#but i'm already committed so eh..

[writersdrug]

OOOH bartender Simon when one of the regulars starts making comments about reader at the bar

Yes

Slight nsfw, someone makes derogatory marks about reader

Simon didn't understand why the man chose to be a regular at his bar. He never spoke much to the lad, Mitch, other than the occasional grunt and "'nother round?" Still, the bloke had been coming to his pub every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night like it was his religion - it very well might've been - spilling his guts over neat whiskey about his failing marriage, his estranged children, and his shitty job. Simon was surprised he managed to keep one, with how much he was drinking on a Sunday night.

"Don't ever get a wife, Simon." Mitch says, fidgeting his empty whiskey glass in his fingers. He'd already come in with a sour expression and droopy eyes - Simon wondered what the topic would be for tonight, but as usual, it steered towards his divorce waiting to happen.

"Already got one." He says, jerking his head to the liquor shelf. "Woodford."

Mitch laughs, letting Ghost take his empty glass and dunk it in the wash basin. "You got anyone waitin' for you after work?"

Ghost clicks his tongue, wiping the condensation off the bar top. "Rather not talk about my personal life 'ere."

"Bah - you need something young n' fresh." Mitch sighs, tapping his fingers against the wood. "Guy like you can't have something too committed, or else your work ethic will suffer."

Ghost grunts as his response. He reminds himself that Mitch was a customer, like everyone else, and he only has to tolerate his yapping for tonight - until next Friday.

Mitch turns his head to look at you, and Simon follows with his eyes: you're standing at a table, bantering with the couple seated there as you take their orders. Hair pulled back into that weird claw clip thingy Simon likes so much, posture relaxed as you leaned on one hip, a soft smile on your face as the couple takes their time placing their orders. He remembers how unfamiliar you were with it all in the beginning, and now it looks like you've been working here for the past ten years. Like you belong in his pub.

"How's she handling the job?" Mitch asks.

Simon shrugs. "Seems t' be managing just fine. Gets away with more shit than I should be allowin' 'er."

Mitch chuckles, looking back at you. "They always do when they look that good." He comments, making Ghost pause. "Price knew what he was doin' hiring her."

He feels his muscles tense subconsciously. "I hired 'er."

Mitch looks back at him, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "Simon, you ol' dog..." he begins, leaning his forearms onto the bartop. "Gotta keep the customers comin' somehow, eh?"

Ghost blinks. "I don't follow." He does; but he's giving Mitch a chance to redeem himself after his insinuation.

"C'mon, was it her face? What she wore to the interview? Did Johhny-boy see her and beg you to hire her?" He leans in towards Simon, who obliges and meets him halfway, just to hear what else the prick will say, so he knows how much damage he can justify.

"I'm telling you - the only reason she probably took the job was, well.." he raises and eyebrow.

Simon waits. "Hmm?"

"You know - three big guys like you lot - not to mention that old brewmaster assistant, Garrick, I know he frequents here... well, any desperate thing like her would be throwing themselves at the opportunity."

He's livid. "Wha' opportunity?"

"Gettin hit from all sides, if you catch my drift."

Ghost nods slowly, biting the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. He wants to punch a hole through Mitch's chest, but two patrons roughhoused in one week would make Price get on his case. He turns to the bar and grabs a whiskey glass.

"Aww, don't be like that..." Mitch says when he senses Ghost's anger. "I'm sorry. Listen - if you don't want to show her a good time, me and my buddy will. I'll leave my number and you'll give it to her for me?"

"Drink this, sober up, and go home Mitch." Ghost says, slapping the glass of clear liquid in front of the man. Mitch eyes him with a huff as he returns to washing the glasses in the bar sink.

"Fuckin' loser..." he mumbles, grabbing the glass and downing a large gulp - he immediately sputters, the drink spilling all over his front as he coughs and hacks violently. The entire floor looks over at the commotion, you included, standing by the POS and watching with a furrowed brow.

"Fuck- was that goddamn Everclear?!" He rasps.

"I think it's time y' head out, Mitch." Ghost says, leaning both of his hands against the bar. "Call your wife and kids. Stop comin' 'ere every week." He then leans in close, right in front of Mitch's face. "Cuz if I see you back at my bar again, I'm draggin' you out the back myself."

His eyes crinkle with a smile as he claps Mitch on the arm, making him jump from the impact. He quickly gets up off his seat and stumbles towards the front door, sparing one last bitter glance between you and Ghost, before he angrily shoves his way out.

Ghost sighs, putting the Everclear back on the shelf; you walk over right on cue. "What was that about? He ok?"

Simon shrugs, closing Mitch's tab on his POS and assigning an auto-gratuity. "Dunno. Maybe my advice finally got t' the bastard."

[jedi-starbird]

A happier galaxy where the disaster lineage is somewhat less on fire constantly and senior padawan Obi-wan has developed a fixation on Mandalorians:

Sometimes Feemor regretted just how much he had given away when he had spent 5 expensive months bribing a traumatised Obi-wan to call him brother when he was 14. His dignity, for one, his access codes and shadow cloaking techniques, another. So he had a very dignified reaction when he was awoken to the shine of his younger brother's eyes in the dark at the foot of his bed. "I wou-stop screaming it's just me-I would like a Mandalorian. How do I procure one?"

"How the fuck should I know?"

Obi-wan scowled as if Feemor was being difficult, he wasn't, he wasn't quite awake enough for that yet. "You're a shadow, you're supposed to know things."

Ah, if being a shadow granted you the secrets of the universe instead of just a great many planetary governments, Feemor wouldn't spend so much time wondering what dark rituals Dooku had committed to result in Qui-gon Jinn. (He already knew what regular rituals Qui-gon had committed to result in Obi-wan)

"I know that I'm about to punt you out of my room right now."

"...My birthday is coming up, I believe I deserve compensation for all the traumas."

Obi-wan's eyes were very big now. Feemor sighed. He flopped back down into bed. He resisted the urge to pull his blankets back up and roll over. 'Oh sure when it's time to see mind healers everything's fine but now-'

"Shouldn't you be asking Master then?"

"Master would not approve of how I plan to use the Mandalorian."

He squinted at Obi-wan for a long moment. Obi-wan stared back. He did some quick mental maths and tried not to feel old. Eh. Fine. Feemor swung his legs out of bed. "You had me at 'Master wouldn't approve'."

"Do you think I could get one by walking into little Keldabe and asking very nicely?"

As it turns out, yes he could. A few too many in fact, apparently Jedi, their ancestral enemy, in the Mando district attracted attention, who knew? Feemor knew, Feemor would have known if only he had been properly awake when this semblence of a plan was proposed. He stalked through the cantina towards Obi-wan who was leaning slightly forwards against a pillar, ah...speaking, to a Mandalorian with painted orange armour while surrounded by a larger crowd of Mandos. At least they seem mostly amused. He ignored the youngers squawk as he yanked the back of his robes so that he moved away from the Mandalorian and spun him around.

"You cannot solve centuries of animosity by batting your eyelashes."

"I'm not batting my eyelashes " Obi-wan sniffed," I'm shaking my ass, there's decidedly more effort involved."

"I miss when I was an only child." Feemor sighed deeply. He used the force to scruff the neck of Obi-wan's robes and dangle him slightly in the air. He ignored the shouting from beside him and bowed politely to the staring Mandos. "My apologies for the disturbance, this will not happ-" He considered his brother who was now yelling out his personal comm code with a wink. " Please excuse us, this very probably will happen again, we shall workshop it. May the force be with you all."

I don't have a fully planned AU but it is Codywan!!! cause I love those bitches but have some more dialogue I came up with for this AU. I'm imagining them both as like 20-23, Obi's close to knighthood. He's still a padawan for this because I think him causing Qui-gon headaches is funny. Feemor fully thinks this complicated courtship dance Obi's created is funny, he likes studying his little brother like a bug, he just wasn't prepared for him to just waltz into little kelbade and start hitting on people, though he really should have been.

Hand wavy timeline with Jaster alive but the clones are still clones, Jango was kidnapped and held in stasis or something, Jaster claimed them as Mandos. This is really just about Obi's first and biggest diplomatic achivement being friendly Jedi-Mando relations purely cause he was in his thot era. This also somehow saves the galaxy from the sith.

I like to imagine that Cody's brothers recorded that little exchange between Fee and Obi on their helmets and uploaded it online where it went viral on MandoNet before going viral galaxywide because wait holy shit is that a Jedi saying that????. Qui-gon gets called in for a very weird meeting where the council's like ok so the entire holonet has seen your padawan being horny on main but also this is like the biggest jump in our diplomatic relationship with the Mandos in centuries so like can we keep this up somehow? This results in Obi-wan being holonet famous, first through vode recordings but then he starts a space tumblr and twitter account and he's famous now. Then his friends and other jedi start accounts because wait we're allowed to do that? and those become big as well and this is literally the best PR the jedi have had in hundreds of years. the holonet loves them. the sith are fuming.

Obi-wan, scoffing: What were they gonna do? Shoot me? Feemor: Yes. Obi-wan: I don't believe in blasters. Bly: ...like as a concept...? Obi-wan: No, spiritually.

Obi-wan: I'm sure there's a nice Mandalorian we can find for you Feemor: I'm not sure those 2 words belong together Obi-wan: No of course not, we can't find a nice one, then they'd be all alone, we need to find an absolute bastard of one so that you two match :)

Obi-wan: Oh so Master gets to take in pathetic life forms but I don't? This one's already domesticated! Wolffe: Debatable. Feemor: Cody's a person! Not a stray tooka! Obi-wan: Master takes in stray people all the time! That's how he got me!

Qui-gon: How do you explain this behaviour Padawan ? Obi-wan: The force pushed me towards the Mandalorians Master, it was quite insistent on me developing better relations with them given our difficult history. Feemor: Fascinating, please do elaborate, I'd love to hear the theological implications of a force-assigned kink.

[harunayuuka2060]

Vil: Would it possible to change your mind into liking me back if I tell you that I'm in love with you now?

MC: …

MC: I don't understand why you are asking me this, Vil.

Vil: It's a hypothetical question. Would you change your mind?

MC: …

MC: *smiles* You should know more than anyone, that I value commitment.

MC: I won't do anything to hurt Che'nya.

Vil: …

Vil: I see. He's lucky to have you.

MC: *chuckles* I honestly think it's the opposite.

Vil: …

Vil: Anyway, we will be having a trip overseas. You'll be away with him for a few months.

MC: Alright. I'll explain it to him. Is there anything else?

Vil: …

Vil: None for now.

Che'nya: Eh~ A few months? *sad frowns*

MC: Yes. I'm the one who assists Vil, so I have to go there with him.

Che'nya: *pouts*

MC: …

MC: I will call and message you often.

Che'nya: *pouts even more*

MC: …

MC: How about souvenirs?

Che'nya: *thinks* Hmm… No.

MC: …

MC: What is it? Just tell me.

Che'nya: Bring me with you. :3

MC: Not possible.

Che'nya: *whines* I can't believe you! You're just leaving your new boyfriend behind?

Che'nya: If it's already like this, I wonder what it'll be like when we get married?

MC: Che'nya-

Che'nya: I have needs, y'know?

MC: …

Che'nya: :3

MC: Should I stop taking you seriously?

Che'nya: Nooooo! But in all seriousness! At least pamper me before you leave~!

MC: …

MC: What kind of pampering?

Che'nya: :3

MC: Che'nya.

Che'nya: I promise not to leave marks! Or at least not that many. :3

MC: …

Vil: Why are you covered up?

MC: *has hickeys around their neck because of Che'nya* I'm cold.

Vil: ...

Vil: *doesn't want to ask further*

Vil: Anyway, you should know that we will be sharing a hotel room.

MC: Huh?

Vil: Dad made a mistake in booking the rooms.

Vil: Don't worry. It's a suite.

MC: ...

MC: I see. However, will you be comfortable sharing a space?

Vil: Yes. *smirks* Didn't we use to sleep in the same bed together when we were younger?

MC: I'm sure I always end up on the floor.

Vil: That's because you liked to move around.

Vil and MC: *chuckles at the memory*

Vil: ...

Vil: Let's enjoy this trip together, MC.

MC: *smiles at him* Yes.

Vil: *is clear to him... that MC is smiling to him as his dear friend and not someone who is in love with him*

Vil: ...

Vil: How the tables have turned.

MC: Hm? What did you say, Vil?

Vil: It's nothing. Let's go.

Vil and MC: *after arriving to the "suite"*

Vil: ...

Vil: It's a honeymoon suite.

MC: ...

MC: I'm calling the front desk.

The front desk: We are very sorry, but it's the only available room we have...

MC: Don't you have other options?

The front desk: Are you two not a couple?

MC: No. I'm his personal attendant.

The front desk: ...

The front desk: You can stay in our staff room-

MC: Okay. I'll do that-

Vil: Forget it. You're not sleeping elsewhere, MC, when you are a guest too.

MC: But Vil-

Vil: I said forget it.

MC: ...

MC: *to the receptionist* Are there no other hotels we could stay at?

The front desk: At this time of the year, hotels are mostly fully booked, but I'll do my best to get you a reservation.

MC: *smiles* Thank you.

The front desk: I deeply apologize for the inconvenience.

Vil: ...

[phoenixyfriend]

Remember my post about Anakin pulling a Mike Murdock? Yeah, no, I have a full on AU concept now (with contributions by @threebea! indented)!

He lies so hard about having a brother that the universe invents a twin from scratch for him. It happens when Anakin is like twelve.

Anakin was just committing to the bit on a mission because he was bored.

The Force was also bored.

Oh no Anakin force manifests a sibling Obi-Wan: …That's not how the Force works. Anakin: You tell the Force that. Obi-Wan: Well, I suppose this would be your half-brother since the Force is your shared parent. Obi-Wan after the initial shock: This might as well happen.

New brother is better at some things and worse at others, as any person is. Anakin is, naturally, a fucking mess about all that, worries he'll be replaced, etc.

Obi-Wan just brings this to the Council and nobody can DENY this Skywalker from the Jedi after they already took the first one. So. Mace volunteers.

This Skywalker is a bit more Force than Anakin, got glowing eyes and visions and the Animal Communion buff. But is worse at flying, worse at tech, and unfathomably worse at people. Which is a FEAT, since Anakin's not too hot at social skills in the first place.

Mace has his hands full in many ways, including "keep this child from walking face first into the wall."

Obi-Wan: We are not calling him Anagain.

Anakin had many mixed feelings but! If he's going to have family then he's going to commit!

The other option is that the brother is younger by enough that the Older Brother instincts kick in, but I think the one-sided twin rivalry is funnier.

Anakin: I'm a big brother now. Anagain: I think we're supposed to be twins. Anakin: I have more worldly experience. Anagain: I'm taller. Anakin: wut Anagain: alpha twin alpha twin (that's his nickname until you come up with actual name lol) Obi-Wan: Well, I'm taller than both of you, and while that is the case you both need to listen to me. Anagain: (flash of foresight) So, not for long Obi-Wan: What? Anagain: Nothing. Mace: (the Shatterpoints are blinding) Yeah, I'll be taking this one. More seriously tho, Anakin definitely torn between what if everyone likes him better he's born from the force what if he's the chosen one what if and also: I have a brother I have family I need to take care of him. Probably some fun twin force bond too. Oh man Sheev after digesting all of that would definitely try to get some jealousy going.

Anakin talks about the new brother with terms like Freshly Hatched and Innocent Baby and it's mostly a joke except that now HE thinks Palps is a creep when it's aimed at Not Him.

Palpatine: When do I get to meet him? Anakin: [absolutely not] Mace won't let him [Yeah that'll work] Mace: Yeah, absolutely not, he didn't help save Naboo there's no reason for my Padawan to have a relationship with the Supreme Chancellor

I've decided to call the brother Aion (EY-yon). I like the whole thing about Anakin's name being based on Ananke, even if it's a disputed thing, so I go for Greek myth when doing alt names for siblings.

Mace still bitter about having to let Palps get time with Anakin not about to do the same if he can help it. Although that comic takes place later eh (handwaves) still The Jedi might try to be hush hush about where aion came from anyway since he would fall directly under Jedi business

Help I'm imagining Mace and Obi-Wan on a walk and the twins are on child leashes. Anakin because ADHD will have him trying to run off to look at something. And Aion because he's going to be so distracted by visions that he will walk into traffic.

"Can we send a letter to mom so she knows he exists?" The other thought was ANAKIN holding the child leash for Aion, and then Obi-Wan or Mace holding the one for Anakin. Lil chain.

Aion: Hey… I know I've only existed for a few months, and yes my memories of before are sort of built by the Force, but I'm pretty sure the Supreme Chancellor is evil. Mace: You saw that in a vision? Aion: No, he's just super creepy. Bad vibes.

Obi-Wan: Of course he's evil, he's a career politician. Anakin: What about your friend from Alderaan? Obi-Wan: That's different.

One of these boys is constantly zoning out. The other is smiling, but the smile contains murder.

They're both adhd but with wildly different sides of it.

EXACTLY

Also.

Aion: [silent, a bit upset but mostly chill] Anakin, holding his hand: He asked for no pickles!

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

this is all your fault @sunsetcougar

in a world where vaggie gets adopted by the little cannibal kid she saved, and then by Rosie, and slips out of cannibal town each night for food that isn't too humane for her tastes-

imagine this version of chaggie meeting at a takeout window in hell

one long, awkward moment of trying not to look at each other...

Charlie: “So! You-"

Vaggie: "Hey."

Charlie: "-hello! Oh sorry, I didn't mean to cut you off-"

Vaggie: "No that was me. You're fine. (why is she in a SUIT) Go on."

Charlie: "Ok. What, uh- (panics in oh no she’s cute and talking to me) (remembers she’s staying in cannibal town) (OH PERFECT A CONVERSATION STARTER!!) -what kind of people do you like?”

Vaggie: “...pardon?”

Charlie: “Oh it's just, I've seen you around and, is that why you’re out on the town a lot? Shopping um, around? (for people to eat)”

Vaggie: “Not really? I’m kinda still.. torn up over my last big life commitment, (literally) so I’m exactly not looking to date anyone right off the bat.”

Charlie: “To date- TO DATE- OH! No no no I wasn’t- I meant dinner!”

Vaggie: “With you?”

Charlie: “IN GENERAL! People you like, as in, to eat? Because you're with the cannibals and haha dinner with me that would be like, a date and-”

Vaggie: “Yeah I’m not into that.”

Charlie: “(dying)-right.”

Vaggie: “The eating people thing. Not the dinner with a pretty woman thing.”

Charlie: “… (charlie.exe has stopped working)…Ah.”

Vaggie: “Right.”

Charlie: “…but Cannibal town?”

Vaggie: “I just live there. I- Junior Meat lives there and I’m sticking with him.”

Charlie: “And Mr. Meat is your…?”

Vaggie: “Kid? Kinda?”

Charlie: “Oh!”

Vaggie: “Yeah.”

Charlie: “That's wonderful! How did you two- sorry no never mind, too much, um. Does he like take out too? Or any non-human snacks?”

Vaggie: “Gummy bears. And dino nugets.

Charlie: "He has very good taste."

Vaggie: "He likes biting the heads off ‘em.”

Charlie: “Aww me too!!! Well, playing with them, not the head biting but. And you?”

Vaggie: “I used to put them into battle formations and march them off to war.”

Charlie: “That’s so cute.”

Vaggie: "..."

Charlie: "..."

Vaggie: “You meant what snacks do I like, huh.”

Charlie: “Heheh. Um. Yes! Sorry I’m not. Doing the whole 'have normal conversation with a beautiful girl' thing very good am I?”

Vaggie: “I’d give you five stars. And practice makes perfect.”

Charlie: "And would you...? I mean I wouldn't want to practice on someone who didn't-"

Vaggie: "Be your practice partner? Sure. Sounds fun."

Charlie: “…! I- I know all the best places in hell for inhuman food! Or wait no, for food that isn’t made of people! My treat?”

Vaggie: “My pleasure. (automatically does the little curtsy and hand kiss Rosie’s been badgering her to learn) (panics) I uh, here's my order, I gotta... go tuck in Junior Meat. You know where I’m at?”

Charlie: “(dazed) Hannibal Clown…. C-Cannibal Town!”

Vaggie: “Right. Think I already mentioned it.”

Charlie: “Yes and I saw you with them- so I guessed that you- I can pick you up?”

Vaggie: “Maybe an hour later than this, so Junior's in bed and doesn’t freak out.”

Charlie: “Oh. (droops) You think I’d scare him? I wouldn’t pull out my horns or tail out…”

Vaggie: “It's not you. He’s just kinda jumpy after the… he had a rough extermination day, is all.”

Charlie: “Looked like you did too.”

Vaggie: “What.”

Charlie: “You seem much better now! Not that you didn’t look great then, I mean. I'm sure you always look-”

Vaggie: “You saw- what did you see?”

“Charlie: “I was walking by when the cannibals were helping you. And I think I saw Junior Meat too? He was the one holding your hand?”

Vaggie: “Yeah…?”

Charlie: “I’m, really glad you all found each other. Even if it was a rough day.”

Vaggie: “… they ate part of me in greeting.”

Charlie: “Ugh! They ate-? I mean, aww?”

Vaggie: "Not a normal thing even in hell?"

Charlie: "The definition of normal is... fluid and not very... it wasn't your EYE was it?"

Vaggie: "Eh, wasn't using it anymore anyway."

Charlie: "I guess it counts as. Recycling?"

Vaggie: "Heh."

Charlie: "Sorry."

Vaggie: “No, you're okay. You’re also right though. Maybe it was worth one rough day.”

Charlie: “I’m right?”

Vaggie: “And you’re picking me up tomorrow for dinner.”

Charlie: “!!!! YES! I am! I will, be there, for you. Tomorrow.”

Vaggie: “And…”

Charlie: “And?”

Vaggie: “Didn’t catch a name earlier.”

Charlie: “Oh it’s Charlie! Charlie Morningstar but it’s just Charlie!”

Vaggie: “As in princess?”

Charlie: “Just Charlie.”

Vaggie: “Sweet. (FUCK) See you soon, Charlie.”

Charlie: “….okay….”

Charlie:

Charlie: “Oh my ****ing dad what just happened.”

Charlie, two hour later: "I DIDN'T EVEN ASK HER NAME??"

-At Rosie's Emporium (of vaggie's pain)-

Vaggie: "Junior's finally asleep, so not matter what I tell you, please don't scream."

Rosie: "A very intriguing start! I'm already tickled! Do go on."

Vaggie: “You might need to just kill me.”

Rosie: “I couldn’t possibly! You haven’t even eaten your take out yet~”

Vaggie: “Aunt Rosie help me.”

Rosie: “A girl, hmm?”

Vaggie: “A girl?? She was in a SUIT. She was tall and awkward kept playing with her hair and should've had a puppy dog tail wagging behind her. I called her pretty and said I’d give her five stars. Then I invited myself to dinner with her. And she’s a fucking DEMON.”

Rosie: “We all are down here, darling. Present company excepted of course.”

Vaggie: “HELP. ME.”

Rosie: “Let’s start with the basics, yes? The niceties? What’s the name of this lucky girl?”

Vaggie: “Charlie.”

Rosie: "Lovely! And does she have a last name?"

Vaggie: "It's just Charlie."

Rosie: "How charming, I like her already~"

Vaggie: "But her last name's Morningstar. Don't scream."

Rosie: (SPITS TEA)

Vaggie: “I know."

Rosie: "Oh... my."

Vaggie: "I know I know!"

Rosie: "An abandoned angel and the princess of hell?"

Vaggie: "She didn't act like a princess of hell! She was like, princess of cute and wearing her heart on her sleeve! Princess of so kissable I could just reach up and grab her bowtie and-"

Vaggie: "FUCK I'm so fucked.”

Rosie: "Not yet you aren't. Don't worry darling, auntie Rosie will get you there~"

Vaggie: "That's not the kind of help I need!"

Rosie: "Speaking of need- a new outfit, yes, something with sparkle and shine, on par with a suit but not one whit more! With a skirt you can move in too of course."

Vaggie: "I DONT NEED A SKIRT I NEED TO STOP BEING GAY OVER THE PRINCESS OF HELL"

Rosie: "Perhaps flowery parasol to hide your dear little spear in..."

[pistatsia]

OKAY so the only thing I want to say about yesterday's spoilers (Ness backstory) is that borderliner* Ness is canon now lol

✅ explosive anger

✅ feeling neglected, alone, misunderstood most of the time

✅ low self-esteem and the resulting self-hatred

✅ strong, overwhelming emotions

(feelings that can't be explained == too high (for average person) bursts of them. Inability to handle them)

✅ black and white thinking

(Isagi's either good (tosses to Kaiser) or bad (doesn't toss to Kaiser) lol)

✅ fear of abandonment + self-harm

✅ very intense, frequent, extreme emotional swings

(difference of one second)

(difference of one second pt.2)

✅ maladaptive daydreaming

✅ determining one's value through relationships with others

✅ unstable relationships

I'm really disappointed that chapter haven't shown Ness' attempts to gain his parents and siblings love but, eh, okay. I can work with that

*

A little background on who people with borderline personality disorder are and where do they come from. (Of course, each case is unique. I'm talking about the average manifestation of the disorder here.)

Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) is a type of personality disorder in which a person is unstable, hypersensitive, highly anxious, and has no sense of self (no feeling of identity). One in ten patients end up committing suicide.

In fact, borderliners are people with no emotional skin. What for a stable person is a small domestic nuisance - for a borderliner is boundless terror, fear, a complete sense of helplessness and overwhelming self-loathing. Are you sick? It's your fault, you're worthless. You forgot your pass and had to buy an underground ticket? You're disgusting, step under a train right now. You forgot the food in the fridge and it spoilt? Don't you dare eat for another three days, punish yourself, cut yourself because you're nothing. That's not an exaggeration, it's true. And then you see an advert with a doggy and you laugh until you cry and all is fine.

It's like that dozens of times in one day.

Why do borderliners work this way? Heredity plays a role (which in Ness's case can be seen, for example, by the fact that he reacted acutely to some things even as a child), but to a greater extent, of course, the family, because when BPD is treated in the early stages, it is more easily reduced to remission (but does not disappear completely - it is like the core of the personality). Speaking of family types, typically borderliners come out of families with a narcissistic parent or the same borderline. Why exactly is that the case?

Because life with a narcissist/borderliner parent is an endless battlefield in which the child is forced to survive. Any emotion you have, if it doesn't fall under the parent's incomprehensible ideas, is repulsive. Any request you make and attempt to speak your mind is a violation of all laws and the worst offence. Today you're the golden child, tomorrow you're trash. Today your mom says she loves you, and tomorrow she blames you for divorcing your dad. Today dad likes the tea you made him, tomorrow he'll throw it in your face. It's a constant violation of personal space, an inability to have privacy, an impossibility to defend your interests - and yet a staggering neglect, a removal of the child from your life. Parents in such families usually divide their children into "golden" and "outcast" children, emphasising in every possible way how terrible the lousy sheep of the family (the outcast child) is, and encouraging bullying by their siblings.

Sounds similar to Ness's story, doesn't it?

In such families, the child by the age of 6 or 7 already knows that he is disgusting, horrible, and must do anything to avoid being abandoned - because the parents emphasise in every possible way that he is horrible, but they (for now) keep him out of mercy. A child learns by the slightest movement of the eyebrows and corner of the mouth to know when mom loves you and when she hates you, when dad is good and when he's bad.

The childhood of such children is a battlefield, and they come out of it emotionally disabled. For example, a very common consequence of living in such a family, in addition to BPD, is PTSD. Yeah, like war veterans.

(and by the way, borderliners VERY often end up paired with… Narcissists. Because it's a familiar love-hate game. And on top of that, also a beautiful (non-existent) personality to take a bite out of for your non-existent self))

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(if it seems like I'm somehow writing about borderline disorder a bit too unkindly - I love Ness and sympathise with him. It's me whom I don't love lol)

[khuzena]

Unsung prayers

Pairing: Aventurine x g/n!reader

Summary: Stop wishing for something you've already lost. You'll make a fool out of yourself. "Don't cry over spilt milk," they said. But why can't Aventurine— no, Kakavasha, why can't he stop crying? It's too hard to let go of you. You two were already about to move on but he's too pathetic to let you go.

Cw. Very angsty, unhealthy rs ehe, smut but it focuses more on like the heartbreak so yeee, I cried writing this goodnight, kinda short because i'm getting burnout from life lol

A/n: I'm sorry for not writing again like I originally promised. Working and studying overtime and things are getting too stressful. I just keep sleeping and playing Wuthering Waves :(

Aventurine is a man who trades dignity for security. He is a man who is willing to go through extreme lengths to prove that he is worthy, to prove that he is useful.

So when you two were still together, he found himself in an odd predicament. Aventurine is a man of his word, whenever he promises to spoil you with riches he doesn’t hold back. He is more than willing to blind you with exotic gems and take you out on dates you’ve never asked for.

He feels as if he has to prove himself that he is useful, that he is your tool to use for your own satisfaction and all he asks of you is a sprinkle of attention to be sure that he’s not useless, to be sure you won’t throw him away and to be sure that he is worthy of your longing gaze.

Yet affection and convenience are two things that rarely work together.

“I won’t,” You state firmly as you lock your eyes into his, “I’m not exposing your secret or your past.”

Aventurine’s voice hitches as he cocked his head to the side. “You think I’m falling for that?” He wants to fall for your words, he wants to believe that maybe you don’t see him as just a commodity or a tool.

As the shadows engulf you again in the dim room again, he wishes you were lying so he doesn’t have to deal with the hurt, “Stop.” You repeat in desperation, “Stop doubting me you dipshit.”

A wry chuckle escaped his lips when you grabbed him by the collar, “Why can’t you understand? I’m not betraying you.” He pleads with the universe that you were lying because the pathetic idea of you taking his secret down the drain hurts him in every way imaginable.

Before he could key in another word, “Stop talking, shut up.” There was a pregnant pause that filled the room before you continued, “I’m not one of your slave traders nor your buyers, I am not your master– I am just your lover.”

”My lover? How sweet.” There’s a flicker of vulnerability that appears in his gaze but he shuts it down, “Who’s to say you won't run to my enemies with my past? It’s too dangerous for you to stay with me.”

Aventurine believes that he’s served his purpose of being your convenient tool, that he can let you go now, that he’s loved you enough and that if he was too selfish to indulge more of you, he’d hurt you.

”Let me show you I won’t.”

He wants to be selfish.

��Eager are we?” His voice cracks. He could barely catch his breath, let alone take yours. His hand trembles ever so slightly at your arrogance that he reaches out to grab your waist.

He has to hold onto something, anything– it has to be something that no longer feels sane for him. That no longer felt solid. Something that could stay without the fear of letting go of again. And he has to let you know despite his walls he built for himself that despite his bravado and outward show, there was nothing about Aventurine that was stable or safe.

“You’re too much.” he stutters. “Stop doing this to me.”

”Stop talking.”

It certainly wasn’t enough to shut the gambler up. Light feathery kisses could suffice. One, two, three– you count with your fingers as you lightly tug on his collar a bit tighter. Four, five, six– he commits murder to himself, he shuts off his brain and kills himself inside so he could no longer feel.

“Stop doubting me goddamnit– Unlike those bastards, You’re not my tool.”

Seven, eight, nine– he’s still feeling, he’s not dead yet and he pleads with the universe– no, he begs mother fenge why. How could you say such a thing with unwavering confidence? How could you promise him something so tangible you could take it away so easily?

"You’re just Kakavasha."

His facade almost slips away but he has a role to play. The musky scent of your perfume drives him insane that he realises all he could think of is you. He’s not dead, he feels alive.

“You can’t just say that.” You could almost hear the bitterness and spite that lingers in his voice, the way his lips curl into a grimace before he swallows it away, “That ‘Kakavasha’ is just a product, a commodity.”

The tension between you two was thick, You know you should run. You have a whole career, a life, a future, to worry about. But something yearns inside you for Kakavasha. You can’t let go of the bastard blonde in front of you– not with the way he held you so gently in his arms even if his words reek with distrust.

“I love you.” He wants to shut his ears off.

He was sitting on the bed as your head fell to his chest. He can’t accept this– he can’t, he can’t. He wants to be selfish, he wants to but he can’t. Not when you caress his face so dearly, “Kakavasha.” And then another desperate sob, “Kakavasha– please, Kakavasha.”

Ten, eleven, twelve– He stills. Even if everything he’s ever wanted was in arm’s reach, he can’t bring himself to indulge and to hope. Thirteen, fourteen— fuck he forgot.

“This is wrong.” He whispers, voice raw, body trembling.

You two shouldn’t be doing this. You two shouldn’t even be thinking of doing this. You two were no longer an item, he thinks, even as he pulls you in closer. ‘We shouldn’t be like this’.

But it feels right, it feels so fucking right and everything else confirms that. The way your fingertips slowly snake down his trousers and how your breaths mingled together.

”Please,” He doesn’t want you to say it, don’t say it– “Kakavasha.”

He never wanted to ever hear his name again, everytime he did he pleaded with the universe to tear off his ears. He wants to sob because the only thing about ‘Kakavasha’ and the only thing he remembers of that shitty name of his was just a man who’s a Failure and an Abandoned slave.

“Kakavasha,” But when you call his name like that, he is not the pathetic leftover of the Avgins; he’s not the Kakavasha who is a Failure and an Abandoned slave.

He stays silent. He wishes that the universe turned him blind for his eyes to never lock with yours, for his senses to go paralyzed, numb– just so he can’t feel you.

“Let me love you.” You beg, reaching out for his left hand before he instinctively swatted your hand away. “Stop it.” His voice is choked, cracking, like his vision with tears. “You–“

Why is this so hard?

How could you call him like his name was something sacred– something worth worshipping. When his name rolls out of your tongue, it sounds like a prayer.

“Stop saying my name.” Aventurine’s hand shakes when you intertwine yours with his.

And with pleading eyes, you understand.

’Let’s not talk, let’s just not talk. Just feel.’

He wanted to scream when he felt your breath tickling his neck, your lips were dangerously close to his barcode, the trademark ‘Slave’ on his skin salient but you wanted to kiss him. He doesn’t want to talk so you don’t.

“I love you.” You beg for permission, your lips grazing softly on that mark of his. “Please?”

The atmosphere is suffocating– he’s drowning and asphyxiating at the same time and he could barely make out your words, he can barely– too much, too much. There’s nothing sexual, nothing intimate yet but this feels more romantic and real than anyone he’s ever fucked before.

“Please.”

He can’t respond, he doesn’t nod, he doesn’t know what to do. He knows how to act and love as Aventurine but he doesn’t know how to be normal. He doesn’t know how to be Kakavasha when he is Kakavasha.

“Is that a yes?” He tenses when your lips latch onto that burned mark on his neck.

“Just do it.” He croaks, One word– so simple yet so heavy. “I can’t say yes,” He’s grabbing your hand so tightly, so hard. “Not with words.”

He lets you, letting his head fall back onto the pillows, letting his eyes shut for a moment as your lips latch onto his scarred neck. His muscles tense, his heart pounding, his breath catching in his throat.

But his tears flow anyway, even if he wishes they wouldn’t. Even if he knows that it’s shameful.

”Don't cry,” stop, stop. You cupped his cheek gently, “Don’t cry, Kakavasha.”

Tears continue to drip while both your hands work on his shirt.

“You’re so…” You trail off. One button off, then another. “Beautiful”

Beautiful. That word was stuck with him all throughout his miserable years as a slave. He can hear his investors whisper among themselves, ‘Handsome’, ‘Beautiful’, and ‘Lucky’. There is nothing pretty about his blood stained hands. There's nothing beautiful of his wretched heart that only weeps for mercy. There’s nothing lucky about him because his life was only a gamble that he was bound to lose.

”Stop, stop–“ he begs, but he can never truly push you away, “I love you so much.”

The final button was unbuttoned as you helped him off his blouse, kissing his skin softly while making sure no part of him was left untouched.

His mind keeps racing whenever your voice echoes in his head, ‘Beautiful’, Beautiful? Kakavasha has never known beauty. Not when his childhood was marred by cruelty and violence, his early adulthood plagued by loneliness and regret.

“Can I?” A stifled moan escapes Aventurine when you hold him in your arms. “Should we have a safeword?”

Generally, it would be him asking, it would be him taking the lead. It feels wrong but oh god does it feel so right.

“Yes,” he whispers thickly, hips bucking into your hand, “Yes.”

He could only think of you, only you. His words are interrupted by a groan, a low, heavy sound in his throat. It hurts, but this– this feels right. Too gentle, so kind.

Too kind for him, probably.

“Sand.” He confirms.

The night continues, the scent of sex lingers for hours and he feels sick.

He wants to forget but he can’t. Not when you ride him for hours. Not when you put his comfort above yours. Not when he felt alive just by being in your presence.

Your voice still echoes in his head, “How’re you feeling? A-are you close?”

He could still feel your lips pressing onto his skin as he traced against the kiss marks.

”Y-yes, it’s– yes, Fuck–“ Kakavasha’s ears rings loudly whenever he hears himself, his voice cracks as he felt himself close to cumming inside you, every inch of him shaking and trembling like a shaken bottle of Soulglad, his mind filled with thoughs of you, with your taste, your scent and everything about you. You’re all he wants. You’re the only thing he’d ever want in this shitty life of his, just you, just you.

”Green light.” He begs Goddess Gaithra Triclops to save him, to relieve him of this pain.

His unsung prayers to his goddess were gone as only your name escapes his throat when he remembers the way you gently squeezed his hips as he moaned out.

“God– Kakavasha…”

Your tears pitter-patter against his chest as he shut his eyes close, “Let go of yourself for me, Kakavasha.”

And when he does let go, he wakes up to the scent of your perfume.

His bedside table with your ring waving at him. The promise ring he went through heaven and hell to get for you.

You were gone. You kept your promise to take his secret to the grave but you were still gone.

His head was in his hands as sobs wrecked his throat. God no, he's still fucking Aventurine, he stares into the mirror and he can't see Kakavasha.

He calls out your name like a prayer, this time, you do not respond.

Note: ain't proofread so pls do not attack me 😞😞😞 I'm gonna try to write more fics but m just so stress rn 😭😭

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡ 

[brummiereader]

Binding Love (Part Five/ Dark!Tommy)

Summary: After your attempts to stop your child's innocent curiosity from revealing the secrets your husband had kept buried at the bottom of your garden. Tommy learns of your frightful discovery and his sins he wished to keep unearthed. Will you be able to escape in time before your husband's threatening shift of character returns?

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, language, violence, psychological mind games, controlling behaviour, toxic relationship, manipulative behaviour, psychological abuse, mutual pining, angst, murder.

Word Count: 4K

Authors Note: The song "Little Tommy Tucker" is an old English nursery rhyme from the 1700's. A song Tommy Shelby would have known.

[Masterlist] [Previous Part] [Trailer]

"102, you have a fever. No school today" you placed the glass thermometer on your daughter's bedside table before tucking her securely under her frilly duvet.

" I'm not sick" Elsie pouted, wriggling her arms out of the cocoon of covers.

" It's lying, Mummy!" she huffed, flipping herself away from you as she kicked off the last of her covers with her little legs.

" What's going on here, eh?" Tommy opened the door, looping his tie through its knot as you sprang up from the edge of your daughter's side, grabbing the piping hot glass of water off her cabinet.

" She's sick" you quickly replied, darting to the window as you guzzled down the tumblers' scorching contents. Proof of your calculated plan of action, a plan that deemed it imperative your daughter stay home for the day.

" She doesn't feel hot, love" Tommy rested the back of his hand on her head as he glanced down at the contradicting dial of the thermometer whilst your trembling hands clasped around your burning throat.

" So I can go to school?" your daughter's hazel eyes beamed up at her father, eager to keep her high score and winning position in the competitive game of hop scotch that had taken over play time every day going on near a week.

" No Elsie!" you snapped with a strained voice, resting the weight of your body on the windowsill with shaky hands as your eyes, rimmed red with countless hours of little sleep, honed in on the daily reminder of the crime scene hidden beyond the trees a short distance from your childs bedroom.

" Listen to your mother, eh?" Tommy's eyes darted to you with concern, brows creasing at your usually contained patience for your daughter's head strong determination.

" Tell me then, what have I done?" you felt your husband's hands slip around your waist with a chuckle, cheek pressing against yours as you squeezed your eyes shut. Shutting out the intrusive thoughts of his murderous hobbies and the hands that committed them wrapped around your body.

How long could you keep this up before he learnt of your discovery? you thought to yourself as you turned around to face the pair of loving blues gazing at you, the calloused pads of his hands laced in sin, soothingly stroking circles into the curves of your hips.

" Nothing" you shook your dipping head from the knitted brow, from the searching eyes unconvinced of your response staring back at you.

" I'm probably coming down with something too, is all" your eyes darted up to the fading smile of your husband, his soft touch coming to a sudden stop. Sudden enough that his silent observations had a ball of nerves fall to your already uneasy stomach, sick of the gruesome secrets your husband had been keeping buried.

Trembling hands gliding up his arms, you quickly turned your welling eyes from him as you settled your head on his chest. If not to only settle the turning wheels behind his crystal aubes from seeking the truth of your jittery composure, but to give yourself a brief moment to gather your wrecked nerves before you finally cracked under the weight of his searing stare.

Arms wrapping around you, Tommy breathed heavily into the locks of your hair, pressing a longing kiss to the top of your crown as his heavy hands stroked along your back. Fooled for a brief moment by your affectionate display you had begun to perfect.

" You're going to be late" you pulled away with a forced smile of any loving wife, tending to him as you smoothed the creases of his shirt your shaky body had crumpled before returning to your child, away from his luring affections that would have you stop you from doing the unthinkable. Fleeing.

As the sound of your husband's heavy footsteps, and roar of his Bentley's engine announced his leave, you raced from your hovering position in the landing hallway to his office and the only phone in your grand home.

" 56 Whitby Lane, Birmingham. Mrs Langing" your breathy voice echoed down the line as your eyes darted away from the blissful image of you and Tommy on your wedding day, sat within the four corners of a wooden frame on top of his desk.

" Putting you through" the operator replied as the faint sound of her plugging your line into the switchboard could be heard through each shaky breath that left your throat.

" How are you Dorothy? Been keeping well after your fall down Earlsberry Road?" you said what had been instructed to you countless times as your eyes darted to the clock on the wall, counting each tick of the hand until two minutes had passed.

As idle chat about the weather and village gossip continued, your heart began to rapidly race within your chest as you feared you would run out of meaningless conversation before the listening ear of the operator finally hung up.

" Yes, they say it might warm up by the weekend" you hoped the dreary discussion of weather would have her opt out of the call earlier than anticipated when your voice came to a stuttering stop, fingers seconds from ending the conversation as the love shared between you and Tommy in the black and white picture caught your drifting eyes once again.

You could just forget about it. Ignore it. Pretend like you hadn't seen anything, you selfishly thought to yourself, desperately trying to push the faces of the men that found themselves in the crossfire of your and Tommy's crumbling marriage from your thoughts as you felt your heart being pulled back to the loving side of your husband he still baited you with.

" Y/N?" you heard your name through the crackling line.

" Are you there? She's gone." the stranger whose voice you only knew, a stranger who held your life in their hands, your desperation you trusted they would relay to the officer who had first sought you out as you wiped the blurry image of you and Tommy from your tears and followed through with your decision.

" I'll give him any information he needs. Please, just get me and my child to safety before it's too late"

" Moles, big ones" your feet came to a stop upon hearing the muffled voice of your child from outside the kitchen door as you leant your tired body on it's frame, having spent the remainder of the morning aimlessly pacing the halls of your home until the impending hour of your departure striked.

" D'you want me to shoot 'em down for you El? Pop 'em off one by one?" you heard a low hearty chuckle respond as you threw open the door in fear your daughters' innocent curiosities would land you in a six-foot deep grave next to said, mole hills.

"Johnny" your hand flew to your chest as you saw Tommy's close confidant and friend to the family ruffling your daughter's hair as he sat beside her at the kitchen table with a cigar perched between his teeth.

" Elsie here says you've got moles" he questioned, grinning back at your daughter whose kicking legs and dimpled smile was pleased someone was enthusiastic as her about Arrow Houses new neighbours after your continued endeavour to have her forget about her gruesome discovery.

" Elsie, that's enough. Stop telling Johnny porkies" you scolded her as you busied yourself with the piling dishes in the sink, feeling the guilt of your lies heating your cheeks as your daughter began to profusely insist on their existence.

" Your imagination will get you into mischief one day" you felt your heart sink at each reprimanding word that left your mouth as you wiped your thumbling hands on the tea towel, turning to see the wobbling bottom lip of your daughter.

" But we do" she sniffed, eyes pooling with tears as she looked up at your creased brow and your unfair scolding of her.

"Three of them. In...in a line, like this" she hiccuped the last of her tears back with each word as she showed Dogs the arrangement of muddy hills with the miss match of cutlery she had set out for the tea party he found himself attending as she scowled at you.

" Three! Bleeding Christ, we have an army of moles on our hands, Y/N!" Where are the little buggers?" he played along to her tale as your daughter's saddened face began to turn into a giggling grin.

" Elsie..." your fingers nervously began to clutch around the floral towel in your hands, jittery feet walking you towards the edge of the wooden table as you slowly shook your head at your daughter, silently pleading with her to not reveal their location.

" Three moles, eh?" Tommy's voice suddenly announced his presence with a cloud of smoke billowing into the room, suited body leaning against the frame of the door as his eyes roamed over your rapidly seeping nerves.

How long had he been standing there, watching you? How much had he heard? your mind began to throw questions at you as you locked eyes, his glaring stare reading the cascade of unspoken fears whirling through your head.

"You're home" you pulled a smile through the panic you felt as you pathetically tried to turn the tide of conversation, failing to fool your husband with the happy curiosity you was desperately trying to convey.

" Elsie, tell Daddy where these...moles are, so Johnny and his boys can get rid of them" he ignored your remarks as his piercing glare, fixed on you and the truth you had tried to conceal stayed unmoved.

" Down by the woods" your daughter happily responded as she trotted her pony over her makeshift mountains of mud made of porcelaine as Johnny leant back in his chair with heavy sigh.

" Down by the woods" his echoing response came with a tone of parental disappointment for you and your stumbling feet that made the unfortunate mistake of discovering his minor...transgressions.

" Well" he blew the last of his cigarette to the beamed ceilings as he stalked forward to your cowering side.

"We can't have these moles turning up half my land can we, love?" his hand snaked across your back, giving the spongy flesh of your hip a sharp squeeze to play along to the charade you had started as your daughter enthusaitlly nodded her head.

"Johnny" he nodded to his loyal friend who sprung up with a slap to his knees before drinking the last of his tea from the dainty porcelaine play set as Tommy's head snapped to you.

" I came home to check on you. Good thing i did, else we would have had an infestation on our hands" he brushed the whispy hairs from your face as your eyes brimming with tears and mumbling voice betrayed the fear you felt for the man that had taken over your husband.

"You ok, love? Nothing to tell me?" he continued to toy with you and the ruleless game you found yourself playing along to.

" No" you shook your head, embodying your part as the dumb wife, oblivious to her husband's secrets until he left, until you found the right moment to escape.

"Huh" a heavy scoff fanned across your lips as he stepped back to your daughter contently playing with her cherished toys. Maybe you finally understood, finally saw that he was just trying to keep you safe.

"Elsie, Daddy has to go back to work. But I'll be back in time to read you your bedtime story. Me and mummy both will, won't we?" his eyes darted across the room to you slowly slipping out the door with a nodding head of agreement.

" No goodbye kiss for your old man" he stoped you between the woody frame of the kitchen door with a lunging step and reaching hand as your darting eyes had no choice but to acknowledge his dipping head trying to catch your line of sight.

"Goodbye....darling" you pressed a chase peck to his cheek, pulling away to see the protruding bone of his jaw bulging from his cheek.

" Got somewhere to be that's so urgent, you can't kiss your husband properly, hm?" he cocked a brow lifting your slouching chin with his thumb to meet his eyes.

" No..." you mumbled when you suddenly felt yourself being abruptly pulled out of the kitchen to its adjoining wall, your body pushed up against the painted brick as Tommy's veiny hands, straining with fury cupped your cheeks, forcing a passionate kiss from you.

" Be good" he pulled back with a smirk from your abused lips, swollen from his enthusiastic show of dominance as he left you with a heaving chest, trembling hands searching for the wall behind you to steady your shaking body.

" Don't let her step a fucking foot out of this house, understood" Tommys hushed commands were given to his man stood at the entrance of your home as he straightened his tie with a crank of his neck, eyes snapping back to you before he left to the sound of the heavy doors slamming you shut inside.

" Can we go play now?" your daughter's mousey voice startled you from the fear your husband had left you with as she tugged at your dress.

" Yes...let's play" you grabbed her hand, turning to the winding stairs of your home with hurried steps and the task in hand. One you'd have to convince your daughter to play along to if you was ever going to flee from the fortress you once called your home.

" Let's play...road trip"

Racing from draw to draw, you stuffed your shared suitcase with the last of your daughter's clothes to start the new life far from the fogged city of Birmingham as your twiddling-haired child sat on the floor watching her frantic mother.

" This game's boring" she huffed, tucking her hand under her chin as she rested her elbow on her knobbly knee.

" Come on Elsie, don't be a spoil-sport" your eyes darted out the window to Tommy's man swigging the last of the bottle of ale you had one of your maids offer him in hopes he'd find an urgent need to relieve himself and leave his post so you could quietly escape without being noticed.

" Elsie...Elsie darling, pass me your hairbrush" you ushered her to help you pack as you peered behind the curtains with a triumphant smile at the peaked man's fidgety legs pacing back and forth as your daughter groaned behind you, rising from her comfy position on the hand stitched rug.

" Little Tommy Tucker, sings for his supper. What shall we give him? White bread and butter" your daughter began to sing as she hop scotched her way over to her dresser, her pony galloping in tow in the air.

Come on, come on, your brain screamed for him to race to the closest loo, bush, brick wall, whatever it be to release the liters worth of beer he'd consumed as your daughters nursery rhyme began to push through your preoccupied thoughts.

"How shall he cut it, without a knife?" she merrily sang in tune, brushing the mane of her pony with the silver-plated hairbrush as she padded towards your widening eyes, too enthralled in her horse's luscious locks to notice the horror growing on your face.

" Elsie, where did you learn that song?" you stepped away from the window, ushering her to you with your hand stretched out in urgency.

" How will he be married, without a...wife?" she stopped at your feet, finishing the last notes of the innocent rhyme that had suddenly taken on a far darker meaning as she handed you the brush. " Here mummy"

" Elsie, who taught you that song?" you reiterated as you bent down to her little frame and swaying legs, almond eyes looking up at you through her lashes. "Elsie?"

" Daddy did" your heart sank to the pit of your stomach at the harrowing lengths your husband had gone to keep you in check.

" We're leaving. Now" your panicked thoughts of what Tommy would do when he returned had you grabbing your daughter's hand and the suitcase at your feet as you rushed from her bedroom.

" But I thought it was just a game?" her breath and little legs tried to catch up to your racing feet as you fled down the stairs.

" No Elsie, we're going away. Just you and me. On holiday" partial truths to your plan had your daughters scrunched brow of confusion looking up at you as you came to a halting stop at the bottom of the stairs, apprehensively eyeing up the towering doors and your escape.

" Daddy!" your daughter pulled you to the picture of the three of you sat atop of your foyers wooden table with tugs to your hand.

Grabbing the ornate silver frame of happy memories, you pulled her with quickened steps to the imposing doors, silently preying to every heaven, every deity, that Tommy's guard had finally succumbed to his ballooning bladder as you pushed the doors open.

" Ay, ay, ay!" he shouted in midstream, head snapping to the sound of your gravelly footsteps across the gritted drive as his thumbling fingers adjusted himself back into his trousers.

" Mrs Shelby, no one's to leave. Tommy's orders!" he raced after you, watching you pull your six-year-old up into your arms as you threw open the car door, causing Elsie's horse to fly from her hands in the chaos.

"Mummy! Mummy my pony!" she screamed as you slammed the door shut, locking you inside from the thrashing hands of Tommy's henchmen pummeling against the glass window.

" Stop, Elsie!" you snapped in a panic, as you turned the ignition, foot pressed to the peddle until the rumbling wheels of your husband's car screeched down the driveway.

" Please, please, please!" your eyes darted from your childs sobs to the end of the path and the road block you hoped was in place for your frantic escape.

"Daddy! I want Daddy!" your six-year-old screamed beside you, desperately trying to open the car door as you swerved around the corner past the towering iron gates to the Shepard waiting with his flock. His trusted four legged helper, patiently keeping control over the unruly heard until he was given his whistling orders.

" Yes, yes!" a laugh of disbelief had your eyes darting from the country road ahead of you to the rear-view mirror and the car of Tommy's henchman being blocked off by the wooly heard crossing the road.

"Yes..." your excited achievement quickly sizzled out, your sweaty hands clutching the steering wheel as you looked down at your daughter curled up in her chair sobbing with Arrow House fading over the bushy hedgerow behind her.

And then it came, as the rush of the moment began to settle, as the adrenaline pumping through your veins faded and your decision began to sink in.

Divorce was one thing. But leaving, taking his daughter from him, an entirely different move you suddenly felt the reality of as a gasping sob left your throat and the dam of heartbreak streamed your cheeks.

" Elsie..." you quietly wept, hand reaching for her as the bricked chimneys of your home disappeared over the hilly fields of green, the binding ties of your marriage breaking.

" I want daddy" she sniffed, turning from you and the pit of sadness you were dwelling in, for the fleeting decades worth of memories and the man that would expect you to be there on his return, passing you by.

Too late to turn back, to forgive and forget the emerging darkness from within the only man you had ever known. Your future had now been tossed into the hands of the inspector that promised you refuge.

For fate would deal you a far deadlier hand, than that of Tommy Tucker's wife from the innocent nursery rhyme of your child if you dared to return and face the impending retribution of your husband's punishments.

Wheels coming to a screeching stop, Tommy threw open his car door, eyes widening with fury at the man that had let you escape as he pulled his gun from within its leather halter.

" Boss, I..." the mumbling soldier's last words were cut off with a bullet between his eyes as Tommy coldly took him out.

"Fuck sake" Arthur mumbled, stood at the doors of Arrow House with his weapon in hand, ready to threaten his brother into control by any means as he watched the trickling crimson river approach his laced boots.

" Where are they? Y/N! Elsie!" Tommy pushed past his shoulder into the grand foyer of his stately home with a roar. Unwilling, unable, to believe the urgent phone call that had him slamming the brassy receiver down onto its bronze stand as he bolted for his car.

" Tommy, they're not here. We've checked the whole place. Tom!" Arthur rested his hands on his hips with a strained sigh as he watched his brother take two lunging steps at a time up the imposing staircase until he disappeared around the corner.

" Y/N!" he shouted your name, throwing each door open with determination to find proof that you hadn't done the unthinkable, that you hadn't left him and taken his daughter with you.

" No..." reality finally hit him as he opened the last door to Elsie's bedroom, to the scene of clothes strung across the room, evidence of your frantic escape.

With widened eyes brimming with disbelief, with reddening fury on the tethering edge of implosion. The blood drained from Tommy's legs as his feet gave way to the overwhelming surge of defeat that had plummeted to his stomach he was desperately battling to keep down.

You had done it. You had left him.

"Fuck!!" Tommy's bellowing voice boomed from wall to wall as a cascade of furniture being thrashed about the disheveled room echoed through the floorboards to a flinching Arthur stood in the foyer, teeth baring at every crash of destruction.

" Now, Tom..." Arthur put his hands up, blocking the entrance as Tommy came thundering down the stairs having trashed every breakable object in a tirade of uncontrollable rage.

" Get out of my way, Arthur" your husband grabbed the gun from his hands, cranking back the barrel as he unloaded bullet after bullet into anything and anyone unfortunate enough to be within firing shot outside his home. The clanging of each cylinder hitting the ground, releasing his fury shot after shot until he came down from the tormenting inability to take the pain he felt out on you.

As the last bullet was spent, Tommy's hunching shoulders pushed him to the ground in defeat as he pulled a cigarette from his waistcoat, eyes narrowing through his field of destruction until they landed on Elsie's wooden pony caught in the crossfire with a bullet through it's stomach.

Through a cloud of billowing smoke, Tommy inspected the damage to his daughter's most treasured toy when his head suddenly drew up to the sound of approaching sirens blaring over the hedgerow, cars racing along the country roads down to his home.

" Tom! Get up!" Arthur pulled him from the depths of his despair, dragging him back into the foyer of Arrow House as a swarm of police officers, guns drawn, slowly approached.

" Hands up!" the crowd of shouting men commanded as Tommy drew one last drag from his cigarette before tossing it at their feet with squinting eyes.

"Thomas Michael Shelby. I'm arresting you on suspicion of murder" the officer edged forward to the amused smirk of disbelief plastered on your husband's face for what he imagined was a minor misunderstanding, he would be able to charm himself or his money out of within minutes.

" Think you've got the wrong man" Tommy scoffed as he willingly put his hands out when the inspector that had been hounding you strolled forward with his own smirk of satisfaction.

"Really? Pretty sure your sweet wife would say otherwise" he placed his hands in his pockets with a triumphant grin as Tommy's eyes widened, face reddening with a resurfacing surge of anger.

" You could ask her, but she and your daughter are far away from you and the madness that goes on in that pretty little head of yours" he tapped the side of Tommy's skull as your husband lunged forward from the clutches of the officers tightening his chains.

" She told us everything" he whispered into your husbands' ear with a wining chuckle.

"You're going down, boy" he stepped back, enjoying the sight of your husband furiously fighting against his constraints with a clenching jaw as the feral gnashing of Arthur's teeth and the half dozen officers trying to control him battled next to him.

" Lock him up, gents!" the inspector ordered as Tommy was lead away when his forced steps to the waiting car came to a halting stop as his eyes darted to the table of framed photos, scanning across the missing picture until they settled on your lone portrait and his emerging smirk curling the corners of his lips in its reflection as he spoke his threats to your sweet smile staring back at him.

"Well played, darling. But I will find you"

Next Part coming soon!

Tag list: @peakyswritings @justrainandcoffee @garrison-girl-08 @meadows5 @lavender-haze-01

@strangeobsessed @ttae-yong @lemonwithstupidity @lindsay00000 @mischievouslittlecreature

@jbrownta @lau219 @whereismymindnow @honeymoon8 @bruhidkjustwannaread

@strrvnge @paintedinpinks @edgyficuselastica @strangeions @youngbananamilkshake

[formulapookie]

19 "Can I hold your hand?" and rosquez please if you'd like < 3

It's cold, really cold right now, the storm has made a mess outside, the communications are cut off and they're stuck in a stupid house in the mountains far from every kind of human connection.

Vale has been trying to make the phone work for one hour now without any kind of success.

Pecco, Franky and Diggia are in another house, a bit far from this one.

Vale would like to know what the fuck went through Ducati's head to make them all go there for the PR shit.

Him. And Marquez. In the mountains.

He hasn't spoke to the spaniard yet, he thought Pecco was the one in the house currently, and he needed to ask a question, but when Marc had come downstairs the storm had begun and none of them could be freed from the other's presence.

Marc is shivering he notices, despite wearing a comfortable hoodie he's clearly cold, and for another stupid reason they don't have been given blankets to stay there.

He debates whether to do this or not, maybe he could let Marc freeze and it would be over like this.

He ultimately decides not to commit homicide and removes his own hoodie, passing it to Marc.

"No no I'm ok I'm not cold"

"You're shivering"

"I - it's not the cold"

"Then what is it? Enlighten me"

"Why you have to be an asshole?"

"You're giving stupid answers"

"I. I'm scared of the storm. I fear we'll be blocked here forever if it doesn't stop. I don't like to feel trapped"

It strikes Vale now.

How despite having grown Marc is still somehow a kid. Scared of a storm. Scared of being caged.

"You're scared of the storm"

"Don't joke about it Vale"

"I'm not joking it's just. Doesn't seem like you"

"Yeah and what would you know about what seems like me? WE haven't spoken in God knows how long"

"Well I do remember you liked how I made coffee because it was tastier than the one you had home"

Marc stops his pacing around, and looks deeply into Vale's eyes. Almost grazing his soul.

"I remember you're scared of wasps and for some reason not of bees"

"They're different and wasps are cruel, bees are not"

"Mh if you think so"

While the temperature between them seems to be warming the one in the house is rapidly dropping, and Vale tries to light up the chimney.

"Billion dollar man knows how to light up a chimney? I'm impressed"

"Allora, I'm not an idiot Marc eh, I know how to do things"

And Marc agrees. He also would agree to the fact Vale looks hot while doing them.

The heat provided from the wood burning is not much, but it's something, and Marc goes to sit directly in front of it, behind an imaginary line Vale traced not to make him burn.

He's in the kitchen meanwhile, making something, and the storm is not hinting to an end, it rather seems to be increasing in force and dimension.

And it's scary.

Marc feels more and more like he's going to die in there, but can't tell Vale.

He already told him he's scared, he can't tell him he fears he'll die trapped in here now.

He smells coffee, and before he realizes there's a cup in front of him.

"no sugar right? You are on a diet I suppose"

"Yeah no sugar. I mean we're all on a diet"

"Have you seen one of my riders following it after podiums?"

"No"

"There you go. You instead I never see you take something from the buffet"

"You look at me?"

"You and Pecco share a team. I see you doing stuff, I don't look"

At a particularly harsh blow of wind and snow against the window Marc winches, and his hertbeat can be heard in the whole house.

He feels so stupid right now, weak even, he's scared of the storm like a child.

He feels Vale scooting closer to him, and turns around in surprise but Vale is quicker.

"Can I hold your hand? So you are less scared"

And it's extremely stupid on both their parts, it seems like they're stupid teenagers who don't know how to talk to one another.

"Yeah"

They stay silent in fact, Vale just draws small circles on Marc's hand, slowly helping him relax, and eventually drift to sleep.

Vale doesn't know quite well what to do.

He's just offered to hold his hand and now Marc has fallen asleep with their hands tangled together. He looks cute tho.

No.

No no no let's not. Let's not dive into that right now.

But he truly looks ethereal.

His lines, the one that come up when he's awake and in pain and PR acting all day disappear.

He looks younger than he is, way younger than the 32 year old man he should see at his side.

He doesn't remove his hand from the hold. He could, but he doesn't.

He'll do it in the morning. Yeah. He'll wake up first and he will break the hold and never speak of this to anyone.

How he held Marc's hand during a storm because he was scared.

The morning after he does not wake first.

The other boys manage to make their way to the hut where the two of them were staying, and had basically broken in, since none of the two answered.

"I'm telling you guys, they killed each other"

"They're just sleeping pecco don't worry"

"You don't know anything Diggia they could have seriously killed each other"

"Or" there came Franky, who honestly was just fed up with the shenanigans between the two men. "They fucked"

"Ah shut up Franky"

They walk around the hut for a bit until they end up near the chimney, breath held by all three of them.

Marc is hugging Vale like a koala, none of them awake yet, the wood now turned to ash but still it's warm around the two.

Vale has got an arm around Marc's body, keeping him tight against him, and their hands are close.

Still in a hold, presumably from the day before Pecco supposes, as the three of them make their way back out to their own hut.

"Well that was close to my bet I'd say"

"I'm never gonna forget boss with Marquez now"

"Oh trust me Diggia you have seen nothing"

Vale wakes when Pecco shuts the door a bit too harshly, realising the position they both are in.

He should stop holding Marc's hand now right?

Right.

He'll do it later. When Marc is awake.

Maybe.

[alexanderwales]

Notes on 3000 miles

Last year my doctor told me that I had high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and a high resting heartrate. So I started biking on an exercise bike, and by my best estimations, I'm either close to hitting 3000 miles or have already gone past that.

I should clarify that this wasn't all at once. I took many breaks.

So here are some notes.

When I started, I was on an exercise bike that my wife had gotten from her work. It wasn't the best, but it was free, and I made a deal with myself that if I biked every day for a month, then I could justify getting something better. I really really did not want to buy a piece of exercise equipment that would just sit in the house gathering dust, because that would feel awful ... but I do kind of wish that I had gotten the better bike sooner, because it removed some of the "friction" of exercise, where it felt like there were too many reasons not to get on the bike. The new exercise bike (a refurbished Peleton off Facebook marketplace that my wife got me for Christmas) really does just feel and move better. I think the general principle of not doing costly monetary commitments until you've shown costly personal commitment is a good one, however.

Blood pressure is in normal range. Cholesterol is in normal range. Resting heartrate is in normal range. This was all the case three months in, and this level of cardio is more than enough to maintain it.

Right now, I bike for thirty minutes a day, going 8-10 miles according to the bike. That range is enormous, because it represents vastly different amounts of work. Going 10 miles in 30 minutes is 20 miles an hour, and I keep the resistance relatively high, so by the end of it I'm always panting. By contrast, going 8 miles makes me feel like I didn't put in enough work.

My goal every day is sweat-based and completely qualitative. I want to soak through a shirt. This means that doing more laundry than I'd prefer to, which is an unanticipated consequence of the biking. It's also, compared to all the metrics the bike gives me, a very clear sign that I am actually exercising my body "properly" in a way that's achieving something.

I did some of the Peleton classes, and found a lot of the metrics to be motivating, but ... eh. Exercise is mostly about being healthy and maintaining my body, so my current strategy, for the last six months, has been to either shut the brain down or keep it fully engaged in something that passes the exercise time. Usually this means a TV show, especially a foreign one with subtitles, which need slightly more brainpower.

The final two minutes is always the worst. I'm just ready to be done with it. Sometimes there's gas left in the tank, but I still feel sweaty, thirsty, and overheated. I have a water bottle, and I drink from it while I bike, and I have a fan pointed at me that I turn on once I'm warmed up, but I always have a sense, in those last two minutes, of "finally I'm done". I tried the thinking man's solution, only biking for 28 minutes, and this did not help. In my entire year of biking a half hour a day, I didn't ever elect to go into overtime.

I initially lost ten pounds, then slowly gained it back. I am, in fact, overweight, but I'm holding more or less steady now, and there have definitely been some body composition changes, with muscle replacing fat. I went down about four inches at the waist. I've changed very little about how I eat (which is 90% meals that I cook myself, and a daily coffee drink of some kind, usually made myself with sugar/cream/chocolate). Biking amounts to 300-400 calories a day or something like that, so I'm presumably eating more to compensate and just not realizing it.

Mental health has been rocky, but that's just sort of how it is for me. I definitely feel less mentally well on days that I don't bike, and feel better afterward, but I have no idea how tight the correlation is, and if I had been keeping track on a mood tracker, I'm not sure I would be able to sus out from self-reported mood alone whether or not I was biking.

During the summer I replaced a lot of indoor exercise bike stuff with outdoor biking. My son has only recently learned to bike, so he's been with me many of these times. Usually that means that we're either biking a lot less distance, or we're biking for a lot longer time at much lower intensity, sometimes both. There's a bike path that's downhill from our house which goes for maybe six miles, with some good, clear turn back points, but that means a fairly arduous uphill to get back home. If I lived in a place where the weather wasn't frigid for almost half the year, I would probably be doing outdoor biking more.

I think the most important thing, if you're doing exercise every day, is making sure that you're doing it in such a way that it's sustainable and virtually incapable of injuring you. This mostly means proper form. Early on, I had a habit of pressing down the right pedal with the outside edge of my foot, and after fifteen minutes of doing that, the muscles in the foot would be aching and uncomfortable. I'm not sure why I was doing that, but it was difficult to get myself to bike in a way that wouldn't be putting strain on me.

I think it's okay to skip a day ... if it's for the right reason. Of the days that I've skipped, I always try to make sure the reason isn't "fuck it, I don't want to". I should either be feeling sick, feeling like I need to rest, or replacing biking with some other form of exercise like a hike in the woods or some weightlifting or something. If I start skipping days because I just don't feel like it, that's where the whole scheme falls apart.

I am currently sort of wondering how long this is going to go on for, and I think the answer is "for the rest of my life", or at least until I'm unable to keep it up for whatever reason. I don't think there's any particular reason to prefer an exercise bike (or regular bike) over running or rowing or some other form of cardio, but I think I have proven to myself that this is cardio I can do daily and stick with it to the level that is probably necessary for me to stay healthy. I'm not committed to doing it for the rest of my life, since in theory some other form of cardio might come along and sweep me off my feet.

I do wish that I had started earlier in my life, even if daily exercise has not been the panacea for mental health that I had been kind of hoping it would be. I hope that I have the willpower and wisdom to keep up with it indefinitely.

[bardic-inspo]

Been thinking about this line you can get if you break things off with Astarion post Act 2 confession, but before dealing with Cazador:

"I - I can hardly blame you. I don't exactly have much to offer right now, beyond new burdens to carry."

And:

"From the start, I was rather counting the hours until it was going to end. Midnight chimes, eh?"

And how much it breaks my heart that, at this point, even if he's with Tav/Durge, even though they're "something real" and figuring out what that means/looks like, Astarion still holds this belief, in his core, that he needs to be offering something. He himself is not enough, he needs to be putting something on the table to get them to stay. It's still a transaction and he feels he hasn't paid what he needs to to keep them.

It can't be sex, and because it can't be, there's this insecurity of what else he could possibly give them. And I think that escalates in Act 3 as Cazador looms closer, and we get this dialogue when his siblings attack:

I'm doing this for you, too, you know. To make sure we're both safe. Forever, for good.

The delivery on these lines...and just, the insight we get into how committed Astarion is to the relationship even early on when playing as durge/how intensely "in it" he is (and I think it's the same with Tav, we just don't get the same opportunity to see it lke we do with Durge), to me, he's already 100% made up his mind to try and "keep" Tav/Durge however he can. Forever, even. Maybe he's even contemplated the idea of turning them. This is the only loving relationship he's ever had, and he's dead set on not losing it. (He frames that as safety for them both, but the relationship makes him feel safe, and I think his reasoning is weighed more towards his own safety when contemplating the ascension.)

And in his mind, the ascension gives him everything. He suddenly has everything to offer. So, I think that contributes heavily, if the player then breaks up with Ascended Astarion, to the big angry blowout that happens. In that version of events, he never thought he was enough just as he was. He never decoupled the relationship continuing/existing from being able to provide "payment" of a sort.

And when Tav/Durge rejects the "immortal gift" he offers? It violates his core beliefs about relationships. It goes against what is supposed to happen/makes sense to him: he's offering power, eternal youth, etc. The only answer that makes sense is 'yes'. And by saying 'no' now, when he feels he has everything to give, when he couldn't ever possibly have more to give in that transactional sense, tells this version of him that rejection/the relationship's end was always inevitable.

So he lashes out, because how dare they make him care at all, ever, how dare they make him go through all of this effort to 'pay' for the love he feels owed/deprived of only to say 'no'? When he's hurling insults, he goes to "ingrate" pretty quickly, I think, from that sense of indignation from having that 'payment' rejected.

(disclaimer disclaimer, it's cool to enjoy both/either route, this is just one perspective, I'm probably missing or overlooking some things, yada yada, etc. etc.)

[oogaboogaspookyman]

@sm-baby

I COULD BE HAPPY WITH SOMEONE NEW BUT MY HEART ACHES

[JUST FOR YOU]

It's been a while, hasn't it?

The office door creaks open

"Heya Pom! Brought back the paper i asked you yesterday?" Jax sounded so cheery. So happy while you just sat there on the chair like a drunkard... Well he's not a romance guy, of course he would be happy on his own. Damn rabbit.

"Not a word? What, still miss Sir Dentures?" He chuckles. He doesn't stop chuckling. What a clown... Thinks the jester. Ironic.

"Hm..."

His smile fades into a sincere frown.

Sigh

"Look here, Pom... It was necessary. He's free, paid for restoring us, we're all good now. No more murder and i got my nice charming scarf back and my favorite brushes, i'm the cool art teacher again!"

"So turn the dumb frown upside down aaaand please give me the paper i asked you? Please and thank you?"

"You're not a romance guy, of course you're fine. [___]hole..."

...

Oh...

"Oh for the love of- the censor is still here?! God darn it, i wanna say the f word for once! I loved doing that!"

You grip onto the table until it began to crack at the memory of him. Him, him, him. That stupid fucking human.

"Pom you may wanna lay off the grip there, i paid a lot for tha-"

A chunk is crushed. Like paper.

...

"Ah..."

Pomni lets go, revealing the chokehold put on the table left a permanent mark.

"Did ya dissociate again? I spoke well 'n clear, i paid a lot for that one!"

"Suck me, rabbit, you can get your s[__]t yourself" Pomni gets up and storms off from the office with no more words.

"Eh... Christ she's not okay..." Jax sighs

"Wonder if things coulda been better?"

Nobody helps at all.

Gangle offered to distract her, have a play, but Pomni wasn't in the mood.

Zooble offered a smoke but she didn't wanna try that kind of stuff.

Bubble is too much of an agent of chaos to give a shit, offered to commit "one (1) arson".

Kinger is just too far gone in his dementia, lucid when it was fucking funny and nothing more...

Nobody helps.

He knew how to help...

Only he knew...

Him...

The door to Ragatha's room creaks open

"Oh hey Pomni! How's your day go... Oh..." Ragatha notices Pomni is not any form of happy, if anything she looks like she's empty inside and wants to die...

"Oh you're not alright... Would you like to talk over tea..?"

"Mm... Will you let me vent properly?" Pomni groaned, still doubting that she won't pull out the whole everything is fine bullshit

"Oh- u-uhm- yes of- of course! Of course, i- i apologize for my past behavior, i really wasn't in my... B- best moments, at the time..." Ragatha stuttered. Don't stutter, you pretentious... ... Anyhow.

"Okay... Do you remember... Caine?" Ragatha already caught wind of the situation...

"The human with the dentures head? Yes, i remember him just fine, he restored us..."

"Yeah..."

"He was a good man, although didn't have the best manners he was alright nonetheless, knew how to make some laugh..." Ragatha and Pomni chuckled at the memory of Caine's wacky way with words. Jumping jellybeans? Seriously? That's a man right there!

A good dude...

"..." Pomni's pupils turned into black scribbles at the thought of him. The chuckling had faded as soon as it started, replaced by...

"I loved that human, if i'm being honest... He knew how to cheer me up, how to make the situation seem less bigger than it actually is... He knew how to kiss, god did he know..." Ragatha let out an "oh my" after hearing Caine kissed her, what else did they do..?!

"He... He was... He's amazing. Just that, amazing..." Pomni sighed, sipping on the tea she's given... "I loved him..." She began to sniff, putting down her cup.

"Oh dearie, come here-" Ragatha put down her cup and welcomed Pomni with open arms, knowing full well she needed to let it out of her system.

And that she did. Pomni got up and hugged Ragatha as tight as she could, and began to sob her lonely heart away, "He loved you too, Pomni, that cannot be denied..." Ragatha spoke as she held Pomni close. The poor jester, so alone...

How ironic.

She has friends, and yet she's lonely.

Caine had filled up a hole nobody could fill, and now that he's gotten out of the game after restoring everyone to their better conditions... That hole is empty once more, a gaping void and nothing to fill it.

How lonely this jester must be...

But it was necessary. He's free now.

[poetry-protest-pornography]

There's been a lot of "this character is so selfish" (mostly about Ray, but I already tried about that), and like. That's the point.

They're all selfish in their own way.

They're 22, they're all financially comfortable, they're emotionally illiterate.

Cheum and Mew have cast themselves as superior to the rest of their friends, and treat them all accordingly.

Cheum sees herself as a good friend, as a caretaker, as the one with their shit together; the rest of them are useless fuck ups. She can't even not complain about April-- who is basically perfect, because April wants validation for her movies, and Cheum doesn't get them, so she's annoyed at having to watch. She's constantly talking shit about her friends.

Mew thinks his not chasing sex and relationships makes him superior to his friends. He introduced them all in unflattering ways, while holding himself above them. He doesn't really see them as people, they're characters in his life, and that means he can't see them for who they are. And all this is before his revenge fantasy kicked off and he actively manipulated and used Ray.

Ray's addiction makes him selfish. He wants to be loved so he goes where he thinks he'll get it, even if it's not good for him. When you spend so much of your time trying to numb yourself, it's hard to see anything beyond that. He's still generous with his care and his money, but he doesn't share a lot of himself with most people in his life.

Sand let his need for revenge on Top drive him to do something that he knew would hurt Ray, and used Ray's feelings against him to do it. He lied to Nick and went through his phone.

Boston can't see much beyond his dick, and where his next orgasm is coming from, and even though he isn't particularly fond of anyone in his friend group, he plays the part while purposely doing things to hurt and work against them. He uses Nick's feelings to string him along so he has someone who will provide all the trappings of a relationship without having to commit to someone.

Nick went through Boston's phone multiple times, including before they knew each other for jerk off material. He was so focused on getting Boston to be his that he recorded him and Top, and then told Sand about it, which led to that whole confrontation -- Nick knew about Sand and Ray, and about Ray knowing Boston and Mew at this point, he had to know that that wasn't staying secret. Also, I think it's possible-to-likely that Nick is at least subconsciously manipulating Boston into moving his commitment line every time Nick mentions he might start seeing other people (a friend read this theory and I'm obsessed with it, going to rewatch with this in mind. If you're op of this idea, please lmk!)

Top... Top let petty jealousy over something that Boston-- who he doesn't trust -- told him happened convince him that having sex with Boston again was fine. And then he lied about it, and he consistently used the same "I win you lose" type of language about Mew that Boston does. (I know Top feels bad now, but I don't think he really realized that he loved Mew until Mew dumped him)

They're all dicks in certain ways and circumstances. They're all selfish and self involved and messy.

That's the show, friends. None of your faves are unproblematic. They've all got something that makes them sympathetic to varying degrees, too, but this is about a group of messy bitches who are struggling to keep themselves together, and to hold onto what appear to be the only relationships any of them have without destroying each other (which means lying, or hiding, or ignoring important things).

This is literally just a group of college kids, y'all. And they're here to hurt our feelings and entertain us.

(And maybe let's especially stop calling out the addict with mental health issues for being irredeemable and bad, eh?)

[lifeiskentastic]

Ken flirts (albeit not very successfully) with a officer gn!Reader

Gif by jokerous

A/n: I want to say in advance that if I don't respond to your replies, it's only because this is my side blog and I still haven't figured out how to make it the main blog ;( and English is still my second language so be sure to let me know about my mistakes!

Summary: Ken shows up at the police station again, but this time he has a much more complicated reason for being there;

Song I recommended: Santa Monica by Everclear (although it's not really suitable for fanfic, the song and lyrics were just made for Ken);

Word count: 1,107 words;

Hope you like it!

You've interrogated all sorts of weirdos during your long career as a police investigator. But such a case was certainly the first of its kind. And probably the only one. In front of you sat a not at all embarrassed man in the uniform of a horse rider, that is, in a ridiculous oval hat, a black suit, only horse was. What was the main problem. After all, walking in such clothes in public places and even without a horse is not to everyone's liking. In addition, if it is stolen. Although most of the townspeople have already managed to get used to it since this same man and his companion appeared here for the first time. However, this case was different, as today he came alone. That's why they didn't let him home right away, but sent you to deal with it.

"So Mr. Ken…" You looked at the man who wasn't the least bit concerned about being in the police station, not knowing what you were going to do with him.

"Oh yeah, it's me."

"Um, why did you steal that suit?" You mentally slapped yourself on the forehead for asking such a stupid and obvious question. It's like asking a criminal why he committed a crime... Damn.

Ken was smiling brightly, only making you despair even more. "You see, I just don't have anything to pay yet… But I'll pay it all back very soon! Yes…" But you wouldn't tell that from his unsure and guilty face.

"I'm sorry, mister, but in our town promises aren't enough." For some reason it was difficult for you to say this. Maybe you just couldn't resist the person's naive sincerity in front of you.

"Okay, I'll give you one last warning in hopes that I won't find you in a stolen suit in the middle of a police station again, okay?" Ken shook his head.

"Well, officer, I promise, it won't happen again!"

"Eh, I hope so…"

To tell the truth, this was not the first such "last" warning, but... But sometimes it is worth making exceptions to the rules and protocols for the sake of a good cause.

"Um, officer?" You were about to walk out of the interrogation room and just pretend you didn't see the criminal leaving the police station without punishment. But Ken stopped you with his strangely needy look. "Actually, I just wanted to meet you again."

You were once again surprised by the frankness of this man. And ignorance.

"You could just walk in here, you don't have to commit a robbery."

"Oh."

For a moment you stared into each other's eyes in inexplicable silence until you remembered in time that Ken was a little out of this world. But you didn't know yet whether in a physical or mental sense.

Ken's expression lost its former fervor for a moment, causing you to feel a sharp pang of guilt. So you decided to somehow cheer him up.

"Anyway, I'm very flattered that you went through such troubles for me." You pointed out Ken's appearance, and he immediately melted with pride. "Good job."

You chuckled amicably, but immediately after that you suddenly remembered that you were still wearing your police badge and had some responsibilities, so you improved to add:

"But anyway, don't do that again!"

"Haha, not going to anymore, don't worry officer."

And silence reigned again, although this time it was filled with your mutual smiles. Incredible, but even criminals can be cute.

Ken began to glare at you, to which you could only respond with confusion. This careful look confused you a little, so you decided to find out the reason for it directly.

"Is something wrong Ken?" Ken squinted and something in his sly expression seemed to warn you of danger...

"You are beautiful."

You blinked, slightly not expecting such an answer to the question about feelings.

"Um, thanks… You're in good shape too." Ken assumed a very strange pose that you could describe as flirtatious if he wasn't the weird stranger. After all, how could he flirt with you? It seemed as if the roles of the policeman and the culprit were somehow unfairly reversed between you...

Ken folded his arms on the table, looking at you with all possible attention. Because of which you imperceptibly shuddered. A very strange feeling welled up as you stared into those crystal blue eyes in return. And Ken's smile might seem innocent and naive, but as an experienced police officer you couldn't afford to be fooled by that…

Your palms also rested safely on the table, and the undisguised slyness with which Ken was looking at them could not be ignored... After that, Ken lightly touched his soft fingers to yours, as if by accident, but you could definitely tell from his satisfied face that this was exactly what he intended. But you have not removed your hands in any way. Even if these touches did not seem only friendly.

Ken's whole look (minus the costume ) was like... Head over heels in love? You tried to drive away these insolent thoughts, but the affectionate look fixed on you as if he was completely devoted only to you, the barely noticeable movements of his fingers on your palms and the atmosphere of privacy created by him did not give you peace. And when did everything get so fast?

"You know, I've always wanted to try on an officer's uniform, although I'm pretty sure it looks better on you."

Well, even if it was a sincere and deliberate flirtation, it was so incredibly unfussy and simple that it couldn't help but be touching. If everyone in Ken's world is so nice and unassuming, then this place is clearly Heaven.

"Hmm, thanks again and… And I'm also pretty sure that the uniform will fit you."

You didn't know what Ken was playing, but you decided to keep up with him. It seems that a real battle was brewing here...

"Are you busy tonight?"

It confused you a little. Somehow unexpectedly, too sharply and in general, such purely friendly invitations are not made with such a flirtatious tone!..

"No. Not at all. Do you want to meet?..."

But your tongue had already given away all your innermost thoughts before you had time to really think them through.

Ken looked as if he had already expected a refusal, but when he heard the unequivocal agreement... Well, sparks flew from him. Literally. However, you were sure that this only seemed to you.

"So, at the beach today?"

"I will wait for you!"

[pedripics]

Charlando con PEDRI en la EURO 2024 | xBuyer - Translation

JAVI: Guys, we are here, as you have seen in the title, the thumbnail, nothing more and nothing less than a little chat with Pedri. Pedri González, my friend...

ERIC: How are you maestro?

JAVI: Brother of a former xBuyer team player and most importantly, Spanish national team player.

ERIC: By the way, first question, why did you change your number, man?

PEDRI: Because I've taken it. The truth is that it goes by internationality. I mean, when you arrive you choose the one with the most caps or whichever one you get.

ERIC: Whichever one you get.

PEDRI: They gave me a choice and I was the 26 again, but I said so to change. ERIC: He has stolen it from you. PEDRI: No, I changed it. I mean, I have more internationals than him, so I chose before him.

ERIC: It has a bit of personality.

JAVI: Well, have you seen? (pointing to his jacket)

ERIC: I was going to say Pedri. What do you think of my brother's jacket?

PEDRI: It's fine, but this has changed already.

JAVI: Yeah, but all you've done is criticize me.

PEDRI: Because it has changed.

JAVI: But a little bit of retro, man, this.

ERIC: But, listen, but this is one of the last collections they did retro.

JAVI: First question. Did I put the mic on?

ERIC: I put the mic on. First question was...

JAVI: How are you?

PEDRI: Good, good, here.

JAVI: Sunny. The facilities are really good.

PEDRI: Sunny??

JAVI: Second question. How are you? I know you're fine, but everyone knows you're from Troncos.

Clip Pedri: I became a Troncos. They had never asked me which team I was from and I didn't have a team, but of course when they asked me I had to say one and I became a Tronco because of Verdú, man.

Clip Ibai: Very good, but you watch the Kings League a lot.

Clip Pedri: Yes, I watch it, so I don't miss a game, but yes.

JAVI: We explained it well to your little team. We didn’t just beat them, we burned it.

PEDRI: Well, basically the Troncos let them win because, of course, they didn't want to win.

ERIC: They let themselves win from the first minute, no.

JAVI: We're going on holiday early and that's it.

ERIC: It's OK, it's still Troncos. Verdú. The same, he's not going.

PEDRI: If Verdú doesn't continue, I'll have to reconsider.

ERIC: Who would you say you have a face from Móstoles?

PEDRI: I used to like El Barrio at the beginning, but now I don't like it at all. I don't know who I would go to.

ERIC: Dude, he doesn't say the Buyers (their team)

PEDRI: Let's see, no, the Buyers too.

JAVI: I don't even want him to say it anymore.

PEDRI: The only one I like among the Buyers is Beguer.

ERIC: And Fuad?

PEDRI: Well, he's good too.

ERIC: That's good eh.

PEDRI: But Beguer is very top.

JAVI: Let's see if we can keep him.

ERIC: What about my penalties?

PEDRI: Pff, what a blast, eh?

ERIC: But I've scored 3

PEDRI: Yeah, but how many have you missed?

ERIC: Three

PEDRI: 50%.

ERIC: How many penalties have you taken in your career?

PEDRI: One

ERIC: Have you scored?

PEDRI: Yes, against Betis in the Super Cup.

ERIC: Good, good

PEDRI: I have 100%.

JAVI: I'm not saying anything because that's where I'm shitting myself.

PEDRI: But why don't you shoot?

JAVI: Because he does it well. I give him his share... (pointing at Eric)

ERIC: Of course, but I do it well. I mean, I don't shoot badly, but I don't score. So, ee have to look for something.

JAVI: I only commit myself that, if there are shootouts, I'll shoot them. And I'll score them.

PEDRI: Yes, but the shootout is more complicated.

JAVI: No way, it's very easy if you are left-footed.

ERIC: (laughs) It's very easy if you are left-footed. But it's the same thing.

PEDRI: It's the same.

JAVI: You'll see. The truth is that I have a lot of little things. I have secret weapons.

PEDRI: So tell Geri to do shootouts.

JAVI: That's going to be done.

ERIC: He tells us that if you get shootouts, it's two goals.

PEDRI: So you can choose between a normal penalty and a shootout? Is it worth double?

ERIC: It's double if the president takes it.

PEDRI: That's not a bad one.

JAVI: It's not bad.

PEDRI: It's not bad.

JAVI: And that's where I'll come in. Clack.

PEDRI: A double goal, but you have to score it afterwards.

JAVI: But okay, Eric, shoot it, shoot it. Question. We're fucking around.

ERIC: You were the best young player at the last European Championship, who will it be at this one?

PEDRI: Lamine

ERIC: Are you sure?

PEDRI: Yes.

ERIC: (at Lamine off-camera) Lamine, are you going to be the best or no?

JAVI: And who are you sharing a room with?

PEDRI: Nobody. Alone.

JAVI: Alone?

ERIC: No shit.

PEDRI: Everyone is alone. Everyone. Everyone. The XB guys shared, right?

JAVI: Team and he shared. Pablito Beguer with Roger Carbó.

PEDRI: Well, Roger also scored goals.

ERIC: You have a powerful squad. How do you approach this European Championship from what you learned from the last one? What do you think you can change to win it?

PEDRI: Let's see, the last one. The truth is that we did a good job.

ERIC: We did a good job.

PEDRI: To be honest, it's difficult to beat it, but...

ERIC: You have to give it your all.

PEDRI: That's why overcoming it is complicated, but I think we have a good team. There are also young people who help us (smiling at Lamine off camera). And above all we have a good vibe, man, which is important at the end of the day.

JAVI: It's funny that Pedri says ‘we have young people who help us’.

PEDRI (getting very defensive lmao): Well, yes, I look like a veteran.

ERIC: You've been with us for five years now, haven't you?

PEDRI: I've been at Barça for four years.

ERIC: You've been to the Spanish national team, you haven't been to the youth teams, have you?

PEDRI: Well, I went to the U16 World Cup (it was U17 lmao) when I was at Las Palmas and then I went twice, I think, to the U21 or U19.

ERIC: I though you didn’t when you were younger…

PEDRI: Yes, I was with De La Fuente, I was in the U21s. Well, and the Olympic Games.

ERIC: But there you were already playing for Barça. Right. Okay, good.

JAVI: Then a little question. Today I went for a couple of rounds while you were training in your facilities.

PEDRI: Do you like it?

JAVI: You have lots of little things.

PEDRI: They are nice, eh?

JAVI: This year's facilities are strong. What do you do most to pass the time? Because I've seen that there's ping pong, that there's everything.

ERIC: Don't say Play, that's clear.

PEDRI: Let's see, the Play, I play tennis. I'm there playing a lot.

ERIC: Some other people who also play?

PEDRI: Dani Olmo. Well, we'll each play one of them.

JAVI: Of course, so that you don't share a screen, otherwise it gets buggy. The one on top gets buggy.

PEDRI: And I play darts the most, I play quite a lot.

ERIC: Darts. I saw that you were throwing darts. Against whom?

PEDRI: With Ferran, Vivian, he's not bad, and Remiro is a spectacle. He's the best at darts.

JAVI: Incidentally, not long ago I had an interview with Lamine and he said that at table football (foosball) he's the best, that at foosball no one beats him.

PEDRI (pointing at Lamine): He said that I am his goalkeeper, so all good.

JAVI: But is it true that he is very good?

Clip Lamine: Pedri, my goalkeeper in table football.

Clip Javi: What do you mean, he's played as a goalkeeper by himself?

Clip Lamine: Goalkeeper.

Clip Eric: What are you playing? Four against four?

Clip Lamine: Two against two

Clip Javi: Who is the best foosball player on the team?

Clip Lamine: Oriol. Top two me 100%

PEDRI (directed at Lamine): He dribbles even in foosball.

ERIC: The best in the team?

PEDRI: Well, foosball is a one-legged game here, you know?

ERIC: Yes, of course, you can't hold the ball.

ERIC (at Lamine): You lose your potential.

*Lamine complaining off camera*

PEDRI: You play with the two-legged one and the one-legged one gets complicated.

JAVI: Okay, Eric, any questions you have there, like quick ones. Player to follow from this EURO, not from Spain?

PEDRI: To say one from Germany that we are here, Wirtz.

ERIC: Food from Spain that you're going to miss, even though we've seen that the cooks bring a lot of Spain? Do they put sweet potato in it?

PEDRI: Yes.

JAVI: What's wrong with the national team?

PEDRI: They always put it in, and I tried it one day and I really like it.

ERIC: How many kilos of sweet potato did you say you ate? Two or three?

PEDRI: Crazy. Well, there's sweet potato in every meal.

JAVI: You've always been particular about food.

ERIC: Do they let you eat croquettes here?

PEDRI: No, I wish. No, but nothing. What I eat most... I don't know, fish anyway. I don't know, like sea bass.

ERIC: Oh, they put sea bass in it?

PEDRI: Whatever they put in. I mean, I can't order whatever I want.

ERIC: The day we went to lunch anyway you asked for a sea bass.

ERIC: Promise if you win the EURO?

PEDRI: I was going to say I'll do my profile picture, but of course you haven't seen my profile picture.

JAVI: What's your profile picture?

PEDRI: I don't have my phone here. But it's me, bald and with a moustache. I mean, shaved and with a moustache.

ERIC: You don't have the balls to shave your head and grow a moustache.

PEDRI: Yes.

ERIC: Imagine showing up for the pre-season with a bald head.

PEDRI: No, I will let them shave me in the locker room.

ERIC: Do you like being bald?? (valid question lmao)

PEDRI: I will let them shave me in the locker room. But not zero, eh. Buzzcut.

ERIC: You get in here with a buzzcut. Okay, I like it. I was going to say the same thing, but is Pedri Prime coming to the Euro?

PEDRI: I hope so.

JAVI: I'm a betting man too. I'll tell you one thing, if you score five goals in this Euros…

PEDRI: You sell the xBuyer Team.

JAVI: I'll sell it now.

ERIC: That depends on how much you give us.

JAVI: I'll shave my head.

ERIC: But listen, the one you put the fifth one in, you have to dedicate it to him, you have to do something like this

(they proceeded to show him what celebration to do)

JAVI: I don't know whether to be happy or cry.

PEdRI: If that happens. But I don't take the penalties myself, in theory.

JAVI: In theory.

ERIC: Yeah, but Javi, you think that if Pedri scores five. We've come a long way.

JAVI: And now I'd like to ask you a little bit of a trickier question: any argument or something that the coach said to you in anger? I mean, something that you've said to yourself, ‘Wow, I remember this one all my life’?

PEDRI: I mean, any coach? Well, I haven't had many arguments myself. No. But I'm also a good guy. I'm quiet, I don't get into trouble.

ERIC: Because he doesn't miss much either. Pedri catches the ball, passes back, whatever.

JAVI: I think there's Lamine who's going to answer me.

PEDRI: Lamine, Lamine. (directed at Lamine) What are they going to say to him if he's been here for a year and they only say good things?

JAVI: But surely, he's had some in the lower categories.

PEDRI: Lower categories? (laughs)

ERIC: Next one, also a little bit tricky, but chill. Who is the worst dressed player in the national team?

PEDRI: (laughs)

JAVI: You know it

PEDRI: No, let's see, I haven't seen many, but Unai Simon.

ERIC: Unai Simon? Does he look like...?

PEDRI: Dressed very badly.

ERIC: Unai. I see him in a polo shirt, jeans... I mean, he doesn't get complicated.

PEDRI: Yes, Unai Simon (looks at Lamine) or Nico Williams (laughs again).

ERIC: No, Nico has style.

PEDRI (pointing at Lamine): He knows why I say that.

JAVI: You get along good with Nico, don't you?

JAVI: And any new nickname from this squad?

ERIC: Do they still call you what you used to be called? Pepi, right?

PEDRI: No, yes, but nobody calls me that, only my brother, man. My brother is the only bastard who gives me a nickname. And a nickname like that? Buah, none. (looks at Lamine) Well, there was one, but it's gone.

ERIC: So let's leave him, let's respect him.

ERIC: And in the national team there has always been Pepe Reina. But who is the soul of the national team now?

PEDRI: Morata :)

ERIC and JAVI: Morata?????

ERIC: Morata is shy, isn't he?

PEDRI: Morata telling stories is the best there is.

ERIC: I like it.

PEDRI: I think Morata would take the microphone if there's a celebration.

ERIC: And now, the penultimate one, when we win, if we win the Euro, where are you going on holiday?

PEDRI: Tenerife.

ERIC: Tenerife. But you’ve seen it a lot already?

PEDRI: But I like to be at home, quiet, with my family.

ERIC: You're not going anywhere else?

PEDRI: Well, first to Madrid to celebrate and then to Tenerife with Lamine. (laughs) I'm not taking him on holiday.

ERIC: I'm a bit scared of Lamine in Tenerife.

PEDRI: He's already been there. He was there. Ask him about it later.

JAVI: And finally, you know that there is a teammate who has not been able to come, at Barça, Gavi, which is hurting us. Do you have any message you want to leave him in this video? Because I'm sure he sees it.

PEDRI: Now he is starting to run. He's doing very well. Keep it up, we are waiting for him with open arms. Me too, I want to humiliate you/ beat you at ping pong.

JAVI: I saw the video.

PEDRI: He plays well right?

ERIC: Table tennis, darts, tennis, everything.

PEDRI: Anything that involves sport and passes the time, I'm all for it.

JAVI: And keep an eye out because soon we'll be uploading a Pedri vs Lamine. Let's see who knows more about EUROs players.

ERIC: Any questions you want us to ask him (Lamine)?

PEDRI: (laughs again) How was it in Tenerife?

[glitteringcrab]

I've seen this technology before (part 2)

think of the implications think of the implications THINK OF THE FREAKING IMPLICATIONS (trigger warning for sexual abuse)

Sigh... Here we go.

First of all, let's get the easy parts out of the way.

Despite people who are being puppeteered sometimes appear to be in a fugue state (that thousand yard stare lol)--

--or, you know, puppeteered. VIOLENTLY sometimes--

--it's clear that they are also both alive and aware:

Would you say this is pretty much the definition of a mind rape?

I mean, we've seen Unity do pretty much the same thing, but the subjects never seem to be aware that they got possessed, are not traumatized nor upset (and hilariously the quality of their lives was greatly improved when Unity had taken over). I don't know if they forget because Unity is actually kind of nice and makes them forget on purpose to avoid trauma, or if it's just how assimilation by hiveminds works. In any case, it is apparent that this is simply how hiveminds live. Ugly, of course, but in the sense of "a predator has to eat" fashion. Not exactly a choice on the hivemind's part. So... technically also a mind rape, but... also not as evil as what Evil Morty has been doing.

Secondly.

Do we all agree that it seems that the receiver is above Evil Rick's eye? We can see its light going on and off, which would likely not be visible if the receiver was at the height of the bottom eyelid (I'm referring to where Evil Morty's cables are sticking out).

Indeed, the Citadel Rick does not have to stick his whole hand inside Evil Rick's face, just the fingers.

In fact, would you say the receiver is... right... about... here:

(and yes, I combined the two frames to achieve the ultimate creepy frame)

So... in the hypothetical scenario that "the reason Evil Morty has cables sticking out of his eye is that he was once puppeteered himself and some remains of the implant are still in his head"...

...would you say that the place where his own receiver must have been would be... somewhere around here:

Which, accounting for the curvature of the giant cartoon eyes (lol) might be the correct distance from the bottom eyelid if one combines the length of the cables Evil Morty already has sticking out of his eyes and the the length of the cables in the eyepatch.

At the same time, it'd be kinda weird for someone to remove the receiver but not the rest of the implant cables and stuff. I mean, if Rick C-137 was trying to remove such an implant from Morty Prime, wouldn't he be thorough about it? Wouldn't he make sure Morty Prime was completely clean?

Unless, of course, you're hastily trying to gouge your own eye out in desperation:

Oops. You too, eh?

Also, it is interesting to note that it appears Evil Rick was trying to stick the shard in his eye (the left eye, btw, where his receiver was) which is... not how one would typically try to commit suicide when you also have a throat available.

So either the mind control kept Evil Rick's hand far away from his throat on purpose, or there are built-in contingencies that ensure unauthorized removal of the receiver is akin to a death sentence...

...which (in the hypothetical case that Evil Morty was at some point in the past also frantically gouging his own eye out) may be negated if you somehow also managed to gain access to some kind of healing equipment (of which we know Ricks have plenty) and set it to turn on automatically (because you're a very smart, careful boy). I'm not gonna add the screenshots because they're too many, but I'm going to list a few:

the one Rick used to jumpstart Pissmaster's brain

the thing Rick injected Morty with after Morty bully-gunned himself

the one Rick used to restore Morty's arm

Rick's freaking garage

(It's possible by the way that the original receiver Evil Morty had did not have a "contain suicide attempt" function. It's possible that the threat of death was deterrent enough that Evil Morty wouldn't try to remove the receiver on his own. It's possible Evil Morty added the "contain suicide attempt" function to Evil Rick's receiver because he knew from experience that this is a price he might be willing to pay. Which would, you know... also explain why he didn't bother downloading the schematics of Rick Prime's auto-healing ability for himself)

IN ANY CASE, you mutilated yourself successfully, pulled the receiver out of your eye's remains, died, your brain healed (physically), the eye reformed, but happened to reform while the cables were sticking out from when you were pulling the receiver. Uh-oh. It's okay, tuck them back in, no one has to know. Better not inform the Citadel nor update your Morty Agency record on your newest implant, either. You wouldn't want other Ricks to know they only need to attach a receiver in your head to exert complete control over you, huh? (like grabbing a... joystick?) Maybe kill your Rick, if you haven't done it already. Run away.

Sigh. Let's go to the hard parts now.

Fans smarter than me have already pointed out that the Rick-Morty dynamic is deliberately built around the idea of grooming, predation of minors and sexual abuse. A lot of the things in the show are either outright instances of grooming, are meant to refer to sexual abuse or are meant to be allegories to sexual abuse, even though canonically Rick is not grooming Morty for sexual reasons. (I strongly suggest you check out all the above links, by the way. I was disturbed.)

Take also into account that Citadel with its Morty Market also has disturbing similarities to a messed up, horrible foster care system, as well as child trafficking.

Although I can't find all the links (message me if you have them), I had also found posts from fans comparing Evil Morty's actions to sexual abuse, against Ricks and Mortys this time.

The "literal" mind rape he has committed is the most blatant example, in my opinion, but far from the only one. The violence of Evil Rick's puppeteering when he was forced to kill Guard Rick was disturbing. Another fan alluded that Evil Morty making Evil Rick drunk before assaulting him was akin to drugging someone before taking sexual advantage of them. Extra disturbing by Evil Rick's exclamation "Get off me!"

Personally, Evil Morty closing the garage door before attacking reminded me of... other scenes in movies etc, where the assaulter turns up the volume on the radio before commencing his attack. I mean... we've seen all sorts of insane stuff happening in that garage (people exploding, redheads flying in, a flying saucer parking) and none of the neighbors even care. Gene actually had the courage to STEAL a rake from this house of madness. It is all treated as comically absurd. Only when Evil Morty attacks are the happenings treated as an actual violent crime that the perpetrator would want to stay hidden.

And sure, Evil Morty needed a large crowd of alive Mortys to hide amongst, and he needed an excuse to keep them alive so he strapped them on the Morty Dome and tortured them, but did they really have to be naked?

Now, I'm in no way an expert of any sort in any of the above, but I've read that when children (and Morty is 14) do physically violent or sexually aggressive acts against others, it's typically because they've been assaulted themselves in a similar fashion. I guess they're either trying to process what happened, are mimicking it, are venting their frustration on someone weaker, or are simply desensitized to it. SOMEONE PLEASE CORRECT ME IF I'M HORRIBLY WRONG.

I'm sure that canonically, no actual rape has taken place, but given the show's general... vibe... I doubt the above mentioned similarities are a coincidence. I'd say that a 14-year-old boy literally losing all body autonomy by becoming an old man's literal puppet for an unspecified amount of time is as close to the concept as possible without actually being the concept. (Edit: sadly, I no longer think this was only metaphorical. There's no way to explain his utter indifference at torturing Mortys, in the particular fashion that he did, unless he concluded that they'd be having a MUCH EASIER time than HE had.)

Of course, this is just a theory. We don't know if anything like this has happened. However, the truth is that while we've seen plenty of miserable Mortys in the Citadel, none of them seem to be as angry, traumatized, nor desperate as Evil Morty. They all managed to smile, or find companionship among each other, or even among Ricks (Cop Rick, I'm looking at you). Evil Morty is the only one who did completely messed up things to an extreme scale without batting an eyelid, just so he could get as far away as possible. He didn't exactly seem to enjoy his journey to freedom, either.

His face here as he finishes the transmitter reads to me as a particularly sad and defeated "...I'm really doing this, then" thought.

And (like actual sexual abuse victims) it's not likely he could have safely unburdened himself by sharing the secret of what happened to him with someone in the Citadel. Another Rick might have taken advantage of him in the same way, once he realized the opportunity was available.

Not to mention that by telling someone he would risk hearing some variation of "you asked for it by being cocky and not doing what you were told" or "being completely controlled by a Rick was the best thing that ever happened to you, you finally stopped doing dumb mistakes". The Rick who puppeteered him could have also framed it as "I'm doing this for your sake, because you keep getting yourself injured in adventures".

And he mustn't let himself react overly emotionally or go into hysterics about it, because then he'll get mind-blown and forget everything that happened (roofied, much?) and be vulnerable to it again. Or, even worse, he may be discarded as "defective" and end up in that Morty slaughterhouse... So he must really tone down his emoting.

He could have theoretically confessed to another Morty, but we've already seen Mortys throwing each other under the bus in their bid to survive. I wouldn't like my chances, personally.

So it seems to me that he be stuck in the Citadel, simming in his own fear, grief and anger with no one to confide to (although gaining a level-up in confidence (cockyness, if you want) given that he successfully orchestrated his own escape attempt). Either living in the lousy conditions of Morty Town, surrounded by clueless Mortys who, if ever discovered that he could get mind-controlled might tip off a Rick in exchange of a better quality of life. Or partnering with a Rick, living every day in fear that his secret might get revealed accidentally and that he'd end up dissected and studied, or simply controlled once again. (It would be even more dangerous if his Rick was wanted by the Citadel, and Evil Morty was in danger of getting executed for assisting him.) And, of course, we know that Citadel Ricks do not form lasting bonds with their Mortys. Even if his secret was never discovered, Evil Morty would find neither peace, nor family in the company of the Rick of the Day who adopted him.

I also think there is a lot of internalized victim blaming among the Mortys in the citadel. At some point he might have been convinced that he really did ask for it by not behaving. And this puts the eyepatch in a... different perspective. It made sense that he used the eyepatch initially, that's pretty much the only place where he could put his transmitter. But after he gained access to aaaaall the Citadel's tech as president, he built a lot of cool things. Couldn't he have built a better interface, one that doesn't require an eyepatch?

I mean... he definitely improved the eyepatch itself. In the beginning he had to connect it with his implanted cables manually:

But after he became president, it appears that it connects automatically. No longer necessary to stick your fingers in your own eye socket (yayyy).

It's unclear if the cables themselves are still there (they might be!) but some part of the original implant definitely remains. However, why still use an eyepatch at all? However he may have started off originally, we can't really say that he incapable of performing surgery to himself by the time season 7 rolls in because we saw him have a plethora of body augmentations, and yet he still wears an eyepatch. Couldn't he have also altered the implant in his brain so that he keeps any potential perks but no longer needs an external eyepatch?

Sure, maybe he enjoys triggering Rick's fear of pirates (even though he wears it when he is alone outside the CFC). Or maybe he thinks he looks cool wearing it. Or maybe he's just an angsty teenager.

Or... Well... if the whole experience is a source of shame and self-blame for him, he may be metaphorically hiding the place of intrusion... or, conversely, a physical reminder that he managed to literally cut himself free might make him feel better. I tend to think it's the latter.

This is all just a theory. Maybe he simply is evil.

Or maybe he's heartbroken by being constantly discarded in the "adoption" program of the Morty Market to the point where he felt he would explode. Ricks scouring the universe for Mortys meant that blowing the CFC was the only way he could be left alone in peace.

...But I'm leaning towards him having one more reason to run away as far as he can without looking back.

(and as of now, I get the feeling that he hasn't run away far enough)