#but. as much as it could be in there for his situation I think its in there

[sunnie-angel]

miss july you absolutely killed this fic (and me. i'm dead. deceased. cause of death: julymusings). tbh my only thought about the wound marinating for a half hour was "oh no, the ice cream is gonna melt" and not, you know, the medical side of things. i don't know how but you've captured such a specific anxious meltdown that i could feel myself getting worked up too (this is meant as a compliment). you deserve all the flwoers (and ice cream) for putting out this incredible thing, if it feels like i highlighted half the fic below, no i didn't but i was very tempted.

You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes.

miss july are you in my mind? are you living my life? are we the same person?

Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

there is something so visceral about this passage. i've never been in this exact situation and yet i feel like i have.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

can't defend myself, my brain just went hot here

You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut.

god the frustration is so real and palpable and catty. (honestly miss july, are you in my head bc this is almost exactly what my reaction would be in this scenario)

You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

you know how some people complain about how they can't get into x reader fic bc 'they wouldn't do that'? well i DON'T have that complaint bc this is literally me

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—” “Okay.”

jason trying to be nice and problem solve because he can sense there's a problem but he doesn't know what it is but by trying to be helpful he thinks he can maybe make it better? me. reader not having the emotional bandwidth to deal with his attempts to help and shutting him down before she can implode anymore? also me.

First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined.

real talk, i would be sobbing at this point. i don't care what kind of tricks jason has to get blood out of light coloured fabric, these pyjamas have now been tainted by the moment

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

this!!!!! oh my god when your mind is noticing but you're trying to not notice because then you'll spiral but you're already spiraling so all it does is make you feel guilty but because you're spiraling you don't have the emotions or energy to deal with the full weight of it so you're just back to guilt

You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out.

who hasn't been here before, am i right?

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

reader gets to exhale. it just feels like they've been holding their breath for the first part of the fic but now they can't anymore. this is the exhale, this is catharsis.

You know why.

jason, honey, sugar pie, darling. USE YOUR WORDS. YOUR ACTUAL WORDS

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is type A and suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep. 

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe. There’s a half-pint of ice cream left in the freezer, you remember, and store that information for later.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow. 

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam. 

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing. 

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?” 

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not. 

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly. 

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered. 

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

[toorusmu]

Theres a lot of boyfriends out there, which one are they ?

Multi Chara, Haikyuu, Fluff

Best Ever !! Honestly, your friends are tired of hearing about how great he is. When you asked for his phone password out of curiosity, he just have you a strange look. "I dont have a password ?" Every time you split a snack, you got the larger piece. While walking down the streets, hed interlock your fingers and make sure you weren't close to the road. He'd always place his hand over the edges of counters to block your head from hitting it, and he always saved hot water for you.

You met his family early on, and they adore you ! Hes open and accepting about whatever family situation you have, and is comfortable waiting or being unable to meet your family. Your safety and happiness are his top priority when hes with you, and hed do anything to make you feel better.

- Sugawara, Ukai, Ennoshita, Akaashi, Kita, Sachiro, Aran, Yasufumi, Daichi, Iwaizumi, Osamu

Cuteeee !! Hes great, just a little shy and sometimes awkward. Hes on the path to become the best boyfriend, hes just new to all of this. His hands get sweaty easily while holding hands, but he never wants to let go. Under thick blankets during winter, or with a blasting AC in summers wrathful heat, he finds solitude in clinging to you.

Small gifts and pressed flowers, homemade snacks that started out tragic and slowly got more edible. Winking at you during volleyball, "This is for you !" right before his failed serve hit the net. Looks at you like a lost puppy, always following you around.

- Hinata, Inuoka, Takeda, Atsumu, Komori, Bokuto, Lev Haiba, Tadashi, Goshiki, Asahi, Hisashi, Kuroo, Hanamaki, Kindaichi, Konoha

Quite, for sure.. It can be a bit hard to communicate with him, its just too hard to tell what hes thinking ! Unless you directly ask, he'll bottle everything up. Hes not terrible, of course ! You know hes not the type to date someone he doesn't like, he just has trouble showing it. But in his small ways, he does.

Sticky note doodles and letters, getting embarrassed after accidentally ranting about volleyball or any other interest, giving you the first and last bite of everything, driving you or walking with you everywhere. If youve been dating for a while, he often prefers to show his affection through soft, quiet, touches. Petting your hair, tracing your hips, scratching your back, he needs his hands on you.

- Kenma, Kageyama, Ushijima, Sakusa, Suna, Nobuyuki, Aone

Kinda meaaaaan ! Like.. yea.. you guessss you love him (jkkk!!?), so why does he need to tease you so much ! If you're shorter, hes always using you as an armrest or bumping into you on purpose because he 'couldnt see you.' You make one mistake, and suddenly you're a "dumbass" or a "silly idiot." Rarely does he ever actually insult you, but its been an ongoing mission of yours to get his hardass to be a little romantic for once.

And of course, he has his sweet moments, but come the next day. "You look like shit." Whether you bicker back, turning it into a play fight, him never letting you win, enjoying the way he had you pinned down. Or, you could smile at him, you had his shirt on and his favorite pair of shorts, hair freshly conditioned and makeup still light and unsmeared. You knew, as much as he loved to be a bully, all it took was a soft smile for him to melt.

- Tsukishima, Yaku, Mad Dog, Kunimi, Hoshiumi

Um.. hes a little weird !! It probably took a minute for you to introduce him to your friends and family. You never knew what he was about to do or say, he always did something different or odd. Whether it be borderline scary or straight up stupid, it was one of the things you loved about him. All things considered, he was absolutely hilarious.

He eventually became like a son and friend to those close to you. Not a lot of people understood him, and as unserious as he is, he genuinely is thankful you not only stayed with him, but gave him friends and family too.

- Shohei, Tendou, Nishinoya, Tanaka, Oikawa

[qoldenskies]

It feels like Donnie always has a bundle of nerves. While Leo seems to have a more chill attitude. At least on the outside.

So I kind of write them like that.

One example I can think of on top of my head is Mant Unhappy Reminders.

Where Leo says to everyone to trust him, but it seems to the others that he is not taking it seriously. But had a plan, but does not communicate it.

Comparatively, when Donnie faced the Shredder, at least in the stadium. He was the only one who was shaking like a leaf. And teeth chattering.

He had a moment when he said “Eat science,” scene. But when that didn't work, he kind of just started having a breakdown and crying. And such.

Also, when the Shredder returns, I think Donnie might have froze.

when shredder broke his tech his first instinct was to scream and flee!! honestly i cant tell if his tech-bo activated on its own or not but regardless that was what saved his life and he didn't expect it to, and pretty much the SECOND shredder gets knocked away from him he collapses. im also thinking about minotaur maze when his first instinct is to scream for help repeatedly when he's in a life-or-death situation, its very telling

(also actually when people do post many unhappy returns fics nobody ever acknowledges that donnie also got the SHIT beaten out of him in end game when the others didnt because he was holding off draxum from the front??? like he's visibly super fucked up afterwards??? guys you could use this if youre treating their injuries realistically anyway, especially with the added angst of him having to fight all day after even though he was already pretty banged up)

(donnie being in the front lines in end game to distract draxum.... ok canary)

donnie is VERY vocal when he's afraid and his confidence is very easily shaken when he fails on the field, i think he's shown to have to fall down and just breathe through it after close calls when the others dont. he's very jumpy, unexpected loud noises freak him out, he freezes when he's out of immediate danger etc etc. he's not someone who hides it while leo usually does. leo feels like he has to be strong for his family, while donnie doesnt.

like lol leo locks tf in and focuses on the field when things get life-or-death (also very apparent in the fight with the kraang, where despite being under the threat of death he's focused enough to make split-second decisions, the line about missing on purpose!!) and donnie panic and freaks out LMAO (jumping in front of mikey to take the hit was completely instinctual by contrast! if he had leo's kind of focus he probably would have made something a lot more structured than that split second shield; donnie's ninpo reflects it well, he needs time to prepare before he jumps in while leo can think quickly)

[thewertsearch]

@krixwell asked: I think it's general theory summary o'clock. Broadly, what are your expectations for the rest of Act 5 and its ending?

I'm a little late answering this one - but hey, better late than never!

I can't predict the rest of the Act anymore, but I can try and predict the ending. Here are my predictions for what'll happen in Cascade, organized by character.

Rose & Dave

The Derse twins, who have dispatched DD together, meet Aradia at the Green Sun. The Tumor detonates as planned, but Aradia is able to save them somehow, possibly by spiriting them away with time travel...

...or, by telling them how she cheated death.

Aradia was able to resurrect herself without a backup body, from a pedestal hidden within the moon of Derse; the very moon the kids are currently piloting. Doc Scratch has already hinted that Rose might ascend on 'another quest bed somewhere', and I think this is how she - and Dave - could do it.

If Rose and Dave died destroying the Sun, it would almost certainly count as Heroic – but that doesn't actually matter. If the twins die on Quest Slabs, they won't die as God Tiers - they'll die as mortals, and resurrect as God Tiers. They should reincarnate safely, as the Sun collapses for good.

The Meteor Crew

To be honest, I don't think the trolls will have much of a role to play in the endgame. All the action is happening in the kids' session, and now that the Scratch has started, they can't even contact that session.

In any case, these kids are planning to follow the Green Sun's explosion to a predetermined rendezvous point. I'm not sure how they're going to get there - but Kanaya is a wielder of the Space Aspect, so maybe it's her time to shine.

...I mean, shine even more brightly than she already does.

Jack

After he absolutely kills CD, Jack is destined to travel to the troll session, but I still have no idea how. Perhaps the dimensional instability created by the Scratch will start to rip holes into other sessions, and he’ll be lured into one? Who knows.

I'm as stumped as I ever was. Only one way to find out, I guess!

John

Once he's triggered the Scratch, this kid's going to need an out. He'll need to make himself scarce in order to avoid being erased...

...or, perhaps he won’t. Perhaps, as the Heir of Breath, he’ll be able to use the Breeze to conceal himself from whatever force is destroying the session, the same way he hid his scent from Jack.

Either way, he'll probably be fine, while the same cannot be said for...

Jade

The greatest of Fs for our girl. Jade's been killed in an extremely tense situation, without leaving much hope for her resurrection before the Scratch.

The Sprites are still around, but I don’t know how they’d revive her- like, sure, Nanna has a healing beam, but I don’t think she can heal death. Plus, Jade made a Choice with Echidna to locate her Final Frog - and it seems that accepting a Choice will inevitably lead you to sacrifice your life. If Jade's death was immediately undone, would it really count as a sacrifice?

I don't want to call it too early, but... it isn't out of the question that Jade is gone for good. Especially when she's already got a replacement, waiting in the wings.

Jadesprite

I think it's genuinely possible that Jadesprite could take over Jade's role as one of the 'main' four kids.

She's about to lose her First Guardian powers, but she should still have time to fulfil Echidna's request in her realself's stead, simply by shrinking the entire session, and teleporting it to the Furthest Ring, where her allies can captchalogue it. Hell, this would be easy for her.

I really, really don't want Jade to be dead. But, well... she made a Choice.

The Endgame

Finally, we see the consequences of the Green Sun’s destruction, which I’m sure are as cataclysmic as they are unexpected. Rose realizes how badly she was played, as Scratch's full hand is finally revealed. All of Paradox Space shakes from the impact. Scratch and Snowman die, and English consumes the troll universe.

Everyone meets up on the exiled Lands, and they resolve to travel to the reset session, once it’s spawned.

Act 6?

After we're done, I’m hoping for the Guardians-as-Players to get the Hivebent treatment – by which I mean, I’m hoping Act 6 gives us the full story of the Scratched session, right from kid Nanna standing in her bedroom. It’s also possible, though, that we’ll join their session in medias res, as our protagonists' teenage parents face hitherto unknown challenges in a new Medium. I'll talk more about my specific predictions for the Guardian session in their own post, once Act 5 has fully concluded.

The adventure continues, as the kids slowly realize that English, and the Paradox Space twisted to suit his ends, is the true enemy, and they begin to make plans to confront him directly.

[biblioflyer]

I agree with the take on Von Franz but the implication that its the failure of the characters to come together I kinda disagree with. Nosferatu (2024) is not Dracula. It casts doubt on our assumptions about whether the traditional tricks for dealing with a vampire will actually work or not. They're on the clock and grasping at straws with Orlok having very credibly demonstrated he's going to kill all of them that night and there's probably not a lot the fellas can do to stop him, but Ellen does have the one thing that can maybe interrupt him: herself.

The power dynamics are different. Dracula is on the backfoot and having to flee because he dragged out his mindgames too much for the drama of it all. Orlok is on mission. He's willing to give Ellen time to agree but the suffering he inflicts is coercive rather than because he's a messy supervillain who loves the drama, so he just doesn't give the Nosferatu Scoobies time to put together a better plan.

The structure of the problem is arranged so that the boys simply can't do better because they don't have the time. They're mostly just running around playing monster hunter with a thimble full of knowledge and a fair amount of the sort of masculine confidence that makes a fella think he could fight a bear.

Ellen's the final girl who has to take the monster out at the cost of her own life. In keeping with the occultism of it all, I think its meant to be a bit Christlike in that she chooses the hard path of self sacrifice to save everyone else (although unlike other vampire media, just one look at Orlok and you can tell the "gift" of eternal life is almost exclusively curse and very little of it elegantly brooding in compound interest funded mansions.) But I think perhaps there's also a bit of an effort at reclaiming human sacrifice narratives to provide an alternative to the framing in which women without agency are used to appease a monster and instead suggest in some instances they may be people who are venerated, understand the gravity of the situation, and make a choice for the greater good.

I like that Nosferatu is trying to do its own thing. Its not a pretty ending and that grit doesn't make it better than Dracula, just different. The power of friendship ideal is good, potent, and praiseworthy. So is that of a woman choosing to use her various aspects: her agency, sexuality, and clairvoyance; aspects that society tries to police and malign, to save the world, or at least that town.

I think a fundamental difference between book Dracula and Nosferatu is how the protagonists work as a collective. In Dracula, they are the Scooby Gang (trusting, collaborative, polyamorous). In Nosferatu, they are the teens from an 80s slasher (suspicious, deceitful, jealous). The count can be defeated, but only the power of friendship can save Mina.

[whisperofwonder]

Tipsy

Ushijima Wakatoshi x reader - 790 words

Ushijima is an affectionate drunk, confirmed.

Warnings: Alcohol mentions, obviously. Reader wears a dress, but no pronouns are used. Very slightly suggestive.

There are certain things you've always assumed you'd never experience in your lifetime. A 10 million yen inheritance from a great aunt you never knew existed. A smart house like the one from that movie you saw as a kid. The heat death of the universe. A drunk Ushijima Wakatoshi.

Except maybe you were wrong about that last one. You're out with the Adlers, a celebratory dinner at a nice place. Your meal is delicious, and you're having a good time talking and laughing with Waktoshi's teammates and their partners. Suddenly, you pause mid-sentence, biting back a squeak. A warm, large hand has worked its way under the hem of your dress, and is now pressed firmly against your thigh.

Kageyama gives you a strange look from across the table. You laugh it off with a wave of your hand, saying you'd lost your train of thought. When the conversation moves on, you turn to Wakatoshi.

"Toshi," You murmur under your breath. He looks at you then, eyes slightly unfocused, and for the first time you notice the slight flush high in his cheeks. He doesn't move his hand. Oh. Your gaze goes to the empty wine glass by his plate.

-

"How many glasses of that wine have you had?" You ask softly, gently shifting his hand out from under your dress.

His brow furrows in thought, and he doesn't answer right away. "It's nice wine," He says finally. You look at the bottle, and to your surprise, there's only an inch or so left. He slides his arm around the back of your chair, fingertips grazing your shoulder.

"Well, maybe you should stick with water now," You suggest.

He only hums in response, lips close to your ear. It's certainly not inappropriate, but such closeness in public like this is so unlike him that you still feel your face heating up. "I'm glad you could come tonight," He says in a low voice. "That dress looks incredible on you." You can feel his breath ghost across the shell of your ear. It's all you can do to keep your jaw from dropping open.

"Thank you," You reply, flustered. "I'm glad, too." You furtively glance at the rest of his teammates, but they seem too caught up in their own conversations to notice anything odd. You're glad for that, because the next thing he does is press a kiss to your temple.

"We're in public," You remind him.

"I'm sorry," He says, still just a little too close to your ear. Luckily, the night is soon drawing to a close. The dessert plates are being cleared away, and Kageyama is getting antsy to leave, suggesting it to his girlfriend in a tone that isn't as low as he must think it is. It wouldn't be out of line for you and Wakatoshi to leave as well.

"Are you ready to go home?" You whisper, and at the suggestion, he focuses on you again.

"Yes," He says decidedly, just a little too loudly. It draws the attention of some of the others, who look at him curiously. His hand finds its way to your thigh again.

"Okay," You say, a little too loud yourself. "Let's get our coats, then," You prompt. When he gets to his feet, it's with a slight wobble, and he looks at you in surprise, angling towards you for support.

"Wakatoshi isn't drunk, is he?" Hoshiumi asks in disbelief.

"It appears that way," You laugh, shifting slightly under his weight. He's leaning on you just a little more than is comfortable, but when he feels you move, he shifts more of his weight to his own feet.

"You good?" Hirugami asks, and you nod. Wakatoshi may be tipsy, but he hasn't drunk that much. After bidding farewell to everyone, he insists on helping you into your coat, hands on you perhaps more than necessary. You make your way to the car, getting him situated in the passenger seat before you get in the driver's side. The moment the car is running, his hand finds its way under the hem of your dress again, thumb grazing your skin.

"I don't think I've ever seen you drink that much before," You muse, looking sideways at him.

"I don't think I have," He rumbles, rough fingertips tracing shapes onto your skin. "The wine was nice." He repeats his statement from earlier.

"Maybe I'll have to get a bottle for our anniversary next month. We can make dinner at home." Your suggestion isn't selfish at all.

"I'd like that," He murmurs, your suggestion seemingly prompting a thought. "When will we be home?" He asks, giving your thigh a squeeze.

"Soon," You promise, gripping the steering wheel just a little bit tighter.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

self-defense. l Joel Miller

before Jackson

Summary: a certain situation made him have to teach you both something

Warnings:  some angst, blood, a little bit of fluff, weapons, Ellie is in on it

A/N: little something. boring as hell. the idea for this chapter was given by the wonderful @underneath-the-sky-again . thank you so much! i hope you like it, sweetie. ❤️

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

When these men appeared in his sight his body activated its survival function, above all else. The brain sent clear signals - he had to keep you and Ellie safe.

However, when he automatically reached for your arm, you slipped away from him, his fingers closing on nothing. Joel looked to his left, surprised, and noticed that you were already close to Ellie, you pulled her down to hide her from the men's attention. Your eyes met, you nodded slightly, knowing what had to be done.

"All good?"

A nod, although you didn't look up at him. You dipped the cloth in the cold stream again and put it to your cut lip, which was slowly starting to bleed less and less. Joel glanced at Ellie. Wrapped in a sleeping bag, she was sleeping safely under the ledge where you had set up a makeshift camp for the night.

You hadn't talked much since what had happened. The most important thing was for you to get away from the three bodies you left lying on the ground as soon as possible.

"That guy..." Joel started, crouching down next to you, "He was strong, too strong for you."

"Don't say that," you mumbled, "I was able to handle him."

You were already pretty banged up before Joel grabbed the guy by the jacket and almost ripped him off you. The guy easily got behind you, tackled you to the ground, and grabbed the gun. Your split lip, the abrasions on your hands and cheek, that was the best thing that could have happened to you that day.

"I was thinking about something..." Joel said quietly, taking the cloth from your hand, rinsing it well in the stream, and then taking your hand in his, "You and Ellie, you need to learn how to defend yourselves without a weapon. If something like that happens again."

Your hand seemed so small and delicate to him compared to his. Joel gently cleaned the wounds on your hands and knuckles. He didn't look at you, he knew perfectly well that you felt ashamed of your helplessness and what had happened. It was unnecessary... He didn't even think of judging you, he simply drew conclusions from what he saw.

"Joel, I'm sure that no amount of skill will allow us to kill an infected without a weapon." you replied.

"It's not infected I'm worried about."

You knew what he meant, too well. You felt embarrassed by all this, it would be better if he yelled at you, reminded you of your helplessness and stupidity, because you should have been more careful. Meanwhile, Joel was calm and composed, caring towards you and Ellie.

"I'm not as helpless as it may seem." you mumbled, taking your hand from his. "He surprised me. I've dealt with people like that before and..."

"I didn't say you can't handle it." he interrupted you again in the same calm voice "I saw what you did."

Only then did you look at him. Joel had beautiful eyes and they said more than he could say with his mouth. They radiated concern, but also determination, and you knew perfectly well that he was right.

"The first thing you did when those guys showed up was to shield Ellie. You made sure she was hidden, and only then did you reach for the weapon. That guy surprised you, knocked you down easily... I want you to know how to defend yourself despite everything. Same with Ellie."

"Yeah, I guess you're right..."

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, and then he carefully grabbed your chin and turned your face towards him. You hissed quietly in pain when the cold cloth touched your torn cheek.

"When do you want to start classes?"

"Tomorrow."

Ellie looked at Joel skeptically when he told her at breakfast what his plans were for you that day.

"And you agree to this?" she asked, looking at you surprised "You're doing great! You don't need any training or anything like that."

You swallowed a sip of hot but weak tea "Joel's right. We should learn how to defend ourselves."

He had you on his side, Ellie had to give in. Finally the girl nodded.

"Okay, but I still think that if I had a gun..."

"Not yet, Ellie..." Joel muttered rolling his eyes "There will be time for that too."

She had no mercy for Joel, and after a few minutes you already felt sorry for him. Ellie without hesitation dug her heel into his foot and her elbow into his stomach when Joel stood behind her trying to catch her. 

Maybe she was too small and too weak to throw him, but she was doing great. Joel practiced a few different ways to defend herself with her, patiently paying attention to what she should watch out for, and she listened to him really carefully. She respected and really liked him, so even though she grumbled at first, she learned very quickly at that point.

"I can't do that." You stated as Joel grabbed you from behind, just like the guy the day before.

"You can't defend yourself?" he asked, surprised. You were watching Ellie, so you had to know what to do.

"I can't hurt you, Joel." You sighed, "I know we practice, but..."

"Ellie had no mercy." He snorted somewhere above your ear, and you laughed to yourself, "What'll help you? Maybe..."

He did it by surprise. He grabbed your hair and pulled you back, his arm around your neck tightened and then...

"Fuck!"

A dull thud made Ellie, who had been watching you closely, flinch. Joel was panting heavily lying on the ground and you were pressing your knee against his chest.

"That was good." he panted and you smiled.

"I was watching you, I had it easier."

"Yeah, interesting."

Suddenly his hand tightened below your knee and Joel overexerted himself so that now you were under him. You struggled for a moment but eventually he caught your hands and pinned them above your head.

He raised an eyebrow panting "So what now, smartass?"

You lifted your knee and Joel nervously looked between you. His manhood could be in danger.

"If you're going to keep teasing each other like this, maybe I should just leave?" Ellie called and you chuckled seeing Joel's look.

"We're not teasing at all." he mumbled standing up and holding out his hand to help you too "Are you packed?"

Ellie rolled her eyes and headed towards her backpack. You watched her, dusting off the pine needles and leaves from your pants, then looked at Joel, who was also following her with his eyes.

"She'll be fine. Thanks to you." You said, placing your hand on his shoulder and rubbing it gently.

He mumbled something incomprehensible.

"Listen," you stood in front of him, his brown eyes moved at you. "You do everything you can, you keep her safe, you teach her and even if Ellie teases you... You are everything she has."

"Now she has you too." Joel added.

"So let's worry about her together, it'll be a little easier for us. You can't carry everything by yourself, Joel."

He nodded. He wanted to say something else, thank you for those words or praise you for how well you did, but he couldn't put it into words. His eyes had told you that a long time ago, though.

"I'm ready, you whiny old man!" Ellie's call reached you and you both sighed, shaking your heads.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven

[chlefnikkl]

The brain worms are flowing thru my mind rn, thinking abt toji giving aftercare after one of your roughest nights with him...

"Fuck baby, you okay?" Toji asks, he already knows that you're in pain and everything that has happened tonight will leave you bedridden for the foreseeable future.

When you dont answer him, he leans down to your ear and gives it a butterfly kiss, "its ok if you cant answer right now, just wanna make sure my pretty girl is alright..." he trails off.

"T-toji" you whimper out, your voice hoarse from using it so much.

"Hey mama, how you feeling?" Hes getting worried that he might have gone a bit overboard.

"Water" you whisper to him and hes immediately going to the kitchen to fetch you some. While he's gone, you take in your surroundings and figure out what exactly hurts and what you need to help with the ache.

You feel like your body got hit with a train when you turn to lay on your back. Theres pain blossoming in your neck and chest regin, you figure it must be the hickeys that toji left.

"Hey, got you some water and a couple of painkillers, you probably gonna nee-" he cuts off when he sees your chest, all the marks that he left, all the marks on your neck that he made. Its looks painful, but a sinister side of him loves it.

"Mama, you look really marked up, heh." He chuckles awkwardly, which he didnt know he could do. "You should take a shower with me mama, would make you a lot less sore." He suggests.

"Medssss, hurtsss." You groan out, you just want to sleep. He hands you the cup of water and the painkillers. "Shower tomorrowwww" you whine once you drink and swallow the meds.

"Nuh uh, you are coming with me to the shower, baby, no excuses." He lifts you up and walks towards the shower. Your head laying on his chest as he walks.

Toji finally reaches the bathroom and sets you down on your wobbly legs, "toji, cant standdd" you whine out.

"Just lean on me, mama." He suggests, which you gladly take up his offer. He turns on the warm water in the tub and starts adding the soap. "Listen i know you cant stand so im gonna give you a bath instead, ok mama?"

You nod and see continue to do his thing. You start to space out and think of how you ended up like this.

Maybe if you hadn't of worn that dress when you out, you wouldn't be in this situation. Toji was always jealous, but you didnt know it could be this bad, you'll just have to tell him to take an easy on you next time.

"Alright baths all filled up, just waitin for its princess to hop in." He smirks and you giggle at the way he says it.

"Can you help me toji?" You ask, still unsure if you want to test you legs out.

"Of course baby." He leans down and grabs your waist with both hands and sets you gently down in the water. The warmth immediately cooling your tight muscles.

He starts washing at you chest with a warm cloth. Your eyes close, you love the sweet moments with toji, especially after sex. He gets all mushy and lovey and you just want to bask in the feeling forever.

"Hey mama," you peek your eyes open at him, "you sure i didn't go to rough on you t'night?"

"Im fine, honey, once the bath is done and the meds kick in, I'll be fine." You smile at him

"Just didnt want to hurt my sweet girl, thats all." You kisses your lips softly.

"Im perfectly content right now toji, love the bath that you made for me and the fact that you're here." You say genuinely.

Toji just smiles and kisses your palm.

After a few more minutes of just washing up and brushing teeth, you finally head to bed and get the rest you so desperately desire.

"You all good mama? Ready for bed?" Toji asks as he holds out his arm for you to crawl into.

"Yeah, ready for bed..." you yawn. "Love you toji"

"Love you too mama"

--------------‐

A/n: omg two fics in a day 🤯 you're lucky my college classes havent started yet and i get burnt out immediately 😭😭

[taissaswifelowkey]

test and recognise

a/n: horror girlies deserve peace. especially skye riley my girl was stressing give her a break 😭 i was inspired by edits of smile 2 and i saw one with “test and recognise” and wanted to write something about it (i have to find this edit again) i tried to stick to the plot but sort of altered it so it doesn't really stay true to the story? but since reader was involved i had to mix it up a bit. the ending is ambiguous. idk i wanted to try something new, maybe it should have stayed in the drafts. minors, ageless blogs dni please, drop feedback if you have any, enjoy reading let’s gooo

w/c: 2.3k words

warnings: allusions of self-neglect, issues differencing reality? basically, the whole plot of smile 2 but i didn’t do it much justice. proofread but i might have left mistakes behind, let me know if i missed anything else!!

You hesitantly knock on Skye’s door, having been told beforehand by her mother and Joshua that she’s been “uncharacteristic”. He looked nervous, his usual polite smile and engaging presence toned down to a shaky voice and hunched posture. You look down at the paper bags held in one hand. A few of Skye’s favourite snacks as well as her favourite takeout. Maybe that would comfort her? Or maybe she’ll just send you off.

You’re not even sure why you’re here.You don’t recall the last time you’ve talked to Skye in person. Maybe it was after her fall out with Gemma. Who also happened to be your friend, and you would always be together along with Skye. You were then in an awkward position and did not want to fuel the already disastrous atmosphere. Of course you still texted and called her whenever you could, when you weren’t on press tours or scheduled to be on carpet interviews. That of course lasted for a little while, your calls and messages soon went unreturned. But even after hearing about her personal incidents, you passed your best wishes for her to her mother and left a note. It was the least decent thing to do.

The door slightly creaks open, a wild pair of eyes flickering between yours. Her blonde hair falls messily in her forehead and you catch a glimpse of dark circles underneath her eyes.

“Skye?”

She stays still for a minute, eyes squinting at you before she opens the door a tad wider, confusion written all over her face.

“What are you doing here?” She grumbles, her voice low and hoarse, a tone of accusation nearly ripping through her utterances.

“I’m…”

Saying that you’re here on the behalf of her mother and assistant doesn’t sound like the most appropriate response. Nor does “I thought we’d catch up”. She waits, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Did Gemma send you?”

“No…?” You trailed off, not sure as to how you should handle the painfully uncomfortable situation you’re in.

“Was it my mom?”

Not being the best at hiding your emotions, you purse your lips mouth opening and closing to give an answer when she huffs and opens the door.

She doesn’t look back or wait for you to come in, presuming you’d do it on your own like you had many times when you and Gemma were invited for sleepovers. You close the door behind you, following her to the kitchen. Placing the bags down at the counter your brain is wrecking to come up with words instead of being left in this blank haze.

“What’s that?” She points the contents with her head, only registering them now.

“Just something I thought I’d get before stopping by.” It’s a progress, you think. She hasn’t kicked you out yet.

“Was that under my mother’s advice too?”

You feel like you have to tread the line, judging by her questions and current state. You don’t want to be overbearing. But you don’t want to make it seem like you don’t care about her either. Even though she has progressively cut you off through the years.

“You know I never come empty handed.” You attempt to smile, nervously clearing your throat. It was the truth. Though its reminder had no effect on Riley. She just stares blankly at you, before leaning on the counter, dropping her head in her hands. She doesn’t say anything for a while and you feel an uncomfortable and almost murky aura creeping through the room again.

You do wonder why Skye’s mother chose you out of all people to check up on her. This is something that needs to be handled professionally and not just friendly care.

The bag rustles. Skye holds the plastic bag and crushes it, her knuckles turning white before she releases it, gradually.

“Is it real?” She whispers, not looking up at you, her hands going to crush the plastic again. Your silence makes her look at you. Truly look at you for the first time since you’ve gotten here. A look of examination, not a fleeting one.

“What…?” You hesitantly murmur, not wanting to ruin whatever it is that was happening. She holds onto the bag again, this time ripping it piece by piece.

“Is this real?” She repeats, not bothering raising an octave. What’s the use? This could be her lucid dreaming again. In a couple of hours she’ll wake up alone in her apartment. You’re just something present at the back of her subconscious. Maybe it’s the rot playing with her again. Or her brain guilting her into talking to you and Gemma. Her eyes bore into yours again, trying to memorise every single detail. From the way that you dress to the subtle furrow in your brow. This is the closest thing she’d ever get to normalcy.

Her words and actions worry you more than it is confusing. She chews on her lips, frantically running her hands through her hair. You’re afraid she’ll rip her scalp with how rough she’s being.

“Skye…” You slowly raise your hands up, then face your palms down, taking a deep breath. In all truth you don’t know what you’re doing. But you don’t want to see her like that. It pains you more than anything.

She looks down at your hands, her eyes tracing the lines of your palms. Her hands itches to touch yours, anything to ground herself in this reality. Or in this dreamlike reality. Anything. She lets go of her strands, a few fragments of her hair whisking away, before dropping her fingers to the counter. You don’t move your hands away, leaving them as it is.

She slowly reaches for them. She wants to take her time in this reality, in this world, where it does not feel like terror. This is the peace that she’s been wanting.

Her fingers start with the skin of your wrists, tracing your veins. They’re not delicate but do not stop your breath from hitching. She presses down on your pulse and you hope she cannot exactly feel how fast it is racing. She then movies to your palms, tracing its individual lines, and does the same with your fingers. The position is a bit awkward but it doesn’t stop her from lightly pressing on to them every now and then. She feels the monster taunting her, whispering mocking words

You’re going to wake up soon, Skye.

“This is real. I promise you.” You don’t dare raise your voice above a breath, letting her hold on to you. It’s painful but you endure it.

Your hands were so warm. She could melt at how delicate and soft you were. She never wanted to let go. She caught on to what you said. She just couldn’t take it into account. Not with her tears slowly brewing her eyes, blurring everything. You gently let go of her, causing her to raise her head in panic, but you join her behind the counter. You slide your hand towards her again, speaking earnestly.

“I promise you.”

Don’t believe what you see. It’s only a matter of time before she leaves.

She takes your hands and collapses in your chest, letting her tears escape. She didn’t want to feel terror anymore. She didn’t want to feel this weird pressure on her chest again. She wanted to start over again. Back to where everything was simple and easy.

You let her hold on to you, her hands clutching your clothes in a visceral grip. You can feel her tears damping them. Her makeup stains silk probably leave traces behind. And yet, you hold her close, impossibly close to you. She can feel the thrum of your heartbeat, the fabric of your clothing. You still wore your signature scent, sweet and subtly woodsy.

“Are you real?” She sobs, taking a risk to pull back, not caring if she’ll wake up anytime soon. Or if you’ll go away.

Instead of answering her, you reach for her fingers, tracing them to your wrist until she can feel your pulse. You hold her free hand and trace her wrist until return, before feeling her own pulse.

Wordlessly, she crashes into you again. Though she is calm, her body is still wracking with tremors.

“I don’t want to wake up. Don’t want to go back.” She babbles over and over. You still don’t understand, but you figure that the last thing she needs is to be alone.

“I’m not leaving. Ever.”

Not again, you wish you could say.

You repeat soothing words until her tremors die down. You don’t know how long it has been since she’s been in your arms, but you still repeat the same words until she’s completely slack. Much to her protest, you guide her to the couch, promising that you’ll be back.

You go to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. You make sure to come back quickly, not wanting to leave Skye alone.

“Here.” You murmur, placing the glass of water on the table. Before you can ask anything else, she gulps down in one shot.

“Do I need to bring another glass?” 

She shakes her head, pulling you down to sit with her.

“No, just…stay. Please.”

“Do you need me to heat up the food?”

“No, later. Right now I want you to stay with me.”

And you do.You stay for as long as she needs. She leans into you, dropping her head to your shoulder. It’s a comfortable silence, not the dreading kind that she’s been used to.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? You know I’ll always be here for you–”

“I know, I know. And that’s the problem. I…look, I haven’t always…I have not been a good friend. Not to you, not to Gemma. I had shit to deal with and instead of being honest I closed up on myself. And now it feels like it’s ruining me, everything. I just feel…rotten. Like I’m decomposing every minute.” She rambles. She doesn’t know why she’s saying this to you. probably because she knows this is the only place she feels safe.

You bring her closer to you, taking her hands in yours and squeezing them, encouraging her to speak.

“I’m lost. So lost. And it feels that at every turn it feels like I’m being pushed back.” her voice wavers, tears threatening to escape her eyes once again. “It’s like there’s this weight pulling me back. And I don’t know what to do. Like…like…like it’s always coming back for me again to pull me back again.”

You rub soothing circles in her back, fighting back your own tears. If you knew how she felt, you would’ve done more than just sent her mother messages. You would’ve reached out sooner, let her know that you’ll never leave her. 

But would it make that much of a change?

“Do you think I’m insane?” She mumbles against your shoulder, tracing the patterns of your hands. “And be honest with me.”

Your furrow your brows, taking her hands in yours, lightly squeezing them.

“You’ve been through a lot. For you to be standing here…it takes a lot of effort. You’re stronger than what you think you are, Skye. And you’re valid for feeling this way. You’re not insane, Skye. If anything, I think you’re brave.”  You try to keep your voice level, making her eyes meet yours. “And I can’t imagine half of what it’s like to…to go through so many things. But you’re not alone. There are people who care for you.”

For a long minute she questions if you’re just saying that to make her feel better. But by the look on your face, the same serious and gentle expression she’d come across with multiple times, she knows…or hopes, you are being truthful.

She lays in your arms again, her eyes closing as sleep slowly takes her whole. She tries to fight it, not wanting to escape. You notice, and grab a nearby blanket, comfortably draping her in warmth. She can’t fight it back anymore.

“It’s okay. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Don’t let me go.”

“I won’t.”

She falls asleep right after that.

°

You’re not here anymore. She does not have a real idea of how long she has passed out, but she cannot feel your warmth anymore. Her blanket is still draped around her, she can still feel the ghost of your arms. She doesn’t dare speak out, in fear of this rot to come back at her.

It was the first time since she has had a dream that was not a nightmare. At least she can count herself lucky.

You had to wake up eventually, the rot mocks in its gravely voice.

She pinches the bridge of her nose, passing a hand over her face until it reaches her hair, wanting to rip off her strands. She cries, swearing into the emptiness.

She looks down at the reflection of the glass table, looking down at the glass of water along with a little note

in case you wake up, i’m in the kitchen

She grabs the note, looks at it confusedly. She can’t hear the rot mocking her anymore. Or she can, but it’s…weak? It’s like it’s dying.

Her phone is on the table, there are messages of her mom and Jacob. It must be an illusion.

“Skye, what’s happening are you okay?” You rush in the living room, you don’t even have time to finish your sentence before she crashes into your arms, nearly toppling you over.

“You’re here. You’re here.” She babbles, over and over, not letting you go.

You hug her back, softly whispering soothing words.

“I’m sorry, I just went to get some food for you–”

“No, no, it’s okay. You’re here.”

You don’t question her, letting her speak. Her arms laces your waist, smiling in relief at your warmth, your scent, the feel of you.

She pulls back to meet your eyes, holding your hands to her cheeks. The rot is fighting to make an appearance, yelling, screaming, roaring insults. You wipe her tears with your thumbs, kissing her forehead.

“I’ll always be here.”

Her knees buckle, her entire body feels lightweight. Her mouth feels dry, deprived of water. You’re quick to catch her in your arms, sliding down to the floor.

“You’re here.” She laments, her eyes fluttering close, missing how you reached for your phone to call for help, drowning in silence and emptiness.

[sillyandquiteawkward]

arghgh your latest comic... CONSTANTLY thinking about swansea's relationship to alcohol... relapsing after 15 years of sobriety without adjusting for his lost tolerance... drinking at a passively suicidal level and expecting daisuke to keep up with him... and the way he and his apprentice react in opposite ways to the mouthwash? when swansea's drunk he's energized, aggressive - he stops caring about his dignity or even if he'll make it through the night. he accepts his own death the minute they open the cargo. daisuke, meanwhile, is exhausted and miserable and deeply, deeply ashamed of himself.... he starts worrying what his parents would think. he thinks he's going to see them again.... this game hurts....

swanseas split second acceptance of his death once they find out its all mouthwash makes my fucking heart sink and ache sorely. it hurts so much because before that i think he was holding out hope theyd get saved, that they wouldnt need to use that single cryopod. he didnt want to open cargo because their pay would be on the line, the one last thing tethering the crew to stability. once that was severed so was swanseas hope and desire to be a model man, and to go back to chase his selfish indulgent self destructive desires as an alcoholic.

and how his last effort to show daisuke the same happiness that he enjoyed, he tries to bond with daisuke through his one true passion in life. and that only brings daisuke down, as hes not the happy drunk like swansea is like you said. when drunk, daisuke acknowledges his situation for the first time since boarding the tulpar, the first time he lets his brave face falter. drinking together would never bring swansea and daisuke closer, only serve as another way for daisuke to understand swansea the best out of all of the crew, something he was already doing.

it really does have such a tragic paternal bond between the two of them. not only do we just have the mentor/mentee, but it reminds me of a dad who would try to bond with his son in the only way he knows how, thru his own hobbies. in this case, drinking. and he tries to instill this habit onto daisuke, because he knows this is hopeless and that if it makes him happy, maybe itll make daisuke happy. but its not the right way to bond with him, its trying to build a relationship on shaky ground.

it reminds me of how swanseas harsh words are always underlined by swanseas frustration that daisuke is in this situation. he lashes out at daisuke when really hes mad at their situation and the company. luckily, daisuke seems to notice this and doesnt take a lot of what he says at face value, but you know it really does dig at him under the surface, as daisuke is only motivated by external pressures acting on him. swansea finally realizes that they fundamentally arent the same people right before daisuke dies, he mentions that daisuke could never become like him, miserable, old, jaded, a happy drunk. that he couldnt bond with daisuke like he would with someone like him, they are fundamentally too much of different people, that daisuke is a better man than him.

i have to agree: this game hurts.

[ecinev]

The brotherhood and the X-Men finding out about Cherik. (Please pretend this is chronologically correct)

It did seem weird that Charles and Erik would always leave at 4 pm on Saturday at the same time, no matter what important event, situation, or emergency there was. Leave 4pm, come home 5pm.

At first no one thought about it, the brotherhood would be too scared to ask Erik and the X-Men would just assume that Charles was meeting up with Moira. Until after Erik was imprisoned (X2)

They would check Charles schedule, before Erik was in prison it would just suggest "Meeting" but now it said "Visit Erik's prison".

"Wait you don't thin-" Scott said, before he was cut off by storm

"you don't actually think that this 'important' meeting that Professor would go to every week was with Magneto?" Ororo said, almost laughing

"Its fair to assume Oro" Jean said.

Ororo rolled her eyes, Scott forgot about it, and Jean didn't care that much. But they all agreed to keep a prep bag of tools and equipment just in case anything happens to the Professor

While Erik was in jail, Mystique and Azazel would check up on Erik, Azazel teleporting in and asking if Erik needed anything, and Erik ignoring him because he didn't wanna be saved by him. This one time, Mystique begged Azazel to visit Erik, worried since Erik wouldn't talk to them. Azazel agreed, teleporting in Erik's cell. Shocked as he saw Erik playing chess with Charles, teleporting out as soon as he saw Charles, reporting everything back to Mystique who was Erik's right hand woman. Pyro overheard everything.

Even though Pyro hated the X-Men and everything there, he had to tell someone.

"John! What happened? Bobby said freaking out, its not every day your ex-bestfriend who decides to join an evil mutant leader randomly unblocks you and messages you "WE NEED TO CALL NOW"

"OKAY SO I OVERHEARD AZAZEL AND MYSTIQUE" John said, full of excitement

"this is why you called me? With hot goss" You could almost see Bobby's disappointment.

"MAGNETO AND PROFESSOR! THEY MEET UP EVERY WEEK" John screamed

".." Bobby didn't reply, he has heard rumors from the other students about this schedule, and now it's confirmed??

Bobby just exclaimed a yelp and hung up the phone, John rolled his eyes.

"PROFESOR SCOTT!!" Bobby yelled, Scott came running. Bobby told him everything, Scott told Ororo and Jean and the rumors spread wildfire, even reaching the brotherhood.

The next time the Professor went to visit, Scott insisted on coming. (Okay then ykyk they get kidnapped by Stryker. Watch X2)

But this time it's different.

After Magneto and Mystique broke into the Cerebro 2, Magneto first asked Mystique to wait outside, wanting to talk to the Professor.

He came up to Stryker's son, putting his helmet on his head, making him defenseless. Charles came out of the illusion, panting.

"CHARLES! are you okay?" Erik said concerned, just mere hours ago they were playing chess and flirting.

"Erik? Wha-what happened?" Charles said, he felt faint and exhausted.

"Look, the X-Men and Mystique are here. Do not focus okay?" Erik said alerting Charles.

"okay okay" Charles said, trying to listen.

Erik was scared, but he needed to put on a show, he called mystique back, and did their plan of switching Charles to focus on humans.

The only people who knew about them were Jean and Hank. During their visits, Erik would tell them the plan, Charles would think of a defense. (Just imagine them using war as foreplay)

Charles wouldn't tell Jean EVERYTHING, but that he read Erik's mind and knew his plans. (But she knew because it's obvious)

The X-Men defeat Erik and Mystique using this brilliant plan that Jean just 'thought of'

The rumors get too loud, and everyone is asking is it true? Even Erik gets asked.

Then its too late, they have no more excuses and confess.

The X-Men were shocked, the Brotherhood(full of gays) was more supportive. The X-Men were worried about how this would affect the war, plans, and stuff. While the Brotherhood celebrated more, still intimidated as Erik showed them that this fact didn't change him.

Charles and Erik were more open about their relationship, still keeping secretive.

[aviradasa]

The Lost boys main Hcs

Dwayne

Also i gave him an actual personality. Cause suprisingly, quiet people can have personality traits other that being a brooding,mature,book loving,parental, and having good dick.

Ok Well i kept these traits but added more to him cause i didn't see anyone else doing so.

Enjoy!!

(Ps this was hardly proof read. and written at 2 am so pardon how weird it may be)

Contrary to popular belief this man is just as crazy as the others. If not more.

Granted, yeah, he can be chill as hell but do not let that fool you cause just under that quiet persona is an actual sadistic asshole.

I mean damn.

To start off, this dude is brutal when it comes to feeding. I mean, he can give David a run for his money.

I mean did y'all see him during the bonfire scene??????

During that, he was honestly a bit rushed cause normally, he will keep his victims alive for a good long while before actually killing them, all while ripping them to pieces.

And cause he is smart as hell he knows the right places to tear into a person where it will take them longer to die from it.

What an asshole.

But when he's not being evil as fuck he is giving the others stupid ideas.

I mean honestly i think the whole taking Michael to the bridge thing was his idea.

He just snuck over to David and was like, "Hey, I have a wonderful idea." And David was like "hell yeah I like that"

Well, ok, that's not exactly how I went, but that's my dummed-down Disney villain version.

They had all hung off the bridge before, but Dwayne knew that that would probably freak Michael the fuck out more than anything, and he just wanted to watch that poor dude suffer.

On that topic he lowkey hated Michael at first.

So he just ignored him as much as possible. But at the same time, he also was just waiting for Michael to start some shit so he could fight him.

When Michael punched David, this man got so excited, only to have his dream crushed when he couldn't swing on him.

Poor dwayne.

The main reason we don't see much of dwaynes personality is cause Michael is around every time we see him and he does not fuck with him enough to grant him access to who he is as a person

Speaking of him and David, I, kinda see them as being evil scheming, besties not gonna lie. Like when Dwayne gets a fun little plan in his head to fuck with people, he's creeping up on David to tell him all about it. (And plant the seed in his mind)

Honestly, if you walk in when these two are talking you swear they both just look like this

Like honestly its just a back away slowly and forget you ever saw them situation 🤣

The best part for him is letting people believe it was David or one of the other boy's ideas so he doesn't get too much attention drawn to himself.

As much as this wannabe attention whore wants to, he will hardly take credit is his plans so as not to get Max on his ass. As much as he wants to be like, "Yeah, I made them do that, hahaha," he won't.

He's literally like a little puppet master.

But enough of him being a silent but deadly dickhead

This guy is amazing at so many things.

He's a bigggg car/ motorcycle guy. If you take him anywhere, like a car show or something, he's gonna be yapping with the owner of a fuckin 1942 Chevrolet Fleetline for 2 hours.

And he can and will spend HOURS, NIGHTS, even working on his bike. Does it need work? No. Does he just wanna work on it for fun? Yes.

Oh, and if the others mention even a slight tick coming from their bike, he's becoming the most insufferable know-it-all in the cave.

" oh well you know if the ticks coming from theirrrr you should already know it needs (blank)

They all hate when he does this but they still let him work on the bikes cause they know he enjoys it so much.

It's relaxing to work on stuff like that for him. He can just sit down, listen to his music, smoke a couple of cigarettes, and tune up the bikes all by himself.

And that's the way he likes to work.

He loves the other's company, but deep down, this man is introverted. He can go crazy and have fun but once his social battery is out, he is out, bye.

He will just disappear once he is done with people for the day. If he doesn't, he gets snappy and sassy, and it's just like "Damnnnnnn. Ok, sir ."

He will start clocking everybody's shit if forced to stick around.

But honestly, most of the time, he's cool. He's kinda like a cat, not gonna lie.

Shits gotta be on his terms or he don't wanna do it.

Ok ok I know I clowned on it but I do think he likes to read

And he does read ALOT.

He keeps a lil shelf of books in his area of the cave.

Aka, he took one of the big ass bookshelves from when the hotel collapsed, fixed it, and now stores all the books he loves on it.

He loves most genres, to he's not picky. From fantasy to westerns he readys whatever catches his interest.

While he reads he likes to listen to music that matches so once he was reading a sci-fi novel he had David Bowie BLASTING

They didn't even know he liked David Bowie. But hey, that's why we love Dwayne. He's full of surprises. And his music taste is the epitome of "I like whatever sounds good"

I could go on and on and on about this man but this might get long so if y'all want me to elaborate on any of these or make a part 2 let me know cause i WILL also if you want hcs of the other boys let me know! Night my little goblins 🖤🖤

[otterly-darling]

Countdown

5! – 4! – 3! – 2! – 1! Happy New Year!

A cheer rang out around the room, filling the small space with a cacophony of noise. All around him people were hugging, kissing, dancing about.

Remus looked at him, he looked back, eyes flickering down to Remus’ lips just once. A long time coming, Remus thought as he took a step closer. Over ten years of dancing around one another; clandestine coffee dates, pints of warm beer in dark corners of grotty London pubs, lingering glances, touches too overt to be platonic. It was time.

‘Happy New Year,’ Remus said, stepping closer still. Their noses were almost touching, fingers brushing down by their sides.

‘Happy New Year,’ he closed the gap, Remus closed his eyes and then… nothing. Remus opened his eyes.

‘Ha! Joke!’ he yelled with glee as he pushed at Remus’ shoulder. ‘I can’t believe you thought I was going to kiss you!’

Remus looked around the room, people were starring. Pete looked sympathetic, Lily looked confused, James – well – James looked a bit cross actually. And Remus, well Remus did the only thing he could think to do, he burst into tears and stormed off towards the kitchen.

-----

‘Dude!’ James threw his hands up, ‘What the fuck?!’

‘I don’t know!’ he looked aghast at the kitchen door, bottom lip wobbling. ‘I- I thought it would be funny,’ he whispered.

James looked severely unimpressed. ‘How? How was that funny? And also why?’

He tugged at jumper, pulling the sleeves down over his hands. ‘Because of Boxing Day. I told Fabian, he thought it would be funny.’

‘You have got to be joking!’

‘He-‘

‘Stop. We’ve been through this. It was decided that it was allowed.’

‘But the rule book says-‘

‘We ignored the rule book! We’d been playing for bloody hours. You weren’t even going to win anyway!’

He did not look appeased. ‘You’re not supposed to have plurals in scrabble. Everyone knows that,’ he muttered with a pout.

‘Go. And. Apologise.’ James shoved him a few times, inching him towards the closed door. ‘Kiss and make up. We’re all sick of this. You want to kiss him, he wants to kiss you. Get. It. Done.’

-----

He heard the door creaking behind him and then the soft click of its close. He already knows how he’s is standing; shoulders slightly hunched, hands covered by his jumper, right foot in front of the left. James’ll be with him.

Remus sighed without turning to face him. ‘I don’t want to talk to you Regulus. I’m drunk and I misread the situation. It was a stupid thing to do and-‘

‘Regulus?!’

Remus turned. ‘Oh. Hi Sirius. Sorry, I thought you were your brother.’

‘My brother?!’ Sirius cheeks were pink and it was spreading.

‘Yeh. I just did something really stupid out there and I’d really prefer to be alone right now-‘

‘You thought you were kissing my brother?!’

‘I thought was going to kiss your brother.’ Remus amended.

‘I know we look alike, Rem, but how drunk are you- wait.’ The pink drained from Sirius’ face, ‘You wanted to kiss my brother?’ he asked, voice trembling.

Remus looked at him. It looked very much like Sirius was about to cry. ‘I- I thought you knew,’ he started, ‘I’m sorry, Sirius but-‘

‘Oh enough! Both of you!’ James actually stamped his foot, the vein in his temple throbbing. ‘Remus! You’ve made him cry!’

‘He made me cry-‘

‘No he didn’t!’

Remus grinned. ‘Ok. No he didn’t.’

‘I didn’t?’ Sirius looked up, wiping furiously at his eyes with his cuffs.

‘I heard you talking to Fabian about it,’ Remus looked a bit sheepish. ‘Sorry. I couldn’t resist. I didn’t think you were Regulus.’

‘Ahem!’ They both looked at James. ‘You are both dicks,’ but he smiled begrudgingly. ‘But clearly made for each other. I’ll see myself out.’

Once James had removed himself from the kitchen Sirius cocked his head to the side, eyes still on Remus. ‘Sorry?’ he said, trying to make his eyes as wide as possible. ‘Although my brother, Moony? Gross.’

‘I thought he’d annoy you the most,’ Remus said, skirting round the kitchen island. He took a step closer still. Their noses almost touching, fingers brushing down by their sides. This time is was Remus who leant in to whisper in Sirius’ ear.

‘You really need to get over that scrabble game.’

Sirius kissed him.

@wolfstarmicrofic

[illegalpaladin]

Ficlet/drabble prompt: Spock asks his parents for advice because he wants to be in a relationship with Jim but doesn't know how to go about it.

Aw man, I LOVE this prompt so much. Sorry it took me a minute! I was really trying to think about how this one would go. I named my word document "Sarek: Romance Expert." I hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for sending this in!

Spock was in his room, sitting stiffly in front of his computer with his hands firmly in his lap. On the screen, side by side, were Sarek and Amanda. 

“Spock,” Amanda said with a gentle smile, “it isn’t often that you call. To what do we owe the pleasure?” 

The relationship Spock had with his father had been tense throughout his adulthood. Even after they– to a certain extent– had made amends when Sarek had been aboard the Enterprise, Spock would not classify their relationship as a friendly one. 

Even now, at the word pleasure, Sarek looked like he was trying not to bristle. 

“I have found myself in a situation,” Spock said, selecting his words carefully. “Due to your expertise in the matter, I realized it would be most logical to direct my inquiries to the two of you.” 

“Our expertise?” Amanda’s brow furrowed in confusion. Sarek’s eyebrow twitched. 

“Yes.” Spock wanted to shift, to squirm under Sarek’s gaze. But, as that would be most un-Vulcan, he refrained. He knew the words that were coming next were heavy, but he was unsure precisely how they would hit. “I have found a human that I wish to pursue… Romantically.” 

“Romantically,” Sarek echoed flatly.

“Romantically?” Amanda straightened in her seat. “A Human?” 

“Yes.” Spock’s hands flexed in his lap, tensing and untensing. 

Amanda’s hands steepled in front of her face; her delight was apparent in the way her eyes sparkled. “Oh, Spock– that’s wonderful news!” 

Sarek did not look as enthusiastic. Though, to his benefit, he didn’t look dismayed, either. 

“So,” Amanda’s hands fell back to her sides, and her smile softened again. “You wish to know how to pursue this Human?”

“I am unfamiliar with Human courting customs,” Spock explained, trying to keep the rush from his voice. “And thus I am unsure how to continue.” 

“It is Captain James Kirk that you are interested in?” 

Spock’s gaze shifted to Sarek as he tried– and likely failed– to hide his shock. “Yes,” he managed after a moment. 

“Hm.” Sarek’s brow twitched again, and Spock braced himself for the words of disappointment. He was more than used to disappointment by now. 

Sarek leaned forward. His gaze stayed steady and even, and Spock could see his mouth turned in the slightest frown. 

“My son,” Sarek began. Spock tensed and untensed his toes to keep himself unmoving. “In order to pursue a Human, you must be aware of just how different Human culture as a whole is from Vulcan.” 

Spock blinked back his surprise. Sarek seemed to register this, and his frown deepened minutely. 

“Humans are rash. They are loud with their emotions and with their intentions.” 

Amanda seemed unfazed by this. Spock wasn’t sure if the words were meant to be insulting. 

When Spock didn’t respond, Sarek leaned back and settled back into place. “What I am saying,” he continued with the smallest hint of agitation, “Is that James Kirk’s interest in you is apparent. There is no reason to worry yourself over Human courting customs.”

Spock had to keep his mouth from falling open as the shock of his father’s words hit him. He’d said it so simply, as if it were a fact as clear as day. 

And if he were saying it that way, that must be the case. “I see,” he finally managed. 

“It was the same with the two of us, you know,” Amanda hummed. “When I first met your father, I–” 

“Spock does not have time for such stories,” Sarek interrupted flatly. “He is the First Officer of a starship. Surely he has more important matters to attend to.” 

Spock could barely hear the words. His head was spinning. His mouth moved on its own. “Yes. I do have some tasks that need my attention.” 

“As I suspected. Goodbye, Spock.” 

Amanda sighed and shook her head just slightly. “Good luck, Spock. Not that you need it.” 

And with that, the call ended. 

[mynnthia]

was talking with a friend about how some of dunmeshi fаndom misunderstands kabru's initial feelings towards laios.

to sum up kabru's situation via a self-contained modernized metaphor:

kabru is like a guy who lost his entire family in a highly traumatic car accident. years later he joins a discord server and takes note of laios, another server member who seems interesting, so they start chatting. then laios reveals his special interest and favorite movie of all time is David Cronenberg's Crash (1996), and invites kabru to go watch a demolition derby with him

[redrobin-detective]

I think one underrated tragedy of Ice King's scars is that he probably took away Simon's sense of levity.

Like in his very limited appearances before Simon is consumed by the crown we see he's kind of a silly dude. In his introduction video, he only put on the crown in order to playfully tease his fiancee. Plus watching him make light of the loneliness and general misery for a young girl in a broken world. He was a dedicated man, who was generous and loved with his whole heart and threw himself one hundred percent into everything he did. He was also a fun lil guy.

But after almost a millennia of being a mad man, the brunt of every joke, someone who only existed as a broken caricature of himself and couldn't be counted on to take anything seriously, I imagine he was done with it. Now he wants to focus back on his academic endeavors, on his role as a father figure in Marcy's life, on being a proper adult. Any attempts to be silly could easily remind everyone - including himself- of Ice King, something he's eager to avoid.

So his jokes and jibes and general lightheartedness turned to sarcasm and self deprecating comments.