#did i ever say it's the second game that caused me to actually tear up at the ending? first was SA2

[semi-sketchy]

Being a Xenoblade 2 fan is so tiring

Every time you think you'll find cool fan content and theories in the tag, it's just filled with people saying anyone who enjoys this "mid" game is a perv

Like people can have their tastes but can you not be a dick about it

[sceletaflores]

"Dependence Is Weakness, Darling."

pairing: older!patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: it wasn’t just the cigarettes or the lighters. it was the way you still find yourself thinking about him. patrick, with his tangled emotions and overwhelming presence, had left an inescapable mark on your life. and as much as you wished it, he wasn’t someone you could easily erase from yourself.

—or: it's been a little over twelve years since you've seen patrick zweig.

word count: 7.8k (hopefully this is long enough lol)

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex but in a loving way, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), semi-public sex (fucking in a car, you know i had to...), angst, swearing, cigarette smoking as a love language, slight mommy issues lmao, hints of mean!reader cause i still live for that shit, love confessions, rain scene cause i'm corny as hell, porn with SOOOO much plot, no use of y/n.

author's note: this might me the filthiest thing i've ever written lols. i actually DID get a couple asks for some more angsty patrick fics and ofc i love writing angst i'm just a girl i live for that shit. look at me doing what was asked of me and not just whatever i wanted! i'm a giver, what can i say. this fic was revived because of a few anon's who demanded it and i'm so glad they did. you guys got me to give this a second chance and i'm so proud of how it turned out. extra special shout out to @bii-aan-ckaa who fiercely advocated and waited very patiently for this! i'm so obsessed with you and your beautiful kind words. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

Fifteen minutes. 

That’s how long you can stomach sitting in the sticky booth of the bar watching Patrick Zweig flirt with a woman you don't recognize across the dimly lit room. Fifteen measly minutes until you were giving your friends some lame excuse of needing fresh air and leaving the table to escape out into the alley.

It’s been a little over twelve years since you’ve seen Patrick. A little over twelve years since you turned your back on him with tears spilling down your cheeks and your favorite racket a mangled, smashed mess gripped tightly in your shaking hand as you walked out of his life forever. 

Or at least what you thought was forever, you guess you were wrong.

To put it lightly, your relationship with Patrick was…complicated. You met him the summer before you started at Stanford. He was tall with green eyes and curly hair and he was kind of an asshole but he made you laugh, so you let him fuck you anyway. At the time, you thought that was it. One really good fuck with a really hot guy you’d never see again.

You thought you were hallucinating when you saw him on the campus courts two months later, when he sauntered up to you with an unmistakable “I know what you look like naked” smirk on his face. He was just as tall and had the same green eyes and the same curly hair and was an even bigger asshole than he was before. You still let him fuck you anyway.

You never thought you’d get sucked into the storm that was whatever the fuck was going on between Art, Patrick and Tashi. Never thought that it would completely ruin your self esteem, your tennis, your everything.

You weren’t particularly close to Art or Tashi in college. Sure, you were all in the same circle. That didn’t make you best friends. Art was nice enough, but he never went out of his way to talk to you. You and Tashi were on the same team but that didn’t mean anything. You respected the hell out of her and her game, and you could tell she felt the same. Even with that respect, there was still a tiny part of you that resented her. 

She was number one, the pride and joy of Stanford, had a constant slew of brands and scouts up to her ears. It seemed like no matter how hard you worked that she would always be number one. It felt like you were always just inches behind her.

Clawing and scratching your way through the ranks since you were twelve to be second best was never the plan. Your mother made sure to remind you of that every chance she got.

Then slowly, she started beating you at more than just tennis. Patrick wanted her, it was more than obvious. At first you didn’t care, he wasn't your boyfriend. He was just a guy you fucked, he could do whatever he wanted. You were friends. There wasn’t a problem.

When you realized you knew more about Patrick than just how he worked dick, then there was a problem. 

At first, all the things you knew about him were boiled down to the vulgar little tidbits you’d notice when he fucked you. You know that he has a birthmark on his lower back. You know when he’d be close because he’d always bite your shoulder before he came. You know his favorite position was really missionary even though he told everyone it was doggy.

Knowing all that was fine.

You also know that he’s allergic to kiwi. You know that he only holds his cigarettes with his thumb and his pointer finger. You’d always know when he was nervous because he’d start tapping his fingers on his thigh. You know that when he’d listen to music he loved, that his right hand would drum along to the beat just a little bit faster than his left would.

You knew all those things because you were falling in love with him, and Patrick Zweig is not someone you fall in love with. Especially not with Tashi Duncan in the picture.

You tried your best to push it down, to pretend you weren’t hurt every time Patrick chose Tashi over you. When he’d miss your games because he was with Tashi, when he’d blow you off to go meet Tashi, when he started to stop returning your calls or replying to your texts. All things you never cared about before started slowly eating at you. You felt awful most days, holed up in your room wallowing in self-pity. Your GPA was steadily dropping as the semester went on. Even your tennis started slipping, and you lost your winning streak to a fucking scrub. When you finally cracked and broke down to your mother over the phone one night she just scoffed.

“Well what did you think would happen when you started to depend on that boy? Dependence is weakness, darling.”

Dependence is weakness. You blocked Patrick’s number that same night.

It all came to a head when he blew up at you after Tashi’s injury. Everyone was pretty shaken up about it. You’d never forget the way it buckled, the way the sharp snap rang through the court, the way she fell to the ground screaming. You’d never seen her cry before. 

Patrick found you later that night, all alone on the practice courts trying to burn the day out of your mind by serving balls till you collapsed. It was the first time he talked to you in weeks. He was pissed. Screaming at you, calling you every nasty thing he could think of, getting up in your face. It was a fucking mess. You both said some things that should have never been said, but it ended when Patrick accused you of somehow being the cause of all of it.

“You hate Tashi, fucking hate her. You wanted something like this to happen. I bet you’re just over the fucking moon that she’s finally out and you can take her place. You can finally be number one seed and you're fucking ecstatic, aren't you? You’re so fucking pathetic, so desperate for validation. Maybe if mommy paid attention to you for once, you wouldn’t be so fucking needy. You're just a sad, delusional fucking runner-up, grasping at whatever shreds of importance you think you still have.”

You stood there, stunned by his outburst, each word hitting you like a physical blow. It was insane, nothing but Patrick blowing things way out of proportion in the midst of his anger.

You wanted to scream, to deny it vehemently, but the hurt and frustration choked off your words. Tears welled up in your eyes, a mixture of anger and heartbreak swirling in you. Vision blurring out everything but Patrick's face twisted up with rage as he glared at you, his words lingering in the air like poison. 

You told him about your mother because you thought you could trust him. You thought he was the only person that really understood you, his dad was a piece of shit too. Him using something so delicate as material to hit you where it hurts was the last straw.

You blew up, all the things you’d been keeping bottled up for months finally boiled over in you swinging your racket down on the green concrete over and over until there was nothing left of it to break. You didn’t even look at Patrick as you walked away. You never saw him again.

You’d love to say it was also the last time you thought about him, but that would be a lie. As much as he hurt you, and as much as you hated him for it, your mind refused to let you forget him.

You still smoke Camel Blues because that was your guys’ brand, even when you should have quit years ago anyway. You still buy the same color lighter, pink. You tell yourself it’s nothing more than an easy choice, that it’s a good color. It’s not at all because you can still hear Patrick’s teasing voice in the back of your head bitching, “I can’t believe you make me use a pink lighter.” when he always forgot his and had to borrow yours. 

It’s not based on a compulsive need to be reminded of him every single time you use it. It’s just convenient, okay.

You know deep down that they were the only remnants of a past that you still couldn’t fully let go of. As much as you tried to bury those memories, they lingered, melded into the corners of your mind like stubborn stains. 

It wasn’t just the cigarettes or the lighters. It was the way you still find yourself thinking about him. Patrick, with his tangled emotions and overwhelming presence, had left an inescapable mark on your life. And as much as you wished it, he wasn’t someone you could easily erase from yourself.

Even twelve years later you’re still trying to convince yourself that dependence is weakness, that you were better off without him. But sometimes, in the quiet moments like this when the smoke curls from your cigarette and the pink lighter flickers in your hand, you wonder if he ever thinks of you, if he regrets how things ended between the two of you.

Maybe it's not that you can't escape Patrick's grip on you after all these years, it's that you just won't.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you don't hear the heavy door to the bar swinging open, or the sound of gravel crunching underneath approaching footsteps.

“Holy shit,” a deep voice rings out from your right, “someone pinch me.”

Your whole body tenses, your cigarette freezing a few inches away from your lips. Something like fight or flight starts to quietly buzz beneath your skin. You’d recognize that voice anywhere, even despite the gruffer, more grown up tone that wasn’t there the last time you heard it.

Your heart’s already kicking into overdrive when you finally start to hesitantly turn your head, time almost slowing down as your eyes sweep over the alley. You kind of don’t want to believe that your luck is this shitty. That maybe it was all in your imagination, that you were thinking about him so much you were starting to hear things that weren’t really there, that he was still back in the bar feeling up that blonde girl. But it can never be that easy, and sure enough, there he is.

Patrick Zweig is standing a few feet away from you with both hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans and a wide, achingly familiar grin lighting up his face.

You’re quiet for a few long moments, completely shocked into silence. Your mind races with a million different things you want to say but can’t find the voice to. You should be causing a scene. You should be losing it, screaming, crying, throwing things, slapping him hard across his unfairly handsome face. But you don’t, too surprised to even move. 

Patrick speaks again, taking several steps towards you. “It is really you, right?” he asks, eyes wide and mouth pulling into an easy, lopsided grin. To anyone else, the laid back, carefree tone he was going for would sound genuine. You can barely pick up on the stunned, almost breathless edge lacing his words, like he also can’t believe you’re standing right in front of him.

He steps into the light shining from a dingy lamp above the door, it basks around him in a yellow orange glow.

Same eyes, same ears, same Patrick.

For years you’ve thought about this exact moment, what you’d say if you ever saw him. You lose all of that practice the closer he gets. He’s less than a foot away from you now, an expectant look on his face. He’s waiting for you to say something. 

You feel like running, like stubbing your cigarette on the pavement and making a break for the door. You already ran from him once, but old habits die hard. 

You don’t run, you refuse to take the easy way out. You’re a grown woman, you’re stronger than you were in college, you’re going to the goddamn Olympics. It’s only Patrick for Christ’s sake.

“What are you doing here?” It sounds harsher than you meant, but that’s probably for the best. He doesn’t deserve kindness from you. 

“Tennis.” Is all he says, fishing out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. Camel blues. “What are you doing here?” He parrots back, smacking the bottom of the carton, plucking the one that shakes out between his long fingers. “I’d think that Miss. Team USA would be too busy for bar crawls.”

You bristle, eyes narrowing skeptically. You can’t tell if he’s making fun of you or not. “It’s not a bar crawl,” you shoot back childishly, feeling defensive under his heavy gaze. “We’re celebrating.”

Patrick just nods, letting out a small hum in lieu of replying. He's close enough now that you can see gray strands streaked through his hair. He looks older, a few barely there wrinkles creasing his skin as he pops his cigarette between his lips. “Got a light?” he asks around the filter, holding his hand out expectantly before you even answer.

It’s still just as annoying. You roll your eyes, sighing dramatically as you fish your lighter out of your skirts pocket. You place it in the open palm of his hand, ignoring the fireworks that go off at the base of your spine when his fingers catch on your wrist as you pull away.

He mumbles out a half-assed thanks, cupping his hand around the flame to shield it from the wind. If he notices the color, he doesn’t say anything. It feels wrong that he doesn’t tease you about it, staying silent as he tosses it back to you when his cigarette finally lights. You ignore the hurt blooming in your chest as you pocket it.

Patrick takes a deep inhale, the tip of his cigarette burns bright red. The way his lips wrap around the filter has heat spreading through you. “Shocked you’re still smoking,” he waves his free hand at you vaguely, smoke flowing from his lips as he speaks. “It’s not super admirable.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s really how you want to start this?

“Start what?” he asks coyly, leaning his shoulder too close to you against the brick. He’s playing dumb, the smirk on his face gives him away. 

You say nothing, not trusting yourself to speak. He has a beard now, sort of patchy and fairly new looking. You wrinkle your nose up at it. 

It doesn’t surprise you that he’s acting like this. All calm and collected like he’s catching up with an old friend, like he didn’t say all those horrible things to you. As if every single word he said that night isn’t still engraved in your mind and carried with you through your whole career. 

Patrick’s quiet for a bit, taking another slow drag. “Have you seen either of them?” His voice is hesitant, like he’s treading the water of your boundaries by bringing this up. “Or am I your first?” He lets the innuendo hang in the air, trying to joke his way through something neither of you really want to talk about.

You don’t look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the part of the street you can see through the alleys opening.

You don’t need to ask who “them” is.

You just shake your head no, not wanting to have to say anything out loud and make this into a whole thing. The smoke from your cigarette swirls through your lungs, warm and familiar. 

You’ve seen them both at multiple tennis events. Things like matches, and galas, and charity auctions. Hell, they watched from the stands when you won Wimbledon for the first time. You just make sure and avoid them like the plague, always running the other direction the second you see a short bob and cropped blonde hair.

You’ve been in the same room with them countless times over the years but you might as well have been in separate worlds. The only “contact” you’ve had with them since you all graduated was weirdly ominous.

Art followed you on Instagram after you got your third career slam, but he doesn’t like any of your posts. You’re one of the mere twenty accounts in his following. You never followed him back. 

Then, when your career first started taking off, the press somehow learned about your past with Tashi. They started using it to their advantage when picking headlines for any pieces written about you. “The only woman in the world to beat Tashi Duncan!” It pissed you off to no end. It was stupid, a way to get clicks on their sad little gossip sites. And it wasn’t even fucking true.

They finally stopped when you threatened to sue their asses. Apparently, Tashi noticed.

She sent you flowers. You threw them out.

Patrick nods back, taking his own slow drag. The sound of traffic hums in the background, the music from the bar bleeding through the wall mutely. 

“Congrats on that,” he says casually, looking you up and down slowly. You fight not to squirm under his gaze. “On making the team. That’s some serious shit. I always knew it’d be you, out of all of us.”

It’s a blatant lie. You were always four out of four in college, the one person in the group with the least potential for stardom. If it wasn’t for Tashi’s injury, she’d definitely be in your place — on top of the world.

He’s trying to pacify you, to butter you up. All it does is grate on your nerves and leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

“Did you just come out here to interrogate me? To mess with me?” you ask sharply, frustration starting to get the better of you. “Do you want a fucking autograph or something?”

Patrick laughs, throwing his head back. “Nope, I wanted to catch up. It's been a while.” he shrugs, eyes darkening ever so slightly. “I just know how much you like talking about yourself, that’s all.”

You pause, picking up on the clear implication of his words. “Excuse me?” you question, turning towards him.

“Just saying,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “When we were younger everyone always thought I was this arrogant, cocky, self obsessed prick…” he trails off, an infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. It does nothing to soothe you, only adding fuel to the fire of your anger. “And they were all right, I was. But, that’s also exactly what you are right now.” he finishes, tapping the ash off his cigarette.

You feel it, all the emotions swirling inside you of at seeing Patrick again threatening to burst. Anger and misery waging a war in your stomach. The wind is starting to pick up around you, making goosebumps break out over your skin. The fabric of your skirt swishes around your thighs. You feel clammy, but it has nothing to do with the temperature drop. 

“Was?” you ask, condescending and mean, crossing your arms across your chest defensively. “You really don’t think you’re still all of those things?”

Patrick chuckles, shoulders shaking with amusement. He goes to say something, but you beat him to it. “I’ve changed, Patrick.” you say sternly, brows furrowing in displeasure. Your tone is hard, frustration seeping into your words. Considering the last time the two of you spoke, this was almost going well. It’s just like Patrick to ruin something before he needs to.

You know distantly that you could deescalate the situation, but maybe you’re more alike than you thought. Maybe you’re just too greedy to keep the peace. “So fucking sorry that I’m not the same person I was in college, but I actually chose to grow up.”

Patrick snorts, exhaling a plume of smoke through his nose. “Yeah, clearly.” he mutters under his breath, it’s condescending and sarcastic. It pisses you off.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask sharply, cigarette now forgotten and steadily burning away at your side. 

Patrick shrugs, like it’s obvious. “You’re still so lost. I sure as shit don’t have a red, white, and blue track suit hanging in my closet, but at least I know who I am.” He doesn't sound angry, only sure of himself, like he may have been thinking about this for a while. His face is passive, body relaxed as he leans against the hard brick.

Your jaw clenches, anger running hot through your veins. He doesn’t know anything about you, hasn’t for over ten years. He doesn’t have the right to try and talk down to you, not after all the hard work you put in to get to where you are.

“My wrist alone is worth ten million. What are you worth now, Patrick?” You’ll be embarrassed about bringing up status later, you always try to stay as humble as possible, but you’re too mad to care. You just need to hurt him, to hurt him like he hurt you. You’d heard from a friend of a friend that Patrick’s parents cut him off a while ago, that he’s been slumming it ever since. “I know exactly who I am, I’m a fucking Olympian.”

The venom in your tone is sharp, each word from your lips like a knife stabbing through the tense air trying to draw blood. “You’re a fucking nobody, Patrick. You’re irrelevant. Washed up. Buried. Forgotten.” You pause when your voice starts to shake, taking a deep inhale of smoke to try and calm yourself. Your hand is shaking too, ash falls from the burnt out tip down to the gravel. Patrick just watches you, his expression doesn’t change. Smoke billows from between your lips, blowing away with the wind. “We’re not on the same level, not anymore.” 

Patrick’s unfazed, staring back at you with his cigarette dangling from his lips. He takes it between his fingers, letting his arm drop to hang at his side. “I’ve been thinking about you.” he says casually, head lolling to the side lazily. He looks at you through his lashes, eyes sweeping over your face slowly. “I was just thinking about you, and now you’re here. Right fucking in front of me.” he shakes his head with a dry laugh. “You look…” he trails off, green eyes taking in every inch of you. “You look amazing.”

Your pulse flutters wildly, you feel so light headed, like you could pass out any second. “I’ve missed you, missed you everyday since that night.” His expression is that same half cocked grin from before, all smooth bravado and easy smiles as if he’s not staring at you like you’re the very blood coursing through his veins. All the air drains from your lungs, mind racing what feels like a thousand miles per second. 

He sounds like he means it. He looks like he means it. He can’t possibly mean it.

A loud chant ringing through your skull is the only coherent thing screaming through all the mess. Don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it, don’t fucking fall for it–

“Well I don’t miss you.” A lie. “You were nothing to me, Patrick.” Another lie. “You were just easy dick.” Your stomach twists painfully, like your body is physically trying to stop you from lying to yourself any further.

His face stays neutral, it frustrates you to no end that you can’t tell what he’s thinking. Patrick had a terrible poker face in college, you could read him like a book with a single glance. It was one of your favorite things about him, how expressive his face always was.

Now he’s just staring down the bridge of his nose at you passively, the picture of indifference. It’s another reminder of how long it’s been, that he’s lived a whole life without you in all that time. He takes a long drag off his cigarette, never breaking eye contact with you as he does.

His lips are slick and pink, just how you remember them. The beard isn’t so bad, it makes him look more rugged, more like a man. It’s the most drastic change in his appearance, far different from the smooth skinned pretty boy he was before.

He exhales, a long stream of smoke blowing past your ear. “What are you still doing here then?” he muses with a small shrug. He leans in even closer, slowly, like you were a cornered animal he didn’t want to spook. You can smell him, something woodsy with a hint of musk. You can see the clusters of freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose, almost completely faded. “If I’m nothing,” he clarifies, simple, easy. “Why are you here?”

It’s a loaded question, one he obviously knows the answer to. It’s a dick move, forcing you to confront what you’re really feeling. Your eyes start to sting, complicated emotions welling up in your throat. “Fuck you Patrick.” you whisper weakly, all the bite in your tone getting lost in your dejection. Your lip wobbles warningly, you try your best to stifle it. You refuse to cry in front of him.

Patrick’s face does something funny, turning his eyes to the sidewalk. “I need someone like that again. Someone that isn’t afraid to fucking check me, that wants me to do better and not because they just see a check or a legacy or whatever the fuck else my parents expected from me. Someone that wants me to do better because they actually believe in me.”

The honesty in his voice takes you by surprise. He gets more worked up the longer he talks, chest rising and falling a lot faster than before. Rare vulnerability slipping through the cracks of his hardened exterior.  “I fucked up that night, I know. Now my life’s a fucking mess, and I need someone to help make it make sense again.“ 

You scoff thickly, shaking your head in disbelief as you fight back tears. “And I’m that person?” you ask skeptically, brow raised in question.

“You always were,” he replies easily, his face forming into a sad smile. He almost sounds like his old self. Your brain flashes the image of Patrick leaning outside the door of your science lecture, waiting to walk you back to your dorm. He’s smiling wide enough to show teeth, looking down at you with brilliant green eyes, just like he is right now.

Suddenly, he wasn’t the boy that broke your heart on a tennis court twelve years ago. 

He was the boy that held your hair back when you threw up after drinking too much at a frat party and still stayed the night even though you didn’t hook up, his chest pressed against your back like a security blanket the whole night. He was the boy that let you make friendship bracelets on the handle of his favorite racket, and secretly kept the one you made for him braided around the neck for weeks until you finally noticed the fraying blue strings still in place when he forgot his tennis bag at your dorm room one night.

Suddenly he wasn’t anything but the boy you fell in love with when you were eighteen years old.

You swallow hard, heart pounding against your ribcage. Your cigarette falls from the slack grip of your fingers, plummeting to your feet where it burns out on the pavement. 

It’s like you lose control of yourself, like all your morals get shot out of a cannon into the sun. You’re lunging forward before you know what you’re doing, fisting the fabric of Patrick’s shirt and pulling him down to meet you halfway. Your first kiss with Patrick in twelve years.

It’s a mess of teeth clashing together roughly, with way too much tongue and spit to be classified as romantic. It’s desperate. It’s angry. It’s fucking filthy and it’s exactly what you need.

Your tongue forces its way between Patrick’s lips when he gasps in shock, mapping out the familiar territory of his mouth like muscle memory. His big hands fly up to hold onto your hips as he eagerly returns your kiss, pressing you up against the brick and sucking your tongue lewdly. He tastes like smoke and bottom shelf whiskey. You moan into his mouth, wetness starting to seep through the thin material of your panties.

You stay like that for a while, just kissing until Patrick slides the hard line of his cock against your hip strategically. You moan at the size of it pressing onto you through his jeans, breaking the kiss to inhale a couple lungfuls of air. “You’re not fucking me in an alley.” You say bluntly as he trails wet kisses down the side of your throat.

He laughs, nipping at your collarbone teasingly. “My car’s a block away,” he offers between kisses.

You think about it for a second. Deciding on whether or not you’re going to let Patrick fuck you in the backseat of his car like you’re two horny teenagers and not full grown adults.

“Lead the way.” Is all you say, finally letting yourself smile when Patrick starts to drag you away from the bar. 

You shoot your friends a quick text letting them know you decided to head home early, already in the uber you ordered when you’re actually letting Patrick drag you across a blessedly empty parking lot to an old SUV parked in the middle. A completely one-eighty from the Porsche he used to drive.

He takes a second to press you against the door, capturing your lips with his again. It’s a slower kiss, sweeter than the one you shared outside the bar. You feel butterflies erupt in your stomach when he cups your face, gently rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. He fumbles blindly for the car door with his other hand, pulling it open and pushing you into the back. He follows closely, climbing in and shutting the door behind him.

Patrick’s back on you in less than a second, yanking at the buttons of your shirt impatiently, fingers too big to work them through the holes as fast as he wants to. He lets out a frustrated growl, grabbing both sides and pulling hard. The buttons all go flying in different directions, landing in different spots around you.

“That was three hundred dollars,” you mumble against his lips, not wanting to stop kissing him for even a second. He looms over you, broad and all encompassing. He sits up to yank his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside and popping open the button of his jeans.

“You can buy another one,” he says simply, shucking his jeans and boxers off all in one go. His dick is long and lovely, tip red and drooling pre-cum that drips all the way down to his balls. Your mouth waters, desperate to taste it, to feel the weight of it on your tongue and down your throat. You push it to the back of your mind. There’s no time for that, both of you too keyed up to do anything other than fuck.

Patrick leans down, biting your bottom lip hard enough to make you moan. He turns his attention to your pulling skirt down, panties going with it and getting tossed onto the floorboard carelessly. His eyes zero in on your bare pussy, wet and on display. The cool air shocks your system, making you want to press your thighs together but Patrick’s hands keep you spread open.

“Fuck,” he whispers quietly, moving to roll the knuckle of his right index finger over your slick entrance, just barely rocking it into you. You gasp, your whole body trembling with need. “Just like I remember.” He mutters to himself, pushing in the smallest bit deeper. 

Your leg kicks out, patience starting to wear thin. “C’mon, Pat.” you mewl sweetly, bucking your hips up in a clear invitation. “Fuck me.”

Patrick shifts up onto his knees, silently shuffling closer to your spread thighs. His cock juts out from his body, so thick and heavy that it doesn’t point straight up, instead hangs angry and red between his legs. His big hands slide halfway up your thighs, you shiver at the way they skirt across your skin lightly. He presses you backwards by them, leaning over you with your legs slung across his shoulders.

His cock drags across your inner thigh, trailing a sloppy line of pre-come as it does. You nearly wail, wrapping your arms around Patrick’s broad shoulders as you beg for him to give you what you want.

“God Patrick! Put it in. Please, put it in. Let me have it, please, fuck–,” you beg frantically, arms tightening around his shoulders like you’re trying to drag him impossibly closer to you. He goes willingly, burying his nose in the soft skin of your neck. He presses a small kiss directly over your pulse.

“I’m gonna give you this cock, baby.” he whispers lowly, hot lips brushing against your skin with every word. He slides the head of his cock through your wet folds, stopping to rub it over your swollen clit a few times. “Gonna get all up inside you and fuck you exactly how you like.” He slides the length down, letting his tip catch on your empty, clenching hole.

You’re so damn worked up, writhing and pushing back and begging Patrick to just fuck you already, that you can’t take anymore teasing. Your hole contracts around the tip of his dick like it’s trying to suck him in. He sinks in deeper, slowly feeding every thick inch into your aching cunt.

“God,” Your name falls from his lips in a shuddery breath that fans over your fluttering pulse. “You still smell the same.” It’s the same stunned, breathless tone from when he first saw you. He presses his face cheek to cheek with yours, the rough texture of his beard scraping against your skin. 

Patrick moves his hips against you slowly, deep strokes that drag every thick inch of him against the walls of your cunt. The tip of his cock stabbing that sweet spot inside you that makes stars glow bright on the ceiling of his car each time you blink. The angle has his balls pressing against your cunt as he fucks into you, the excessive pre-come leaking from his tip mixing with the sticky wetness of your juices leaves an obscene ring of creamy white around the spread hole of your cunt. It sticks wetly to the base of Patrick’s cock with each thrust, shining back at you on his skin when he pulls out.

The slow thrusts feel amazing, but you know it’s not enough. You need him to pound into you, to bully his big cock into your cunt like he’s getting back at you for shutting him out. You need him to fuck you. 

“Harder, Pat…” you whine breathlessly, clawing desperately at the polyester seats.

He groans loudly, hips immediately speeding up, getting rougher, meaner. He leans up to get more power behind his thrusts, breaking your tight hold on his shoulders. “This is where you belong,” he grits out, sweat dripping from his forehead to fall onto your heaving chest. The sharp smack smack smack of his hips bruising your ass gets louder, the lewd noise filling the car. “Where you should have been this whole fucking time, spread open on my cock.”

The only thing you can even get out anymore are pleading whines and loud moans of Patrick’s name as he pounds into you like he’s trying to kill you. The harsh snap of his hips inching you further up the backseat until your head’s knocking against the doors handle on each mean thrust. Your feet bounce by his ears, body almost completely folded in half so all you can do is lie there and take it.

The car rocks steadily, anyone who spares a glance at the SUV will know what’s going on inside. 

Patrick sneaks a hand between your legs, fingers sliding over your swollen clit. You scream, throwing your head back in pleasure as the calloused tips over his fingers work you over. “Fuck yeah,” Patrick mutters, turning his head to lick and bite at your ankle. “You’re so fucking sexy, so fucking beautiful. I missed you so much, missed this pussy.” His voice is pinched, hips fucking into you impossible faster.

The wet squelching noise of your cunt is filthy, splattering against Patrick’s heavy balls with each thrust. “I know she missed me too, didn’t she baby?” he taunts, eyes wild and blown out. “Taking my cock so well, squeezing me so fucking good.”

“Close,” you gasp out. Patrick pitches forward, licking into your parted lips as he rubs tight circles over your clit faster. He kisses you sloppily, smearing spit all over your lips and chin. His sweat drips onto your face and mixes with your own, it should be gross, but it makes you even wetter. The primal part of your brain overjoyed to be claimed by him. He lifts his fingers up the tiniest bit, smacking them over your clit with the smallest amount of force.

Your orgasm hits you suddenly, back arching off the seat wildly as you gush around his cock. You claw at his back desperately, nails raking down his skin hard enough to leave angry red welts in their wake.

“Shit– that’s good, milk it out of me baby, work for this fucking load.” he groans, hips not slowing down as he chases his own release. His breath puffs over your skin, the rhythm of his hips starting to falter the closer he gets. You whine, trying your best focus on clenching your cunt over his cock in your fucked out state. “That’s it, baby– God – you’re gonna make me come, squeezing me so tight I can barely fucking move…” he growls, teeth sinking into your neck hard.

You hiss sharply, nails digging into his skin as the pleasure starts to become too much. He licks over the bite mark, like he’s apologizing. “Gonna fucking come inside you, fill you up so good, fuck–”

His rambling dissolves into a loud groan, hips giving one last thrust as he buries himself as deep in your cunt as he can. You feel rope after rope of warm come flood your insides, painting your walls with it. It feels like hours, him unloading into you with cut off moans and grunts. 

You're still desperately trying to catch your breath when he finally starts to pull out of you as gently as he can. The red tip of his cock popping free lets the river of his come leak out from your abused hole, spilling out of you to drip onto the car’s seat.

Patrick curses at the sight, scooping the white, creamy mess onto his fingers so he can fuck it back into you. You hiss at the over stimulation, thighs squeezing together around his hand. Your chest is still heaving, breathing erratic as you slowly come down from your orgasm. Patrick tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, smiling warmly as he takes you into his arms and shifts around until he’s sitting up against the door with you curled into his chest.

The windows are steamy, melting all the streetlights outside into a swamp of warm colors on the glass. They shine through the car like sunlight piercing through a stained glass window. You feel light and hazy, like you’re in a dream. Patrick’s body grounds you, firm and familiar against your back. It’s quiet for a long time, only the sound of soft breathing fills the car. You're scratching your nails through the hair on Patrick’s chest when he finally breaks the silence.

“There’s…” he says into your hair, trailing off near the end. He’s idly tracing shapes on your lower back. A circle, a square, a circle, a diamond, a square, a heart. “There’s this challenger in New Rochelle in a couple weeks, I’m entering it. You should come.” 

Your heart drops, the delicate cloud encompassing you and Patrick forcefully ripped away in less than a second. You’ve already heard of this challenger, seen all the publicity it’s been getting since Art’s name came up in the conversation surrounding it. The ‘Phil’s Tire Town Challenger’ is all anyone can talk about. 

If Art’s there, she will be too. Sitting in the stands in a classy Ralph Lauren two piece, watching her husband and Patrick on the court, looming over the two of them for the first time in years. You can’t stomach the thought of seeing her. You can’t stomach the thought of Patrick seeing her, terrified that the second she spares him a glance you’ll be right back where you were in college, an afterthought left in the dust for something better.

Your stomach lurches violently, you feel nauseous. The heat of Patrick’s backseat becomes almost unbearable, making it harder to breathe. You rip yourself away from him, tearing through the backseat to find your clothes. 

Patrick startles, sitting up with a concerned look on his face. “Jesus, what's wrong?” You can feel the warmth of his hands hovering over your back, not sure if he should touch. “What did I do?”

You don’t say anything, you can’t. Your throat feels tight, chest constricted and heavy as you try to take in lungfuls of air. You tug on your skirt and panties haphazardly, grabbing the first shirt you find strewn across the car's floor and yanking it on. You know it’s not yours but you don’t care, too busy trying to shove your shoes back onto your feet and push open the door all at once.

Patrick questions you the entire time, voice confused and insistent as you tumble out into the parking lot. The cool air feels like a life jacket, the smell of rain fills your nose as you try to steady your erratic breathing. You’re still trying to tug your right shoe on as you start to speed walk away from his car.

You can hear the sound of feet slapping behind you on the pavement as you walk. A strong hand wraps around your bicep, whipping you around. Patrick only has his pants on, shirtless and barefoot in his haste to catch up with you.

“What the fuck are you doing? What’s wrong?” He sounds genuinely concerned, his eyes searching your face closely. It makes tears burn hot at your waterline, blurring your vision and falling to trickle down your cheeks when you try to blink them away.

“This was a mistake, Patrick.” your voice is thick with emotion, you try to wrench your arm out of his grip. He doesn’t let go, not squeezing tight enough to hurt but to try and keep you in place. You need to leave, to get as far away from Patrick as you can before you’re in too deep. “Please, let go.” Your voice is small, shaky and weak and so unlike you. The panic from the car is still wrapped around you, growing tighter every second you spend with him.

Patrick shakes his head wildly, raindrops slowly start to fall onto his bare shoulders. “No, fuck no! We can talk about this. We just need to talk–”

“Patrick stop!” Your voice cracks embarrassingly, loud and desperate as you double your efforts to free your arm. “Please just let me go!”

You don’t know if it’s the way you said it or the look on your face, maybe it’s a bit of both, but something makes Patrick let you go. Dropping your arm from his grip and letting his own hang limply at his side.

Rain starts to come down all around you, large drops hitting your skin and soaking the cotton of your shirt. You let yourself meet his eyes, they're sad in a way you’ve never seen before. The green turned dull and lifeless. It looks wrong on him.

When you can’t stand the hurt look on his face any longer, you leave. Walking away deeper into the rain, small puddles splashing up around your shoes with every step. You hope Patrick doesn’t follow you, that he lets you go. You’re doing him a favor by making the choice for him, it’s easier this way.

“You know, I think I really loved you.” He calls from behind you as the rain really starts to pick up. His voice almost gets swallowed by the thunder, you wish it would have. 

Against your better judgment, you look back. Patrick hasn't moved, still standing in the middle of the parking lot. The rain is making his hair stick to his forehead, starting to seep into the denim of his jeans to darken the gray. 

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, voice tiny and pathetic. Patrick probably couldn’t even hear you over the wind whipping through the air. He stares back at you, there's too much distance for you to see the look on his face. You turn on your heels and keep walking.

It’s nostalgia in its sickest form, the dark familiarity of the situation washing over you with the rain as you walk away from Patrick again. Ignoring every call of your name and desperate pleas for you to come back is new, you can’t tell if it hurts more or less than the silence of last time.

You wrap your arms around yourself, tears mixing with the trails of rain running down your cheeks. It’ll make it easier to convince yourself later on that you weren’t really crying, that it was just the rain. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and this will all be behind you. Patrick will be fine, he doesn’t really love you. In a few weeks he’ll go to the challenger and forget all about you. 

You hear your mothers voice ring out in the back of your head as you walk.

"It's for the best, my love. Dependence is weakness."

You hope to God that she's right.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[r0ttenhearts]

Friends?

Scaramouche x Best friend! Reader

angst, no comfort, insults

a bright, summer afternoon. the blazing heat outside of the cooled windows as the cicadas hummed in the unforgiving warm air. but there you were, sitting on scaramouches bed next to him, tapping away at your handheld game as you talked to him. you two had been friends since the start of the previous school year. your sweet smiles and kind gestures moved him, or you hoped they did, as he spoke with you the most in class until it turned to after school study sessions, and eventually just hanging out at each others homes when school was over.

as cruel as scaramouche could be, you found yourself falling for him. the rare smiles he’d give you, or his kind words that were few and far between. it meant more to you than you expected. you figured you were cracking through his tough shell, as he didn’t seem to mind spending time together over the break. or so you thought.

“haypasia is back in town. i thought i’d go see her so i don’t think you can come over for awhile.”

oh right. haypasia. the very bane of your existence. it seemed like every time she was around, scara would leave you to be forgotten. a second thought. sure she knew scara for longer, but did she really know him like you did? no, of course she didn’t, because she was never around. but you were. scaramouche would complain to you about her obsessive antics, how annoying she was and how bothersome she could be, only for him to defend her if you got upset with him about spending too much time together.

“oh.. when will you go see her?” you ask quietly, your voice cracking as you feel that oh so familiar lump in your throat. scaramouche glances at you from above his screen, scoffing and a look of disbelief on his face. “seriously y/n? you’re still so upset about her? what’s your deal?”

you shake your head as you put down your game. your hair covering your face as you don’t face him. you can’t. if you do you’ll break, and you know it. “i just.. i wish you wouldn’t go away for days at a time when she’s around.. you’re my best friend you know? and it hurts to realize that you pick someone over me, someone that doesn’t even stay.” you confess, your hands starting to shake as you can feel his eyes bore into your shaking form.

you can hear him scoff beside you as he sits up, “best friends? we’re friends. actually, we’re hardly even friends because i barely even like you.

you dont shut the fuck up you never do.

you make up lies in your head cause you think i like you but you delusional-ly believe i wouldn’t ever talk to other people and god forbid it be a girl.

oh and you're gonna switch it around saying the reverse about how id care when we all know damn well you could get beat in an alleyway and the most you'd get out of me is a "sorry to hear that.”

he gives you the meanest glare as you stand up from his bed as he shoves you against his bedroom door. fat tears roll down your cheeks as he grips your chin, forcing you to look into his dulled, purple eyes.

“no, tell me im wrong. tell me i dont know what im talking about. god youre so fucking stupid.”

he spits as he lets go of your chin, opening the door as you stumble out. he slams his door shut as you stand there in tears. you loved him? you loved him after he told you how he doesn’t care for you? how pathetic could you be. how could you care so deeply for someone that wouldn’t ever look at you, not even in a friendly way?

with his words ringing through your head, you gather your belongings as you leave his home. your game left forgotten on his bed, wishing to never return or face him again.

————————-

a/n: based on a very real argument with my best friend. a little self indulgent but this was a comfort post. thanks for reading!

part II:

[reduxulousoctopus]

Logan: “Whatever Chuck did in there, it worked. I don’t know how he faced that thing. He never loses his cool.” Rogue: “Forget it, hon. In our business, we all get shook up every now and again.” Logan: “I don’t.” — X-Men: The Animated Series, season four, "Proteus"

~4500 words, immediately Post-Episode, Morpherine established relationship, The Most Traumatized Man in the World dealing with the fact that he is now Slightly More Traumatized

If you missed my last fic, Morph has in-universe (he/him) and out-of-universe (they/them) pronouns because I think that's funny.

--

After watching waves crash against the island’s rocky shore for a moment, Logan stuffs his hands into his pockets and starts walking in the direction of the tarmac where they left the Blackbird. He’s ready to go the fuck back to Westchester, find his favorite seat at the bar, and drink until he forgets he even exists. Plenty of ye olde pubs to be found on the mainland, of course, but he’s had more than enough of bonnie Scotland for one day.

Too bad some force out there—be it God, the Devil, or the whims of an uncaring universe—seems dead set against ever letting Logan have what he wants.

“I think the professor’s gonna want to stay a while longer,” Rogue pipes up behind him. “Y’know, to make sure Kevin’s really okay, and to make sure Dr. MacTaggert’s doin’ alright, too. We probably got at least an hour to kill before it’s time to head home.”

Holding back an enraged scream, Logan instead grunts out through gritted teeth, “Uh-huh.”

“Why don’t you pay Morph a visit?” Rogue suggests with a smile. “That might make you feel better. Even if you don’t wanna talk to him about what happened, he always puts you in a good mood.”

Despite her words, Logan’s mood somehow turns even more sour at the thought of seeing Morph again. He crosses his arms and grumbles under his breath, “Morph’s already got more than enough to deal with—he doesn’t need me dumpin’ a load of my garbage on top of everything else.”

Rogue rolls her eyes. “For some reason, Morph actually seems to like your garbage. I already told him you’d come see him before we left. You gonna make a liar outta me, or do I have to throw your sorry butt in through his window?”

How in the hell did Logan end up surrounded by so many females who think they can boss him around? Jean, Storm—even Jubilee’s gotten real bold about demanding rides to the mall.

They’re completely right, of course, but they don’t always have to rub his nose in it.

“I can walk.” Logan gives her a mocking bow. “By your leave, ma’am.”

“Go on, now, get,” Rogue says, nodding her head towards the research center’s entrance. “Surly ol’ polecat. Don’t know how Morph puts up with you.”

Thing is, Logan thinks as he grudgingly makes his way back inside the building, he isn’t so sure Morph wants to put up with him anymore. Three times now, he’s had to watch Morph walk away and not look back, even as Logan called his name.

Kinda hard for a fella not to start taking that personally.

Upon entering the laboratory where the others have gathered, Logan immediately locates the cause of his bad day—across the room, playing some kind of hologram puzzle game with Cassidy, too busy to notice him—before very deliberately looking away and approaching Dr. MacTaggert instead. “Hey, Doc. I’m gonna head upstairs. Unless now’s a bad time…?”

She’s understandably reluctant to tear her eyes away from her son. Even when she manages to meet Logan’s gaze, it takes her a second to actually register what he said.

“Oh! Of course you’ll be wanting to see Morph.” She checks her watch. “He should be nearly done with his morning round of mnemotransience therapy. I’ll call the supervising nurse to let her know you’re on your way.”

Logan frowns, wondering what the fuck ‘nemo-transients’ are, but nods politely when she tells him which room Morph’s in. Not that he needs directions—as usual, Logan opts to trust his nose, letting Morph’s familiar scent lead him through the building, instead. But when he arrives outside the closed door at the end of the trail, something makes him hesitate.

He reaches for the knob. Pauses.

Reaches again, before pivoting on his heel and walking back the way he came.

Stops. Runs his hand through his hair. Returns to the door.

Hesitates again. Growls in frustration.

“Just leave him alone, old man,” Logan mutters to himself. “He’s here to heal.”

Not listen to a whining, yellow-bellied coward like me.

With that bitter self-recrimination, Logan turns away from the door again—only to nearly jump out of his skin when he hears it suddenly open behind him.

“Are you that ‘X-Man’ come to visit Morph?” asks the middle-aged woman with frizzy grey hair and coke-bottle glasses. “Sorry love, Moira called ahead but I only just remembered the door was locked. Must not have heard your knockin’ over my headphones, either. Come on in, love, he’s almost done with his treatment, shouldn't be more than a minute or so.”

Now there’s no chance he can sneak away without word getting back to Morph. Reluctantly, Logan follows the nurse into the room. As soon as he’s through the threshold and he hears the door automatically lock itself behind him, his breath catches and a bolt of sick terror shoots through him, followed quickly by rage.

He hates hospitals, and he really hates laboratories; this room is some hellish combination of both. Sterile metal walls, acrid chemical smells, computers and machinery blinking and blooping with obscure purpose in stalagmite-like clusters rising from the floor. Seeing Morph unconscious on a slab, hooked up to those machines—it makes him want to break things. His pulse is a war-drum in his ears.

This can’t actually be helping Morph get better. They’re hurting him, experimenting on him maybe. Ripping him apart to learn how his shapeshifting powers work. Maybe that’s how MacTaggert figured out how to make her son look normal, because that’s all humans ever want from mutants: to use them, or make them normal.

His claws itch at the underside of his skin. He’s gotta get Morph out of here, run away as far and fast as they can because if they can’t trust MacTaggert then they can’t trust Xavier then they can’t trust the X-Men—

Logan closes his eyes. His thoughts are spiraling in on themselves like a dog chasing its tail; he grabs that dog by the chain and forces it to heel. Maybe he can’t trust MacTaggert—the fact she managed to hide her mutant son from Xavier all these years proves she’s good at keeping secrets, who knows what other skeletons may be hanging in that woman’s closet?—but he damn well knows by now that he can trust Xavier and the X-Men. There’s no point in speculating to the contrary. May as well start doubting that the sun will rise or the tides will turn; may as well send himself to the funny-farm, too, while he’s at it.

“You can sit in that chair while you wait, love,” the nurse says suddenly. Logan’s body jerks in surprise as his eyes snap open. She doesn’t seem to notice, though, already taking her own seat behind a desk not far from the door and picking up a well-worn paperback romance novel. “That one there, by the window.”

“Thanks,” Logan grunts.

The nurse puts on her headphones and presses the play button on her portable tape-player. Logan blinks as his acute hearing picks up shredding guitars, crashing drums, and guttural, growling vocals.

He would not have guessed from looking that she was a metal fan.

Although he moves towards the window the nurse mentioned, Logan doesn’t sit down in the squashy-looking armchair. Instead, he slides the window open and just stands there a while, breathing deeply. No ocean-view this side, but he can smell the brine and feel the cold wind against his face. He can hear crashing waves.

He can still smell Morph, too, which is always a balm—even if he can’t bear to look at him while he’s hooked up to those machines. He can hear his heartbeat and his calm, soft breaths.

Eventually, the room stops feeling quite so much like a trap snapping shut around him.

Morph trusts Dr. MacTaggert. Trusts this place, even if it makes Logan’s skin crawl. He clearly feels safe enough to recover here. Safer than he felt at the mansion, apparently.

Safer than he felt under Logan’s protection.

Some ‘protection.’ Not even one whole day back and I let him go up against Sentinels again.

Yet even when confronted by his worst fear, Morph ran in literally guns-blazing and faced an entire squad of Sentinels almost single-handed to save the team. A true X-Man, through and through.

And what does that make me? Just the guy that turns tail and runs while his friends are in danger, all because he let himself get spooked by a snot-nosed teenager with daddy-issues.

Logan hasn’t forgiven Morph for leaving again—hell, he might even hate him a little—but he’s still so proud of him. That pride only deepens his own shame.

Bamboo and steel, like Master Oku used to say. Guys like Morph, like Xavier and Beast and Nightcrawler, too: they’re bamboo. Strong enough to bend, able to grow back when cut down. For all that Logan’s bones are plated in adamantium, as often as he’s tried to change his nature, he knows he’s made of steel. Tough. Unyielding. Inflexible. Beaten into the proper shape, ground down to a razor’s edge. And if even one crack appears—he breaks.

Even reforged, a broken blade will always be weaker than it once was.

Something beeps on the console by Morph’s bed. Eerily, he seems to instantly snap from asleep to fully alert, like he isn’t so much waking up as activating. His eyes open and he takes a single, sharp breath, which he holds for a moment before releasing it in a sigh.

Logan crosses his arms and leans back against the window-sill, content to watch that long, lean body stretch and those pretty brown eyes flutter.

When Morph eventually sees him standing there, to Logan’s relief, he smiles. That’s gotta count for something. “Hiya, Logan…”

“Hey, kid,” he says softly.

I miss you.

I hate you.

Something terrible happened.

Come home.

I don’t know how to be afraid. I don’t know how to bend.

I don’t deserve you.

“Nice helmet,” Logan says. “You look ridiculous.”

Morph laughs as he sits up and starts to remove the strange device strapped to his head. “You think this helmet looks ridiculous, you should have seen my first and only attempt to design my own costume. There’s a reason why I opted to go with the generic uniform, instead.”

“Well, now I’ve gotta see it. You can’t say that and not show me.”

“And lose what little respect for me you have left? No thanks.” After setting the odd helmet down on the side-table, Morph taps it with his finger. “This is a new thing we’re trying out. Moira says it might help make my nightmares and flashbacks less intense.”

Logan nods like he knows anything about anything. “Nemo-transients therapy, right.”

Morph laughs again. “Right.”

“What’s it do?”

“No idea. Moira tried to explain the science but there were a few too many five-dollar words,” Morph admits. “Basically, it’s meant to make some of my bad memories fade away a little over time, the way the memories of other people do.”

“That perfect recall of yours givin’ you trouble?” Logan guesses with a regretful sigh. It’s a necessary side-effect of Morph’s powers. He can just glance at someone and remember every single detail of their appearance; listen to a brief recording of a voice and replicate it flawlessly; watch anyone perform a physical skill, from a martial arts maneuver to a complicated dance-step, and immediately add it to his own repertoire.

He could probably tell you how many rivets were used to construct the Sentinels that killed him. Or remember the exact moment—month, day, hour, minute, and second—when he realized that no one was coming to rescue him from Mister Sinister; that the X-Men, his friends, the people he trusted most in the world, really had left him for dead.

“On the bright side, I never had to study back when I was in school. You win some, you lose some.”

“Morph…” Logan uncrosses his arms and takes a step towards the bed, but stops himself from getting any closer. Although the nurse is thoroughly distracted by her kissing book and her metal music, she could glance up at any moment. Besides, there’s a security camera looming in the corner of the ceiling, pointed directly at them.

As much as Logan might want Morph to come home, he won’t do it by making this place unsafe for him, should someone at the research center react poorly to seeing two men be a little too affectionate with each other. His hands fall uselessly to his sides.

“I can’t say I like the idea of you lettin’ people tamper with your memories,” Logan admits after a moment.

“It doesn’t erase anything. Just sorta gives me a little breathing room, so the other therapies actually have a chance to stick. That’s all,” Morph assures him. When Logan still looks unconvinced, he adds, “The professor helped design it, if that makes you feel any better.”

It does, actually. Logan can’t understand any of this modern, high-tech psychology mumbo-jumbo. Back in his day, when a fella got a case of shell-shock, the brass would just put a gun in his hands and shove him back in the fight. If Xavier and Morph both agree that this is the best way to help Morph get better, who is Logan to question it?

“I don’t know how much longer we’ve got before it’s time to catch my ride back to Westchester,” Logan says.

“Oh.” Morph shoots him a knowing smile and a wink. “I get you.”

Well. That wasn’t what Logan was getting at, but he definitely isn’t going to say no…

Morph yawns and stretches again. This time, there’s nothing innocent in the arch of that spine or the flex of those lean muscles. “Goodness, these sessions sure take it out of me.”

“How ‘bout I walk you to your room,” Logan offers.

“Thanks, Logan,” Morph says with a shameless grin. “You’re a good pal, y’know that?”

As they walk towards the exit, Morph pauses to drum his fingertips across the nurse’s desk. She jumps and removes her headphones with a slightly guilty-looking smile. “All done, then, love? How was the session?”

“Good. How are Fae and Tavish?” Morph asks. After a moment of confusion, Logan realizes those must be the names of the woman with the heaving bosom and the oiled-up, tartan-clad highlander and on the cover of the nurse’s romance novel. “Have they sorted out that little misunderstanding at the clanmeet yet?”

“Aye, things are finally heating up again,” the nurse replies with a grin. “So if you wouldn’t mind maybe holding off telling Moira you’re done with your session, that’d be grand.”

Morph literally zips his lips shut. After Logan and the nurse have a good laugh, he unzips to say, “Don’t work too hard, Doreen.”

“You know I’m in no danger of that, love!” she calls after him as they leave the room.

Although the two of them don’t speak as Morph leads Logan through the halls of the research center, their eyes keep meeting as anticipation builds. It’s been too long—even longer, if you don’t count that cramped, awkward quickie in the mini-jet en route between Morph’s welcome home party and the trashed polymer factory.

When they arrive at Morph’s guest room, Logan doesn’t have long to re-familiarize himself with the scenery. The door is barely shut and locked behind him before Morph slams him up against it with enough force to rattle the hinges. Logan growls appreciatively around the tongue in his mouth and slides his hands down Morph’s back to grab his ass.

There’s surely no better cure for what ails him.

–

Glaring up at the ceiling several minutes later, Logan thinks he’s going to kill someone. Possibly himself.

“It… it’s fine, Logan. Really.”

“Shut up,” Logan snaps. He flops back against the scratchy hospital sheets covering Morph’s bed and hides his eyes in the crook of his arm.

“Everybody has trouble, uh, performing sometimes,” Morph insists. “Especially older—er, I mean—”

“Stop. Talking.”

Morph sighs and turns away, looking frustrated, worried, and worst of all, guilty. That last one breaks Logan’s heart a little. This sure as hell isn’t Morph’s fault. He doesn’t deserve Logan’s anger.

Too bad anger is just about all he ever has to offer.

“I should go,” Logan says, wishing he’d stuck to his guns and stayed away instead of letting Rogue bully him. He’s no good for Morph like this.

Not enough of a man to stand and fight. Not enough of a man to fuck. What good am I for anyone?

Logan stops in the middle of looking for his clothes to shut his eyes, clench his trembling fists, and wait for the wave of rage to pass over him before resuming his search.

“Oh… okay,” Morph says. Logan can’t bear to look at him. He has his jeans buttoned and is in the middle of shrugging on his flannel shirt when Morph asks, “How’d the mission go, by the way?”

A pure, wimpering-animal dread creeps into his chest. Morph keeps talking—Logan hears Rogue’s name, and the phrase ‘made of glass’—but nothing else sinks in. His stomach turns. Sweat beads on his brow. Although he can feel air rushing in and out of his lungs, he can’t breathe.

“Why do you care?” Logan snaps. He can barely hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears. “Thought you turned your back on that life.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Morph demands. “Of course I care—you’re still my friends, I’m still an X-Man! Do you think I wanted to leave?”

“I… I don’t know why I said that,” Logan lies. His vision blurs, but he can still see his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes as hard as he can. They have to be playing tricks on him. He’d be able to smell that monster coming.

Right?

“Besides, I didn’t turn my back on you! You turned your back on me, left me to—” There’s a soft thud behind him as Morph punches the mattress. “No… no, that’s not true. Especially not about you. You did more than anybody to… But don’t you see? That’s why I had to leave! I’m no good for the team like this. I thought you understood that.”

Logan nods, although gun-to-his-head, he couldn’t say what he’s agreeing to. He stands up and staggers a few steps away from the bed on legs that feel like jelly. He needs… he needs… to button his shirt. Find his boots.

Grab your gun and head back out there, soldier. The war ain’t over just because you’re scared.

“Logan…?”

“What?!” Why can’t he find his fucking boots? Why can’t he see anything besides his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag.

“Why are your claws out?”

Logan blinks. Looks down at his hands.

His claws hiss back at him like angry snakes.

He retracts them, feels them squirm all the way back up into his arms, alien and repulsive in a way they haven’t felt since they were brand-new.

He blinks again, and suddenly Morph is standing in front of him, between Logan and the door. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Logan should be the one closest to the door. When that monster comes in here—

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Morph says. He offers a smile completely devoid of amusement or joy. “And I’m heading that way, too, so lets see if all these boring counseling sessions I’ve had to sit through are worth the time I could have spent watching TV.”

Closely observing Logan to gauge his reaction, Morph takes his hand and guides it to his bare chest. His heartbeat is a little too fast, his breaths shaky and hitched. Holding Logan’s hand in place, Morph takes as slow and steady an inhale as he can manage, holds it for a few seconds, then releases a sighing exhale. Again and again. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Although Logan doesn’t mean to join in the breathing exercises, he finds himself subconsciously matching Morph’s pace.

Over the course of what somehow feels both like several hours and no time at all, Morph’s heartbeat gradually slows to something approaching normal. As it does, the worst of Logan’s terror fades, leaving him exhausted, angry, and embarrassed in its absence.

The monster—the kid is still downstairs with his mother, Cassidy, Beast, and Xavier. The only thing tormenting him is a few bad memories.

“Sit down,” Morph says, pushing him a few steps backwards until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed. Logan doesn’t sit so much as collapse. His muscles twitch uselessly with unspent adrenaline. “Easy, big guy. A panic attack can really take it out of you. Believe me, I know.”

“You take it easy,” Logan snaps without any heat. “I don’t get panic attacks.”

“Uh-huh,” Morph says dryly, not buying what Logan’s selling even at a discount. Standing between Logan’s spread knees, Morph reaches out and runs a hand through his hair. Logan nearly growls at him—until he feels blunt fingernails scratch over his scalp just right. All the fight bleeds out of him until he can only slump forward and rest his sweaty forehead against Morph’s belly.

While he continues to play with Logan’s hair, Morph speaks again: “You and I aren’t great at this mushy stuff. And I know you too well to bother asking if you want to talk about what’s wrong.”

Logan shakes his head.

“Just… know that if you did want to talk, I’d listen. Okay? I know what it’s like to go through this stuff, and I know it feels like you have to tough it out alone, but—”

“You don’t.”

Morph’s hands go still. “…What’s that?”

“You said you know what it’s like. But you don’t,” Logan repeats, gritting his teeth, “because nothing happened to me.”

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” Morph asks, taking a step back so he can look Logan in the eye. “Wait, so this isn’t about Weapon X, or Sabretooth and Fox, or—”

Of course Morph would assume that, because that might actually make some goddamn sense, but no. Some of the worst things that ever happened to him, yet they only ever made him tougher and stronger and angrier. Instead, it’s a kid throwing a temper tantrum that finally managed to break the Wolverine.

—he’s falling apart, weeping at the feet of a stranger he nearly killed, begging her for answers she can’t give him. Why did they do this?—

—pretty brown eyes stare up at him, brutalized and afraid. What’s the matter, punk? Can’t take care of your woman?—

—he sees his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag. Where are you, Logan? Wolverine!—

“I ran away during the mission,” Logan snarls. There it is, the ugly truth.

A long, terrible silence hangs between them, until—

“Oh.”

Logan cringes and looks away like a scolded hound. Shame burns acidic in the back of his throat.

After a moment, Morph moves to sit next to him on the bed. Logan watches out of the corner of his eye as he leans forward, braces his elbows on his knees, picks at his hands.

Then, to his dismay… Morph quietly chuckles.

—high, mocking laughter echoes through the dark jungle. Who could ever love a freak like you?—

“Funny,” Morph remarks. Unlike the corrupted thing he became under Sinister’s control, there’s no sign of cruelty in his voice, his face, his pretty brown eyes. “I used to think you weren’t afraid of anything.”

“I’m not,” Logan insists, before amending: “I shouldn’t be.”

“Why? Is it so terrible to find out that you’re just as human—er, so to speak—as the rest of us?”

Logan frowns down at the floor between his bare feet.

“Or was all that stuff you told me after the Sentinels came back just bullshit to make me feel better?”

His gaze snaps up to meet Morph’s cold, flat stare. “It’s not the same.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because…” Logan starts, and then doesn’t know how to finish.

Morph, the absolute bastard, smirks like he’s already won the argument. “So you ran away. So what? Did you come right here, afterwards?”

“No,” Logan growls.

“In the time it took you to turn around and get back to the mission, was anyone killed or maimed?”

“The professor fell in a pit of fire.” Morph’s eyes go wide, which is a little gratifying at least. All the more unfortunate that Logan has to tack on a reluctant, “Dr. MacTaggert and I caught him.”

“Jesus… Don’t scare me like that, you asshole. Okay, you almost let Xavier fall in a pit of fire; I almost let Xavier’s brain get stolen by Sentinels,” Morph says with a shrug. “We’re as bad as each other. Anything negative you have to say about yourself, you may as well say about me, too.”

It’s a tidy little trap Morph’s caught him in, without a doubt. Hell of a catch, that catch-22.

“Alright, put it away,” Logan grumbles, and covers Morph’s entire smug, cackling face with one hand.

“What, my dick?” Morph asks, muffled against Logan’s palm. “Talking about some guy’s emotions while my whole hog is out. I feel like I’m in a student film.”

Logan laughs. “You coulda changed that at any point, shapeshifter.”

“Hey, I wasn’t complaining.” Despite his words, Morph shifts back into his uniform as he rises from the bed. “Alright, no bars on the island, but there’s probably a boat somewhere we could steal. Or I can turn into a whale and swim you across to the mainland.”

“Can’t,” Logan says regretfully, shaking his head. “My ride home is leavin’ soon.”

“I’ll buy you a plane ticket. Even better, I’ll pull a guilt-trip on Scott that'd put a Jewish grandmother to shame, get him to come visit me tomorrow, and you can fly back with him after. In the meantime, we’ll rent a hotel room for the night and see if Little Logan has recovered from his stage-fright.”

Logan chuckles. Seeing Morph play Summers like a fiddle would be worth the price of admission alone; that he’d be doing it so Logan can play hooky and drink beer and have sex is just gravy. Still, he can’t help but ask: “You sure it’s a good idea for you to leave?”

“I don’t imagine we’ll see Mister Sinister or any Sentinels having a pint down the pub in a random seaside village in Scotland,” Morph says with a laugh. “What about you? Any chance we’ll run into whatever freaked you out?”

Logan thinks of young Kevin MacTaggert, happy and safe with his mother and Xavier—the man who’s been a better father to him in the past two days than Joe MacTaggert has for the boy’s entire life. In a strange way, maybe that makes the kid a bit of an X-Man, too. “I’ll take my chances.”

Morph grins as he pulls Logan to his feet. He doesn’t let go of Logan’s hand right away, almost absentmindedly stroking the thick, rough callouses, the knots of scar tissue, the bulky pugilist’s knuckles.

Steel is tough. Unyielding. Inflexible. Beaten into the proper shape, ground down to a razor’s edge. Even reforged, a broken blade will always be weaker than it once was.

Luckily, for all that Logan’s bones are plated in metal, he isn’t made of steel. Flesh bleeds, flesh breaks; then it heals and grows back stronger.

Logan is pretty damn good at healing.

[ryuzakistoe]

Rin Itoshi (x reader)

Rin Itoshi x reader, breakup au, fluff, fem!reader, angst

You and Rin broke up a couple of weeks ago and only recently has he realized he made a mistake. He can't seem to get you out of his head despite that it was his idea to break up with you. He really wants you back.

a/n: So like this is my first ff here on tumblr...pls tell me if its good enough😖 ANYWAYS IM SOOO OBSESSED WITH RIN ITOSHI and maybe sae...actually most of the bllk characters.

Empty.

That's all he felt.

He thought that maybe letting you go would be the best option. Apparently not.

You were the cause of his distraction during soccer. You were the reason he couldn't keep his focus on the game and almost lost in the finals.

Well, he at least thought.

After that game, he felt somewhat frustrated. He was frustrated at himself for losing focus but also felt somewhat frustrated towards you. You were the reason why he couldn't think clearly.

The way you beamed with joy when he scored goals. The way you shouted his name across the field. The way your eyes sparkled every time he received the ball...

It was all stuck in his head. He just couldn't shake away the image of you.

And yet, THAT was the problem.

You rushed toward him, cheering and shouting his name with a big smile on your face, which he always loved. He also loved it when you jumped on him and hugged him tightly.

But for some reason, all he felt during that moment was annoyance and slight anger.

He didn't hug you back and of course, you immediately thought something was wrong.

Taking your hands back slowly, you gazed at him. "Rin, are you alright?"

...

"Let's break up."

...

He will always remember the way your expression changed. The way your face turned white when he spoke. The way the admiration in your eyes vanished..

But how could he possibly also forget the icy gaze he fixed upon you? Those piercing teal eyes, lacking of any emotion, seemed to burn right through you in that moment.

He regretted that deeply.

He soon left without saying anything more, leaving you to process and replay his choice of words.

Hell, even the way he walked showed no remorse or emotions either.

…

Now, here he was a couple weeks later on the field, going against some lukewarm team. (see what I did there😏)

In the middle of the game, it seemed like he was instinctively trying to find you in the crowd. He kept looking towards the front row and then at the seat where you always used to sit. The same seat that was right next to Rin was now unoccupied.

That's when it hit him. From this point on, that seat would always be empty.

That same feeling he felt the day after the breakup, it all came back--hitting him twice as hard.

All that regret, sadness, loneliness--it all came tumbling down on him.

He knew that he missed you but he didn't think he did THIS much.

He remembers how your eyes looked that day. He remembers the tears welling up and the quiver in your lip. He remembers how your voice cracked when you said his name. Yes…he remembers it all.

Only now does he know that he really did fuck up.

During the match, he realized he wasn't performing at his best. Whenever his teammates passed the ball to him, it was either intercepted by the opposing team or slipped through his grasp.

This was the worst he played.

He clenched his teeth in frustration. Why couldn't he concentrate? Why couldn't he score? Why couldn't he make it across the field?

Oh right.

It was you again.

Ever since he left you, his playing somehow worsened. Well, he already knew it was bad with you around, but this time, it was even more chaotic.

Every minute, every second in his mind seemed to be filled with you.

He remembered how you used to run up to him after every game, laughing out his name as you got closer, your hair gently running alongside you, and your arms outstretching to embrace him in a tight hug. He missed all of it.

While he was busy trying to push aside his thoughts, surprisingly, his team managed to turn the game back around and claim victory, but that didn't calm him down.

The same thoughts that had been running through his mind during the game were still lingering in his head, refusing to settle or go away.

He missed you. He needed you. It was wrong of him to push you away.

It was as if he couldn't find rest unless he was back with you. Back in your arms, back in your embrace, back in your heart...

Arriving back home, he immediately whipped out his phone and scrolled down to your contact.

'Love❤️'

He gazed at the name of your contact. He couldn't muster the courage to delete the contact or change the name.

The grip on his phone tightened. He really really needed you back.

The pain in his chest and mind wouldn't disappear until he had you back. He was certain of that.

He wanted to make everything right again, he wanted to make it up to you.

But the question was, would you let him?

After a bit of contemplation with himself, he finally clicked on your contact.

'RING RING RING'

His heart pounded in his chest. He felt like his guts were going to rupture from nervousness. Had he ever felt this nervous and desperate before? Probably not.

As he started having second thoughts, the ringing finally stopped.

"Rin?"

Oh, how he missed that voice.

It seemed as if all his doubting and nervousness in his body had been healed by just hearing your voice.

That's how much he needed you back.

"Y/n. Can we talk?"

Now it was your turn to be nervous. 'Talk?' What was there to talk about? He made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with you. All the texts and calls you sent him after that day have either been ignored or declined. At one point, he even blocked you.

But you couldn't deny that hearing his voice again felt relaxing--calming even.

You craved day after day to hear his voice one more time, but of course, you knew that would be impossible.

Well, you thought it would be impossible, until now.

"Talk? Talk about what Rin?"

Shit. What was he supposed to say? Tell you that he was wrong and that he wants you back?

...Well...technically...yeah.

How? How was he going to say it properly though?

He had to think quick. He knew he had to at least say something regarding that line. This may be his ever only chance.

"Y/n...I want to talk about us. I'm sorry. I truly am. I never realized how much this would impact me...but if you can, can we meet up? I want to apologize properly. Not through some device." Rin breathed out.

Wow.

You never thought you would be hearing these words come out of his mouth after a break-up.

But now, the question was if you would accept his apology and agree to the meet-up.

You loved Rin. You always have as a matter of fact.

Even after the breakup, you couldn't stop loving him. It felt like your love for him only grew stronger. But now, it felt like the universe was finally listening to your heartache.

You felt your heart beating irregularly, but the thought of seeing him again made you happy despite feeling sad and upset before.

You already knew the answer to his question. You knew how desperate you wanted him back. You knew how much you loved him and still do.

Without wasting any more time, you replied.

"Sure Rin. I'll see what you have to say." You smiled, knowing Rin couldn't see that precious smile of yours that he adored.

That was all he needed to hear from you.

"Let's talk at the garden by (ST. NAME) St. at 6. Okay?"

"Okay."

...

Rin hung up after bidding goodbye. A small smile plastered on his face. He let out a sigh as he rested on his sofa.

He was happy. No. More than happy by your consideration.

The anticipation of seeing you again grew inside him, increasing steadily. He couldn't afford to mess up now. All he had to do was be honest, right?

Yeah. Honest.

A small frown replaced his soft smile as he had to tell you how he truly felt, how much he missed you, how wrong he was, and how he regretted the whole thing.

He had to tell you how sorry he really was.

But he knew he definitely wanted to tell you how much he needed you back in his life, to fill that empty seat.

__________________

He couldn't take his gaze off of you.

The way the afternoon sun coated and highlighted all your features, making it seem as if you were glowing. The way the wind brushed threw your hair, as if your beautiful locks were being combed in sections by the gentle breeze. And the way your eyes softly squinted as your face morphed into a delicate and soft smile.

It was as if he was falling in love all over again.

Except this time, it was the same girl he still loved.

He began walking towards you, taking appropriate strides.

Gosh.

He couldn't help but admire you. You looked even more beautiful up close.

He let out a breath, preparing his words.

“Y/n…” he mumbled

“Rin.” you muttered back, your smile never faltering.

Rin enjoyed hearing his name spoken by you. It was the only thing that could calm him down. The smooth, comforting sound of your voice saying his name...he needed to hear and keep that heavenly voice in his life forever.

Rin took a deep breath before finally speaking his heart's content.

"Y/n.. I want to apologize. I kept pushing you away because I couldn't stop thinking about you while I was playing soccer. But even when I wasn't on the field, you were still on my mind," Rin said.

"During that game...my mind was still drifting back to the thought of you. That's what made me distracted during the game.

I thought that maybe breaking up with you would settle my thoughts and help me focus more on soccer. But I was wrong. The fact that you were no longer by my side only made me more distracted than I already was." Rin explained before continuing.

"Every day, I would feel empty and lonely without you. At one point, I thought that those feelings would go away after some time. But I was wrong. They only grew day after day.

That's when I realized that breaking up with you was a mistake. I need you Y/n. I need you to be here with me. I need you to stay in my life. Without you, I only feel empty and hollow. I want you to come back to my games and continue cheering me on. I want to look forward to your hugs and embraces after the games.

Please Y/n...I miss you. Will you consider staying with me?"

Shocked. Amazed. Surprised.

You felt almost all of the above.

Those words...that tone...his movements...they seemed heartfelt.

You gazed up at him, eyes wide, mouth agape, body still. You absorbed all his words and felt as if some kind of shackle around your wounded heart had been mended.

It felt relieving to finally hear the truth.

Noticing your motionless state, Rin grew a little worried. Were you mad at him? Upset? Angry? He couldn't tell.

What if you're angry at him with the whole "pushing you away from him to focus on the whole soccer thing"?

After having some negative thoughts in his head, they all seemed to have been pushed aside at the sight of your smile.

"I missed you too Rin. I missed you so much that my heart would swell at the mere thought or sight of you. Morning and night I would go to bed, hugging myself, wondering what it would be like if we were still together and what I could've done differently.”

“Every day I have not been able to stop thinking about you. I even haven't been able to stop loving you as well." You softly chuckled.

Now he was the one who was shocked. He always had a thought lingering in the back of his mind, wondering if you had ever moved on from him or not. Now he knew the answer.

He quickly and gently pulled you into an embrace after hearing your words.

You still loved him.

And of course, he still loved you.

He felt so relieved and content after hearing your words.

His smile only grew wider as he felt you reciprocating his hug.

"I love you Y/n. I love you so much. I promise to not leave you over something stupid like that ever again." He spoke quietly into your ear.

Now, it was your turn to smile wider at his words.

You knew that he meant every word. You knew that he still loved you. You knew that he would keep his promise. You knew that he was being genuine.

"I love you too Rin." You spoke back.

_____________________

a/n: BRO I DID NOT LIKE THE ENDING OF THIS ITS SO ASS buttttt I was starting to feel lazy😣 BUT OMG IM SO EXCITED FOR S2!!!

P.S I might take a long while to post more stuff like this bc I'm just so busy with school and life

P.S.S HES SO HANDSOME AND BEAUTIFUL WHAT

[whumpshaped]

No magic, but does Beck have any self defense instincts? I know he probably wouldn't consciously react on them, but.... Would he ever do something like bite Helle if they spooked him suddenly?

of course! beck is a vampire after all! a predator! big scary!

masterlist bingo card

tw vampire whumper, vampire whumpee, conditioned whumpee, fear of punishment, manipulation, mind games

Life in the mansion was quite cosy and peaceful, for the most part. Aside from the general levels of anxiety and the sometimes debilitating loneliness and isolation, Beck had nothing to complain about. He could almost completely forget about being a runt, with the steady supply of blood Helle was allowing him.

Never completely, though, of course. Because Helle reminded him. And they reminded him often.

Because of how sheltered he was, Beck really had little idea of how his vampire instincts worked. He never really got a proper feel for how strong he actually was, because Helle was stronger, and they were all he could compare himself to — safe to say, he wasn't prepared to see the coffee table snap in half after he'd banged on it out of frustration. He spent the entire evening apologising to Helle for ruining the furniture.

He didn't really use his speed either, unless he was running away from a human who accidentally spooked him. After having woken up to a group of hunters breaking into the mansion, he was extra jumpy, and he didn't hesitate to flee from any situation that made him feel even mildly threatened. Being able to catch his phone ten times out of ten was a nice bonus, he supposed.

'Fighting' and 'self-defence' never even crossed his mind. Once again, the only person he regularly interacted with was Helle, a vampire far stronger than he was. There was no reason to fight them, and no chance of defending himself. He was magicless, too, and from what he'd gathered, that meant he was absolutely useless in a violent setting; so that was exactly how he lived his life.

Until one night, Helle decided to sneak up on him.

He hardly remembered the exact sequence of events. He'd heard a noise, someone touched him– it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he'd sank his fangs right into Helle's hand, and he was still holding that hand in his mouth, and his jaw was completely locked up from the shock and anxiety.

Helle blinked at him a couple times. "So..." They gently tugged on their hand. "Any chance of me getting my hand back?"

Beck let out a soft whine, and finally released his hold. "I'm so sorry," he said immediately after. "I– I got scared– I'm sorry, I don't know why that was my first thought– and then I just, I just couldn't open my mouth, I got too anxious, it's a thing that happens when I'm anxious–"

As Helle slowly lifted their hand he quieted down, mortified to see the two puncture wounds he'd caused. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Helle was going to muzzle him, they were going to pull his fangs out with pliers, they were going to wire his mouth shut.

"Do you think this is appropriate behaviour?" they asked, and Beck tried to make himself a little smaller.

"N-no, Master. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"Did I ask for excuses?"

He was trembling now, shaking his head frantically. "No, Master."

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry please at least let me say I'm sorry–

"Dogs who bite get put down," they said softly, cocking their head to the side. "Are you going to bite again?"

"No!" he cried desperately, tears welling up in his eyes. "No, Master, please, I'm sorry–"

Helle burst out laughing, making him stop his pathetic grovelling for a second. Was that... good? Was he entertaining enough not to be put down?

They licked the blood off their hand, still smiling. "Fret not, dear, you are always such a good boy for me. I am merely teasing." They stepped away and Beck let out a relieved sigh, only for Helle to swiftly remind him that being on edge was a constant in their home. "But do keep in mind that I bite back, yes?"

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries @morning-star-whump @d-cs @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @tauntedoctopuses @blueyellow8green @typewrittenfangs @whumpsoda @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @auroragehenna

[ijichi-nijika]

i can’t fall asleep so let me tell you all a story of a little girl named iris.

when iris was nine, she went to bed one day as she always did. it was a friday, the day before a holiday, and she was excited to go to her grandparents the next day to celebrate. iris of course, never had much in common with her cousins on either side, but she enjoyed her grandmother’s cooking and just listening to people talk. of course, she would have to put up with her father, a racist, homophobic and sexist man, and he would probably get drunk and force them all to get in the car while he drove the family home. that of course being her mother and brother, and her dog, who went to event with them.

upon iris’s awakening, she was being yelled at for waking up too late, and needing to rush to get ready. she of course, was never taught how to get properly washed or how to brush her teeth on her own, having just been told to figure it out at a young age, and then her anxiety would not allow her to ask for instruction or help. so of course, iris took her time to make sure she was actually clean. this was not something her father liked, as being late was apparently more important that his daughter having proper hygiene. so as she was brushing her teeth, her father stormed into the bathroom and ripped the toothbrush from her mouth and said to hurry it up. iris of course, scared of him, simply asked for the tooth brush back. of course, her father did not like the idea that she could possibly have her own feeling about this and began hitting her for “talking back”. she ran from him and hid in her room, crying for being abused, but he followed and continued his torment. iris had finally had enough and said the only thing she could think of to possibly get him off of her, even if only for a second in shock.

so iris said “i want to be a girl”.

coming out at 9 was not something iris was sure was a good idea. she was labeled a boy at birth, with no questions asked of her own opinion on the matter, and had always thought that she never quite felt like she was a boy. of course, when she has seen girl characters in games or anime growing up she would always sympathize or cherish them, not as some crush symptom (although that did develop later) but as a form of jealousy. so she concluded, around the age of 8 that she wanted to be girl, not knowing that she already was one.

of course, this story doesn’t have a very happy ending. saying this only stopped her father for a moment, until the beating began anew and even more harsh than before. she was dragged downstairs on the carpet and wooden floor (that she had already fallen down before and broke her arm on), essentially thrown in front of her mother and brother and screamed at. iris of course doesn’t recall the exact words said, but tears from her mother she’d and her brother looked sick a tiny bit, at least to her in the moment, it seemed that she was the cause of all of this turmoil.

upon finally all being together (and a momentary lapse in memory due to a blockage of iris’s memory of how bad it was) the family took the time to not go to her grandparents. instead, they drove iris all the way to the church that she was “baptized” in, brought in front of the stairs by her father, and told that it’s against what “god” wants from her to be a girl, and that she was disgusting and sick. and that if she didn’t take back what she had said, that things would get a lot worse. iris of course, being as scared as she had ever been in her life, pleaded with her father, that she just wanted to say something to shock him and make him stop hitting her, and said it wasn’t true and that s-she was a b-boy…

her father, happy with this news, made her swear on it (something extremely scary for the nine year old girl) and then took her back to the car, where she apologized for “lying” about this and took it back once again as a “joke” in front of her family. iris doesn’t have much memory beyond this of being happy for most of her life of course, as she spent the rest of her youth trying her best to convince everyone that she definitely was a “boy”, and ruined many friendships by lashing out.

…

iris, came out again in 2021, after the first year of the pandemic, to a few of her close friends at the time, but of course, was unsure of if she was making the right choice, and allowed them to call her the name that was chosen against her will, instead of just saying to call her the name that actually made her happy. she started hrt in 2022 at the age of 25, at the behest of her girlfriend, who is trans herself. she hid that she was on hrt for two years from her father that she was forced to still live with, until only 5 months before she escaped, with the help of many true friends.

iris has nightmares of the terrible acts committed on her by her father, at least once a week, although they have been less frequent in recent months.

[karmavongrim]

Hero's Rise fanfic idea

Not much of an idea but an actual story about Danny's new life in the Pokémon world.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1

All anybody needs is a second chance

Why is the world so unfair? It wasn’t fair! All it took was just one simple mistake. A mistake that any teenager could’ve made and yet when he does it, the entire world is put in peril. A mistake that his family had to pay the ultimate price for.

These are the thoughts of an injured teen kneeling in a crater of his latest fight with the most terrifying foe he has ever met. That day had started like any other, a teen worrying about an important exam that could effect his future. He’d thought of even just winging the whole test since he never got enough time to study thanks to his secret hero duties keeping him occupied even at nighttime, if not for the test answers he had picked up from the ground that was accidentally left behind by his English teacher. If only he would’ve known that his decision to cheat would cause for the literal apocalypse to happen then he would have never even considered doing such a thing.

No, that wasn’t true, he knew that this would be the outcome yet he still did it thanks to his stupid teen impulses. The master and lord of time himself had warned him personally of this but he still didn’t listen. And now he has nothing.

The scrawny fourteen year old stares blackly at the hellish inferno that had consumed all the ones he cared about along with a fast food restaurant they had been held captive in by his evil future self. His glazed eyes turn to a silver thermos that now housed said monster. He can’t bring himself to care that his baggy t-shirt and jeans are in shreds, and covered in blood and dirt. Nothing mattered to him anymore.

In a distance the blaring sound of multiple sirens can be heard even through the sound of roaring fire around him. So lost in thoughts he’s that he didn’t notice the world around him going deathly still and quit, nor the wisp of gold air escaping past his pale split lips. Not until a familiar, deep voice gently calls out to him.

“Danny.”

Danny blinks for what feels like the first time in a good while as he’s trying to process what was said to him and by whom. He didn’t move from his spot on the ground when a blue-skinned ghost moves in front of him, his purple cloak flowing along. His form ever shifting between that of a child, an adult and an old man, never staying as one for long. Seeing the ghost he can’t stop tears from rolling down his face as he demands.

“Why didn’t you stop this Clockwork?”

When the ever age shifting ghost says nothing he becomes angry.

“You are the master of time aren’t you? Can’t you just turn back time and let me fix my mistake?”

Clockwork regards the distraught boy silently for a moment.

“I won’t nor can do that Daniel, for multitude of reasons. You also seem to have misunderstood some things regarding me. I do not rule over time, I manage it. My duty is to take care of it, not to bend it to my will and do whatever I please with it. If I were to meddle more than I already have the consequences could be catastrophic. This was the most optimal outcome.” He calmly explains. The ageless being truly wishes that it wouldn’t have come to this, but he had no other choice. He had his limits and rules in place for a reason. This of course doesn’t sit well with the boy.

“O-Optimal outcome? Optimal outcome!” He screams with his hoarse voice. Danny was absolutely livid hearing that. He lets go of the thermos shaped capture device and wobbly lifts himself up.

“You are saying all this like it’s nothing! Like we are nothing more then pieces on a game board that can be thrown away!” He screams more as he unsteadily lunges himself at the ancient ghost who does nothing to stop the weak assault.

“Why did they have to pay the price for my stupid decision? Just take me instead!” He begs but Clockwork’s unmoved, so Danny continues to throw punches, ignoring how heavy and in pain his arms feel.

“You are the master of time! Just turn back time and let me fix this!” He begs again and still only silence greets him, so he doesn’t stop.

“Please! If they are taken away from me I’ll have nothing left worth living for. If you can’t bring them back then take me as well!” Third time he begs and bargains, and again nothing.

Danny collapses on to the elder who wraps his gloved arms to keep him from falling while being careful with his clock staff. With no more rage, all that is left was absolute sorrow and misery belonging to an orphaned child.

“P-Please bring them back. Please. I-I beg you, I’ll do anything.” He tries to beg feebly one last time as he lifts his head to look into Clockwork’s solid red eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Was the resolute answer he gets that shattering any illusions of this all being just a messed up dream or a sick joke.

That’s it then, he’s lost everything and there’s nothing he can do about it. Maybe his parents were right about Danny Phantom being a monster, they weren’t that far from truth looking at the destruction that Dan had caused… It would be better for everybody if he were to just-

“Don’t.” Clockwork’s stern voice rouses him from his spiraling dark thoughts, who’s looking at him with equally stern gaze.

“Do not think that taking your own life would atone anything. You must keep on living Daniel, for your family’s sake at least if not yours. Stay alive so that their memories may live on as well with you. They would want that and you know this too deep inside.”

Even though his speech ends in softer note it still stings a lot. He’s the cause of all of this so it would be only fair that he pays the price as well. But there seemes to be no way fighting the powerful ghost of time on this, no matter how hard he tries. Danny slumps further into Clockwork’s firm embrace as if it would help him somehow to escape the cruel reality.

Clockwork would let the boy get his bearings but this isn’t the place nor time for it. He shifts his free hand to soothe the messy black mop of hair as he continues.

“Unfortunately I can’t let you stay here. The future only holds terrible things for all if you do.”

Danny squeezes his eyes shut as he grits his teeth; even if Clockwork didn’t say it outright he knows what he means. What is he suppose to do then? There’s no going back and fixing this, nor is he apparently allowed to end his own misery. The only thing he can think of is to ask the one who knows everything.

“…What should I do?”

Clockwork lifts his staff as he suggests.

“Come with me and you’ll find out.”

Danny doesn’t think too long since he has nothing else to do or place to go. If he stays then he would be just put in foster care or adoption since he’s still a minor, and would end up with Vlad one way or another. Once felt connection to this town seemed to have shatter into pieces when his loved ones perished. He has nothing left to keep him there, so at a complete loss he agrees.

“A-Alright.” He mutters and takes the offered hand.

At his consent they are both along with the thermos transported away with a single wave of a staff, never to been seen by that world ever again.

Danny only opens his eyes when the feeling of momentary weightlessness ceases and he’s gently pried off by the older ghost. He is led to a purple bed of what seem to be a guest room from lack of personal touches in it. Once he’s made comfortable Clockwork doesn’t waste time in explaining.

“Like I said before, you can’t stay here. But there’s another way. I happen to have acquaintances who would be willing to foster you, the only catch being that they live very far, far away.” Danny’s getting a sinking feeling about where this is going so he has to ask.

“How far exactly?”

Clockwork stops, seemingly to give the boy a second to prepare himself before answering.

“In another world, in another reality.” He tells him truthfully. This gets a reaction out of the teen.

“What! W-Why so far away? What about my-” He stops himself from finishing that sentence. Tears once again start to gather and fall with earnest. What about his family. They are gone for good and he wouldn’t be able to live in Amity Park without constantly being reminded of his failures. Clockwork places a firm hand on the skinny shoulder to draw his attention away from his spiraling thoughts again. He hates the soft look directed at him. He doesn’t deserve it.

“This is why you can’t stay and why I’m offering you this opportunity, to heal and give you a second change at life, to move on.”

Danny shook his head violently. No, he doesn’t deserve any of this.

“H-how can I just move on from this!? From them! There’s no way- It’s just not right!”

He doesn’t deserve help. He doesn’t want it! He can’t continue on with his life when the others lost theirs. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

“I didn’t say that you should forget about them, but to accept that this is the unfortunate reality. The pain never goes away, it merely becomes easier to deal with in due time if you let yourself heal by at least attempting to forgive yourself. What do you think your loved ones would say to you right now? Samantha, Tucker and Jasmine? Your parents? Would they want to see you in this state?”

Danny winces and glares hard at the elder. He has no business to use his family against him like that! But now that the idea’s been planted, he wasn’t able to think anything else. What would they say?

He can definitely see Jazz and Sam scolding him for being an idiot, for ever thinking that they’d blame him, that they knew what they were getting themselves into. Tucker would reassure him that he wouldn’t forget them even if he found a new meaning to his life. Hell, he would even offer some ridiculous ideas to try out in the new world, like pick up some alien girls. He liked to think that his parents would wish the best of luck and happiness, to show the world what Fentons are made of.

He let his tears fall freely. The last thing he wants to do was to dishonor the ones he loved the most. He won’t do it, he’ll make sure their memories would live on, brighter than ever. He doesn’t want to disappoint them no matter what, even if it still left a sour taste on his tongue. Was he really allowed to move on with out them?

Clockwork decides it would be a good time to leave the boy to mourn in peace, yet he can’t help but lament quietly as he floats out of the bedroom.

“Oh Daniel, you think that you still have to pay for what had happened. Those who have passed have no need for tears, you’ll only end up drowning yourself in them. I truly hope that this will help you find peace of mind someday.”

The Observants have always told him that he cares to much for the young halfa, and every time he denies them even though he knows that they are correct much to his dismay. He’s cared for the boy even before he was born. He can see all of time: past, present, and future. All of it’s endless twists and turns. And out of all of them he enjoyed Danny’s the most. The person who said that time doesn’t have favorites was a liar.

Clockwork glides through the finding halls and corridors of his clock tower till he arrives at his destination. His viewing room, filled with screens, mirrors and cogs that hold within images of old and new, as well as those yet to come to pass or never will. He moves deeper and deeper till he came to a simple silver mirror, so unassuming and hidden away from any unwanted eyes.

Lifting his staff he gently taps it’s surface. It ripples like a calm lake disturbed and white figure manifestes in it.

A white equine like creature accented with gold, radiated majesty and power. Emerald crusted ring of gold attached to its abdomen outshines any crown a king could wear. It’s red and green eyes seem to glow when it notices the time master who has contacted it. And with a mighty voice they spoke.

“Clockwork, it has been ages since we hast last spoken. How hast thou been, those Eyeballs still causing trouble for thee?”

Clockwork lets himself chuckle, trust his friend to take a stab at his ‘coworkers’ just to make him laugh. Not that he’s any better.

“Well met Arceus, my old friend. As nice as it would’ve been for me to have only called you for pleasantries, we’re here to discuss some business.”

He leans on his staff as his friend could only sigh.

“We had a feeling this was so. Thou rarely contact us for any reason other.” Arceus laments and bores a tired glare at the cloaked man who in turn shrugs rather unapologetically.

“What is’t, now that thou summon us?” He asks in almost bored tone.

“I’m calling for the old dept.”

Clockwork states simply. Or it would have sounded simple to anyone else, but Arceus stills as their eyes blow wide open before they narrow in suspicion.

“What hast thou gotten into for thou to arriveth and claim due.” They demand and watch when with a wave of a staff, a hand mirror appears on the other’s unoccupied hand. They lean in for a closer look as a visage of an adolescent boy with midnight black hair becomes visable. This was not what they had expected.

“We fail to understand what thou crave us to try, other than it most like hath to try with thy human child.” They inquire in hesitant interest. This was Clockwork they were dealing with and should never be underestimated.

“He’s a child who’s been dealt an unnecessarily cruel hand in both life and death. He just a moment ago witnessed the loss of his friend and loved ones in the hands of his ultimate enemy.” He tells this as he looks at the image.

“E’en if that is the case, why hie so far for this one single being? There are many others whom suffer the like fate as him, if not worse. Time favors none, doth it not?” Arceus keeps questioning. It doesn’t make sense since they’ve seen countless beings succumb to many fates both good, bad and horrid. What is so different about this one?

“This world holds nothing but sadness and pain for him. In another timeline things would have gone so much more differently and he would have had his happy ending, but this timeline is unfortunately not it. He will never truly recover if he stays here were everything reminds him of his ‘failure’; he’ll keep dwelling deeper in his misery till it drives him over the edge. A change of scenery is what he desperately needs, so I’m finally asking for the favor that you own me. My request is that you take this child and allow him to build a new life for himself in your world.”

They hear and see the clear care their old friend holds for the child but they needs to remind him of the weight of what he’s asking of them.

“This is no bawbling crave Clockwork.” They press.

Clockwork fiddles idle with the clock that is embedded on top of his trusty staff as he conversationally mentions.

“Just like it wasn’t a small act I committed back then for you.”

He lifts his red eyes back at them, challenging the other to try and back down. Arceus knows a losing battle when they see one, besides they do own him big time. There’s nothing else for him to do than continue onward in valiant defeat.

“What is the name of this child?” They ask as they turn back to look at their future charge. The victorious smugness emanating from the other side of the mirror nearly causes them to roll their eyes.

“His name is Daniel Fenton but goes by his moniker Danny or Phantom depending on his current form. A bright young lad when given the chance, even if his grades might have taken a plunge due to his hero work.” Clockwork informs them.

Arceus watches in keen interest as they’re shown many of the boy’s ventures through the small looking-glass. They can’t help but laugh when he realizes how Clockwork sounds like when he talks about the boy, causing said ghost to raise his brown at him.

“And hither we thought thee were suppose to be impartial to all’s… Regarding the favor, all preparations shall be done ‘i no time.” They both discreetly snorted at the pun.

“We are content to receive him whenever seen meetest.”

Clockwork’s shoulders slump ever so slightly as he gives a grateful smile, which quickly turns to his usual smirk.

“Excellent, I won’t be holding you any longer then. Besides I need to prepare young Daniel for his departure, as well as some ‘guests’ to entertain when they finally decide to arrive.” He purrs but before the call was ends Arceus gives a final warning to their old friend.

“We hope that this doth not end poorly. If it doth, thy shall bear the consequence.”

At this threat the ghost only laughs.

“No need for worry. Knowing my Daniel he will do more good then harm. But then again, I know everything.” And with that final farewell the mirror returns back to its unassuming state. Clockwork creates a duplicate of himself and sends him away while making his way back to Danny.

Arriving at the bedroom door he knocks out of courtesy on it before entering to see the poor boy lying face down on the bed. Softly floating to the bedside he tentatively begins to pet his grimy hair. Danny stirs slightly but made no move to get away or to stop the hand on his head. Instead he starts to hiccup and tries to smother his sobs on the duvet.

“I’ll never see them again.” He cries.

Clockwork continues his petting as he lets the boy release his emotions.

“They’re never coming back.” He cries more and all the elder can do at the moment was to offer comfort.

“I’m sorry.” He says as sincerely as he can. He would’ve felt regret over the whole situation if he didn’t know that this needed to happen. It still doesn’t stop his core from breaking a little when he hears him say in such a small voice.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

Lifting his hand from the dirty hair he moves to shift it away from the boy’s face to reveal pair of red puffy eyes looking at him in complete loss.

“You won’t be for long. Here, lets get you cleaned up a bit and you can go back to rest a little while longer.”

Not having energy to argue he’s helped up from the soft bed and into a Victorian style bathroom. Clockwork helps him all through out the whole process of undressing and bathing since Danny doesn’t want to do much of anything in his current state. Being gentle with all the injuries, he’s placed into a tub and washed till water comes out clean. Helping Danny up once again he ignores the grimy rags that were the boy’s old clothes laying on the floor as he moves them both back to the bedroom where a set of new identical looking garments rest on the bed along with a black and white duffel back with Phantom’s logo on it. Danny, who’s bundled up in light purple towel, shows only slight interest in the assorted items before going back to being docile dead weight. He doesn’t react much either to being once again manhandled and laid back down to rest on the soft mattress. His eyes already closing shut when he was being tucked in.

Clockwork takes a second to look at the now peaceful form slumbering away, he deems him well enough to be left alone for the time being. After shutting the lights and closing the bedroom door behind him, he leaves to continue his many tasks still left unfinished.

It takes a good while for Danny to wake up and when he does, he’s feeling completely sore and tired. He looks around to see the familiar room and tears began to fall again.

It wasn’t just a nightmare then. They were really gone forever now. His talk with Clockwork plays around in his head, about how he should keep on living. But he doesn’t think he deserves a new chance, not that he had been given any other choice. He was going to be dragged towards a “new life” kicking and screaming anyway so what’s the point in even trying to fight back. What was there to fight back for?

Rolling his head to its side he was faced with the duffel bag he vaguely remembers seeing before going to sleep. And since it has his logo on it he could only assume that it was meant for him. He rolls to his other side and tries to ignores it to best of his ability. Few moments pass as he tosses around in frustration before he lets his curiosity win.

“Whatever.” He sighs and moves to sit and drags the full bag in closer to him.

Hesitating for a second, he grips the pull tightly and opens it. He only sees a glimpse of what’s inside but it’s enough for his world to come to a complete stop again. His hands start to shake uncontrollably as he carefully, oh so carefully pushed the opening wider to see if his mind was playing tricks on him. Only when his trembling fingers caress the items revealed inside does he believe them to be real and there with him.

Inside are meticulously placed items belonging to all his lost loved ones. He reverently takes them all out and spreads them neatly in front of him.

His mom’s red goggles glisten along with his dad’s favorite fudge spoon which sit right next to a giant pair of black gloves also belonging to his dad. To the right is his sister’s well loved teddy bear nicknamed Bearbert Einstein, which thankfully hasn’t gained anymore tears. Even his little lab coat was still on. Next is Sam’s much sought-after combat boots she swore to wear when she’d grown enough to wear them properly and beside them are Tucker’s trusted PDA and signature red beret which he owned multiple of. There are even two of his own favorite items from his room; a red toy model rocket from his childhood and vintage collector’s poster of Apollo 13. All the other irrelevant items such as the Fenton thermos, wrist ray, Fenton phones, Boo-merang and Fenton rod, some extra clothes and a memory stick he left inside the bag.

He places both of his hands to his mouth as he tried fruitlessly stifle a sob. Clockwork must have gathered all of them for him, and he would be forever grateful for it.

He takes his dad’s oversized gloves and fastened them on his much smaller hands. Mom’s goggles now hanged around his neck as he situates Tucker’s beret backwards on his head, and after putting on Sam’s boots he gently lifts Mr. Bearbert to look into his one remaining little eye. Hugging the bear tightly, he curls into a ball and he manages to catch a whiff of a painfully familiar sweet scent. It still smells like Jazz’s cheap candy perfume. He no longer hold back on his cries as he’s surrounded by the only things he still has left of his shattered life.

He didn’t know how long he had cried before he felt a hand landing on his shoulder. He only looked up at the new arrival when then hand squeezed in lieu of trying to get his attention. It’s Clockwork who’s gazing down softly at him.

“I thought you might appreciate to have some mementos of them to take with you.” He explains. Danny can only nod in utmost thanks, not trusting his voice to work at the moment.

He can feel his eyes starting to moisten up again but no more tears are left for him to cry. The hand on his shoulder continues to sooth him as he gathers himself up to sit, still clutching on to his sister’s bear for support. He’s offered a napkin to dry of his now wet face.

“I suggest that you pack your bag back up; it is time to leave.” The ghost encourages him and moves to stand by the bed’s side.

“Already?” He asks and winces at how his voice comes out. Clockwork nods.

“Unfortunately. Now come, I’ll help you if you need me to.” He says and gestures at the bag. Danny didn’t want to put away the items just yet and seeing how he’s hesitating the ghost continues to reason.

“The road to you destination is a turbulent one, it will be much safer to put them away for the time being and you can always take them out afterwards.”

He thinks about it only a second before caving in; he doesn’t want to loose any more things dear to him just because of his stubbornness. Carefully, one by one he takes the precious items and puts them away to safety of his duffel before zipping it up. Clockwork opens the door and gestures for him to follow which he dutifully does along with his bag.

Their walk is silent for the most part, not that he minds too much, it leaves him time to look at all the cogs, clocks and other glowing green metallic structures that litter the place. Makes sense considering who the owner is.

It’s probably because of Clockworks own influence or because their destination was that close by that they arrived to their stop faster than he thought it would take, and to his surprise and dread the room they enter was the viewing room he and his friends had broken into. The guilt that immediately starts to twist his guts make him look down at the ground and keeping his eyes only on the end of his guider’s cloak. He’s so focused on not seeing anything on the screens and mirrors that he pumps into Clockwork when he stops them at the very end of the cluttered room. Finally daring to look up he sees in front of them on it’s lonesome, is a person sized clouded mirror with ornate frame hanging on the wall, with stone steps leading up to it.

Clockwork turns to him and speaks as he gestures it.

“This gateway will take you to your the new world which hopefully you’ll learn to love and call home one day. There are things in that world that are similar to ours, but also things that you’ve never even imagined. Don’t worry, your new caretakers will share more information with you once there.”

He places his hand on his back and guides the hesitant teen up the stairs to his uncertain future. He pauses in front of the mirror and now that he stands so close to it, he can see that the glass isn’t exactly clouded but seems to have actual moving clouds trapped on the other side of it. He thoughtfully looks at it then at Clockwork.

“Will I ever see you again?” He asks after a moment of hesitation. The elder tilts his head to the side as if thinking before smiling enigmatically.

“Only time will tell young Daniel.” He simply states which almost makes Danny snort, but his slightly better mood is snuffed out when a promising grin takes over his aging face.

“Good luck.”

With this he pushes the fumbling teen into the mirror who embraces for collision but is shocked when he passes through the glass and keeps on falling. He screams.

Clockwork watches impassively as his short time charge leaves this world and into a new one. He glances at nearby mirror to see Fenton Works blow up to smithereens, leaving nothing to the unscrupulous vultures that would have used this tragedy to their advantage. Someone must’ve forgotten to change the Ecto-Filtrator, how unfortunate.

He silently counts down till the door to his work room slams open and three very loud creatures whom have once again barged into his domain uninvited, decide to make tier unhappiness known.

“You must have thought it really funny to leave us in a time loop at your front door!”

His lips twitch minutely as he regards them dully.

“Who knows, and did you really need to take out your frustration on my poor door.”

The trio float closer, all of them wearing identical white robes and black collard cloaks decorated with gold. Their heads were nothing more then a giant eyeball with no necks. Middle one closes in and points its sharp-nailed finger at him as it narrows its one eye.

“Were not here to play games, Time Keeper. Were here because of that hybrid you seem to favor.”

He raises an eyebrow and tightens his hold on the staff. The being notices this and wisely moves back to stand with his peers. Satisfied he turnes to look back at the many screens that kept switching from view to view.

“You won’t have to worry about him. He’s long gone.” He provides, which certainly caught their interest.

“He is? For good?” Third one askes, sounding a bit too exited.

“And he won’t be a problem in the future?” Second one askes more apprehensively.

“Yes. I trust you are satisfied now.” He near spits at the unwanted company standing behind him. Dressed in fine robes they look more like noblemen than officials, which irks Clockwork to no end. So high and mighty, it made him want to defenestrate a good few of them if it weren’t for the fact that they were needed in this anarchist paradise of a dimention.

“Where did you send him anyway Clockwork?” Pries one of them. He merely shrugs in response.

“That is none of your concern since he won’t be coming back. Now, care to observe the door. And don’t let it hit you on your way out.” He motions carelessly behind him at the exit.

As they turn to leave with indignant huffs, they do not notice the mysterious smile stretching on the time ghost’s face.

[myenemytolover]

i love you (but I cannot survive you) — a thiam playlist

i. All I Want | Kodaline

'Cause you brought out the best of me, a part of me I'd never seen. You took my soul and wiped it clean; our love was made for movie screens.

ii. The Killer Was a Coward | Dermot Kennedy

And when I think of you, I think of spirit defined, and I think of all the love that we shared in a very dark time.

iii. Demons | Imagine Dragons

Don't wanna let you down, but I am hell-bound. Though this is all for you, don't wanna hide the truth.

iv. Take on the World | You Me At Six

And nobody knows you the way that I know you; we'll fight, we'll crawl into the night. I won't let go; with you by my side, the calm, the storm, we'll face it all.

v. Eyes on Fire | Blue Foundation

And just in time, in the right place, steadily emerging with grace.

vi. I Found | Amber Run

And I found love where it wasn't supposed to be, right in front of me.

vii. Litost | X Ambassadors

And how long must I stay? Will I lay by your side just to say that I'm yours and you'll never be mine?

viii. Another Love | Tom Odell

And if somebody hurts you, I wanna fight, but my hands been broken, one too many times, so I'll use my voice, I'll be so fucking rude.

ix. Fortnight | Taylor Swift; Post Malone

And I love you; it's ruining my life.

x. The Show | Niall Horan

Life is like a board game some of the time; mistakes and heartbreaks are no crime, but there's a lot creeping through under broken skies.

xi. Guilty as Sin | Taylor Swift

What if the way you hold me is actually what's holy? If long-suffering propriety is what they want from me, they don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly.

xii. Us | James Bay

I still hear the howling, I still feel the rush; over the riots, above all the noise, and through all the worry, I still hear your voice.

xiii. Fade | Lewis Capaldi

That I'd end up so caught up in need of your demons that I'd be lost without you leading me astray. Guess I'm such a fucking fool for the way that you caught me.

xiv. Saturdays | Louis Tomlinson

My heart might be broken, but I won't be broken down.

xv. Fine Line | Harry Styles

You've got my devotion, but man, I can hate you sometimes.

xvi. The Great War | Taylor Swift

It turned into something bigger. Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed.

xvii. Holding On To Heartache | Louis Tomlinson

I called you twice, but then regretted it and changed my number.

xviii. Hoax | Taylor Swift

My only one, my kingdom come undone, my broken drum; you have beaten my heart. Don't want no other shade of blue but you; no other sadness in the world would do.

xix. I miss you, I'm sorry | Gracie Abrams

Nothing happened in the way I wanted; every corner of this house is haunted.

xx. my tears ricochet | Taylor Swift

And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want, just not home. And you can aim for my heart, go for blood, but you would still miss me in your bones.

xxi. favorite crime | Olivia Rodrigo

I defended you to all my friends, and now, every time a siren sounds, I wonder if you're around 'cause you know that I'd do it all again.

xxii. Somebody to Die For | Hurts

And there's no hell that he can show me that's deeper than my pride 'cause I will never be forgotten. Forever, I'll fight.

xxiii. So High School | Taylor Swift

No one's ever had me, not like you...Truth, dare, spin bottles, you know how to ball; I know Aristotle.

xxiv. Complex | Katie Gregson-MacLeod

I need him like water; he thinks that I'm alright. I'm not feeling human; I think he's a good guy, but it's complex. It's a complex.

xxv. Ghost Of You | 5 Seconds of Summer

So I drown it out like I always do. Dancing through our house with the ghost of you, and I chase it down, with a shot of truth, that my feet don't dance like they did with you.

xxvi. Give Me Love | Ed Sheeran

Give me love like never before 'cause lately I've been craving more and it's been a while, but I still feel the same.

xxvii. illicit affairs | Taylor Swift

And you know damn well, for you, I would ruin myself a million little times.

xxviii. Holding On And Letting Go | Ross Copperman

It's everything you wanted, it's everything you don't.

xxix. Atlantis | Seafret

Now all the birds have fled, the hurt just leaves me scared.

xxx. Hurricane | Fleurie

Though I am breaking down again, I am aching now to let you in.

xxxi. You and I | PVRIS

We can meet in the middle, bodies and souls collide. Dance in the moonlight when all the stars align.

xxxii. Crazy in Love - Remix | Beyonce

I'm not myself. Lately, I'm foolish; I don't do this. I've been playing myself, baby I don't care.

xxxiii. this is me trying | Taylor Swift

And maybe I don't quite know what to say, but I'm here in your doorway.

xxxiv. Can't Catch Me Now | Olivia Rodrigo

You can't catch me now, I'm coming like a storm into your town.

xxxv. Perfect | Hedley

I'm not perfect, but I keep trying 'cause that's what I said I would do from the start.

xxxvi. Til My Heart Stops | Too Far Moon

I almost died the day I lost you; I'll keep breathing til my heart stops.

xxxvii. The Alchemy | Taylor Swift

There was no chance, trying to be the greatest in the league. Where's the trophy? He just comes running over to me.

xxxviii. The Exit | Conan Gray

Feels like we had matching wounds, but mine's still black and bruised, and yours is perfectly fine now. Feels like we buried alive something that never died.

xxxix. Don't Forget About Me | CLOVES

Lost through time, and that's all I need: so much love, then one day buried. Hope you're safe, 'cause I Iay you leaves; is there more than we can see?

xl. Hurts Like Hell | Fleurie

I don't want them to know the way I loved you; I don't think they'd understand it, no. I don't think they would accept me, no. I loved, and I loved, and I lost you.

xli. Is There Somewhere | Halsey

'Cause I clutched your arms like stairway railings, and you clutched my brain and eased my ailing.

xlii. Burn with You | Lea Michele

We're not healthy, barely breathing, but this pain keeps my heart beating.

xliii. Cringe | Matt Maeson

Lover, come hold me; could you forget? That I got a secret, digging a ditch.

xliv. Him & I | G-Eazy; Halsey

We got that love, the crazy kind. I am his, and he is mine, in the end, it's him and I.

xlv. An Evening I Will Not Forget / Furthest Thing | Dermot Kennedy

Days with nothing but laughing loud underneath my coat, when you tap my shoulder, hold my hand; nights with nothing but dark in there, you could be my armor then.

xlvi. Call It What You Want | Taylor Swift

You don't need to save me, but would you run away with me?

xlvii. I'll Never Love Again | Lady Gaga

And I want to pretend that it's not true, oh baby, that you're gone 'cause my world keeps turning, and turning, and turning, and I'm not moving on.

xlviii. This Town | Niall Horan

And I know that it's wrong that I can't move on, but there's something about you. If the whole world was watching, I'd still dance with you.

xlix. Without Fear | Dermot Kennedy

And now I really think you're heaven-sent 'cause you've been forcin' all these hollow hearts to feel again. And now I really think you're heaven-sent, but there's a beauty in being broken; I've been seein' it.

l. Waiting Room | Phoebe Bridgers

Know it's for the better.

li. Only Love Can Hurt Like This | Paloma Faith

Burning hot through my veins, love is torture; makes me more sure only love can hurt like this.

lii. Still Falling For You | Ellie Goulding

And just like that, all I breathe, all I feel, you are all for me, I'm in.

liii. Daylight | Taylor Swift

I once believed love would be burning red, but it's golden.

liv. Margaret | Lana Del Rey; Bleachers

'Cause when you know, you know.

lv. Lost Without You | Freya Ridings

You were the only safe haven that I've known; hits me at full speed, feel like I can't breathe and nobody knows this pain inside me.

lvi. I Fell In Love With The Devil | Avril Lavigne

Got me playin' with fire, baby, hand me the lighter. Tastes just like danger, chaotic anger.

lvii. Million Reasons | Lady Gaga

I've got a hundred million reasons to walk away, but baby, I just need one good one to stay.

lviii. But Daddy I Love Him | Taylor Swift

No, I'm not coming to my senses; I know he's crazy, but he's the one I want.

lix. Ultraviolet | Freya Ridings

No, I can't hide it, and you're reading all of me.

lx. Sunday | Dermot Kennedy

You're one of few, boy, who can safely say they had somebody truly love them back.

lxi. golden hour | JVKE; Ruel

You know nothing compares to the shattering feeling I get, oh, when you're not right there.

lxii. Daylight | David Kushner

You and I drink the poison from the same vine. Oh, I love it, and I hate it at the same time.

lxiii. Half Hearted | We Three

The fighting is done, and nobody's won, so now I'm just laying here in pieces on the floor.

lxiv. Always Remember Us This Way | Lady Gaga

So when I'm all choked up, but I can't find the words every time we say goodbye, baby, it hurts.

lxv. Latch | Sam Smith

Now I've got you in my space; I won't let go of you. Got you shackled in my embrace, I'm latching on to you.

lxvi. Say Don't Go | Taylor Swift

'Cause you kiss me, and it stops time, and I'm yours, but you're not mine.

lxvii. Put A Little Love On Me | Niall Horan

When the lights come up and there's no shadows dancing, I look around as my heart is collapsing 'cause you're the only one I need.

lxviii. Ho Hey | The Lumineers

I belong with you; you belong with me; you're my sweetheart.

lxix. XO | John Mayer

Your heart is glowing, and I'm crashing into you.

lxx. Strange Love | Halsey

Everybody wants to know about how it felt to hear you scream; they know you walk like you're a God, they can't believe I made you weak.

lxxi. You Mean The World To Me | Freya Ridings

And it kills me that you might not know after all, 'cause I know I don't let you see, but you mean the world to me, and I know that I can be pretty mean, but you mean the world to me.

lxxii. Dark Paradise | Lana Del Rey

Love you forever can't be wrong; even though you're not here, you won't move on. That's how we played it.

lxxiii. Oceans | Seafret

I want you, and nothing comes close to the way I need you. I wish I could feel your skin and I want you from somewhere within.

lxxiv. The Archer | Taylor Swift

All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put me together again 'cause all of my enemies started out friends; help me hold onto you. I've been the archer; I've been the prey. Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?

lxxv. MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT | Loveless

In the middle of the night, just call my name; I'm yours to tame.

lxxvi. Train Wreck | James Arthur

You can say what you like 'cause see, I would die for you. I'm down on my knees, and I need you to be my God, be my help, be a savior who can unbreak the broken.

lxxvii. Walls | Louis Tomlinson

For every question, why, you were my because.

lxxviii. Infinity | Jaymes Young

'Cause you're the reason I believe in fate, you're my paradise, and I'll do anything to be your love or be your sacrifice.

lxxix. Salvation | Gabrielle Aplin

Just a trick of light to bring me back again, those wild eyes, a psychedelic silhouette. I never meant to fall for you, but I was buried underneath, and all that I could see was white.

lxxx. Sleep On The Floor | The Lumineers

Take all your savings out 'cause if we don't leave this town, we might never make it out. I was not born to drown, baby; come on.

lxxxi. Castle on the Hill | Ed Sheeran

I still remember these old country lanes when we did not know the answers.

lxxxii. The Other Side | Ruelle

I don't want to know what it's like to live without you; don't want to know the other side of a world without you.

lxxxiii. Angel With A Shotgun | The Cab

They say before you start a war, you better know what you're fighting for. Well, baby, you are all that I adore; if love is what you need, a solider, I will be.

lxxxiv. Black Friday | Tom Odell

You look so pretty, pretty like the wind. Every time you touch me, I feel adrenaline.

lxxxv. Die With A Smile | Lady Gage, Bruno Mars

So I'ma love you every night, like it's the last night, like it's the last night. If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you.

lxxxvi. Northern Attitude | Noah Kahan

If I get too close and I'm not how you hoped, forgive my northern attitude. Oh, I was raised out in the cold. If the son doesn't rise until summertime, forgive my northern attitude. Oh, I was raised on little light.

lxxxvii. "Slut!" | Taylor Swift

Half awake, takin' your chance. It's a big mistake; I said, "It might blow up in your pretty face." I'm not saying, "Do it anyway," but you're going to.

lxxxviii. Backroads | Lonely The Brave

So the sinners stopped, and the villains turned, and I'll be the sky, and you be the bird.

lxxxix. Angel By The Wings | Sia

Oh, so, your wounds, they show. I know you have never felt so alone. But hold on, head up, be strong.

lxxxx. Too Deep | Ritual, Delilah

You said my signs were vital, that every touch was tidal. You held me, you held me so right, you held me so tight.

[splatoondetective]

KOOPALING QUOTES PT 2 :>

Ludwig: Larry isn't answering his phone.

Morton: I'll call.

Ludwig: Wendy and I have both tried six times each, what makes you thi-

Larry: Hello?

Iggy: Why would you give a knife to a child?!

Pom pom: JR felt unsafe.

Iggy: Now I feel unsafe!

Pom pom: ...

Pom pom: Would you like a knife?

Lemmy: go big or go home.

Morton: p lea se for once in your life just go home. I'm begging you. go home.

Lemmy: I'm going big!

Boom boom: Look, I don't care about your past.

Boom boom: I don't care where are you from...

Boom boom: Whether you don't get along with your family...

Boom boom: Or even if you used to be a criminal.

Pom pom: *on the verge of tears*

Boom boom: BUT....

Boom boom: *voice deepens* If you EVER dare to touch my oreos again, you're dead.

Pom pom: You love me, right?

Boom boom: Sure?

Pom pom : What if I did something? Like really bad?

Boom boom: What did you do?

Pom pom: Are you sure you would still love me though?

Boom boom: Are my oreos gone?

Pom pom: Just ANSWER the question PLEASE!!!!!

Roy: truth or dare?

Ludwig: truth.

Roy: how many hours have you slept this week?

Ludwig: dare.

Roy: go to sleep.

Ludwig: I don't like this game.

Larry: You're giving me a sticker?

Morton: Not just a sticker. That is a sticker of a cat saying "me Wow!"

Larry: I'm not a damn preschooler.

Morton: Fine then I'll take it back.

Larry: No! I earned this, back off!!!!!

Roy: *gets a paper cut* OW! So of a bi-

Ludwig: Roy! gestures wildly to Jr* CHILDREN!

Roy: iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-iiiiis- cuit.... Son of a biscuit.... that's it.

Ludwig: Nice save!

Roy: Yeah, fuckin nailed it.

Ludwig: Wh-? Roy!

Wendy: Hey Pom, have you ever been in love?

Pom pom: ...once.

Wendy: Really? How did it end?

Pom pom: *looking at Ludwig* It hasn't.

Morton: What's the easiest way to steal a man's wallet?

Pom pom: Knife to the throat?

Roy: Gun to the back?

Iggy: Poison in his cup?

Morton: You're all horrible.

Roy: YOUR THE ONE WHO ASKED!?!?!

Iggy: How did he die?

Wendy: Natural causes.

Iggy: You pushed him off the roof.

Wendy: Gravity is natural on this planet.

Ludwig: there's always a light at the end of the tunnel.

Lemmy: it's usually an oncoming train.

Ludwig: could you just try not to kill my vibe for five fucking seconds!

Ludwig: I got 98/100. I failed. I'm just going to go cry in a corner.

Pom pom: I got 89/100 but I put a death threat in the margin and now I have 93.

Lemmy: I got 69. *giggles*

Wendy: I did the best, that I can do-* gets test back* 96 BITCHES WHOOP!!!!

Morton: Wow, Iggy and Lemmy are being really quiet today.

Ludwig: Yeah, it's quite nice actually.

Morton: ...

Ludwig: ...

Morton: We should probably check on them.

Ludwig: Immediately.

Pom pom: I'm upset and nothing can cheer me up.

Wendy: *brings Ludwig into the room* Nothing?

Pompom: *fighting back a smile* Damn it.

Wendy: Must you always attack me with words?

Lemmy: Should I use rocks?

Ludwig: *sees a group of people doing something stupid*

Ludwig: God, what fools.

Ludwig: *realizes it's Roy, Wendy and Larry*

Ludwig: Wait those are MY fools!

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

"I don't want to do this anymore." Pairing : Seo Changbin x F!Reader TW : general angst ; Word Count : 2.1k

Selfish, they’d say if they ever heard the argument of why you were doing what you were doing. Heartless, they’d proclaim when they saw his tear streaked face on his live streams, pretending to be happy… But everyone would know, they’d know that it was your fault, every ounce of happiness he felt was caused by you, and the same could be said about every ounce of his sadness as well. 

She didn’t deserve him anyway, you could see it now, flashing across his screen as the comments rolled up, countless fans professing their love for him all while telling him that he could do better. They weren’t wrong, you were sure he could find someone that appreciates him and everything he does, someone who loves him far more than you ever could. She’s stupid to give up someone like you, they’d type out in multiple different ways, but they would all mean that, and you didn’t know whether they’d be right or wrong about it. It didn’t feel stupid to be making such a choice, especially since you were doing it for yourself, but maybe in their eyes and multiple other people's eyes, what you were doing was absolutely foolish. 

How could you leave someone like him when all he wanted to do was love you and show you the world? How could you break his heart? Well… the answer was simple, you had to break your own first, you had to tell yourself over and over that what you were doing was going to destroy him, you had to be a little bit selfish and tell yourself that it was okay… You had to put your own sanity and your own feelings first. 

What could be so wrong with dating an idol? The question could answer itself, the one word at the end summing it all up easily, but if people really needed an explanation, you were willing to give it to them. He was an idol, a very popular one at that, and he was never around, you never got his full attention, you never got to actually be with him. Any bit of time you got would be shared with the fans, or the other guys, or his phone would be ringing constantly from his managers or the guys telling him that they needed to talk about a new song or something like that. Was it selfish to want to be the center of someone’s attention for a mere minute, to have just a little bit of time with the person you loved and not be interrupted every five seconds. 

See, what people were looking at was just the public image of Changbin, they were looking at the fame and the silly bits that he had on his little reality show. They didn’t know the hell that came along with actually dating someone like him. It was like a power struggle between yourself and his career, a game of tug of war, and you were tired of it, you were tired of fighting to be loved the way you know you should be. It wasn’t his fault though, you never blamed him, and you never would, because you knew he loved you, you knew that he was trying his best, it just wasn’t going to work and deep down, you feel like he knew that too. 

“You’re thinking about something, I can tell…” Changbin said over his cup of coffee, the tanned liquid sloshing around the cup as he held it just below his chin, both hands grasping it tightly to warm his palms. “What is it, sunshine bear?” The cute little nickname that he had given you years ago had your heart aching. When was the last time he had called you that? The last time you had actually heard him say it? “Did something happen at work yesterday… You know that you can talk to me.” He placed his cup down, reaching across the table to grab your own hand. 

Maybe he knew what was coming, maybe that’s why he was trying so hard. Maybe he could feel the change in your attitude, the change in the way that you were around him and he was trying to show you that he was still trying, that he was still there for you the way he needed to be. “It’s nothing… just…” And then his phone started to ring, and he inhaled sharply between his teeth. Let it ring… Please let it ring, you repeated over and over in your head, wanting so badly to feel like maybe, just maybe you were his top priority for once, that he would let whoever it was that was calling wait a little while longer. You wanted to believe that you were important to him, more important than whoever it was on the other end. His finger went up, and then the same hand slipped into his pocket, pulling out his phone and quickly bringing it up to his ear as he got up from the table. Dammit… You whispered to yourself, but this was the final straw. He had shown you now, shown you what you needed to see, feel what you needed to feel in order to realize that you were making the right decision. “I can’t do this anymore…” You mumbled, sniffling softly as you pushed away from the table yourself. 

“W-Wait, Y/N… Hold on, it’s just a phone call, I’ll be right there.” He stammered, holding the phone away from his face as he called out for you from the other side of the room. No… just give me a second, I’ll be right there. I’m coming… just hold on… He muttered into the speaker, and you could only shake your head as you walked away. He wasn’t even going to stay the whole day like he had originally planned on doing, like he had told you the night before that he would. It was his day off, and whoever called still wanted him to come in, and he wasn’t even telling them no. “Hey… You didn’t tell me what the problem was.” He said as he walked up behind you in the bedroom, watching you pull out your clothes from the wardrobe with concerned eyes. “What are you doing?” 

You sighed softly, maneuvering around him to place the clothes on the bed, keeping them neatly folded as you went back and forth between the dresser and the mattress, feeling Changbins eyes on you the entire time. “I don’t want to do this anymore…” You stated flatly, finishing up in the dresser and then grabbing your suitcase from under the bed, all while he followed you around the room like a lost puppy. 

“You don’t want to do what? Pack your bags? I… I don’t even know why you are… I don’t have a tour coming up… We’re not going anywhere.” He said, but he chuckled sheepishly, and you could hear just how nervous he was watching you do something like this. “”A-Are you going to stay with family… friends? Where are you going?” 

“Yes.” You said as firmly as you could, making sure everything that you had pulled out fit perfectly into the suitcase, situating all your clothes just right so that the bag would close and zip. 

“Well… F-For how long are you staying there?” He was becoming antsy, you could feel it, you could see it in the way he was slightly bouncing where he stood, the way his fingers would shape and indent the inner lining of his pockets as he picked at the lint that built inside. 

“I’m not coming back.” You said as you closed the lid of the suitcase, finally turning to look at him once it was all zipped up, and that’s when you saw his bottom lip trembling and the fresh stream of tears slipping down his cheeks. “And I don’t want to argue or fight about it either.” 

He was absolutely stunned because no matter which way he could have looked, he wouldn’t have seen this coming… there was no way he could have. There were no signs, not of something like this happening. “You… You can’t leave without even telling me. What happened? What’s going on? C-Communication is key… right? I mean… We can talk about this, we don’t have to do it like this, you don’t have to leave… let’s just talk.” 

That was the thing though, the comically sad thing about this… The fact that you had tried to talk to him, you had tried to communicate with him. “Yeah… I know. We can talk about it… But whenever we can, you just get called in or texted about something and… We can’t communicate if there’s always someone or something else taking your attention. If I wanted to have a one sided conversation, I’d talk to myself in the mirror.” 

Changbins heart dropped, his mouth going dry as he tried to think of a way to tell you that you were wrong, that it didn’t always happen, but how could he when that exact thing happened this morning? “Things are just… It’s busy… That doesn’t mean that I want you to leave though. I still want you here… I love you.” He whispered, his head dropping as his eyes wavered. “It won’t always be like this…I promise it won’t.” 

You knew that as well, but you didn’t want to wait and see how long it would take for things to not be like this. “How long is it going to take? How long do you want me to be put on the backburner for your job?” You huffed, shaking your head exasperatedly. “I know you love me, and I love you too… But I love me too…” 

He gasped softly, running his hands over his face, his palms dampened by tear streaks that were smudged across his cheeks. “It’s not like that… I swear it’s not… You’re not… Not on the backburner… I love you so much…” But that’s all he could say, he couldn't promise a present fix, only the future, a future that seemed too far away. 

Your bottom lip was pulled in between your teeth as you watched him, gnawing on the pink flesh as you saw the tears stream endlessly down his face, and while you knew that this was something you had to do, something that you had planned for, you didn’t think it would be this hard. “I know you do… I know…” You whispered, lifting the bag off the bed and letting it fall heavily onto the floor before pulling up the handle, the loud sound of the click that locked the handle in place filling the silence between the two of you. “But… I have to go… I have to end this… I’m not happy here… And I’m tired of pretending to be…” 

He swallowed thickly, a sound that you could hear clearly, his adams apple bobbing as he did. “Is there nothing I can do… I… I don’t want to lose you… What can I do?” It was a last attempt, his hand placed on top of yours on the handle of the luggage, his eyes boring into your own, and you couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes, not when his own were so puffy and red. You loved him, and you hoped that he knew that this wasn’t easy for you, that you weren’t doing this to hurt him, that there wasn’t someone else that was the reason for you leaving. You loved him so much, this hurt you just as much. 

“There’s… There’s nothing you can do… Changbin. At least nothing that I’d ask you to do…” You mumbled, because you knew that the only thing that could even potentially fix things would be him leaving his job, leaving the group, and that’s something that you’d never ask him to do. You knew that his career was his life, he loved doing what he did, and you would never take that away from him. “I have to go… Please don’t be sad… Please don’t cry for me…” You slid your hand out from underneath his, giving him a bittersweet smile as you nodded, reassuring him, reassuring yourself… “Things will be just fine, they’ll go back to normal… We’ll both be okay.” 

And you really hoped that you were right, because just walking out of the room, the sound of the luggage wheels clacking against the hardwood floors had your heart aching, the sound of his footsteps following behind you had your eyes beading with tears. Things wouldn’t be the same without him, not at all… Your days wouldn’t feel right without him in them, and you were sure that he’d feel the same way. It would last for a couple weeks, maybe a couple months, but hopefully the two of you would get back into the swing of normalcy without one another… All you could do was hope, because you were quite sure that there was nothing worse than the heartache that you both were feeling as you walked out the front door.

[the-one-where-casey-watches-tv]

Agatha All Along episode 1.08 "Follow Me My Friend, To Glory At The End"

I’m usually waist-deep in a lengthy 2000s drama, and therefore late to the game with current shows, but I’m happy to say I’m right on time with Agatha. And I’m glad about that!

Nonetheless, I wish Marvel didn’t put me in the position to say ‘it’s really good… for Marvel.” But it’s really good! For Marvel. I liked so much of it, and the rest I chalk up to a brand issue rather than a problem with this particular show, so I’m deciding to focus on the best parts of it. And I think this show was at its best in the penultimate episode (we can sidebar about the actual ending, it took the wind out of this incredible reveal, imo).

108 picks up right where 107 left off, in the aftermath of Lilia’s really beautiful Tarot reading and sendoff. Agatha makes a deal with Rio, agreeing to convince Billy to willingly give himself to Rio and “restore the sacred balance”. The inevitability of death is a theme I really like in this show. Rio’s scoff at being called evil in the finale really drives that point home as she emphasizes that she’s the most “natural” thing there is. I don’t disagree.

Agatha, Billy, and surviving coven member Jen head off towards the last trial… and instead trip over the shoes they took off at the start of their journey. The Road is a circle, and they’re back where they started. Agatha, seeming to not know The Road as well as she should as the only person who’s ever done it before, insists that they do the whole thing again. Jen refuses out of fear, but more importantly, that just can’t be right.

Billy, seemingly hardened with his newly revealed power, is fed up with The Road. They walked it barefoot out of respect for its path, but he’s fresh out of respect. He pulls his boots back on and suddenly finds himself clawing his way out of a body bag in a metal room. Agatha and Jen are close behind. The room is illuminated with grow lights that go out one by one- another ticking clock.

Without a green witch at their disposal, Agatha and Billy turn to Jen as their last hope of growing something in this soil and water-less room. Instead, their conversation reveals that Agatha was in fact the one who bound Jen decades ago, preventing her from using her magic. Emotionally, Jen performs an unbinding ritual with Agatha and disappears as soon as it’s over. She got what she needed from The Road, and it released her. This leaves Agatha and Billy.

First, Agatha tries pleading with Billy to give her some of his power, the thing she sought on The Road. Billy refuses, not trusting her to not to take it all. Besides, if The Road spits her out, he’ll be alone in there. So, Agatha taps into her motherly side, the side that’s so shrouded in grief that she avoids it all costs. She holds Billy and guides him through his last memories with Tommy. She helps him hold Tommy’s life in his mind, and then helps him scour the world for a body to put him in, just as he did for himself with William Kaplan.

This really is selfless on Agatha’s part- she’s breaking her promise to Rio. Rio wanted him for the exact purpose of preventing him from defying her a second time by reincarnating Tommy. The lines are blurry, though, and Billy can’t tell if he’s simply capitalizing on a boy’s untimely death or causing it. His work complete, he leaves The Road just like Jen and doesn’t hear Agatha’s tender reassurance of “No, Billy… sometimes boys die.”

Left alone, Agatha is forced to confront her own emotional battle with life and death. She opens her locket containing a lock of Nicky’s hair and gently plants it in the dirt revealed by the cracks Billy’s magic created. She waters it with her tears, and up grows a dandelion, primed for a wish. She blows its leaves into the air, prompting the end of the final trial. The ceiling begins to dump rocks and dirt on her, and she escapes up some stairs in the nick of time. She didn’t find what she was looking for, but she completed all The Road’s trials and resurfaces in her yard in Westview.

She comes face to face with Rio, who plans to take Agatha instead now that she’s failed to deliver Billy. Just as she’s about to lose their subsequent battle, they’re interrupted by Billy, now fully transformed into Wiccan. He holds Rio at bay long enough to share some of his power with Agatha. Though she readily takes it, she spares Billy and tells him Death can’t be evaded. She offers to go with Rio, though when Billy selflessly offers himself in her place, Agatha turns on a dime. It seems this was her plan all along to fulfill her deal with Rio.

But in a final telepathic plea, Billy asks if this was how Nicky died, being offered to Death in her place. We still don’t know what exactly happened to Nicky, but this hits a nerve, and Agatha turns on her heel and offers Rio a passionate kiss on the lips. As she does, Death’s magic wraps around her, laying her down. As she sinks into the earth, a beautiful, colorful arrangement of fungi and flora spring up where her body once was. Another pretty indicator that Death isn’t a foil to beauty or nature, but rather a crucial element of both of those things.

Admittedly somewhat anticlimactic, Rio dismisses Billy, who just gets in his car and drives home. While he rejected the idea of embracing Wanda as his mom (“I already have a mom”), we don’t see any real bond between him and William Kaplan’s parents. They fuss over him, having been worried sick that he’s been missing for 24 hours, but he seems detached. I would’ve found it cool and interesting to see him hold more love for them, but I digress.

Billy walks into his bedroom almost as if seeing it for the first time. Clearly a fan of The Wizard of Oz, he suddenly notices uncanny parallels between his interests and his experience on The Road. He has a collection of shoe figurines, tons of Wizard of Oz memorabilia, a Ouija board, a Lorna Wu poster, the list goes on. The show’s homages to The Wizard of Oz don’t stop there, as Billy realizes that he’s already encountered everyone in their makeshift coven at some point in his life- just like fixtures of the Yellow Brick Road bear striking resemblance to people in Dorothy’s life in Kansas.

Yet unlike Dorothy’s awakening from a daze that makes her wonder if the world of Oz was a figment of a concussion-addled dream, Billy faces a much more horrific realization. While The Road was conjured in his mind, its existence, and the deaths that occurred within it, are very real indeed. Like mother like son.

In the series finale we learn that there was never a Road at all. Agatha made up the song with Nicky way back when, and as rumors about it spread, she used it to serve her life’s mission of killing witches and absorbing their power. Her ghost comforts Billy as he wrestles with the responsibility of inadvertently killing their allies in the hellscape his mind created (“I was gonna kill ‘em all on day one”).

A plot twist like this can feel gimmicky if it’s out of left field, thrown in for shock value alone. But this one felt like pieces falling into place, the new reality feeling even more true to the characters than what we thought was happening all along.

I have some less than positive thoughts on both the first and last episode. They really leaned into the detective trope in the pilot in a way that made it more confusing than anything else when they abandoned it ten minutes in. And Agatha returning as a literal classic floating translucent ghost in the finale felt gimmicky, cheapening the sacrifice she made by giving herself to Rio. Not to mention completely rejecting the obvious silver lining of the continuation of their romance in death… on the whole, the sapphic element of this show was highly teased, anticipated, and praised, yet, as I often find with mainstream queer content, anticlimactic and half-baked.

Nonetheless, this has gotta be the gayest Marvel content we’ve ever seen, the song is a banger (and it’s a good thing because they really got their money’s worth out of it), and The Road is chock full of symbolism and metaphor that I’ll be thinking about for days. What’d you think?

[respectthepetty]

So. I’m watching “the theory of love” and I have two things to ask

1. Does anyone actually like Kai? He doesn’t seem to care about Threees feelings at all or about his actions.

2. EARTH IS ON THIS!!?!!???? I stupidly have been waiting for Mix to turn up but obviously this was Pre?

3. Gun never gets a rear does he. Poor guy has to cry in every show he does.

4. They’re in uniforms a lot so been finding the colouring boys difficult so far.

Is that too many questions?! 😂

Anon, I like how you pulled a me and instead of asking two questions, you asked four! So let me get to answering them.

But first, Khai and Third are IKEA Queers, so . . .

Does anyone actually like Kai? He doesn’t seem to care about Threees feelings at all or about his actions.

Me. I like Khai. We are IKEA Queers, so we have to stick together.

Feel free to judge me, but after episode six, watching him suffer was food for my petty soul. This is what I want from my pendejos. If they are going to fuck up as badly as Khai did (THE FAKE-DRUNK KISS!), then I want them to feel pain. A lot of it. All the time. No relief.

And Khai definitely felt it.

All the time.

The idiot would not take no for an answer (but that's a JittiRain special), yet Third gave him back all the pain he gave to him, and that's what I like to see - revenge. Even in the special, Third was still kind of a jerk to Khai, and was looking even better for it.

I would never believe they would make it beyond this show (even with the four year time skip), but JittiRain said they are still together and going strong in Vice Versa with "RELATIONSHIP" right above Third's head, so . . . good for them?

Gun never gets a rear does he. Poor guy has to cry in every show he does.

Earth, Fluke, First, and Gun. Those are the men you hire if you want them good ass tears.

Amen.

Earth and Fluke had Until We Meet Again while Gun and First had Not Me, and those are both top-tier shows for most people. Imagine all four in one show, just crying, destroying our hearts every week. However, I'm going to put this on the record right now though - - First can outcry them all. I believe this with every fiber of my being. A director would just have to say "Khaotung doesn't want to be your friend anymore" and GAME OVER!

EARTH IS ON THIS!!?!!???? I stupidly have been waiting for Mix to turn up but obviously this was Pre?

The wildest thing to me is Earth played Type in Love by Chance which means he was Type of TharnType before the role was recast. Can you image Phupha as Type?! I have never watched a MAME series, but this seems WILD to me.

And Earth was paired with New in Water Boyy, like New of TayNew.

And of course, we got that taste of him with Papang in Moonlight Chicken.

So I think it's strange that Earth has worked with Mix several times when the behind-the-scenes for A Tale of Thousand Stars seemed as if director Aof was ready to murder Earth because he was playing around between takes, while Mix was crying every two seconds from stress and anxiety (which caused him to pass out). Mostly when White was RIGHT THERE!

Please, GMMTV, keep mixing things up forever and ever. Amen.

They’re in uniforms a lot so been finding the colouring boys difficult so far.

I watched it when it aired and haven't rewatched it since, so I don't remember if there was color-coding, but from my saved pictures, it seems like I had a theory that Third was a Yellow/Orange Oddity

but I have no notes, and the other pictures aren't telling me a complete story, so I think I got upset watching it and stopped tracking the colors. I stay petty.

I'd have to go back and rewatch it to give you a proper answer BUT I won't do that if JittiRain screws me over for the sixth time with Be My Favorite. So I'll make a deal with you, Anon - If Be My Favorite doesn't give me lies, manipulation, and the normal JittiRain (JR) nonsense to the extent her other series have included, I'll go back and rewatch Theory of Love for potential color coding.

But if JR fucks over my baby boy Pisaeng, not even the IKEA Queers can save this color-coding mission.

Pray for us all.

[nutal]

Okay, before i start to explain on what the HEIGH is going on inside my tiny little cranium of mine, the Adam angst (my headcanons) I invented is pretty much inspired by multiple stuff on tumblr, so it may not really be original + it may age as bad as milk (tho idk if it really matters, the angst was just made for fun and nothing else, im just here to share my imaginary scenarios with u + i started typing this whole ass paragraph essay at school + it may prob go against canon but these are just theories for fun soooo ye here we go)

T W: intense angst, may delve in some serious topics

Lemme start off my storytelling with the magical, splendid place that is so-called “The Garden of Eden” This is the place where Adam and Lilith were born from the very specks of dust (a very splendid way of saying that they just *POOF*, appeared out of nowhere).

Now since Adam and Lilith were God’s creation, it’s pretty obvious that the both of them would be prideful and childish, even if Adam and Lilith were created as adults (not really their fault, they were barely just created and are just babies in adult bodies about to be traumatized later on in life + they’re kinda in a forced marriage when u think about it)

While Adam (the dumbass) was like: “I do what I want UvU” in a dumbass, but funny way, Lilith was like: “I do what I want UnU” in a more subtle and feminine way.

I can just imagine Adam being like: “Yo, Lilith, I’m gonna climb up that tree bc i want to!” and Lilith being like: “Bro, no, you will literally fall off of it, because you don’t even know how to climb, you fucking dumbass.”

Adam climbs up the tree anyway and falls flat on his face and Lilith just face slaps herself bc Adam is a dummy.

One day, Adam and Lilith would meet the angel “Lucifer”, basically Luci wanted to visit the humans bc he was curious. Of course, the 2 would be really excited to meet Luci, and they would have a lot of fun together, playing games and such, especially Lilith, who basically all of her attention to Lucifer, ignoring Adam’s existence completely. Even to the point of ghosting Adam for days just to hang out with Lucifer. Adam would notice this, and decides to confront Lilith about this.

Adam keeps asking her why she has been so distant with him, but Lilith keeps denying, being like: “Dude, stop being so controlling! Mind your own business, and stop being so paranoid!”

Adam: “BRO, EVER SINCE YOU’VE HANGED OUT WITH LUCI, YOU’VE BEEN GONE FOR DAYS ON END WITHOUT EVEN TELLING ME ANYTHING! ARE YOU NOW WITH LUCI OR SOME SHIT?!”

In a moment of absolute annoyance and fury, she snapped: “WELL, MAYBE I AM! HE’S SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOU AND I LIKE HIM WAY MORE THAN I EVER LIKED YOU!”

At that moment, Adam was just… stunned. Those words coming from Lilith hurt deeply.. and i mean, REALLY deeply, not only because it hurt his ego, but he actually really liked Lilith, so hearing this, it really just, destroyed him.

Lilith: “I NEVER NEEDED YOU ANYWAY!” As Lilith fled from The Garden, Adam yelled at her in the distance, trying to hold back his tears: “I NEVER NEEDED YOU EITHER!”, turning his back to the opposite direction and crying silently.

After the incident, God decided to give Adam a second chance, in exchange for a rib (Adam’s rib), and created Eve. His second wife. Now Eve, Eve was a little more special. While Lilith was more upfront and independent, Eve was the opposite, being dependent and really sweet. At first, Adam would be cautious at first, but eventually, starts to fall in love again, in fact, he fell harder for Eve than Lilith.

Lilith’s abandonment pretty much caused him to not only be really protective towards Eve, but also more affectionate and caring. Cherishing her more than his first wife. He was happy again.. at least for a while.

You see, in The Garden of Eden, there was a mysterious tree, to which there was something whom God warned Adam and Eve not to taste from: “The Fruit of Knowledge”. Not only did it grant free will to whoever takes a bite from the apple itself, but also show them the difference between right and wrong.

Eve, being as sweet as she was, was also very curious about the apple, but Adam would always warn her NOT to eat the apple. Ever. Eve would beg him to let her take at least take one bite from it, and maybe even Adam taking a bite too, to which Adam always said: “No.”

Eve: “Please?”

Adam: “No.”

Eve: “Pleeaassee?”

Adam: “No.”

Eve: “Plllleeeeeaaaasseee?”

Adam: “No.”

Eve: “PlleeEEEEAASSEE?”

Adam: “No.”

Eve: “PLS PLS PLS PLS PLS”

Adam: “No.”

Eve: “PLS PLS PLS-“

Adam: “NO.”

Eventually, one day, Adam would wake up to see that Eve was not next to him. He starts having a panic attack and tries desperately to look for her. Meanwhile, Eve just decided to stay next to a tree, being pretty upset that Adam wouldn’t let her taste the apple.

Then, Lucifer and Lilith see Eve. In Lilith’s mind, Eve is another victim of Adam’s controlling behavior, like her. So, to help her out, she tells Lucifer to give Eve The Fruit of Knowledge. Luci agrees, and shows Eve the apple.

Eve gets really enthusiastic, and despite Adam’s warnings, her curiosity got the best of her, and eats the Apple.

When Adam finds her, it’s already too late, Eve already ate the apple. Adam would be mortified to not only seeing Eve eating the apple, but also seeing his first wife, Lilith, and Lucifer. Eve immediately realized her grave mistake, but then basically, the roots of sin would reach earth and humanity as a whole, and from there, God would tell her that she’s banished from Eden and she falls down to earth… but then realizes.. that Adam fell with her.. even is he hasn’t ate the apple, he still decided to fall with her.

After Adam and Eve have fallen from Eden, they pretty much had to struggle to survive and it wasn’t easy. They had to actually hunt down for food, even killing some animals in the process unwillingly. Eve would start to become really bitter and cold with him. Adam also noticed this, but not wanting to lose Eve like he lost Lilith, he wouldn’t confront her like he did with her. But eventually, she leaves him aswell. Adam would desperately try to find her to no avail. He would start breaking down, his world would start spinning. Feeling as if.. as if he wasn’t good enough for anything… for ANYBODY… that he’s worthless… and has no purpose. Eventually he would die because of starvation and grief…

Then.. he wakes up to see that he’s… in the middle of nowhere. He notices that now, he has golden-like wings and a halo on top of his head. A tall silhouette would appear, revealing to be none other than “Sera”.

Obviously, Adam would be cautious at first, but the Seraphim would tell him: “Greetings, The First Man. I’m Sera, the High Seraphim. Congratulations for being the first human soul to arrive up in heaven!”

Adam would be surprised, but then ask: “Huh?.. wha?..But, what I am doing here..?”

Sera: “I’ll show you, follow me.”

Adam still being gullible as.. heaven? (PUN) would follow Sera, all the way to a… room. Then, Sera would show him his robes and his, uh, exorcist army (that just *POOF*, appeared just for his role), but.. most importantly.. his LED mask.

Sera: “You are now promoted as the Leader of the Exorcists, Adam.”

Adam would put on the robes, still not really knowing what’s going on, but he just accepted it. Then, Sera would explain to him in more details about what he’s supposed to do in his specific role (basically saying that he has a harem army of killing machines, that kill Lucifer’s and Lilith’s citizens [sinners] every year to quote on quote ‘protect heaven’, but saying it in a splendid way)

And.. this made Adam feel.. absolutely empowered, being able to take revenge on Lilith and Lucifer by exterminating sinners in hell every year, …and.. in his own twisted sense of mind.. he was able to have a purpose again…right? He eagerly puts the mask on, without even questioning whether this was even right or not, for he doesn’t even know the difference between right and wrong. (Nightmare moon phase coming up rq)

And because he felt.. like he had a purpose again, thinking that.. maybe he still had importance to someone or something, he truly respected Sera, and never even DARED to question Heaven.. bc thats basically his purpose.. and if he questioned it, its kinda game over.

The kinda disturbing part about this is that, if he didn’t eat the apple, that would mean he doesn’t have free will. Which basically, he didn’t even choose to do this kind of thing, he just went to heaven by default and becomes the leader bc ‘he dah first man’ without him actually having any kind of saying to this. Kinda like a puppet on strings, if you think about it. (but it’s a game theory so i digress)

Also like, considering that angels and winners probably just showered him with blind praise, not even really addressing his actual issues, so basically, his deep emotional wounds barely got any kind of healing (if not even more), and his narcissism (being his possible coping mechanism after just drowning in negative emotions for so long bc heaven doesn’t even really care for him that much) continued to grow stronger and stronger, until it was basically his other identity. Basically kinda like Nightmare moon, where Luna basically drowned in resentment and became Nightmare moon, Adam drowns in the negative emotions of “not being good enough”, so he creates some kind of ‘shield’ to protect himself from ever getting hurt deeply again.

I remember when I watched JaidenAnimations video: Why I don’t have a “face reveal”. That video alone.. it basically made me realize that people could be struggling without even having the slightest realization of what’s going on. This also reminded me of Adam, then I thought that.. maybe,.. maybe Adam also feels kinda the same way as Jaiden, lemme explain further:

So, in JaidenAnimations video, she basically explains on how her standards became so high that she was TERRIFIED of ever having a face reveal bc she had a deep fear of disappointing everyone around her. (I still thank u Jaiden, hope u doin well bro, i love ya 👍👍)

There could be a possibility that, Adam may have had such high standards for how he needed to look, since he didn’t really looked like other angels, he just looked like a normal guy, that it became an insecurity for him and he basically just hides his face with his LED mask, terrified of what others may think of his actual face.

god, this took a whole DAY to write this and i may have still not executed my ideas well, or may have missed some ideas cause i forgot, but hey i tried, im gonna take a breath bro- *inhales oxigen tank intensely*

OH MY GOD THIS IS CRAZYYY YOO HOLD ON??? Dude omg yes yes i def agree he would fall WAYYYY harder for Eve than Lilith and I absolutely see what you mean that Adam and Lilith were like a forced marriage type situation cuz i mean yeah they literally did LOL. Adam for sure genuinely cared for Eve though, they had something a lot more special and I can only imagine how badly that must’ve hurt for Adam when she ate the apple and left after him begging her to NOT do that!

And yes yes YES him feeling empowered after becoming head of the exorcists being able to take revenge in that way like RAAAGHGHGEHH HELL YEAH!!

And I have ALWAYS been a huge believer in Adam using his narcissism as a coping mechanism from the very start. Like that just seems very on point and canon to me. Because this man is very clearly insecure, you can just tell. Especially with the whole mask thing, which I’ve actually brought up in the past. But yeah, this dude does not like people seeing his face. He def def DEF feels very average or even below that so he covers up for it through constantly flaunting about how great he is n shit so that nobody’ll suspect a thing.

THANK YOU FOR THIS ESSAY BTW I LOVED EVERY BIT OF IT AND AGREEEE!

[thunder--muffin]

Unbound Breaks My Heart

I bought Need for Speed Unbound recently. It was on sale for under $10. So, I figured, "Why not. Let's see why the reviews are the way they are."

When I say that the game frustrated me to tears, I'm not exaggerating. I came so close to crying, I was so irked.

This rant is based on the first 30 minutes I've spent in the game. I haven't managed to make it further.

Prelude

I've done 3 races, I'm still in the prelude. There are a lot of redundancies - in my eyes - that annoy me.

When you go to the map to select a race, there are extra steps. They show the same shit on the map that you see at the event, not a problem. It's the steps that's the issue. Then, when you get to the event, it's there, too. In heat, at least, you drove to the race, and you pressed one button, that's it. This extra nonsense to make up with the fact that they have to show that this game isn't a mistake makes it more glaringly obvious that it is.

Racing

My car is slow as shit, and you have me in races with super cars. They're gone in no seconds flat! What point does this serve? The rubber banding is so bad in this game, it's giving NFS: Heat a run for its money. I have to slog further through the story to unlock the feature to upgrade my car's specs. In NFS: Unbound, you start off with a beater. Where, in other NFS games, you start off in a really nice car, and you downgrade to a beater. So, why do I have to be antagonized before I can upgrade my car?

Driving

Driving in a straight line causes me to spin out, I'm fishtailing like a MF, and it's always random. The fact that I have a slow car means I have a slow start. While everyone else around me is gone, I'm still getting my tires to spin and actually gain [traction]. There has to be something I'm missing here because um...

Moving on...

Characters

This is the first NFS game where I absolutely do not care about the characters. Where I absolutely skipped the cutscenes. Where I wanted to desperately go back to when the main protagonist never talked, you didn't even see their faces. You just knew you disliked Cross, Darius, etc., and you must get away from them or beat them to get their pink slips. Things were simpler back then.

Music

I had cut off all in-game music. I did the same for NFS: Heat, but at least when I played Heat, I got to the point where I made my own racing playlist in Spotify and played that. Furthermore, I love hip-hop, but it's like they chose every developer's song that they disliked and put it in the game. What happened to variety?

Dialogue

Now, being a Need for Speed veteran, the dialogue is always cheesy, borderline embarrassing to witness even. Unbound though? I'm convinced they had an AI write and voice the dialogue. It's so bad. I'm cringing harder than I've ever cringed, and we have NFS: Heat. I didn't think it could get any worse than NFS: Heat. It makes me glad they left it on a cliffhanger; or put it off that way.

Why is it the only thing the developers listened to the gamers about was to add people. I think that's the dumbest shit to date. I remember people asking for this for almost a decade, and it was ignored. Why add people now? It was always a stupid idea. Now, it's a stupid idea manifested. NFS: ProStreet, it made sense to have people. There were closed tracks. It's a distraction, and it doesn't add anything to the game. It actually causes more problems. Not only that, but it's such an unintelligent, simple-minded addition, and I hope this isn't going to be commonplace in future NFS titles. But, I'll take that over this game entirely as long as the game is good.

Explosions

Everything explodes. Traffic cones, guardrails, gates, etc. Nothing is that pliable. Everything is...finicky; like a delicate little flower. I shouldn't send sparks flying from hitting a traffic cone. Trees disappear and then, confetti. It seems lazy. This is a minor issue, but it gets a spotlight because it seems like everything in this game is made of papier-mâché.

Restricted

For a game called unbound, you're bound. Like NFS No Limits, you're extremely limited. Unbound is restrictive. From the few races I've done, I can tell you're not able to do a goddamned thing. The map feels empty, you're only assigned races. You can't venture off and do anything on the map. It's a paywall, minus the pay.

Gameplay

I didn't like having to pick between night and day in Heat, I for damn sure don't like it in Unbound. The stupid weekly system that's been implemented. Why? What the absolute FUCK? The cops are annoying AF. And that's saying A LOT because this franchise is BUILT on a cat and mouse system. The handling, like I mentioned earlier, it's worse in races. I'm clunking along and everyone else seems to be strapped to rockets on ice. While we're on handling, I'll never understand why they had to change how you drift in these games. Underground 2, Most Wanted, Carbon, drifting was fun and it made sense. They complicated something that didn't have to be complicated at all. The buy-in system isn't needed. This is, again, another attempt at doing something unnecessarily different.

Mods

I've had to add mods to make this game playable. Not even enjoyable because I still can't bring myself to play this for no longer than one race.

I miss when developers actually TRIED and wasn't obligated by red tape and someone telling them, "time is money, and you're wasting time, hurry TF up!" I miss the era of Most Wanted (2005), Underground 1 and 2. Man, I miss wanting to play a NFS game, now when I see a new release, I assume it's a disappointment, and I've been right every single time. I don't want a remastered/remake of the old games because they'd just ruin that, too. Just listen to us past adding people walking on the sidewalks into the game.

All in all this game, in my humble opinion is...

[crispy-bonnie]

Acrophobia - BAIN X READER

i came up with this a while ago but i never got around to actually writing it lol . after playing through hell's island , i thought it would be fitting lol edit :: i was going to add the hell's island bit , but i got lazy midway through lmfao

!! MENTIONS OF EMETO/ACROPHOBIA . PLEASE BE ADVISED !!

High.

High up from the ground is what you were.

You found yourself atop a crane, one towering over the bank you and your crew were robbing, but the scene of bloodshed below wasn’t what had you paralyzed up in that tower.

Thought your feet were planted firmly against the metal surface, you felt light, as if you were going to faint. Yet at the same time, you felt like your weight could break the one thing that kept you from falling.

Looking down at the ground far below, you could feel your stomach churning with fear. You shakily brought your hand to your mouth, as if you were going to throw up, but you couldn’t even seem to do so. You were so afraid that a single movement would cause you to fall to your death.

Everything, the sounds of guns firing rapidly, the metallic scent of blood, and the sight of cops dropping like flies, it all started to fade into a gaussian blur as you failed to try and bring your hand to the zipline that would bring you back to the safety of lower ground.

All seemed like static, like you were stuck in an endless void of fear. It was overwhelming. You couldn’t seem to grip onto that zipline, your couldn’t seem to take a step off of the platform, what was merely a simple task for your fellow heisters, seemed like a burden to you.

It was only when you could hear your name being called through your earpiece. Not Sydney, or Jacket, or even Wolf. His voice pierced through the blanket of terror you found yourself wrapped in, blinking as you finally registered him.

Bain.

“[H/N]! Get your head back in the game! Get down there and help them!” He shouted, causing your stiff form to start trembling ever so slightly. You brought your hand up to the zipline, your fingers barely grazing it before you pulled it back in a burst of panic.

“I- I can’t-” You managed to choke out through tears, your words starting to pile up in your throat like a clogged sewer pipe. Your legs were unstable, feeling ready to fall to your knees at any moment, but terrified of doing so. You felt that if you let your knees hit the platform, you would break it and plunge to your doom.

Suddenly, the chatter from the other three heisters went mute as Bain spoke up once more, this time in a much softer tone:

"Hey, hey. [H/N]. Listen to me."

You closed your eyes, holding onto one of the cold metal supports that held the crane up as you tried to focus solely on Bain's voice.

"I'm going to count from three. Grip onto the zipline, and when I say one, just jump, okay?"

"O-okay..."

"Now, hold onto it. Don't let go."

As your eyes fluttered open, you did your best to avoid looking down at the roof below you, your gaze focused on the zipline grip that you were now holding on to.

"Three."

You squeezed your eyes shut, you grip tightening along with it.

"Two."

You inhaled sharply.

"One!"

You pushed your weight off of the metal platform using your legs, holding your breath as the harsh wind blew through your hair and clothes. It was only a matter of seconds until you felt that breeze coming to a slow.

You were still holding on, terrified, but it was only when Wolf managed to tug at the medic bag that was slung across your body did you manage to open your eyes. Looking down, you realized that your feet were able to touch solid ground, and so you let your weight meet the rough roof surface, letting out a shaky exhale of relief.

"Good job. Now, let's get back to work."