fun, but a different kind of fun than "Rickfending Your Mort" and "Rise of the Numbericons: The Movie."

"Rickfending Your Mort" was a laid-back clip show that gave the viewer a break after the insanity of "Unmortricken"--a smart decision but not one with a lot of substance. "Rise of the Numbericons: The Movie" has been controversial. I thought it was entertaining, but it would've worked better as a YouTube short.

If "Unmortricken" represented lore episodes at their best, "Mort: Ragnarick" was the best of classic Rick and Morty adventures: a wildly imaginative plot, goofy satire, fantasy science and Rick and Morty working together as a duo, reminding us how much they need each other.

Rick's the driving force behind these adventures, but without Morty, he's just a miserable old man trying to distract himself. Morty's the heart and voice of reason. He also gives Rick something to live for. Without him, Beth, Jerry or Summer, why do anything?

Rick pretends to live for science, but "science" just caused decades of grief and isolation. His family isn't a concept; it's an entity that loves him back.

Bigfoot, an evil pope, Pokeballs, Valhalla, clone bodies, infinite energy sources, zombie Summer, Rick screaming "PO-O-O-O-OPE!": only Rick and Morty could combine all those concepts into one cohesive episode. I never thought "Wow, that took me out of the story." The Pokeball came close, but the end credits scene tied it all together.

Jerry's scene was a standout, too. Chris Parnell's reading of "Nana!" was genuinely sweet. It seems like Jerry's becoming a (mostly) willing participant in Rick's schemes instead of a helpless guinea pig. Is Rick learning that releasing his iron grip on his family makes them more attached to him, not less?

I also loved it when the Vikings called Rick a witch. He loves crystals, plays with magic, has two crows as familiars: damn right, he is!

You have to suspend your disbelief a couple of times, mainly when Bigfoot attacks Rick in the kitchen (he crushed Rick earlier like it was nothing, but now Rick walks away with a few scratches?) Still, the little character moments overshadow these flaws.

Judging by old posts that I've seen floating around, I think Rick and Morty's relationship is finally becoming what fans wanted it to be in seasons 1-3. Rick's still mean, but he's less dominant and more of Morty's mischievous co-conspirator. An alien mobster freaking out in "The Jerrick Trap" because of Rick's "touch my grandson and die" policy is straight out of fanon.

Rick's more physically gentle, and Morty responds in kind. He grabs and supports him when Bigfoot attacks him at home and touches his arm during their weird, overdramatic Bigfoot send-off. His pained cry of "Rick!" when Bigfoot nearly crushes him is heart-wrenching. Operation Phoenix is back online, but Morty's tired of watching him die!

Season five is when Rick started showing emotions on his face besides that cold, pissed-off glare--we all know the one--and in season seven, it's accelerated to Rick crying in front of others. He matches Morty's feelings instead of pretending that he's above human emotions.

Needless to say, dudebros have been flooding Adult Swim's Instagram comments and Twitter replies with "Rick and Morty is shit now!" "Rick's too nice!" "Rick and Morty has gone woke!" Justin Roiland's firing gave them more fuel, but they started even while he was still on the payroll.

Their favorite line is "Rick isn't Rick anymore!" And they're right. Rick's not the asshole from seasons 1-2 who had a couple of redeeming qualities. He's not the monster that he was in season three and parts of season four. He's not the defeated man in season five who started to realize that he's hurting people but still wanted Morty to look after him like a child.

Season six is when he started to grow up--not a lot, but enough that he began taking on adult responsibilities instead of thinking he's a teenage boy who sees another teenager as his peer. I wish we saw more therapy appointments, but while they're mostly off-screen, we're definitely seeing the effects.

This doesn't make Rick a great person or atone for what he's done. Some of his crimes are beyond atonement, and not just the obvious ones like blowing up planets. This is a universe where everyone has a body count and events that should've destroyed Earth have no effect on civilization. Death and destruction don't mean that much.

His worst crimes are the personal ones: destroying Morty's psyche in "The Vat of Acid Episode," treating his family like garbage for most of season three. You can't atone for that. You can't apologize for that.

However, I don't only judge characters by their past. I judge them by their capacity to change.

Walter White is a brilliant character, but he's not a personal favorite because his arc is a slow descent into hell. Rick's slowly climbing out of his crater, and while it doesn't erase the past, it's still happening. For me, that's more satisfying than watching a monster become a bigger monster.

Of course, he's still not above cosplaying as Odin while wearing a golden crown that literally says "GOD." But the former "no girls allowed" alpha male has become a dedicated therapy patient who's also a thirst object that would make bros cry about double standards. Sure, Rick, you're a god, now put on that weird half-shirt and prance around a little.

[bunniekittiee]

my sweet angel- johnny slaughter x reader

Based off of Sunday Morning by Ethel Cain. You worshipping Johnny. Reader is so far gone. Johnny is a POS but what can you expect from him? Do not feel bad for him.

ᴛᴡ: sᴛᴏᴄᴋʜᴏʟᴍ sʏɴᴅʀᴏᴍᴇ, ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴ, ɢᴏʀᴇ, ᴅᴜʙ-ᴄᴏɴ, ᴀʙᴜsᴇ, ɴᴏɴ-ᴄᴏɴ ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴ ᴇxᴛʀᴇᴍᴇ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟ, ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

18+ MDNI

Every day, every night, almost every hour if he could, he was inside of you. Breeding you, corrupting you, defiling you. Like an innocent doe and a starving wolf. Licking his chops and drooling with desire. He sank his teeth into you and claimed you as his own. No one else could have you, and he made sure of this. He scared off any of his family that would try to talk to you. You were alone, all you needed was him.

You did not have the freedom you wished you had. You were chained up in his room with an old, uncomfortable mattress and very little sunlight. A wolf kept his prey hidden from onlookers. He would leave for long hours without telling you when he would ever come back. He did not give you the respect of that, he left you wondering when he would return. When he left, you hated him and you felt it coil in your stomach. Your heart would pound with jealousy, your ears would ring, you had trouble breathing. You knew how easy it was for him to find another woman to please him if you could not. You needed him, but he did not need you. You relied on him so much, he was your captor and you disgustingly loved him. That’s what made it hurt so much. But that sickly, loving feeling spread across your chest when he entered the room with your lunch or when he was taking a break to fuck you. At least he made an effort to pay attention to you.

“Been busy in the yard.” He said as he set down your plate on the floor. “I have ta’ fix ta’ sprinkler system. It’s been a bitch.”

You nodded your head in recognition, crawling towards him. He glanced at you, tilting his head slightly. “Did someone miss me?”

When you hummed in agreement, he smirked. “Show me how much ya’ missed me, sweet pea.”

As if your hands had a mind of their own, they immediately went to his belt, fumbling with the buckle. He let you figure it out yourself. He never made a move to help you. You wanted to do it, you do it. Why should he help a miserable bitch like you?

“Best hurry it up.” He hissed as he wrenched his hands on your scalp. “Don’t keep me waitin’.”

Shoving your mouth onto him, he tightened his grip on your hair and began to face fuck you. Tears spilled from your pretty, doe-like eyes as he abused your mouth. He looked down at you, a wide, evil smile ghosting his lips. Corrupting God’s innocent.

The combination of your tears, gags, and eyes sent him over the edge, spilling his mess inside of your mouth without warning. It felt toxic, blood-hot and it coated your entire mouth. He made sure your mouth was full of his creations before you swallowed. The uncomfortable sensation between your legs made you squeeze your thighs together, but he disregarded it. Buttoning his pants up and buckling his belt, he left without another word from him. Left you with a sopping wet face and an empty pit in your stomach. You ignored the food he gave you and laid down on the mattress. Drifting off, you wondered how life would be if Johnny loved you too.

Your dreams were very empty. There wasn’t much to dream about when you were stuck in a room that did not give you much to be entertained by. Johnny was your lifeline, but you never saw much of him to begin with. He did not need you, he only used you for his own pleasure. But it would be soon before he disposed of you. He would move on, find the next best thing to satisfy him once you were dried up and worthless. The wolf had much more prey to attend to, he could not stick to just one. He said you were a special girl, his only girl, but you knew he was lying straight out out of his teeth.

Worshipping Johnny came with its downfalls. He loved the way you came and took care of his every sexual need. All of his desires. You were so willing to make him feel good. You never put your pleasure first. But he never felt the same way back. He never made the effort back for you. But why should he?

He was your God. You worshipped him. Why would he do the same for you? You would lick the blood off the heel of his boot if it meant that he would love you and give you attention in his own insane way. You thought that he liked the attention he got. Sometimes you could see it in his face that he enjoyed every minute of it.

You were risen out of your sleep by the creak of the door and light coming into the room. Squinting your eyes, you tried to make out who the figure was despite how unadjusted your eyes were. When was the last time you saw the light? You knew somewhat what time of day it was when Johnny would wake up and leave, come back for a few breaks, and then saunter back for bed.

“Hey sweet thang,” he said as you looked at him sleepily. “How’s my pretty girl been?”

Your heart swelled as he said this and you mumbled back an “okay” as you blinked a few times. It was taking a while to adjust.

“I know I haven’t been ’round a whole lot. Must get real lonely up here.” He said with a devious smile. It was untrustworthy. “I thought I’d spend a bit of time with ya’. Got ya’ a friend too.”

Your eyes widened as he pulled another girl into view. Her mouth was gagged, eyes wide with fear as she frantically looked at you. Her arms and legs were bound and she was on the floor.

Your blood ran hot in your whole body and your heart was pounding in your ears. That white, searing hot jealousy coursed through your entire body. Johnny was supposed to be only yours, just like you were all his. Why did he need another woman? What were they doing that you weren’t? You gave into all of his needs. What more could he have wanted?

“I thought ya’ could use another person around to keep ya’ company. I get ta’ benefit of enjoyin’ you both.” He said as he pulled up a stool and sat down on it, legs wide open as he held his knife. “But it’s like introducin’ a baby animal to an adult one, ya’ gotta see if they are compatible.”

The girl’s eyes flooded with tears as she realized her situation was much worse than she thought. It was either be killed by him or be killed by you. It made her angry. It made her want to scream at both of you. You were just as guilty as him for not doing anything. Johnny looked at her in wonder and reached his hand forward to take the gag off of her mouth.

“Fuck you!” she yelled out as Johnny laughed at her misery.

“That a way to talk to me?” He said as he slammed her head into the ground. “Ya’ best treat me with respect, your life is in my hands, baby doll.”

The use of pet names he only used on you made you sick. Extremely nauseated. You wanted to hurt Johnny and her. Mainly her for stumbling upon the forttress and causing Johnny to take a liking to her. You were so fucked in the head, maybe fucked so stupid, that you blamed her for everything. Johnny was your God, he could do no wrong. It was her fault.

Tears stinging your eyes, you looked away from the scene of Johnny whispering sweet nothings in her ear, the same things he told you. “Be a good girl and maybe I won’t bite as hard.”

Jealousy radiated off of you and you felt yourself become dizzy from the amount of blood that pulsed through your body. You wanted to kill her for taking your Johnny away.

“Help!” She screamed as she tried to claw away from Johnny, but he grabbed her and held her down, sitting on her back instead of the stool.

“That ain’t a way to thank me, sweetheart. Ya’ could have been dinner. Fuckin’ thank me for my generosity.” He said as he pulled onto her scalp. He was getting angry.

“W-why her?” You asked out loud, eyeing both of them.

He snapped his head up in your direction. “Thought it would be quite fun havin’ the both of ya’ to enjoy.”

Your heart sank and you felt yourself breathing hard. Why did he have to bring her? In your twisted way, you wanted him all for yourself. You wanted to enjoy every part of Johnny, inviting him inside of you and letting him live inside of you like a parasite. He was your life now, but you were not his. A mere toy.

As more tears tapped onto the rotten floor, Johnny reached his hand out to your face. “Awe, what’s ta’ matter baby doll? Ya’ don’t like sharin’?”

Throat practically closed up, you could barely speak. You continued to cry, your weeping clashing with the victim’s wails. It drove the Slaughter boy crazy. He thoroughly enjoyed it when his victims cried, whether it was out of fear, sexual violence, or sadness. It flipped a switch inside of him.

“All this damn cryin’ is makin’ me frustrated.” he said roughly. “How about I put ya’ to the test? See if ya’ worthy of replacin’ her.” He winked at you as these words slipped past his lips and it made your stomach tighten more. You felt like you were going to get sick.

He flipped the girl over and began to rip her pants off, making your jealously turn you into a hazy, almost blacked out mess. You wanted to scream at both them, you wanted to kill her. You wanted to kill Johnny for doing this to you. For playing with your feelings, for being so cruel to you. You did everything right.

Your vision was blurry as he cut her panties off with his knife. He was unbuckling his belt with his other hand and the victim screamed. She screeched like an animal caught in a trap, but it was not enough to deter Johnny.

“Now now, just sit still.” He said as he placed a hand on her lower stomach, sinking into her forcefully. The screams made your head spin, you felt like passing out. He did this on purpose, he wanted to test you. That’s all it was.

He looked at you, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Ya’ want to take the knife? I see ya’ considerin’ it, doll face. Come on, take it!”

He held his hand out to you with his knife splayed out. With trembling hands, you took it and gripped it. This knife killed many, killed your friends, killed those before your friends, and it would continue its legacy.

“I think this pussy might be better.” he said, a bit out of breath. “Not as used and abused like yours.” If his grin could get wider, it sure did. His face was obscured by shadows, but you could still make out his features. Those eyes.

Envy ate away at your bones as the woman bawled. Moving closer, you tightened your grip on the knife as she stared at you with panic-stricken eyes. The weapon reflected back in her blue irises.

“I think she would be a great replacement.” Johnny bellowed out. “Maybe ya’ should learn ta’ share, Y/N.”

Plunging the knife into her chest, you clenched your jaw and felt your vision go black. You were not in control anymore. This animalistic fury have possessed your body. Johnny watched in amazement as you continued to stab her in the chest, grunting and shrieking as you did so. You and Bubba had something in common. Johnny had stopped thrusting and took himself out of her, pulled up his pants and moved back as he watched the disarray unfolded right in front of him.

You were doused in blood. The smell was hanging in the air and stained the floor. Her chest looked like ground beef, her heart ground up in pieces with the amount of times you stabbed her. Her lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling, no signs of living in her still, mutilated body. You were on a rampage, stabbing into her stomach and screeching out incoherent sentences. Johnny did nothing but watch. Her intestines peeked out of her bloodied skin and you threw the knife to the side.

Hyperventilating, you started to come back to your senses after coming down from your blacked-out anger. You stared blankly at your hands and legs that were drenched in the gore of the woman you never even knew the name of.

Cackling, Johnny leaned forward. “I didn’t think ya’ had it in ya’! Look at that! You made a mess, girl!”

It didn’t hit you right away. You killed another person. Another woman for taking Johnny, but he was the one who had taken her. In your jealousy fit, you did not see that she was not a threat, he was. He caused this. But you were just as bad as the group of cannibals. You killed another person.

“N-no…” you stuttered out. “I’m not a murderer.”

He laughed like it was the funniest thing you had said in your whole life. “Ain’t a murderer? Ya’ just goin’ to disregard ta’ fact that ya’ killed another person out of jealousy? Honey, ya’ just as bad as one of us! Ya’ ain’t all that innocent. I knew ya’ would crack soon.”

“No!” you retaliated. “No!” That was all you could muster out. You could barely put any sentences together.

“Shut ya’ mouth ya’ stupid slut!” Johnny said as he smacked you in the face. “Ought ta’ put a lid on it before ya’ end up like this bitch.”

You cried. You wanted to hurt him.

“Ya’ know how I feel about ya’ cryin’. It gets me goin’, and I never got ta’ finish since ya’ interrupted me and this broad.” He motioned towards the dead girl. “Since ya’ don’t like me fuckin’ other girls other than ya’, selfish bitch.”

Lashing out, you lunged at Johnny. He was caught off guard by your outburst and was a bit delayed in his reaction as you clawed at his face. You were singing your sorrowful lament as you hurled what ever physical strength you had left in your body. He grappled your throat, flipping you over onto your back. His eyes were black with anger, something you had not experienced before. This was different. This was not Johnny.

You choked on your saliva as he gripped your throat. “Ya’ are quite a fucking headache. A fuckin’ miserable, annoying, cunt.”

He raised his hand at you once again, and reigned hell fire onto you. Between his slaps and punches into your body and the pressure on your throat, you felt yourself slip in and out of consciousness.

“Oh no ya’ don’t. Ya’ ain’t gettin’ off easy, girl.” He said as he seized you by your hair and dragged you across the floorboards. Coughing, you tried to control your breathing but it was uneven. Your lungs were grateful for the air it could now take in, however you were faced with death itself. Shoving you into the face of the woman you killed, Johnny held your head in his tight clasp. “Fuckin’ look at her! Look at the mess ya’ made. Ya’ killed her.”

“N-no I didn’t.” you wheezed out. “It wasn’t me!”

“Ya’ just like the rest of us, Y/N. Don’t act like God’s perfect angel, ya’ are a corrupted devil.”

Sobbing, he pushed your face closer to hers. “Take it all in. Take it!” He was enjoying every moment of this. It was payback for the outburst you had, but he was not done with his punishment. Nowhere near it. “Ya’ are no different from me, girl.”

Her body still had some warmth, but it was slowly fading. Soon she would be stiff and cold, a sorry sight. She had the same fate as your friends, at the hands of you. For a man who could not even say he loved you back. How pathetic.

Your head was throbbing and you felt like you were going to pass out. This was exhausting. Your nose was bleeding, your ribs ached from Johnny’s fists, and you felt sore.

Releasing your fiery scalp, he let you fall onto the floor. “Learn ya’ place. Ya’ will never overpower me. Remember that.” He spat at you as you moved your hand to a puddle of the woman’s blood, wetting your finger tips as you smeared it onto your lips with a whimper. He watched you in curiosity, not exactly sure what you were planning on doing. Crawling towards him, you grabbed onto his left boot, gripping it like a lifeline. Shakily, you pressed gentle kisses onto his boot. You could feel the dirt, blood, and clumps of an unknown substance on your lips but you ignored it. You moved onto the other boot and left blood-stained kisses on it. Sure, they would be washed away with other blood and grime eventually, but it was to make him happy.

“I am your fucking God, baby doll. Ya’ best remember that now.” He said with a smirk plastered on his face. That stupid smirk. The same one that lured you in from the beginning. The same one that got you into this mess. Grabbing your wrist, he pulled you to the dingy mattress. “Undress.”

There wasn’t much to take off, you were wearing a now-bloody dress that was stuck to your body from the blood drying. He undid his boots and pants once again and slipped them off as you shakily undid your dress. “Ya’ be good now, okay?”

You nodded absentmindedly as he kissed you deeply. His personality could change quickly. You never knew what kind of Johnny you would get. You wanted to despise him for all the mind games and grief he gave you. The heartache he imposed upon you for his own pleasure.

He slipped inside of you, you and the unknown woman’s substances mixing together. His thrusts were animalistic, and they showed you the pent up neediness he had built up. Your blood from your open wounds and her blood had blended together into one. You could not tell the difference.

“Ya’ know I can never replace ya’.” he grunted out. “Ya’ always gonna’ be my pretty girl.”

The praise he gave you after treating you like absolute shit always reeled you back into it. It made your heart swell, your chest feel warm, and the butterflies start again. But they had turned to moths over the course of your stay.

“Ya’ know no one can compare to ya.’ he said as he caressed your face.

The pleasure felt so good. That sickening, loving feeling made it’s place known within you with the way he was acting, doting and being sweet to you. His mood changes were like whiplash, you never knew which Johnny you would get and you never knew when the next mood would come.

“Cum on my cock. Yeah, that’s right.” he said as he drove your body into the mattress. “Go on baby doll, you’ve been doing so good.”

It felt like he unlocked a primal connection in you and you felt yourself come undone. You came hard between his thrusts and his fingers working your clit. He was finished himself, slamming into you one last time before tilting his head back in ecstasy. His eyes were blown out from the pleasure.

With a few more thrusts, he pulled out and laid next to you. Panting, he kissed your forehead. “Good, my sweet angel. Now just rest. Ya’ did so good. I’m proud of ya’ first kill.”

You could barely hear him as your eyes impulsively shut. The remnants of her face reflected back in your mind’s darkness. She was watching. It was unfair how you were left alive, yet they were killed. All because the monster had taken a liking to you. That was the only reason that separated you from the rest. You would have been dead just like them if he decided to not keep you.

It was like a slap in the face to be in love with the creature that caused so much pain. Wrecked the lives of many and taken what was not theirs to take. Yet, you loved him. You adored him. You worshipped him.

“Johnny?” you asked quietly.

Small snores were your reply back. Well, you would never get the answer you wanted. You had a feeling it was better off not knowing. You let your eyelids close and drift off to your dreamless sleep. Maybe tonight would be different. You would dream of what was never to be and the woman who laid motionless in the room with her eyes on both of you. Your guardian angel.

[ender--slime]

long post about the 10/8 update incoming!!!!!!!

ok i dont usually post my thoughts on updates bwcause im the number one adhd rambler of all time but here we go.. you get to read them today!!!!!!! SO. one of my big HSBC theories is that Ult Rose is actually the mastermind of sorts behind the whole story. not in an evil way, because dirk isnt even evil, just in the way that she knows a lot more than shes letting on!!! and that dirk and al might not be the only ones with real influence here. this theory was first thought up by my friend @classpectpokerap and its called the "Gloves are Canon" theory and you can read about it more in-depth here and here! as a fun challenge go back and read the epilogues and early hs2 (and also new updates) with the idea that rose knows more than we think. youll get some really fun stuff out of it and hopefully youll be convinced :p

SO ANYWAYS. how does this concern the 10/8 anniversary update?

HOO BOY

first of all, lets get a few content warnings and things outta the way. this lil analysis is gonna talk about some suicidal characters and suicidal ideation so plz !! be warned!!

first off, we know that Ult Dirk is really just afraid. hes not scary or intimidating at all, to the reader, because he killed himself in one timeline and hes really just trying to do it again. he even says this in the epilogues- that he hopes his death is Just when it comes, and he hopes its dave that does it. dirk feels as though he doesnt belong- hes always felt this way. he thinks the world and his friends would be better off without him, and his last gift to them is to create a new universe where they can start fresh outside of lord english's influence for good. he might be the most obnoxious narrator on earth c, claiming that he knows whats best and that hes doing right by everyone and by you, as the reader. but the TAGLINE of the epilogues are "tales of dubious authenticity". it tells you from the start that youre dealing with the worlds most unreliable narrator here. a guy who says one thing, says hes fine, puts on a mask to make himself seem stronger, but is always harboring the most pain. who also thinks this way?

rose fuckin lalonde!!!!! this isnt just beyond canon either. try and count how many times she did some suicide mission shit in og homestuck. and how non chalant she was about every single one. this character trait stuck around, and its especially clear in the 10/8 update.

and who does she reference, saying that he made the right choice to kill himself?

bam. this miserable motherfucker wants Out.

notice how she doesnt say "kill himself". she says LEAVE. as if she knows ult dirk is in the other timeline, alive and well. as if she knows that she could have done that too. made the right choice. the canon choice.

but what does that mean, in terms of Gloves are Canon? well, if you read the gloves are canon theory part 2, it states how at the beginning of candy, rose's ult self visions completely went away supposedly, but by the time HSBC picked up last year, theyre back...and worse?

how? its only been a few days, in universe.

was she lying about them being gone? is it the influence of having the Light, the Narrative, the Eyes of the Reader back on her now that the comic is going again? was she ulted the whole time just like dirk and we dont know it?

to the reader, the rosemary breakup in both timelines was a destruction of rose's character. but to rose.....its what she thinks kanaya deserves. rose thinks kanaya deserves a life without her. rose thinks shes BETTER OFF without her. and maybe deep down she thinks the whole timeline, and the whole universe, is better off without her too.

just like ult dirk.

i have a lot of thoughts on the other two parts of the update, but i wanted to focus on the concept of ult rose with this post because. god. idk her whole section was so potent and not only confirmed my theory, but just made me feel sick!! /pos

[night-daily]

Angeleyes pt 2 | Thomas Shelby x fem!reader

summary: It's Thomas turn to suffer.

warnings: none I guess?

a/n: I really hope you like this 2nd part, let me know what you think!:)

pt 1

It's been almost two years since the last time Thomas saw you and the last time he was sober, everyday was harder. Everyone can see how miserable was the leader of the Peaky Blinders, the one-time intimidating leader was now a living dead with black circles under his eyes but still the people were afraid of him, what is it more dangerous than a man with a broken heart who doesn't have nothing to lose?

Of course, that's how the people saw him but his family was something else. He almost doubted if still they were his family, all of them were on your side since they heard about what he did to you, every time he showed at Polly's house whoever was there would say something hurtful to him.

The day after Thomas cheated on you, after he didn't come after you, you were supposed to go together to a family reunion at The Garrison, now he was going alone even if he misses the touch of your hand on his but he'll never admit not even to himself.

As soon as he entered The Garrison he saw all the Shelby family, Polly, Ada, Arthur, and John were there. He didn't have the chance to sit in his place when Ada spoke out loud.

“I heard a rumor from the streets Tommy, and It better not be true” Ada's voice was sharp. Thomas lights up a cigarette acting indifferent. “But seeing your wife isn't here I assume it's true,” she paused giving him time to cut her off but he remain silent “you cheated on her!” she exclaimed slamming her hands on the table but Thomas didn't flinch. “Why no one says anything?” She was frustrated, Ada have loved you since the first time she met you, you were a great friend and a kind person so of course she was furious.

“Ada, I'm mad but honestly? It isn't a surprise, Thomas always liked to screw the pretty things it was just a matter of time.” Disappointment could be read on Polly's face.

“Why are you siding with her anyways? She's not family. Not anymore.” Thomas scoffed, breaking his silence.

“Because you fucked up, Thomas! Don't you get it? She was the most incredible thing it would ever happen to you and you fucked up.” Ada snapped back to him and stormed out of The Garrison and Polly was behind her.

Now he was alone with his brothers, he was sure they'll support him.

“At least now I can be with any women without sneaking around” But Thomas wasn't sure he wanted to be with another women now that you aren't there, he knew it was hypocrite but like people say ''you never know what you've got till it's gone''

John wasn't sure what to say or do, you were his partner in crime. Did he wanted to mess with someone? He'll go to find you and do crazy shit together but not anymore. “Sure Tommy” He muttered not making eye contact with him.

“But no one will be like her” Arthur said and he wasn't wrong, you changed everything around you, everything was better with you.

“Fuck off, Arthur”

Thomas never had the guts to visit your house after you leave him, it was too painful to remember you. Now he was standing in front of the door part of him waiting for you to welcome him home but now there was just an empty entry. He opened the door stepping into the house, everything was in his place, the chairs, the little table and, your paintings, everything was there except for you.

He begin walking upstairs to your room, he was nervous, what would he find in there? When you leave him he sent his people to look for you but none of them or him had find you, after all, you watched carefully how Thomas ran his business so you learned how to hide from him even when you never thought you will have to do it.

He drank from the alcohol he has with him all the time, when your ghost threat to appears to make him suffer. But this time it wasn't working, he could smell your favorite perfume through the door, excitedly he entered the room and you were there. How's that possible? He couldn't care less, he missed you, he wanted to hold you and kiss you and beg for your forgiveness. He stepped closer to you, lifting his hand to touch but then you turned your face to look at him “ You’re the last person I thought would hurt me” your voice made him hard swallow. “You never came after me Thomas, why?” Your eyes were filled up with tears. “I was about to-” You cut him off laughing dryly. “Don’t you think it’s about time you drop the act?” He avoided your eyes. “You know I'll wait all the time of the world and I did it but you never came.” “ Tell me what I can do to make you forgive me. I need to know how I can fix this!” His lip begins to tremble slightly. His hand went to his jacket, grabbing his pistol “Oh no, Tommy, dead is an easy way for you.” “But I don’t like feeling whatever the hell this is!” He was screaming exasperated on his knees “It's called heartbreak Thomas, bear it” You whispered to his ear “and it's just the beginning.” He ran away from you heading to the bathroom, and then he saw your wedding ring, he still wear it but you don't, did you stopped loving him since that day? He couldn't blame you. He hated himself too. Maybe more than you do.

And you were right, this was a big house but when he was with you, it felt it too small for your hearts and your future together.

tag: @budugu , @minaxcarter

[jimraisedmeup]

TICK // 19.1 - cover me

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (angst, language, violence, sexual content)

Word Count: 2100

A/N: we are nearing the end of book one. are you ready? also, this chapter is nothing but DRAMA.

☾

The times are tough now, just getting tougher This old world is rough, it's just getting rougher Cover me, come on baby, cover me Well, I'm looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me

☾

May 19, 1984 - junior year

Richard Buckley was quite relieved when his boss told him they had finished the out-of-town job ahead of schedule, a day early to be exact. He missed his home, his recliner, his bed.

And if he was brutally honest, the idea of leaving his two daughters alone for an entire weekend made his neck hurt. 

He was sure that Robin could be trusted. But as of recently, he didn't trust you as far as he could throw you. Especially with that Munson gremlin and the hold he had on you. 

Richard had already engaged in several discussions with his ex-wife about moving you to Indianapolis to set you on a better path. The last thing his family's reputation needed was his eldest daughter hanging around a drug dealer's son, or worse, getting impregnated by one.

Richard's eye twitched violently as he wondered if the Munson boy had set foot in his home while he was gone the night before.

This became a mild paranoia turned reality as Richard merged onto his street, only to find an unusual amount of cars in front of his house. Young adults roamed amongst the vehicles, some of them on his front porch. 

"What on God's green earth…" he grumbled to himself, already feeling his blood beginning to boil. 

Parking his work truck in front of the neighbors' house - as his well-manicured driveway was full of cars - Richard Buckley stormed down the sidewalk towards his home. It was quite obvious that there was a party of some sort being held. 

He passed teenagers, but couldn't tell exactly who they were in the dim light of the street lamps. Richard caught some of their wretched conversations as he passed by. 

…did you see the look on his face?... hell of a party, man… Carol is so drunk!

Not even ten minutes earlier, Richard was content. He was calm, he was ready to relax after spending most of his day on the road.

And now he was about to have an aneurysm at the sight of a crowd of strangers in his home. Most of them were clearly drunk, laughing and yelling to each other obnoxiously. Music blasted throughout the rooms. No one seemed to notice the sudden appearance of an irate adult.

Another thing he did not expect to find was a banner hanging from the kitchen cabinets. The brightly painted paper held cartoonish flames with the words "CONGRATS PYROMANIAC!" spread over them. 

Edward. Munson. 

Robin was nowhere to be found. Richard roamed room to room, finding no one he recognized and neither of his two daughters. Did you take him for this much of a fool?

Heading upstairs, he barged into your bedroom, which was the closest door to the top of the stairs. 

Empty. 

So he moved onto Robin's.

His youngest daughter was inside, placing a shiny black record onto her record player. One of her girl friends laid casually on the bed, flipping through a magazine. But Richard couldn't find anger in him towards Robin.

The thing that truly angered him was that you were still missing, and the look on Robin's face when she saw her father told him that all of this was indeed your doing. Robin was merely a bystander. Most likely manipulated by her toxic older sister.

"Dad? You're back early." Panic spread across her freckled features. She failed miserably at concealing the beer bottles behind her.

Richard gripped the doorknob, knuckles white. "Would you mind telling me where your sister is? I need to have a word with her."

"Uh… no, I haven't seen her in a long time. Maybe she's in the kitchen?"

"I was just in the kitchen. Robin Buckley, you tell me where she is. Right now." 

Richard could feel his face reddening more, if that was even possible. He would need to visit the cardiologist after this.

He remained firmly in the doorway, blocking Robin from trying to leave and give her sister a head's up. 

Stuttering a response, Robin waved her hands frantically. "I-I… the front porch?!"

"I've looked everywhere besides…" and then he knew. 

The basement.

Ignoring Robin chasing him down the stairs, and then further down the basement stairs, Richard was the bull in a cheap china shop. Fury flooded his senses and he could barely hear Robin's pleas to stop.

Of all the things that occurred that fateful night, the last thing Richard Buckley wanted to see in his home, in his laundry room, was this.

You were bent over the dryer, your dress pushed up past your hips. Eddie Munson stood behind you with his pants visibly undone, mid-thrust.

It was the final straw for Richard Buckley.

☾

Now, promise me baby, you won't let them find us Hold me in your arms, let's let our love blind us Cover me, shut the door and cover me Well, I'm looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me

☾

Eddie was approximately eight beers deep when a balding, red-faced man literally caught him with his pants down.

Prior to the rude interruption, the brown-eyed boy was having the time of his life. 

The surprise party was a mixture of some of his favorite things: irony, his best friends, beer, and the best of all… you did it for him. Even though he had been kicked out of school not even a week before. 

The sarcastic paper banner congratulating him for setting Higgin's car on fire was the best part, and not even the presence of some unsavory members of the popular crowd *cough* Harrington *cough* could ruin Eddie Munson's high that night.

All good things must come to an end, though, which Eddie knew all too well. 

And the one thing that could surely ruin his high was your father walking in on him railing his daughter from behind against a fucking dryer.

And then Eddie's high was completely obliterated when he felt a sucker punch collide with his jaw, sending him backwards against the concrete basement floor. All he could do was scramble to get his pants up, protecting his bits and pieces from the insane man.

You were screaming something, but Eddie could barely hear you over the shouts coming from your father and then the tearful appearance of Robin in the doorway.

His vision was spinning from the hit to his head, mixed with shock and the alcohol in his system. Richard Buckley came at him again.

"You motherfucking piece of trash, Munson! I'll have you arrested-"

"Eddie, no!"

But Eddie was never one to make good decisions.

He swung a sharp left hook at Richard Buckley's face, knocking him out immediately. And then Eddie pushed past the distraught sisters, spitting blood from his mouth onto the pretty pastel yellow wall before bolting up the stairs two at a time.

...he ran, because Eddie had never thought of himself as much of a hero.

You caught up with him as he approached his van. "Eddie, please!"

"Your pop's a real fucking gem, you know that, Buckley?"

Tears ran down your blushing face, your eyes blurry from crying and the multiple shots of cheap vodka you had. One of the straps on your dress had fallen off your shoulder. Eddie wanted to fix it, to touch you, but the coppery taste of blood in his mouth reminded him of how fucking pissed he was.

"H-he wasn't supposed to be back until tomorrow night. I had no idea he would come home early!"

"No shit, Sherlock!" Eddie hissed, not caring how mean he sounded. "Obviously you didn't know. Give me a damn minute to cool off, will you? My jaw is fucking killing me." 

Spitting more blood onto the sidewalk, you flinched at his crude behavior. For a second, Eddie felt ashamed at how selfish he was being. 

Sure, he got punched in the mouth. He got caught with his dick out by his girlfriend's holy roller father. He had to abandon the party that was thrown for him.

But what about you? What kind of consequences would you face after this? You had to live with the psychotic Buckley man, for Christ's sake.

The sudden shouting of said psycho made you and Eddie jump. Richard Buckley was standing by the front door, arms outstretched, screaming for everyone to vacate the premises. 

"Listen, I'm getting the hell outta here before he calls Hopper. I don't need any more heat on me this week."

You reached towards him, your eyes pleading. "I'll leave with you. Let me come with you."

Eddie's temper softened at your drunken desperation, unable to hold any kind of ill feelings towards you for very long. He grabbed your hand and squeezed it, realizing then just how much his knuckles hurt from hitting the older man. 

"Call me tomorrow. I'll come pick you up then, alright? But you can't just leave Robin in there by herself tonight."

"Are you sure?" 

Chuckling, Eddie used the short sleeve of his white t-shirt to wipe more blood from his swollen lips. "Sunshine, don't you worry about me one bit. I can take a punch, unlike your dear ol' daddy."

This made you smile, albeit a nervous smile. "Do you have your gift? Did you leave it in the house?"

Eddie gestured towards his glove box. "I got it."

"And remember, don't open-"

"Yeah, yeah. I won't open it 'til tomorrow."

You kissed him roughly before running back towards the house. He watched as the skirt of your dress flowed behind you. 

Eddie drove off, never thinking for a second that it would be over a year until he would see those beautiful eyes again.

☾

Outside's the rain, the driving snow I can hear the wild wind blowing Turn out the light, bolt the door I ain't going out there no more

☾

"I've already spoken to your mother. As a matter of fact, I called her a few days ago regarding this matter. My decision is final."

You felt your world collapsing around you.

Head pounding from your hangover and an unreasonable amount of stress, you almost couldn't believe what you were hearing.

Robin spoke quietly from the doorway. "Dad, we shouldn't be making rash-"

"Go to your room, Robin! This does not concern you." Richard slammed a hand down on the kitchen counter, glaring at his youngest daughter as she scampered away like a scared puppy.

Turning back towards you, his face was emotionless. "Go pack your things. Your mother will be here soon. She left Indianapolis early this morning, called off work, to deal with this."

So you were facing exile. Complete banishment.

Before you even had a chance to call Eddie that day, your father disconnected the phone in your room. You were no longer welcome in the Buckley home. Your mother would be taking you to Indianapolis for the summer. You would complete your senior year of high school away from Hawkins.

Your options were pathetic and sparse. You weren't eighteen yet - your father had already threatened to report you as a runaway if you fought against it. Richard Buckley also had the balls to say he would report Eddie, who was eighteen already, for taking his underage daughter. 

You laughed bitterly when he said this. "Could you be more dramatic?"

But your father was hellbent. "Your actions recently have been nothing but a path of destruction. Your behavior last night was repulsive and a slap in the face of God. I can't have you continuing this. And I can't have you dragging your sister down with you."

"Excuse me? Has the whole situation with Kate been swept under the rug?" You only dug your grave deeper, fueled by frustration. "Maybe it's better if Robin came with me. I don't think either of us need to be here anymore."

"Are you really going to take your little sister away from her friends? From her future with the marching band?"

Your father knew how to hit you exactly where it hurt.

You felt nauseated suddenly, and stepped towards the phone on the kitchen wall. 

"I disconnected all of the phones when you woke up. Now, go pack your things."

"Let me call Eddie," you spat, your hands trembling in fists at your sides.

Richard scowled at you. "To say what? He's a doomed individual. If you keep letting him chase after you, he will never focus on his own future, and you'll only condemn him further."

A car honking outside yanked you from the impulse to scream obscenities at the man before you.

"Upstairs. Now. Don't make your mother wait too long."

About thirty minutes later, you were in the passenger seat of your mother's car, watching Hawkins pass by with teary eyes like it was some kind of distant memory.

☾

This whole world is out there just trying to score I've seen enough, I ain't gonna see any more Cover me, wrap your arms around me, cover me

☾

(song lyrics credit: "Cover Me" by Bruce Springsteen)

TAGLIST for this series if you would like to be notified when I post new chapters!

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[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

The Ghost and the Painting

What happens to Virgil after he dies in Roman's arms after the sinking? Maybe he was there in spirit all along.

----

| Ao3 |

Warnings: Major Character Death, so much sad omg. These bois are miserable, A character being trapped? idk if that needs a warning, Other than that, I don't think theres any specific warnings, this does NOT have a happy ending though let me tell you. you have been warned.

Pairings: Prinxiety

Word Count: 2004

Notes:

This one is HEAVYYYY and honestly made me cry more than writing the og titanic fic did. I am. So upset rn /pos, consider this your warning omg.

This is a continuation of Ship of Dreams, it probably wont make sense without reading it first.

Roman had told him the ship wouldn’t sink.

He didn’t blame Roman, of course, it’s not like Roman had any way of knowing what would happen. There was no way he could’ve predicted how this would end. No way he could’ve stopped this. 

There was a way he could’ve saved him, though. 

But it had been too late. 

Virgil couldn’t blame him for not turning him, despite all of his begging and pleading, Roman never would’ve done it, he knew that, and when he finally tried it had been too late. If he had been able to hold onto his life for just a few more seconds, maybe Roman could have saved him. 

For a long time, everything was dark. 

Virgil floated where he had died for a long time, he heard things distantly, he thought he heard Roman scream. Everything was so, so cold. 

That was all he could feel, cold. It was cold and everything was heavy, cold and heavy and wet too, he felt like he was floating in water - which he supposed he was, that was how he died at least. 

He was about to let go, he didn’t want to exist like this, cold and wet and heavy. Letting go was easy, slipping away from consciousness, he could go, he could leave, he didn’t know what would happen to him when he did, if he had the opportunity to stay and didn’t take it, if he let himself slip into unconsciousness would he disappear forever? Was that what he wanted? Surely it would hurt less than whatever other option he had.

He heard Roman scream.

It was distant and quiet, but the sound hurt Virgil’s ears - did he even have ears anymore? What was he anyway? Whatever, he dragged his wandering mind back to the problem at hand - even his thoughts were floaty and distant. Roman’s scream pulled him back just a little though. He had never heard Roman make a sound like that before, he didn’t like it one bit. 

He had to get back to him. He had to help, if there was anything he could do to make it okay he had to do it. 

It felt like clawing his way through a thick sludge of tar. Trying to pull himself up, trying to find something to hold onto to drag himself back. Focusing on Roman helped him push his way through, he had to get back to Roman, he had to. He couldn’t leave him behind, not like this, he couldn’t go like this. 

With renewed strength, Virgil clawed his way through the black sludge of his own mind. He felt a tug, another cry, he heard Roman, felt a connection and used it to pull himself up, to drag himself back to consciousness. He wasn’t a being, not really, he couldn’t be anymore. His body was gone, sunk in the ocean more than likely, he was a soul now, a spirit, he wasn’t tangible. 

He pulled on that connection he felt, the one through which he could hear Roman’s frantic sobs, his cries and tears - Virgil hated it, it felt like a twist in his gut, everything was wrong with that sound. He never wanted to hear it again. It felt like being torn apart, he was gone, he had left Roman completely and utterly alone. 

Another boat. He didn’t know what the boat was, but Roman was on it now, with single minded purpose he went to him. Hundreds of others were there too, many sobbing or shaking or scared, but Virgil had no care for anything but Roman, who sat curled in the corner of the lower deck, wrapped tightly in a blanket and sobbing. A member of staff stood nearby him, as though watching. Virgil tried to wipe the tears from his face, but his fingers went right through Roman’s cheeks. Virgil tried to put his hand on Roman’s cheek, he tried to curl up to his side, to do anything at all to let him know he was there, but nothing worked. The most he could do was make Roman shiver - even then he didn’t know if it was even him or if it was the cold. 

Virgil was so angry, he was angry at the world, for not allowing him to comfort the man he loved as he sobbed. Angry at the people on this other ship who spoke in whispers, calling Roman mad as they huddled in groups. Virgil wanted to scream at them, ask them how they could be so cruel after what had just happened. How could someone call another person mad, someone who had experienced the same things, Virgil couldn’t help but think about how many people here had lost someone. It wasn’t far that they would call Roman mad. 

Virgil wished, he wished and wished he could be with him for real, he wished he could stand there and hold his hand, wipe away his tears, brush his still beautiful loose hair back from his face as it was soaked by the rain. Virgil had had his ribbon in his pocket when he died, he wondered if he still had it with him.

Roman cried as the ship passed under the statue, Virgil wished Roman knew that he was here too. 

Virgil was with him as he disembarked the ship, he was with him as the officer asked his name. He broke when Roman gave Virgil’s. 

All the way back to Roman’s home Virgil wailed, he sobbed and cried, tugged along not by his own volition, only following because of the connection he seemed to have with Roman’s soul, he was pulled along as he cried and cried, as he shook and shivered and froze, tears dripped from his face and never landed, he curled up, Roman was right here and yet he missed him so, so much already. He missed his cold touch, he missed Roman’s weight on top of him when they slept - when he slept. He missed the way Roman would lift him and spin him around, even if it startled him every time, he missed how Roman would kiss the corner of his lips before spinning away, always a tease. There was no way to feel those things anymore. Virgil couldn’t even touch him, Roman couldn’t feel him, he didn’t even know he was there. Roman cried and cried and kept crying and it felt so, so unnatural. There were hardly ever tears on Roman’s face, Roman couldn’t cry, he had said so himself, he couldn’t cry properly, and yet here he was, Virgil could hear Roman’s sobs over his own. Virgil wished there was anything he could do. Anything at all. 

—-

The next time he looked up they were somewhere else. How long it had been he had no idea, how long he had been curled up sobbing for, but when he looked up they were in a room splattered with paint, messy and chaotic and full of colour just like Roman should be, just like anything Roman was should be. Even then it all looked grey. 

Virgil looked around, and on the floor he found Roman hunched over, clutching Virgil’s jacket close to him and that had him letting out another sob, Roman was still wearing his jacket, his salt stained, soaked through beaten up jacket, he loved that jacket and he had always thought Roman looked cute in it. Right now the sight just worked to tear him apart even further. 

Hands shaking, Roman held a paintbrush and palette, full of colours, black and blue and purple and white, grey and yellow. Tears still ran down Roman’s pale face, Roman’s pale cheeks were stained, his eyes had dark patches underneath, the light Virgil loved so much was gone as he painted, stroke after stroke, canvas after canvas Virgil watched them all. He watched as Virgil barely moved, he didn’t know how long Roman sat there, how many days passed, there were no windows in this room. So many times Roman had to stop, so many times Roman had dropped his paints and brought his chin to his knees and sobbed halfway through a painting, Virgil wrapped his arms around him, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his face to the back of Woman's neck. He knew it did nothing, he knew Roman couldn’t feel him rub his cheek over his hair, the gesture Roman loved so much, he couldn’t do it anymore. His beloved vampire was suffering and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. 

The paintings came quickly, so quickly, Virgil could hardly comprehend them with how fast he was painting, his floaty thoughts leaving him lost as Roman finished and framed and pushed each one aside. They were all of him. Virgil touched the painting of his own face, every single one of them was him, some were of the titanic, some were before. Roman painted him on the stern of the boat, the sunset in the background, he had said he wanted to paint him like that, seeing him do so made more tears come to his eyes. He tried to pull Roman into a hug once more, once more he fell straight through. 

The last painting Roman painted was big, Roman cried the whole way through, with ink black stroke of Virgil’s hair, every dab of paint in his eyes, the tiniest details, highlights, soft colours, the morning sun shining off of his hair and making him look ethereal, holding out his hand to Roman as they walked up the gangway, he remembered, as they boarded the boat, the painted smile on his face looked so real, so happy, it had been just days ago, A week ago at most, he couldn’t imagine being that happy now. He wished there was anything he could do as he laid his hands on Roman’s shoulders, tried to kiss the top of his head. He tried so, so hard, focused all of his energy in just letting Roman feel something, he tried kissing his cheek, his lips, he tried pulling his hair and squeezing his cheeks, he tried everything, everything he could try, but nothing, still nothing, always nothing. He let out a scream of frustration and all that happened was a soft breeze blowing a strand of Roman’s hair. 

“I miss you,” Roman said softly and for half a second Virgil thought he had somehow let Roman know he was there, but Roman was laying his hand on the dried paint of Virgil’s face, the canvas, nothing real. Virgil sobbed, “I miss you so much, I - I wish you were here.”

Tears dripped down Roman’s face.

“I am here,” Virgil said, laying his hand over Roman’s on the painting, but once again it fell through, straight through into the canvas, for some reason he couldn’t pull it out again, “I’m here, Roman, I’m here, I’m here, I wish you could hear me, I miss you so much my Prince please-,”

And still Roman didn’t hear a word he said. 

“Te extraño mucho mi hermosa nube de tormenta…” Roman whispered, dragging his hand gently down the painting, Virgil sobbed, his hand was still stuck. 

“I miss you too, my handsome prince,” Virgil whispered, looking back to the painting as Roman stood slowly to find a frame, he touched the picture again and suddenly, suddenly he was falling, falling face first into it, there was no impact, he couldn’t touch a thing, he turned around and made a startled noise when behind him he could see the ship, the bridge, the people, the railings. The image from the painting, Roman’s memory, he turned, and as though through a foggy window now he could see Roman in his painting room, he was picking up the painting. He wanted to come back, he was pressing his hands against what felt like glass - there was no glass, but he still couldn’t push through, no matter how hard he tried. 

And suddenly he couldn’t see anything at all. 

----

Tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @scalesfeathersnfur @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @littlerat2 ( if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)

[onesaltyerik]

I have no where else to put these thoughts other than here so I'm gonna throw them out there for thousands to see.

The DSMP was and still is one of the only fandoms I ever really, like really truly actually, fell so hard into. I was that bastard who tried to grow up too fast, tried to be different and "not like other girls" (except I'm a boy but whatever not the point) by not enjoying things that were fandom related. And it was miserable doing that, like dude who were you trying to impress? But then one day during my country's second lockdown, there I was scrolling through youtube in my dorm, and seeing an animatic that caught my eye. I watched it. I got confused and curious and had to know more. And within a week I had watched the entirety of the Execution and the Butcher Army and had to go back and find older vods and wiki's to piece together how and why that happened, who these people were, what exactly was this story.

And I got dragged kicking and screaming into this fandom, the damn thing (/pos/affectionate) dug it's claws into my skull and has refused to let go. I had gone through a shitty year prior to that that I won't get into here, and the lockdown and returning to uni was not really helping, I lost the will to write, to draw, to be creative, to really enjoy anything. And then this chaotic, mostly improvised, and wonderful, awful, mess of a story got slapped into my face! And I found myself feeling like a little kid again. With the ridiculously complicated plot, the goofy ass moments that made the characters feels so much more real, the gut wrenching grief and loss as well as the beauty of friendship and family. Something about its story and characters was what I needed during that time in my life. I'm writing again, I'm drawing again, I'm slowly getting to a point where I can feel alive again. It's got a ways to go, and yeah it's cringe as fuck to admit that it was a minecraft roleplay by a bunch online friends who kickstarted the process of me getting out of my slump and actually enjoying something again. And honestly, even if the ending of this whole things started as a joke, it feels right.

"Getting there."

Me too c!tommy.

Thanks for the stories.

[marithlizard]

This is going to sound weird, but hear me out - I think we may end up being very grateful to Andrealphus.

Because imagine being Blitz at the end of Apology tour, defeated and miserable. All denial and defenses gone, left facing the fact that a) you do care deeply for Stolas, b) you hurt him just like you hurt everyone else, c) he's having fun right now with another imp who is treating him better than you did, and d) he told you repeatedly to leave him alone. What would you do? I know what I'd do - leave him alone. Pretend to everyone else that I don't miss him, no more doodles on the calendar. No texting or visiting. If he wants to see me he'll reach out. And if I was Stolas at the end of Apology Tour, I don't think I would reach out. My probably-fuzzy memories of our conversation at the party would confirm to me that even when he's not being a lying POS, Blitz does not act like he wants a relationship. He says things like "You are better off without me" and lets me go dance with another man without a word. Moreover, every single other person I have ever met believes I should cut the motherfucker out of my life. I miss him desperately, but every day that passes without hearing from him is another day to grieve and begin to move on. Would the two of them ever meet again? Would they meet once twenty years later and be awkward at each other, agree that they should hang out sometime and then never follow through because it hurts too much to remember what was lost?

Thankfully, Viv is NOT giving us a Kazuo Ishiguro novel here. Andrealphus is going to carry out whatever attack he has planned on Stolas, Blitz will learn his bird is in danger, and this time nothing will be more important than coming to his rescue. Maybe they won't be together by the end of season 2, but at least they'll be talking again and can start to rebuild their relationship in a healthier way down the road.

[doodlegirl1998]

As a story writer, BNHA is an utter insult to story telling in general. And it sickens me that people literally praise it as peak story telling.

Other anime series like Death Note, Madoka Magica, and Dragon Ball has similar themes and character arcs and did them a MILLION times better than this series ever did!

I'm one who greatly values the rule of "show don't tell" and building up believable chemistry between the characters that I just don't get from this series.

1-A say they're connected and can work together as one but we never get any scenes of the class just hanging out and only talk about subjects that are happening right now. We don't know any of their likes or dislikes, their hobbies, what they like to do and more.

Izuku is forced to be miserable and alone so it can be misery for the sake of misery or played up for poor tasting comedy. And to be forced away from his first true friends to be with the Cash Cow Triplets because that apparent pairing makes the most money.

And that's... the saddest thing about the whole business nowadays.

Telling a good story isn't a priority anymore, it's adding things that'll make them the most bank.

Sorry for this rant I just wanted to get that off my chest.

Hi @theloganator101 👋,

I agree as someone who likes to write fics and read a lot of stories myself I do see where you are coming from.

MHA is built on a strong foundation, interesting premise, world building and loveable characters (eeehhh mostly...) yet as time has gone on really prominent cracks have begun to show in MHA.

Particularly, Hori's "tell don't show" method - an inverse of the good writers advice "show don't tell." For example - so many characters kiss Bakugou's ass, call him a prodigy, a "manly friend", a "hard worker", "the best", "has grown a lot" when with how this kid acts he should be LOATHED. By everyone, staff and students alike.

Aizawa is one of his most staunch defenders despite Bakugou being the type of student he should (from what we are told about him and see of his backstory) despise.

Kirishima is his self proclaimed best friend yet Bakugou is the type of person (from what we are told about him) he should also hate with a passion.

Shoto expresses the desire to be friends with Bakugou yet from his upbringing, he should instantly see Bkg is a POS (a mini Endeavor in a lot of ways) and hate him on principle - especially because of how Bakugou is still acting openly hostile and abusive to Midoriya.

Midoriya still calls him "Kacchan" which implies closeness yet Bakugou viciously bullied him mercilessly for year's. He should from what we see also loathe Bakugou or grow to do so yet he never does.

All of this creates a strong sense of cognitive dissonance and dissatisfaction throughout the story.

Class 1A say they are connected but are they really, and is Aizawa their defacto father figure? I would say no. Despite Hori telling us otherwise - he doesn't make the effort to SHOW us.

Class 1A can show they care what Bakugou feels like being rescued but hound Midoriya and drag him back to UA without a care in the clusterfuck that was Class 1A vs Izuku.

Class 1A can rightfully dunk on Mineta for all the times he acts a disgusting pervert yet look on as Bakugou takes his aggression physically, verbally and in an explosive manner out on Midoriya for the 100th time. Even Midoriya's friends (Ocha, Iida, Tsyu, Aoyama and Shoto) and his mentor All Might look on with a fond smile at the "rivals."

I am disgusted at the abusive mockery of a rivalry... a rivalry is Sasuke vs Naruto - or even Shigaraki vs Izuku not Bakugou (abuser) vs Izuku (his victim.)

There was a moment in the war arc, where Izuku shouted to AFO!Shig that losing their homeroom teacher, Aizawa would be the worst outcome of the battle. And, as it wasn't the argument of Eraser the tactical asset being lost that would be the worst outcome but him as a teacher, I was left thinking - Izuku, why do you think this?

Hori gave us no moments where a bond between Aizawa and the rest of the class was built up to see him as this defacto father figure to 1A - especially not with Izuku - in fact Hori did the opposite by making Aizawa behave like he has.

"Problem Child" - is not a fond nickname from Aizawa to Midoriya to me. To anyone who thinks it is I would like them to consider that it is coming from an expell-eager hardass of a Teacher who has never been shown to like Izuku.

Realistically, the repercussions of Aizawa's actions here written without plot armour, Midoriya would be an anxious wreck being called this by him and would be wondering when he actually will get the boot out of U.A.

So again, there's the cognitive dissonance and here's Hori's favourite "tell don't show"... UGH.

There's so so many other examples of this style of writing in MHA - all the simping for Endeavor, Aizawa and Bakugou done by other characters because we are meant to like them now.

Side note - Rei simping for Endeavor is just baffling to me and not in a good way like 🤮. It was such a poor narrative choice it made me wonder if this poor woman was actually being treated in that mental hospital or just brainwashed to be more ammendable to her abusive husband. What good Doctor would let their patients abusive husband's manipulative presents through? Fuck right off with that Hori.

With your concluding statement I agree - making a good story and concluding it at the right time isn't a priority anymore. In general, just look at the MCU. That francise should have naturally ended with Endgame yet Disney is still trying to drag it on to milk out the dollars until it becomes unprofitable.

With MHA, narratively it has gone down the toilet. Hori's heart isn't in it anymore and we can all tell. He (and his editors) placed Izuku at the heart of the cash cow triplets to bring them in the money. And it has worked.

So, Izuku will always be miserable with Bakubitch always around like a cancer sucking out all Izuku's joy and growing over what was meant as his story. I don't expect a happy ending for Izuku anymore. I just hope he isn't dead at the end of all of this and manages to save Shigaraki - which is the most I can hope for him at the moment.

To conclude, don't be sorry for the rant I responded with one of my own. :)

[b-lizi]

After reading @99corentine 49th chapter, I thought about a lot of references about Chry's past. There will be spoilers about KFP2, Blue Eye Samurai and the fic GOL HAH DOV, but mind you : if a piece of media isn't enjoyable because you got spoiled, then maybe it isn't well made (unless it's an Agatha Christie but the whole point of her novels was the mystery) so bear with me.

In chapter 49, Chry wants to know about his past after a strange and stressful encounter with Elenwen. He tries to return to the place where he first awoke, one year before the events of this chapter, but without any success. He upset for several things, for his loss of memory of course but also the fact that he might have a family and even a spouse (with his ring at the marriage finger) that didn't go after him.

Firstly, there's the feeling of emptiness and shame about his worthlessness, how he compares himself to Miraak, someone who was important even as a pawn of Hermaeus Mora, when he was just good enough to be left behind by his supposed relatives and be used as a thrall by a cruel man in a foreign country. Chry feels like that all the glory he had in one year, even after killing Alduin, was nothing, like a fraud, that he's just worthless (these thoughts happens just when he has the post prophecy blues, like Teldryn said, so yeah Chry might feel depressed). That his past is was he is at core. Which isn't true but he believes it and that's something a lot of us can relate to (golden child syndrome, school failure, broken dreams, childhood trauma, etc.).

Fortunately, Miraak reminds him that Chry was the one who believed he could be a better version of himself, going to tyrant to leader (even though he still is at the head of a cult lmao), that his actions helped and saved so many people and that he's a great hypocrite for telling others they can be better when he tell himself the contrary.

It reminds us ofc of Paarthunax's iconic wise words "What is better ? To be born good or to overcome your evil nature though great efforts?" But I feel it echoes better to Miraak's case because he was in fact evil and became a bit more grayer thought the story, whereas Chry has forgotten his past and was just lost and miserable. In this case I was reminded of this sentence in Kung Fu Panda 2 : when Po discovers the calcined remains of his childhood village (that he forgot about because of PTSD), he's feeling sad and ashamed that his birth was in bloodshed and suffering, but the soothsayer who saved him says to him "Your story may have not such a happy beginning, but it doesn't make you who you are. It is the rest of your story. Who you choose to be." And that's pretty much Chry's case : he awoke in a place of suffering and when he left, he wanted to have a life of his own and to be greater than what he was before, to be in control. Man the parallels between him and Miraak are even greater ksjsjsks

Then let's return to the family problem. Even better (or worse idk), the spouse problem. If Chry had any family left in the Summerset Isles, they didn't care to go after him when he was gone missing.

There are several theories about why Chry wasn't found, if he ever had relatives : the first thing is that he's of mixed heritage because he has a greater physical strength than all the other altmer altogether and most importantly striking blue eyes ; altmer people don't have blue eyes* and it's a great deal for almost every Alinor citizens to be of pure lineage, so imagine having in your family a very unusual child with characteristics a little bit too close to Nords'. You just want to get rid of it to avoid shame on your family.

(*nota bene : in Skyrim game, altmer people only can have amber, golden or emerald eyes, whereas in ESO you can have them have blue eyes, but we're following Skyrim's logic here)

So if we follow this theory, Chry's supposed family wanted to get rid of this problematic scion, either by banishment... or marriage. A marriage that didn't go well at some point. And that's when I got reminded of Blue Eye Samurai (incredible series on Netflix, go watch it). Some context : in the Edo period (17th century in Japan), we follow the revenge journey of Mizu, a lonely samurai with mixed heritage (a Japanese mother and an unknown white father) with striking blue eyes. These eyes disgraced them because it was considered demonic at this time in Japan (like in ancient Greece, blue eyes were either vulgar or bad omens).

At some point in their story, Mizu finds their mother who they thought died years ago in a fire. She wants them to marry an old samurai who, like them, is a castaway, so they can in some way redeem themselves for their shameful life and at least be a good bride. They get married and although Mizu is a bit reluctant at first (because of how are viewed their eyes), them and the samurai fall in love with each other and have lovely years together as an odd couple. But it falls apart when Mizu wants to show their incredible battle skills to their husband, who gets scared and angry, calling them a monster, because deep down he still had this bias that blue eyes are demonic and bringer of destruction (an onryo). That he only loved Mizu because they were behaving despite their mixed heritage.

He betrays them, bringing mercenaries to kill them and Mizu, deeply hurt and enraged, kills everyone and run away to pursue their revenge of getting rid of the four white men who lives secretly in Japan. But I digress

Maybe something similar happened to Chry, that when he discovered his thu'um, he got shamed by his family/spouse and he went (or ran away) to Skyrim to search for answers or got abandoned here. Maybe we'll know and maybe we won't because there's still almost two chapters left for the fic to be finished and I am not well.

Anyway I had fun doing these parallels! Theories and psychanalyses my beloved.

Mizu my beloved

[fallershipping]

Return to Sender

(Short Drabble) Nanu is tired of hiding, and Looker is tired of his bullshit. Both of them are in the wrong, and both of them are suffering the same trauma.

A little after midnight, Sushi High Roller’s cacophony of bar ambience was only just now beginning to die down. However, the hiss of hot oil and chatter amongst the tipsy patrons that yet remain is hardly a softer sound. Usually Nanu can tolerate this noise, but tonight he was grumbling curses under his breath as he tried to massage his temple. The lights were of no help either, and he craved the dark solitude of the empty Po Town police station.

But he can’t go ‘home’ quite yet, even after his meeting with Anabel being so short and awkward. She had paid for her portion of the meal when the sun was still high in the sky and departed for who knows where, who cares. Having declined giving her any sort of number or way to contact him, all she left behind was a written note:

‘Happy to see you again! :) - Anabel’

It remained there, untouched. He’ll put it in his pocket. Eventually.

What was he waiting for, anyway? The decision to seek her out again stirred over and over in his mind, but that opportunity to go over important words left unsaid was far gone. Interpol agent 000 wouldn’t have clammed up the way he did. He would have spoken bluntly over just what and how Interpol fucked them both over with. Instead, a tired, bitter, aching old man barely got through a normal conversation that he felt continuously detached from. Anabel’s pitying, disappointed gaze burned a hole into his memory.

He had been working with children for a long while that he had forgotten Anabel was a toughened woman approaching or already in her 30s. He couldn’t remember a voice that wasn’t patronizing, so everything he needed to say to her became trapped in his throat.

The scraping of the bar chair next to him was like a deafening sound in an already loud bar.

There he is.

Nanu took another swig of his whiskey and kept his eyes averted. Usually it is an act of dominance to not be the initiator of confrontation, and yet a part of him felt a new, meek desire to pretend to be senile and incoherent to avoid it entirely.

He only felt Looker’s radiating anger grow hotter next to him.

“Zeroes.” Gotta hand it to the rookie, he can hide the venom in his words with respect so well.

“… Don’t use that name in public.” Nanu croaked out, voice dry from alcohol and lack of use. “Guy’s dead, anyway.”

A curt snort. Nanu’s grip on his drink tightened.

“Clearly.” Looker waved off to the bartender now in front of him, just mouthing out ‘water.’ “Could you’d have been just the least bit nicer to Anabel— she thinks that she’s made you very upset.”

Nanu finally turned a glance to his side, crimson eyes a sullen glare. 

Looker was facing him directly. Back straight. Eyebrows deeply furrowed. A full on scowl directed at his once superior. Gone were the days when this man, though taller, was almost permanently hunched over and puppy-eyed, always hoping to please and to never disappoint. And now, though both sitting down, Nanu felt an unfamiliar, hateful sense of being so miserably small in his presence.

“She’ll get over it. You both should’ve known by now I’m not good company.”

Looker pinched the bridge of his nose. A glass of water was handed over to him in which he returned with a short nod and an inaudible ‘thank you.’ He exhaled, eyes closed, probably digging through his mind to figure out what to say.

Nanu grew impatient.

“Yeah. I didn’t tell her either.” A pause, choosing to lubricate his gullet with more whiskey. “Go on. Fucking mock me for it as if you’re any better. Remind me of what I promised at the Floating Restaurant— won’t change a damn thing.”

Looker stayed quiet. Paradoxical; the alcohol tonight making Nanu the talkative one while Looker was stone cold.

“Of course it won’t.” The detective’s voice was firm and clear. “Because now I know it’s why you left.”

The Kahuna sneered. He raised his glass again, only to roll the ice within it. But Looker was right; Nanu has had plenty of missed opportunities to talk to Anabel during the time he was watching her quickly climb the ranks.

“… Nanu, I’m not here to mock you—”

“You’re a bad liar, 100KR.”

“Not when we both don’t want to hurt her with something so—“

The elder officer finally turned himself fully to face his inferior.

“And surely this ‘bodyguard’ method of yours is keeping her safe, right? Where the fuck is Croagunk? Who the fuck put you back on UB work? Yeah I feel real at ease that Anabel is choosing to work with the guy who apparently can’t keep one thing alive—“

“ENOUGH.”

Looker slammed both his hands on the bar, his glass and ice shivering from the impact. The chair behind him screeched from Looker raising himself to full height. The formal composure he was keeping out of respect was breaking with the redness in his face, his breathing intensified. The light fixture behind his head casted a dark shadow to his expression; provoked, irate. Hurt.

For the longest time, Nanu found a dark comfort seeing the pain behind those dark grey eyes. He wanted his rookie to feel that weight on his shoulders. He wanted him to never forget the dressing down given a decade ago for the catastrophic failure that came with a permanent cost. Nanu’s said words he never, ever truly meant— a slowly constricting, consuming regret that at that time, it felt better to say ‘It should have been you.’ 

But now, the Kahuna looked into his ex-subordinate’s eyes, and he only saw his own reflection staring back.

Looker put a hand to his chest, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. In, and out. Breath shuddering as he sat back down onto his seat. His head hung low in shame after causing a bit of a scene. The rest of the restaurant barely had much of a reaction. Looker swallowed dryly, before remembering his own drink laid before him.

The whiskey wasn’t fairing well in Nanu’s stomach. He turned away from his companion— venting out his grievances just felt disgusting now instead of relieving. It came in flashes: his failed Rocket heist. A partner dying in his arms. Leading his team only to get critically injured en masse from an ambush. Every and all baggage that he dealt by condemning someone else. Someone who he could pretend was a younger Agent 000.

“… Working with Anabel. Made me remember something– about that day.”

“KR—“

“It’s my damn turn to talk, sir.” Looker’s voice, weary as it now was, cut through like daggers. 

The detective continued. “Glutton trashed against the walls, threatening to cause a cave-in after we had left it half blinded. I still remember the roars like scraping metal machinery and glass…”

“By the time my ears stopped ringing, it wasn’t screaming anymore. It couldn’t scream anymore. I found it digging into the corner of the cave, curled up like a Togedemaru when predators won’t leave it alone, and I asked myself for the first time why we were sent with full orders to kill something we’ve never seen before.”

The vision was clear as day ten years later. Nanu recalled a thick smell of iron in the air.

“I-I. I couldn’t do it. I recalled my… Pokémon. I tried signaling a retreat, I considered throwing one of my spare Pokéballs, maybe calling for backup, anything.” 

“KR, I told you to take the shot.”

“And I asked of you to stand down.” Looker interrupted. “While you ordered Krookodile to attack it.”

The beast released a guttural scream. The reptile Pokémon’s claws dug deep into its already wounded skin, and it fled from its hiding spot. An animal cornered will seek out any escape out of desperation. An animal cornered will do anything it can to survive, retreating to something of a familiar, comforting scent.

“… ___. She felt like a safe Wormhole home, Nanu. And we both didn’t know.”

Nanu can’t seem to remember ___’s  face anymore. Or her remains. All that was left were flashes of white and red, and suddenly being at Poni beach; Looker hunched over an unknown purple haired woman that had washed ashore.

“… Do you know how many we’ve successfully contained after the new Task Force?” Looker traced a number on the bar table with his pointer finger, “Twenty-three. Twenty-three out of twenty-three recorded breaches. Sometimes the chase is delayed, but every mission has ended in success. We are ordered to kill or contain— whichever is the most possible. I thought I would… Have had to kill every single one that came through the rift. That this was the only way after how wrong I was before. To keep the Chief–to keep everyone alive.”

Looker inhaled deeply. “I never wanted to return to Beast work, even more so when I saw Anabel again as my boss… It was not until the Ultra Ball hit the ground with a final locking ‘click’ that she said something that vindicated what I felt so long ago– they were only scared, wild animals; only dangerous when provoked beyond their limit.”

There was a prevailing bitter taste in Nanu’s mouth, whether it be the whiskey or having bitten the inside of his mouth from clenching his teeth so hard. Despite everything he had said or felt before, he cannot deny how much Looker has remained one of the only Interpol names deemed trustworthy. He holds his error as an ever looming burden, yet greatly relies on him to always do the right thing. He scolds the younger agent for overcomplicating and stumbling over a very difficult situation pertaining to Anabel’s secret Faller status, yet the elder retiree had abandoned both Looker and Anabel to handle that on their own. Not like he couldn't make a decision on whether allowing someone to continue to passionately work for an agency that used someone like her before, or tell her just how lost and alone she is with no one to help and absolutely no way to travel home. Keep it hidden how much one is risking their life or give them absolutely no life left to live for: Nanu chose to run.

It was clear that the Chief and Detective have been excelling far beyond these tired old bones, especially at the tail end of his service. On a better day, one not spent drowning in self pity, he’d admit to being proud.

“... I will never be proud of how much I’ve failed, sir. Croagunk has passed away.”

Nanu turned once more to his younger colleague. He wanted to say something, yet nothing came from him. Looker didn't look in his direction once; the man was adjusting his coat and finishing his glass. The detective stood up from the bar, nodding another thank you to the bartender and returning his chair to its place underneath the counter.

“… I’m going to tell Anabel everything, the higher ups be damned, and when I do,” He straightened the wrinkles in his duster coat, “You’ll be responsible for yourself, and tell her exactly why we didn’t hear from you for years.”

“Fuck off, KR…”

“Have a good night, Zeroes.”

Looker turned on his heel and walked out the doorway out into the cool Alolan night. All Nanu saw was the back of the man’s head. He groaned, running his hand through his fully grey hair, staying at his seat for a good long while as the ice melted in both glasses.

Whiskey left unfinished, he placed enough money on the table right beside Anabel’s leftover note, and finally left for the rundown station he called home.

[lyxvija]

heard you wanna ramble about our bug bf huh? GO AHEAD!! make it angsty.... here's my suggestion HUEHEUEHUE im feeling evil.

s/o sees him getting touchy with the twins, its just his nature, but they're jealous, they try to get at him, fail miserably. and when they confront each other He's already in a pissy mood after a long day of work, maybe he yells at them, maybe tries to dismiss them, they're not communicating, throwing accusations at each other.

OR MAYBE! he's gone too long and been too busy at work and can't spend much time with his s/o and so they try to discuss it with him but he's too tired and grumpy to hear it.

OR EVEN THIS!!! The twins or someone get into his head, telling him that s/o only wnats him for his money

I CAN THINK OF SO MUCH SJDJDJEJRJRJR

or maybe even get a lil

freaky

iykwim 👀

ramble to us pookie wookie 🤭🫶🏻 /pos /gen /friendly

i think ill go with being the 🪐 anon just future reference 🫶🏻

Okay powerful magic spaceball floating in the universe Anon...

HEAR ME OUT. I already had a similar scenario like that in mind one month ago and PLANNED to write a one-shot about something like that! >: D If it's okay, I´d like to do that one now. <3You get:

Mammon x Gen! Neutral Reader TAGS: Cheating, kinda break-up, ANGST

Mam and Reader have a fight, Mammon makes a horrible mistake and now has to pay the price.

Edit: I went overboard...accidentally wrote half of a one-shot. XD

So this is part one.. hahahahah

Mammon and you were a thing now. Well, for quite some time. You were overjoyed when the King of Greed seemed to get interested in you. It wasn't easy, not gonna lie, but you two managed. Mammon wasn't the easiest to be around, but somehow, you still loved him regardless. Despite what your friends told you, it felt genuine. Like he really meant it and didn't see you as some kind of arm candy or pet to keep just for fun. Your heart told you that, so you simply ignored everyone's remarks.

Mammon was extremely jealous and possessive. There was hardly any moment when you interacted with somebody else, where he didn't feel the need to step in and show the other that you were his. At home (well his home since the mighty king would never spend any second in your shitty apartment so he just took you with him) he often made nasty remarks of how dude A surely had the hots for you or that gal B was just after you to get closer to him. It was absolutely ridiculous! Every time you told him that this was not true, that you only have eyes for him, even if somebody else WOULD have a crush on you. In some way you even felt flattered that a Deadly Sin would be so protective over an unimportant hellborn like you.

But GOSH, one day he even went wild because you talked to the Glam sister. For real?! Yes, Glitz had been frisky, but hell! They are flirty and cocky with everyone! No matter how much you tried to ensure him that you DID NOT have a thing for them and that they were in no way any danger to you and him, Mammon´s jealousy and anger never seemed to fade.

"Yeah? If ya really aint fallin for their jiggly boobs, why did you smile at them and oh bring them some fucking coffee?! And by the way, I SAW HOW YOU LOOKED AT GLAM´S FAT ASS!!"

You stared at him for a second. "Excuse me??"

"YEAH DUH! I KNOW WHAT I SAW AND DONT LIE TO ME, CAUSE I KNOW YOU ENJOYED IT!"

Again, you stared at him in disbelief. "Wtf? First, I smile at them because I am just being nice to them! Second, where the hell am I supposed to look when they ask me which of their butts are bigger? And third-"

"THEY FUCKING ASKED WHAT?!" Mammon screamed in his demonic voice, steam pouring out of his mouth with every breath. He pinned you against the wall. Eight eyes of glowing green bore down onto you.

You should have been afraid, but couldn't help to feel another thing:

You felt offended.

Baring your in comparison way smaller teeth, you hissed at him. "For hell´s sake! Get your shit together Mammon! Fuking belive me when I tell you that nothing happened!" Your sudden outburst seemed to have startled him. Never had you snapped at him like that.

"Why would you even believe I would do such a thing?! Don't you trust me??"

The big Jester fumbled with his words, but managed to grumble under his breath: "How the fuck am I supposed to know.. I mean-"

"How are you supposed to know? Are you serious?? Gosh! Because I tell you every god damn day! Maybe that´s how!"

Now he just stood there, clenching his fists and facing the floor. His expression sour. "I jus´ don't like sharing you with others... okay?"

Your posture softens and you put your hand on one of his lower arms.

"It´s okay. I know you have difficulties with that, Babe. I am sure we can work this out. Okay?" <3

He was quiet for a few seconds but then answered: "Yeah...but could you please talk less to them? You know... it is making me angry."

You inhaled and held your breath, trying to hold back your frustration. It was obvious it wouldn't be easy with him, but you honestly would expect a bit more from an immortal entity than acting like a damn man-child. A Mam-child. Oh dear...

"No, sorry can not do. I work with them. I have to at least talk to them. Besides, you have to learn to trust me. You can't force me to keep away from people only because you want me to. This is not how it works!"

Mammon huffed, gripped your shoulders and drew your face close to his. "Listen, you little brat, I am really trying here! So cut me some slack and get your cute little ass off and away from them." His voice was low and threatening. This was in no way a suggestion. This was a demand.

"No." you said firmly and looked him deep in the eyes.

"No?" he repeated. Sparks danced around his features. Mammon tried to intimidate you just like he did with all of his employees and servants. But you were no servant. While the tone and his looming presence made your heart race and your knees weak, you still refused to give it. While it was true that you were just a measly hellborn in comparison to a mighty entity like him, but last time you checked you were his lover. His little gold nugget.

"I said no! You cannot tell me what to do and who to stay away from...just like I could never tell you to stay off the Glam sisters. I saw how they try to get in the sheets with you! But do I make a fuss about it? No!"

Mammon started to laugh. "Ya think I can´t tell you what to do? Pleeeaaase. I am your boss AND your king! If I tell you to get me some coffee, you bring me some coffee, If I tell you to hold my golden staff while I take a shit, you better do so and if I tell you to not get anywhere near those slutty cunts, you better do!"

He painfully clenched your cheeks between his thumb and index finger. You stared at him wide-eyed, trying to pry his hand off you.

"Did I make myself clear or do I have to repeat?"

It was the first time you had ever felt afraid of him. With his smirk twisted into a sadistic grin and his green glowing eyes staring down at you, there was no trace of your sweet boyfriend. The intensity of his glare was too much for you to handle

With panic growing inside your chest, you yelled at him. "Let me go! NOW!"

"As you wish." Mammon released you at once, making you fall down to the floor.

You rubbed your behind and looked up at him. Tears started to well in your eyes. His words and the way he treated you, shocked you.

Mammon huffed offended and frowned. "Tsk! Come on! Now that didn't hurt."

"You... You can't treat me like this! You are my boyfriend, remember? You can´t treat me like some sort of...like.." you stuttered, holding back your tears. What hurt the most the disinterested look he gave you. How he dismissed your feelings. Somehow it scared you even more that he didn't even give a shit of the effect he had on you right now.

"Now listen here, cunt! I can do whatever I want and with whoever I want! What do you think? That you have some kind of power over me? is that what you´re thinking? Is that what gets you off?? Hah! is that why you spend your fucking breaks with these other vermin instead of coming to my office? Oh yeah! You must feel so fucking powerful making ol´ Mammon pissed-"

"THAT IS NOT TRUE! THAT IS NOT TRUE!" You shouted, tears still streaming down your cheeks. You were disturbed of the absolute paranoia, the things he told himself, the way he thought about you. It was like someone put a knife in your heart and stirred it.

"LIKE I GIVE A BLOODY SHIT OF WHAT YOU THINK!! YOU THINK YOU CAN DO ANYTHING NOW, DONTCHA?! THAT YOU ARE BETTER THAN ME? THAT YOU CAN DO WITH ME WHATEVER YA WANT JUST BECAUSE WE SHARE A BED AND YOU SUCK MY DICK?? BUT GUESS WHAT! I CAN DO WHAT I WANT AND YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT SHOULD BE GRATEFUL FOR WHAT YOU GOT!!"

Your heart almost stopped hearing insult after insult. He was out of his mind. You couldn't even comprehend what he was saying. What is happening here?! How did things escalate so quickly??

"Okay... I am going home.. and you.. you.. calm down." You tried so hard to sound steady but failed miserably. Your sobbing kept on interrupting. "W-We talk.. tomorrow."

With that, you turned around and left. You didn't even try to hide your pathetic crying.

[fionajames]

HIIIIII may I request some… angst… please? 😭 the unimaginable was too gooooood!!!!

hey guys this is angst as requested. the lyrics in this are from the song 'See You Again' by Wiz Khalifa and Charlie Puth. i recommend listening to it as u read.

This song actually means a lot to me and I cried a tear whilst listening to it writing this. I first heard it several months before my Grandad's death. Since then, I've lost a lot of loved ones, this song means a lot to me.

T/W: Death, Order 66.

It’s been a long day without you, my friend

Ahsoka stood, glossy-eyed at the helmets bearing her markings, buried in the dust. She thought of Jesse, who was always her friend. Until the last moment, when he’d turned on her. 

She’d felt it in the Force, Anakin’s death - she presumed. 

She’d reached out into the Force instinctively feeling for Obi-Wan, only to reconnect the strands with the dozens of other Jedi, all in pain and betrayal. She hadn’t been able to reach her old Grandmaster, retracting herself from the Force the minute she felt the pain. Ahsoka threw up a mental shield around herself, a desperate bubble of protection.

Rex stood next to her as they moved back to the ship, climbing in silently and setting course for a nearby planet. She watched the blue fly by, her heart panging as she saw a glimpse of his eyes, his lightsaber. 

Rushing off to the Chancellor’s aid, that was the last she’d seen of him.

That was the last she’d ever see of him.

And I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again

Obi-Wan wrapped his robe around himself tighter, a tear sliding down his cheek as Beru sent him a last, sad smile before disappearing into her home with Luke in her arms and Owen at her side.

Obi-Wan turned away, walking slowly off into the distance. When he’d walked away from Anakin’s burning body, he’d reached tentatively out into the Force, in search of his former Grandpadawan. He’d been met with a wall of nothingness, the same kind of nothingness you felt when someone was dead.

He’d lost both his brother, sister and best friend in one day.

He thought miserably of the shell of a man he called his brother he’d left behind.

The guilt was eating at him like a starved beast.

He clambered down into a canyon of sand and stone, ignoring the scrapes on his hands and the tears rolling down his face. 

Jedi weren’t supposed to feel attachment, and he knew it, but now the Jedi were gone, so who was stopping him?

We’ve come a long way from where we began

Ahsoka thought back to her first meeting with Anakin and Obi-Wan. The arrogant version of Anakin she’d first met had turned more playful than rude in a matter of days.

She thought of the pain she’d first experienced, the tiring nature, the fear.

Jedi weren’t supposed to feel fear, but Ahsoka was no longer a Jedi.

She was never destined to be, she now realised.

She was destined to watch the fall of the Jedi, but not to be one that fell. 

The Order was gone, and that was unnatural to Ahsoka.

She thought back to the days of roaming the hallways of the Temple, both of her brothers at her side. She’d never thought of the fall of the Order. She’d wondered about them perhaps losing the war, but never a fall. Anakin and Obi-Wan were powerful, sometimes she’d feared for the deaths, but never the both of them.

She now realised that was why it hurt so much, she hadn’t expected the fall, much less the death of her brothers.

Oh, I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again

Obi-Wan thought of the last mission they’d done together, him and Anakin. His head throbbed from the mere thought of being knocked unconscious by Dooku. He thought of the way they’d fought together, brothers side by side.

He thought of Onderon, the last mission all three of them had done. He remembered the abrupt fear on Ahsoka’s face when she’d heard they were leaving. Obi-Wan knew she was ready, but she didn’t believe that.

He thought of the days they spent together, brothers and sister, on the battlefield, on Coruscant, on different planets post-battle. 

The days of cheer, joy, happiness, something he missed so much. 

Never had he ever thought, during one of these times, about how much he would miss them.

He wondered if Ahsoka’s death had been painless, he hoped it had. He thought of how she would have felt the same feeling of utter betrayal he’d held when Cody had shot him. He thought of Rex, and how he would feel after killing his sister.

When I see you again

Ahsoka sat down on the bed. Her and Rex had arrived hours before on the planet, and rented a small house. She collapsed, her head in her hands as tears slipped between her fingers. 

Obi-Wan slumped to the floor in the cave he was sheltering in, face buried in his arms. Tears rolled down his cheeks and onto the floor, creating small puddles in the dust and sand.

Ahsoka reached out into the Force with her last speck of hope. She reached for Anakin, then Obi-Wan, then Plo. All she felt was the same pain and nothingness.

Obi-Wan reached out for Ahsoka, in hopes of discovering a flicker of life. All he felt was the same nothingness and pain he’d felt when Anakin’s life had slipped away.

They sat in silence, only interrupted by the occasional sob.

Anakin reached out, for Obi-Wan and then Ahsoka. He felt a flicker of subtle life of Obi-Wan, and then the cold nothingness of Ahsoka. 

Three people, broken to pieces, unaware of each other.

Three people, against the universe.

Three people, separated.

'We'll be alright, as long as we stay together.'

hope you enjoyed, please send requests, im desperate!!!

take care of urself <3

taglist: @techs-goggles9902, @transmascanakin, @skellymom