#don't throw stones if you're in a glass house or something like that

[schadenfreudich]

Franz will see a thin white guy with a higher pitched voice and barely any facial hair and think "oh, he's cute"

[ratskal]

Discoursing about which fictional characters are "morally okay" to like is dumb as fuck but nothing will be funnier than browsing the Outlast tag and seeing someone criticize Father Loutermilch fans for having a sexual predator as their fave just to go on their blog and see that they openly, unironically thirst after Eddie Gluskin

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Trippin', Fallin' With No Safety Net

My headcanons of the lads men with a clumsy reader [Requested by: Anon]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

this man is damn near giving himself an anxiety attack worrying about you when you're not with him

covers the corner of the table with his hand when you lean down to pick something up

cuts your food for you now because you cut your finger one time and gave him a heart attack

his reflexes have sharpened from having to catch you every time you trip

keeps a pair of sneakers and flats in his car in case you drink when you two are out because he knows you'll stumble and fall in a pair of heels

would switch out his sharp cornered coffee table for an oval shaped one because you kept hitting your knee on it

places all your extra pillows on the floor on your side of the bed after you rolled off one night

keeps first aid kits everywhere because you're a walking hazard to yourself

does not let you grab a glass from a shelf you can barely reach

doesn't let you carry more than one bag because you tried to make one trip with the grocery bags and fell head first into a wall

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

still laughs every time you trip or fall "are you okay?" "stop laughing!" "I'm sorry the noise you made was funny"

holds your hand or waist when you walk up/down the stairs because you've fallen one too many times

if you drop something at the table he'll pick it up for you

gets rid of the rugs you somehow keep tripping on

is fighting for his life trying to keep you off the counters when you can't reach something

you slipped in the shower one time and gave yourself a concussion now he won't let you shower alone

subtly childproofs his house

is always confused whenever you trip, fall or get stuck "now how the hell did you do that?" "I don't know Raf help me!"

constantly pretends to toss you stuff "Think fast!" " STOP IM NOT GONNA CATCH IT!" he's already cackling on the floor

side steps you to throw you off balance on purpose; always catches you when you start falling

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

you fell down the stairs once and now he happily carries you up and down them whenever he's with you

covers the corner of the table with his hand when you drop something and lean down to pick it up

also showers with you now after you slipped one time

doesn't let your carry more than one plate

gets a google home or Alexa so you can speak to turn the lights on because you tend to run into walls looking for light switches

grabs everything you can't reach after you pulled an entire shelf down on yourself in public

sends you check-in texts to make sure you haven't hurt yourself when he doesn't see you (not that you'd admit it anyway)

is so used to your clumsiness he can almost sense when something is about to go wrong

secretly finds your clumsiness cute and now he has another reason to have you in his arms at all times

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

Sylus is probably the perfect man to be with because his evol would be perfect for protecting you

places his hand on your head when you lean down to pick something up to stop you from bumping it on anything

buys you fluffy slippers to wear around the house so your pinky toe stops banging everything in the house

wraps his evol around you when he catches you climbing on something

you cut yourself with a knife once and he hid them for only him and the chef to use after that

has the twins keep an eye on you when he's not around

replaces any tables with sharp corners for smooth edged tables

has his shower renovated with pebble stone flooring so you don't slip

takes your heels and carries you when you start stumbling

keeps a hand on your waist when going up or down the stairs

is so used to you falling all the time its almost like his evol acts on it's own to catch you

uses your clumsiness as a reason for why he should go with you everywhere

gets rid of every rug in the house and opts to get heated floors because you keep tripping on the rugs, but he knew you'd complain about the cold floors

[eluxcastar]

Heyy! May i request dottore x fem!reader who is a Porcelain doll(a puppet like scara but she's made out of Porcelain instead) and likes all those cute feminine stuff and collecting stuff like bows, Porcelain dolls and more. And I wonder if dottore would like the reader being pretty feminine and what's his opinion on Porcelain dolls (don't mind when i did any mistakes, English isn't my native language)

~🎀🧷

Dottore with a doll reader

── ୨୧：il dottore x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: silly rambles about Dottore and doll reader being cute

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: fem reader (no gendered terms really used tho tbh), soft dottore (listen it's my guilty pleasure), reader has the properties of porcelain, not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 950

THIS ACTUALLY reminds me of one of the very very first drafts I wrote even before Tartaglia's little brotherfication (coincidentally also of Dottore) so this is very fun. That doll was one of Sandrone's creations and I've decided so is this one

this also may hit close to home did I ever mention my slight obsession with dolls (it's worse than slight)

Dottore has fixed you many times, much to his inconvenience.

He has warned you many times against becoming reckless, but you never seem to listen, at least in his eyes. You are by no means fragile—porcelain is hard to chip away at—your habit is simply that of finding danger. Finding it, throwing yourself at it, and landing yourself here in the darkest corners of the Fatui's headquarters so the doctor can carefully string you back together.

A gentle touch is not his forte, the practised hands of a doctor toiling away in his effort to put you back together. You prefer him to Sandrone any day for how much less pain you associate with him. He can scold you all he likes, but it may never work. You'll keep coming back and asking for his help when your strings come loose, and he will oblige your request for reasons that escape even him. It is a simple process now performed practically from memory.

Your habit of collecting frankly worthless items is certainly something. The bows, frilly dresses, and varying spools of lace you always claim you'll do something with and never do all feel normal. The porcelain dolls, on the other hand, are...interesting.

You are a living porcelain doll, and yet you collect them like novelty items. Isn't that like your equivalent of collecting human babies? Whatever it is to you, people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, so he keeps quiet as you fuss over their placement and hair, straighten their clothes or whether you're willing to sacrifice the careful styling of their hair to a pretty hat. It keeps you happy and away from everything dangerous that you seem to always run into.

The truth is, you are not in the slightest delicate despite making yourself seem that way. What you are is heavy, too heavy to always be lifting onto an operating table and too heavy to be lugging your pieces around—porcelain is not light.

However, there is interest to be had in the workings of your construction, which he is reminded of each time he takes you apart and watches you divide into inanimate pieces. You talk to him sometimes, pleasant background noise, or maybe just annoying when you start asking foolish questions he can't possibly answer. He can handle every "What are you doing?" and "Why are you doing that?" but when you begin to show your ignorance regarding your own creation and try to turn to him for answers instead of Sandrone, it frustrates him. 

You're supposed to answer his questions.

"She doesn't like my questions," you reason, and he never has to wonder why that is. Your incessant prodding and curiosity would irritate her, as does his indulging of your curiosity. She will complain that you're becoming restless and not as quickly satisfied, but really, nothing much at all has changed.

He can deal with your gravitation toward the things that make you happy if that's what keeps a smile on your face. One might even say he doesn't mind it, even when you pester him to help you tie your bows when they come loose in your hair or listen to your ramblings as you try to get him to help you with your dolls. He's better at tying knots than you. His hands have friction to keep the strings in place, unlike your slippery porcelain hands.

Your habits are endearing in their own way, the satisfaction with things that make you feel...human. You will never be, but the illusion of humanity and the yearning to chase it is not unlike the Segments. They think of themselves as human, believe they are, and exist as though they are human, yet they will never be as human as Prime. The only idea that makes sense is that you are displaying the same behaviour.

It is how Sandrone made you to be.

He can't say he especially blames you for following what your creation dictates. Your presence could bother him more than your interests could, namely a result of your many, many questions. It's not that you're sheltered or ignorant of the world around you—far from it—but most people don't know the nature of the things he works on, and you are no exception. You learned everything by asking, and he presents a wormhole of knowledge that you seek to understand by having him explain everything he's doing to you in great detail.

There's a bargaining that comes with it. Dottore will give you things so long as you stay out of the way, and you'll inspect them with a curious eye because he presents you with what Sandrone keeps you from. That is the only reason he can accept as to why you're talking to him, not that you like his voice and his smile, nor that you find the things he says fascinating or enjoy the light brush of his fingers against yours as he passes you your little 'distrations'. It's enough to watch him.

He complains his hands are always cold, and supposedly so are yours, but you've never felt temperature before. You like the faint glimpses of his scars, soft as his skin. They're not like yours, the closest equivalent being jagged cracks in your limbs that someone has to eventually fix before they worsen into breaks. 

Things are comfortable around him. He is used to the odds quirks of sentient, inhuman beings, and a benefit of being around them is that they don't mind how weird he is by most standards.

You are something he can easily get used to lingering around. Despite your similarities to the segments, he must admit that you are far less of a bother.

[viktoriaashleyyx]

This is a pro Tamlin, anti Rhysand self insert revenge fic. All characters belong to SJM, but she wasn't treating them right. Tam x reader, Tam x Rhysands Sister (OC), First person narrative. This will also reference Elucien and Neris in the future but we aren't there yet. Contains slight violence, poisons, broken bones. Also profanity. I'm not sure what else to tw if I miss something let me know. This is my first fic. I honestly don't know how to find word count, but it's roughly 4 pages on word docs. Criticism welcome. Rhysands Sister is back and she's pissed. Rhysand gets his ass whooped and Tamlin gets shown love. Enjoy.

Ch 2. Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10

Tarquin BC

Chapter 1:

I crash landed on a stone surface. A balcony of sorts? It was well built if it was, considering how long I've been falling, I'm shocked I didn't crash right through it. I know now that making a deal with the gods is a lot like making a deal with a damn djin. 

“Who goes there??” A booming male voice barked. I could hear swords drawn. Fuck where am I? My ears were still ringing, vision blurred, and chest heavy from the impact. I blinked my eyes open to find a winged male looming over me. Another illyrian? Have I finally made it home? Fuck, then that means I am in the night court. Damnit, 7 fucking courts in Prythia and I just happen to land here. At my brother's court. 

This ones expression shifted from threatening to complete shock as his gaze landed on my eyes. “Sky?” 

At my brother's court and at his fucking house, Freya has a sick sense of humor. I slowly sat up, ignoring the hand the illyrian extended to me. 

“Your wing!” He gasped. So thats what that throbbing pain was. My wing seemed to have been snapped in the fall. “You need a healer, go get Madja” he commanded the other brute. 

“Don't bother” I dismissed, standing up slowly. I pulled a small glass vial out of my pocket, a healing potion, I always kept a few on hand, never know when you're gonna need it. I downed the bitter red liquid as I've done a thousand times and grabbed the dagger off my hip. I put the handle in my mouth and bit down on it as I grabbed my own wing and straightened out the bone. I held it right for about a minute until the potion worked its magic. It hurt like crazy but I was careful not to show these idiots, the fear and shock on their faces was satisfying if I am being honest. 

“I'm guessing you are Azriel and Cassian, though I can't tell which is which” I admitted, trying to seem just polite enough to leave. 

The one next to me spoke first “I'm Azriel, he's Cassian” okay, Azriel short hair, Cassian long hair “this is Mor and Amren and she is Feyre, High Lady of the Night Court” 

“So my brother is dead?” I had hoped my excitement would come off as concern. 

“No, no, they rule together, as equals” Cassian spoke

“Got it” this conversation is dragging. I need to leave. 

“It's so nice to meet Rhysands sister, we thought you were dead, I'd heard so much about you” Feyre gushed, “Rhys is out on important business at the moment but he should be back soon.” I had no use or interest in this small talk. 

“How old are you?” I looked at her as if to study the young thing in front of me. I was never good at pleasantries. I spent a good while in isolation and I tend to just blurt out the questions on my mind. 

“I am 21” Feyre replied sharply, yep I angered her with my lack of class. 

“Ew, 21 years? Ugh, my brother always did like them unreasonably young.” I'm just gonna keep going with it, hopefully she'll throw me out. 

“My age is not a disability” Feyre snapped. 

“It's adorable that you think that.” I'm in too deep. Oops. “Anyway, I am sorry I crashed into your home, I had little control, but I would like to leave now.” 

“You will apologize and bow to your high lady.” Cassian growled. Azriel stepped in front of the door. 

“She is not my high lady, I am not a citizen of your court, in fact, I am starting to feel like a prisoner.” It's not lost on me that I have bore the title of Queen, multiple times. In both cases I have dismantled the monarchy entirely, setting up a system in which the people vote on who leads them. Her title meant nothing to me. I bow to those deserving, not the one who rely solely on birthright. But she doesn't need to know this. I have more important things on my mind than to argue with a child "I will request one more time, you move and allow me to leave.” 

“Or what?” Azriel snapped. Unmoving. 

I did not want to show this much of my hand just yet, knowing this magic is not native to Prythia. But, if they want to twist my arm, so be it. A swirling purple circle opened up under me and I fell though, closing it quickly behind me. Portals were my favorite magic to do, in more cases than once it ensured my freedom.

Landing softly on my feet, I took in my surroundings. Cool air, rolling green hills, and the sounds of birds chirping in the distance, the Spring court. I was finally home. I eventually spotted the manor I spent so much of my time at as a child. Mother didn't make me train with the illyrians as she did my brother because she feared the treatment I would receive, also by the time I came along she had befriended the ladies of the other courts. We would spend weeks here at times, the children would play together and the mothers would discuss adult things we didn't care about. One of those things being alliances, and what better way to encourage an alliance between Spring and Night than by an arranged marriage.

I didn't mind them encouraging me to play with the cute blonde shapeshifter. He was kind and silly and only a couple years older than me. The other kids, mainly Autumn boys, were rough and volatile, and I just had no interest in what they considered fun. When I would get flustered by my wings knocking things over and getting in the way, the youngest Spring boy would remind me how beautiful they were, or how powerful they made me. The few times he would get a chance to practice his fiddle, I would dance and twirl, even if it was just the arpeggios. He was the 3rd born, and I the second and a girl, they didn't expect either of us to become High lord. 

The manor was about a mile away, I shot up another portal to the door, I was tired after all and, if I'm being honest, a little excited to be back.

When I reached the door it was broken in half and wide open. I creeped inside, cautiously. It looked to be abandoned. Dirt and dust coated the walls and floors, priceless artifacts shattered and books thrown from the shelves. I noticed claw marks in the furniture. “Please just be alive, after everything, I can’t be too late.” I whispered to myself. My heart sank as I looked around. 

Further into the dilapidated manor, I heard muffled voices coming from the kitchen. “Get out.” a tired weak growl. I ran to the entrance and just as I rounded the corner I saw my brother's boot kick in the chest of.. Tamlin. He began spitting up blood. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” I hissed at my brother. 

Rhysand whipped around towards me, Tamlin looked up from the floor, eyes wide. 

“You're alive??” Rhysand darted towards me and I shoved him to the ground, rushing to Tamlins side. I knelt down beside him, held his head up from where he laid on the floor and pulled another glass vial out of my pocket. 

“It'll be bitter but swallow” I commanded gently. He didn't argue, he took the healing potion and I kissed his forehead as I laid him back down gently to address my brother. 

I stood tall. Nothing but pure rage in my violet eyes toward my brother. I always hated how much we looked alike. “THIS is the ‘important business’ you told your wife you had to take care of?” 

“I thought he killed you, he hurt my mate.” Rhysand admitted, no remorse. 

“And I finally make it back home after 300 years in exile to find you kicking mine” I state through gritted teeth. 

Rhysands eyes narrowed “your what?” It was obvious he wanted me to retract my statement, not going to happen. I didn't waste my time away, I knew I was more powerful than all of Prythia, I had to be, in case I had returned to Amarantha still terrorizing the place. 

“You heard me.” I maintained his gaze. In a split second he lunged for me and I reached my hand out into the small portal that appeared to my side. I grabbed one of the curved blades I was gifted by the warriors I previously trained with. These blades were specifically enchanted to drip poisons into the wounds they create. This one? Bloodbane, or as Prythians call it, “Faebane.” I slashed him across the face in a controlled move, just enough to leave a scar and allow the poison to sink in. 

He screamed in pain and looked back up at me. My eyes fell entirely black and cracks formed across my face as I spit my curse at him, lifting up his chin with my sword to make him look me in the eye “IF YOU, OR ANY OF YOUR LACKEYS, ENTER THE SPRING COURT BORDERS AGAIN, ALL OF THE AIR WILL BE DRAWN FROM YOUR LUNGS, AND IF YOU CANNOT GET OUT BEFORE YOU PASS OUT WE WILL FEED YOUR BODIES TO THE PIGS.” I relaxed, my face returning to normal. “Now get out.” A portal opened below him and he fell, leaving him only halfway up the steps to the House of Wind. 

I turned my attention back to Tamlin, he had sat up, the healing potion having done its job, looking up at me with a million different emotions on his face, shock, fear, concern, confusion and relief. I sat down next to him, draping my legs over his. He embraced me like I was going to disappear any minute. “You're alive. Or I am dead, I do not care as long as I have you in my arms again.” he sighed as we just sat there on the floor. 

I awoke the daemati powers I hardly used as I pressed my forehead to his. A gentle knock on the walls of his mind, and he allowed me in. I shared the memories I held dear for all these years, of us playing in the fields of Spring, the days he would spend with me in the gallery his mother gifted me, watching me paint, the mischief we would get into and the giggles we would share. His face relaxed into a soft smile as I kissed his cheek.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

@ladythornofrivia asked to be tagged❤️

[heian-era-housewife]

Synopsis | You just want to be "normal". Is that too much to ask? A trip to Walmart with Sukuna may be just what you need to remind you that being normal is overrated.

Content | g/n!reader x true form sukuna, fluff, crack, agoraphobia, social phobia, mention of self loathing, mental health *or lack thereof*

A/N | If you're new here, Hi! I'm Yuri and I live with agoraphobia. Fittingly, the roots of this word are "market place" and "fear", but really it is a social phobia based around leaving one's house or being in public/crowded places. As with any mental health issue, it takes many forms.

Anyway, this is an oddly specific and very much self indulgent drabble based on pretty much every experience I've ever had with Walmart. Including today.

Hope you enjoy!

"I still don't understand why you're making me do this." Sukuna said, head leaning on the glass of the passenger-side window of your car where he sat, all four arms crossed in visible annoyance.

"We need groceries 'Kuna." You remind him. "And please put your seatbelt back on."

He rolled his eyes with a scowl. Pulling enough slack from the belt to stretch across his broad chest, he struggled for several seconds to find the buckle hiding under his beefy thigh. 

"This is stupid. I told you Uraume can go to the market for us."

"And I told you that I wanted to try being a normal human being for once." You retort.

"Hmph." He pouted. "I fail to see how a- what did you call it?"

"A 'Walmart Run'?"

"I fail to see how a run to 'Walmart' makes one a 'normal human'." 

"'Kuna, you know how bad my anxiety is. I love that Uraume does so much for us, but I'm afraid if I never step out of my box again, I'll regress and turn into some sort of shut-in. I just want to be normal. I want to be like everyone else. Y'know?"

In place of an answer, he gestured sarcastically to his own mutated form. His four eyes blinking in stone-cold irony.

"Okay, okay." You conceded. "You know what I mean."

It had been a while since you'd gone anywhere. Your needs were always provided for in Sukuna's estate, and whatever he didn't have, he sent Uraume to get. As an agoraphobe, this life suited you perfectly. But there was still a piece of you that craved that social ingredient that made you feel less broken, even if it did fill you with dread. 

The trip started out okay. You grabbed a cart and skirted the outer aisles, avoiding the ones where employees were stocking shelves or people bustled about for more popular items. 

As time went on, however, your chest grew tighter, the sounds grew louder, and your personal bubble was at risk of popping.

Suddenly, the simple act of reaching for milk became a tunnel-vision inducing nightmare of shifting carts and bumping elbows all to the backdrop of a small child wailing somewhere nearby. 

You were frozen. Caught in the mayhem. Were you holding your breath or hyperventilating? You didn't even know. Why were you so bad at this? How did this come so easy to other people? And what were you even trying to grab? Was it milk? It must have been milk? Or maybe it was something else and if it was milk was it 2% or maybe whole and why was that child still screaming can't someone do something about that? wasn't anyone else feeling nauseated? and when did it get so hot were the aisles always this narrow?OhGodWhyDidIComeHereAtAll? thiswasaterribleidea?¿?¿? jfhjfs#$&*

Sukuna reached over you, grabbing the milk and throwing it in the cart before swooping his arms around your shoulders and waist, guiding you toward the front of the store.

"Come on, kid." He said in a low grumble. "I think you've had enough. Let's get out of here."

Numb legs carry you forward as you trudge your way toward the self-checkout. You stare blankly in a dissociative state while Sukuna scans the groceries by himself, large hands and fingers fumbling through the prompts on the small touch screen.

Useless. You're so useless. You think to yourself. Can't you do anything? Why are you so weird? So...broken?

"I'm so...weak..." You mumble feebly.

"Come again?" Sukuna grunts with his broad back to you, shoving crumpled bills unsuccessfully into the beeping machine.

"I said you must think I'm so weak." You say, louder this time, bitter tears forming on the rim of your lashes.

"Don't be foolish!" He says. "Of course I think you're weak! You're the weakest human I know!"

You look at him wide-eyed, momentarily pulled from your self-loathing by the shock of his admission. 

"Look at you!" He says, turning around to face you. "You can't even go to the grocery store without having a problem for, God's sake. This is exactly why you need me!"

His words fell heavy on your shoulders. Weighing you down. Making you small. Sure, nothing he said was untrue. But to hear it out loud-

"But you're also the kindest human I know." He continued softly. "You feel more deeply. You never stop trying. You're strong where it counts. You taught me love. You take me to ridiculous places. So yeah. Sure. You're scared of things that don't bother 'normal people'. But where the rest of the world looks upon the King of Curses with nothing but fear and loathing, you look upon me with love and compassion, never once bothered that I wasn't a 'normal person'." 

The tears began to flow. Sukuna took your face in his hands, calloused thumbs gently rubbing them from your cheeks. "And that- that is why I need you." 

A chorus of soft "awwws" came from the other nearby shoppers who had gathered to hear the disfigured man's booming monologue. Cottontop grandmas dabbed at their eyes, while the balding clerk overseeing self-checkout stood from his three-legged stool with a slow, appreciative clap. 

Sukuna's face fell flat with an unamused sigh. "Now can we get out of Walmart before I feel the need to burn the place down?"

That got you to smile. "Sure thing, King."

Bonus Track

On the way back to the car, Sukuna had some Thoughts™️ to share about his first ever trip to Walmart:

-So that was it, huh? I can see why you wouldn't like going there.

-I'd never want to leave my house either if I had to acquire sustenance from a place like that.

-And did you see some of the freaks??

-No, really! You think I'm bad? You could fill the entire internet with the amount of WEIRDOS I saw in there.

-Trust me, there was not one "normal human" in there.

-And why do we call it a "Walmart Run"? The only running I wanted to do was to get out of there.

-Oh! Is that why?

-Heck, you know what, Imma burn it down.

[respectthepetty]

This is gonna sound very weird but I hope as we go on with the show you won't stop making posts about how much you love Ming's toxic ass cause they make me laugh and I'll need them when in the future I'll feel the urge to somehow strangle Ming through the screen. No pressure but please help a girl in need if you can!

You're writing to the person who is openly praying that Ming gets worse (amen), so I am not one to call others weird.

Something about those who live in a glass house shouldn't throw stones, you know?

Because, once again, I want Ming to be awful to Joe, and only Joe, which I know is kind of weird of me, but I'm just too happy to care.

A few people have commented that Ming will get worse, and I'm giddy from the mere thought of it, so I'll be here all season being unhealthy about Ming's behavior.

Because in the first episode, he was awful, which I LOVED, and I don't think some people really see just how bad he was simply because he is being played by Up, which was a brilliant move by casting, so I love that the show directly told us he is a nightmare, and we could judge all his actions accordingly.

Regardless of Tong's fake personality, Ming just showed up at the set without any warning and ambushed Tong at his job

Ming only wants to eat alone with Tong, and it's of course because he likes Tong, but he even hung up on his sister mid-conversation after she threw him a little welcome back surprise (sidenote: I think he and his sister might be similar personality-wise because her call while Tong was eating with Ming was convenient)

Ming doesn't tell Joe his name or how he got Joe's number

He called Joe drunk and obviously pissed off, then snapped at the staff for being shocked by his behavior

He doesn't tell Joe he thinks of him, but instead reversed Joe's statement to point out that Joe thinks of him

He doesn't compromise

And none of these have to do with sex and Ming wanting to fuck Joe because he looks like Tong because Ming's toxicity isn't just about sex.

This is about how meek Ming is around Tong

Compared to how aggressive he is with Joe.

Pushing Joe down and standing over him, which in the heat of the moment doesn't seem like much.

But Joe took Ming to his house because Ming told him to. Joe doesn't eat instead opting to watch Ming eat. Joe lets Ming spend the night because Ming asked. Joe gets on the bed because Ming tells him to. Joe goes to Ming when called. Joe bottoms because Ming wants him to. Joe does everything Ming wants.

With Tong, Ming can't control anything, but with Joe . . .

Ming's gonna control everything.

Or at least that's what I'm hoping!

So I'll be here all season, cheering every single time Ming does something truly fucked up because he is going about his issues in the worst way by trying to exert dominance on a stand-in of Tong since he is weak for the real Tong until he ends up regretting it once he loses Joe and tries to replace old Joe with new Jo which restarts the vicious cycle that began this entire shit show in the first place! *deep breath*

God, I'm so happy!

[gogobootz1]

Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Eddie Roundtree x Reader

Summary: Stress is starting to interfere with your sleep schedule. But a late-night encounter with a fellow member of The Six might just help you out.

A/N: It really bothers me that the show changed his last name, but I love this man so here you go

Word Count: 1k

The one thing you really couldn’t find yourself getting used to in LA was the heat. Dry, stifling, and never-ending, it made you miserable. After spending nearly your whole life in cold, dreary Pittsburgh, you were more than struggling to make the adjustment.

The cheap ass house Billy had rented didn’t help things, either. Among its flaws, the lack of air conditioning is at the top of your list. And it’s why you can’t seem to stop tossing and turning. No matter which limbs you stick out from under your blankets, it’s not enough to cool you down. The windows you opened two hours ago aren’t helping either. Growing tired of trying to sleep, you throw the covers off of yourself and sit up.

At the very least, some water should be able to help.

You huff and make your way downstairs, paying no mind to the time. Grabbing a glass from the kitchen cabinet, you let the door swing shut. Once you’ve sipped on your tap water for a bit, you decide a snack might help too.

Still holding your cup in one hand, you start rummaging through the fridge with the other.

Leftovers were clearly out. As delicious as Camila’s lasagna was two nights ago, you didn’t want to bother heating anything up. Not to mention that Warren would probably want it for breakfast. Billy specifically said that the apples he bought were off-limits, but you aren’t necessarily opposed to pissing him off. You are, however, concerned about his taste. He probably got red delicious or Jonathan or something equally as gross, so you can't have that. Finally, you strike gold. The deli drawer. At least one Dunne brother has your back. Graham made a B-line for the deli counter on your grocery trip the other day.

You snag two slices of cheese out of the packet and start eating them while looking to see if the fridge has anything else to offer.

"Are you eating deli meat straight from the fridge at 2 AM?"

You whip around to find Eddie staring at you expectantly. For a second, you're like a deer in headlights. Caught red-handed, standing by the evidence. You swallow the final bite of cheese you were working on.

"No."

He makes a face that tells you he is not at all buying it.

"It was cheese," you mumble. Quietly, you continue, "why are you in here anyway, Edward?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe to see who was making all that noise?" He shrugs angrily. For the first time, you take note of his pajamas. The blue and green plaid really compliments the white Rolling Stones shirt he's got on. His hair's all tussled, probably because he was just sleeping.

"Shit, I woke you up, didn't I?" You whisper, internally kicking yourself. The fridge closes behind you as you take a seat at the kitchen table. You rest your head in your hands. "I'm really sorry, Eddie."

The sincerity in your voice takes him off guard. Typically your relationship is characterized by bickering and teasing and sticking your tongues out at each other like when you were little. This is a rare moment of vulnerability for you.

Eddie takes the seat across from you at the table. "What are you doing up in the first place?" He asks gently.

"I'm too hot," you complain.

"Sure are," he nods, and you kick him. "OW! Jesus, I was joking."

You sigh again, guiltily, "sorry."

"Cranky much," he rubs at his knee, "did you get any sleep at all?"

"No," you say miserably.

"Wait, are you serious?" Eddie asks, and you nod. "We were in the studio all day, and you stayed late to record the extra trombone part. Aren't you exhausted?" You nod once again. He lets out a sigh, "what's keeping you up then?"

"I already told you, Billy needs to fix the damn air conditioning," you grumble.

"And that's all?" Eddie sounds skeptical.

You sigh, "I don't know. It's just- a lot." He gives an encouraging nod, and you continue, "we're not in Pittsburgh anymore, and everything's new and different, and this is our shot, and if I blow it-"

"Woah there," Eddie stops you. "First of all, if anyone blows it, it'll be Graham for spilling something on someone important." That pulls a laugh out of you, and he smiles. "And I know things are different, but it's exciting too. If you ever feel homesick, though, we'll just drive around until we find someplace that reminds us of Eat'n Park. Okay?"

You nod softly at his words, and he stands up. You send him a questioning look.

"Come on," he says, "you've gotta get some sleep."

"Eddie, I've tried," you insist. He rolls his eyes at you.

"Then at least come sit on the couch," he pleads. You reluctantly follow him into the living room and plop yourself down on the sofa. "Close your eyes too. If they get any more bloodshot, people will think we're high all the time."

"Aren't we?" You ask, throwing your arm over your face. You don't see him shake his head at you while he grabs his guitar.

"Since you woke me up, you get to hear what I've been working on," Eddie says. He pushes your legs over so that he has room to sit.

"Lucky me," your voice drips with sarcasm. Eddie flicks your leg, and you flinch away. "Hey!"

"Watch it, sleeping beauty," he says.

"Or what?" You taunt.

"I'll tell Billy you broke the garbage disposal," he smirks. You bolt upright at his words.

"You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?"

"How was I supposed to know I had to turn the water to use it?!"

Eddie stares at you, unimpressed.

"Never mind, Mozart, play on," you nod at him. Eddie starts strumming the guitar, and you sigh, laying back down.

The melody is slow and sweet, mesmerizing too. Your intentions of listening closely to offer feedback quickly slip out the window. Especially when he starts humming along. You don't even feel yourself starting to drift off. Your acute awareness of the temperature in the house, your dry mouth, or any residual hunger that haunted you earlier slips away.

Eddie goes on playing for a bit before he looks to you for your thoughts on it. When he finds you fast asleep, he sighs, "that good, huh?" He shakes his head with a smile on his face. Eddie stands and hangs the guitar back on the wall, retiring to his own room. He'll make you listen to it again in the morning.

[cyanide-capsules]

Alex Keller was a very open man, or at least that's how he came off.

He was friendly, wide-eyed, the kind of guy you feel like you've known all your life. He seemed to naturally click with everyone he spoke with, including the 141.

Simon Riley was the opposite of him, he was a skeptic. Closed off, suspicious of those he didn't know. This was no different with Alex than anyone else, but there was something about the bright eyed American that made Simon's brain tick.

He didn't know exactly why he felt more on edge around Alex than other new people he met, and he wouldn't understand why until he overheard a conversation between Alex and Gaz.

"Alex man, can you keep a secret?"

Alex laughed. "Do you even know when my birthday is?"

Gaz laughed along, but something seemed to click with Simon.

He knew.. Nothing about Alex.

His middle name, his birthday, where he grew up, his favorite colour, nothing.

That's why he had been so off-put by him, the man was a complete mystery. A mystery that nobody even considered solving because Alex just naturally came off as an open book.

He didn't know what to think from then on, he tried to dig up what he could on Alex but knew he wouldn't find much without the assistance of Laswell.

He spent weeks avoiding the American, narrowing his eyes at him when he was in his vicinity, completely unaware that the two of them shared such similarities.

Two enigmas, one much more obvious than the other.

It wasn't until some random Wednesday night, nobody awake but the stars. Simon stumbled upon Alex just outside the bases front door, a lit cigarette nursed between his fingers.

He wanted to ignore him, go back to bed, but he found himself stepping outside with the other.

Alex acknowledged him with a smile and a nod, but didn't speak. Simon stared at him, not bothering to hide the fact that he was searching for answers in the other man's warm gaze.

There was a thick silence between them, it wasn't uncomfortable but, it was far from comfortable at the same time.

Alex broke it first.

"I take you're not a fan of me?"

He chuckled dryly, humorlessly. An observation Simon couldn't say he expected. His eyes didn't leave the American, watching closely as he took a drag off the cigarette. He didn't know Alex smoked but, then again, what did he know about Alex?

That's the entire reason he was here.

"Don't trust what I don't know."

Simon finally replied, though by now it was more of a statement on its own than an actual response to his comment.

Alex shrugged, he didn't seem at all bothered by Simon's reply. Silence spread between them once more, Simon didn't like Alex's lack of response.

"You're ex-CIA, that's all anyone knows about you. Nobody knows anything about you, but they trust you."

Simon continued, he wanted answers, he wanted a reason to trust the other man. Alex was quiet, tapping the ash from his cigarette before he replied.

"What was that saying? Those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones?"

In any other moment, Simon would have been offended by the comparison. But, Alex was right.

They were, almost scarily similar in every aspect but their personalities.

Silence again. It was more welcome this time around. Simon always appreciated the quiet when he needed to think.

The silence didn't last too long this time, Alex spoke up again.

"Humor me, do you ever forget that you're a person and not just a soldier?"

That question alone haunted him for days, Simon now felt uncomfortably aware of Alex.

The way the americans grin always seemed to falter ever so slightly when he held it, how his gaze would fog over at the scent of smoke or when it got too quiet, how his prosthetic always seemed to be moving in some way or another.

He was aware now, aware of the similarities they shared.

Aware of how, just like him, Alex was a soldier before he was a man.

[hannahhook7744]

Stormbringer Crew Incorrect Quotes (Part 5);

Harry Hook: You fight like my sister!

Luke Tremaine-Westergaard, being a smart ass: I've fought your sisters. That's a compliment!

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

Barnaby Teach, son of Black Beard *Jumps out of nowhere* We meet again!

Hannah Hook: I saw you three hours ago!

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

Hannah Hook: Hello Captain Beardless.

Barnaby: I TOLD YOU TO STOP CALL ME THAT!

Hannah Hook: And I told you to pick on someone your own age.

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

Hannah Hook, drunk on soda: I'm telling you man, she digs ya.

Luke Tremaine-Westergaard, also drunk on soda, groans: Another graveyard joke?

Hannah: Shut up, we both know you thought it was funny.

Luke: And we both know you have a thing for the prince of Arendelle yet you haven't done anything.

Hannah: Don't throw stones in glass houses.

Luke: That's not even how that saying goes!

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

Darcy *stares at all nine of her siblings, who are gathered in the 'med room' suspiciously* What do you want?

Alex, playing with a knife: You gotta help us doc, we've tried nothing and we're all out of ideas

Darcy: Help you with WHAT?

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

River Le Beak, holding his beanie to his chest as he stands on a sinking rowboat: Looks like we've shivered our last Timbers, mateys.

Hannah, shooting him a disgusted look: I'm revoking your pirate card.

River, gasping dramatically and hugging Luke: No captain! Please, anything but that!

Luke, playing along: Not the pirate card! What are you gonna do next? Give us the black spot?

Skia, glares with water up to her ankles: if she doesn't, I will.

Zee, five inches away on the dock: You guys know you can just step onto the docs right?

All *shushes her*

Zee, looks to Peachy and Remi: would it be a mutiny if I tossed a cannon ball in their rowboat to make it go down quicker?

Peachy: YES!

Remi, grabbing his guitar: Oh there once was a row boat that went to sea, that got on the wrong side of a pirate named Zee~~

*Dodges rotten tomato*

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

Joy Foxworth, pointing at Tulip with a squirt gun: You've yeed your last haw!

Tulip, pointing back at her with own squirt gun: No I haven't, partner.

Hannah Hook, baffled from the tree, forgetting she's supposed to be hiding: WHAT LANGUAGE ARE YOU GUYS SPEAKING?!

Peter Pan, sprays her with a water cannon filled with something that is not water causing her to fall out of the tree: COWBOY!

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

Random AK: Having Vks in Auradon is all fun and games until they're on the opposing dodgeball team!

Kyle White: That sounds like a skill issue to me.

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

Amira: YOU FOUGHT WHOMST WITH A WHAT WHEN YOU WERE HOW OLD?!

Hannah, confused: What are you referring to?

Amira: Aziz said you told him a story about your childhood—

Hannah, realizing what she's talking about: Oh I stabbed a kidnapper with a fork when I was three.

Amira: YOU WERE NEARLY KIDNAPPED?!

Hannah: Yeah, hasn't everyone nearly been kidnapped at one point?

Amira: NO!

Hannah, not believing her: Oh sure. Next thing you're gonna tell me is that there isn't a Creeps Peak and Cannibal Cove everywhere-

Amira: THERE'S NOT-

Hannah: And that not everyone gets death threats as children-

Amira, eye twitching: Stay here, I need to go take my Tiger for a walk to Beast Castle.

Hannah*laughing* That's a funny joke Amira- hey where'd she go?

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

Tulip Rossi, Zee Snoops, Evie, and Luke Tremaine-Westergaard: SURPISE MAKEOVER!!

Hannah Hook, running: NO NO NO NO!

Luke: YOU CAN'T OUTRUN US FOREVER!

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

Hannah, half asleep and looking through her spy glass: SWOGGLE MY EYES IT'S MERMAIDS!

Moxie, amused: Describe 'em.

Hannah: There's a tan one with a gold and black tail that looks like sequins and one with a blue and black tail and an afro, a buoy grave, and a baby one-

Rian Frankenstein-Van Helsing, not even bothering to look up from his marine biology book: That's just Misty, River, Shania, and Toby, captain.

Hannah, embarrased: Oh.

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

Hannah at 3am: Do you guys think other types of bending exist that were forgotten to history? Like bone bending?

Luke at the end of the bed: I think that's just breaking bones.

Drizella, who came to check on Luke: When on earth did you get here?

Hannah: about 11?

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

Luke: Hey Darcy, are you Christmas? Because I wanna marry you.

Darcy:

Luke: I'm guessing that's a no until I propose in a non corny way?

Darcy, nodds:

Hannah off screen: I told you she was gonna say no if you did it that way!

Luke: SHHH!

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

Kyle, in a silly voice: Yarr, I be a pirate, maties. Arrrg!

Hannah, looking at him as if he just shit in her cereal: I can't belive you've done this.

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

Moxxie laying on a beanbag: Christmas gets so much harder the older you get. What do you want for Christmas? I don't know! Financial security? To not almost die for a week? Socks? I don't know! What about you guys?

Rian: I want to be as smart as I was before I got brought back to life.

Eduardo Frollo: My father dead.

Parker McLeach: A gun.

Hannah: To be normal.

Haul Bjorgman: My depression to go away.

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

Hook: Okay which one of you gave my daughter a real golden sword and who taught her slang?

Hades, drinking out of a gauntlet: She won a ship, I thought she deserved a reward.

Hook: Did you teach her the slang?!

Morgie: What slang did she use?

Uliana, amused: And how does this slang relate to the sword?

Hook: She named it the nut slicer!

Hades *does a spit take*

Persephone *chokes on her cereal*

*Meanwhile elsewhere, Maleficent can be heard cackling*

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

Hannah, near tears: Alex I did something terrible!

Alex, the son of Helga Sinclair and Hades: Don't worry, I have a shovel! *Taps ground with shovel*

Hannah, vaguely terrified: Wait what? What do you think I did?

Alex, a mad glint in his eye and a wild smile on his face: It doesn't matter because no one will ever find out.

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

Kidnapper: We have your son.

Haul, confused: I don't have a son.

Kidnapper: Then whose watering and talking to my plants while blasting heavy metal music?

Haul: Oh my god you have Noah. His siblings are going to kill you.

Kidnapper: Hey buddy don't you threaten me.

Haul: I'm not threatening, I'm warning-

*A loud crash rings out over the phone followed by glass breaking, swearing, and screaming*

Darcy: Hey Haul.

Haul: Hey Darcy, Hannah told me to tell you and the guys to be at the ship tonight because we're having a party.

Darcy: Will be there.

*Phone hangs up*

Haul: Well I did warn them.

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

Olivia, Gaston's daughter: In hindsight, having an abusive parent is funny because it's like 'Daddy why you have beef with me, I'm literally three years old and I love you'.

Eduardo, Frollo's son: Ugh, don't remind me. One time my dad yelled at me for drawing too loud.

Luke, confused: How do you draw too loud?

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

Darcy: I've got a date with destiny and it ain't gonna end with a kiss.

Noah, confused: Who's destiny?

Darcy: It's just an expression, brother.

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

Hans: We have a front door you know.

Hannah, who came in through Luke's window like normal: I know.

Hans *sighs*

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

Noah: MY CABBAGES!

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

The kids in Hannah's crew: I wanna be just like you when I grow up!

Twenty year old Hannah, suddenly getting flashbacks to every dangerous thing she's ever done *spit take*

Hannah, internally: NO GODS, PLEASE. GODS NO!

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

Elara's birth parents *try to take their daughter back after abandoning her on the barrage and causing her to grow up on the isle*

Hannah, pushes the elf girl behind her and glares: SHE'S NOT YOURS, SHE'S MINE!

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

Hannah *shooting up in her bed in the middle of the night and accidentally knocking Skia, Luke, and River who she was having a sleepover with out of it*

Luke: OW!

Skia: Hey!

River: Hannah, what the hell?

Hannah, getting horrible flashbacks to her family's partners violent attempts to flirt: HAVE MACON WEST AND OLGA HEARTS BEEN FLIRTING WITH ME THIS WHOLE TIME?!

*Momentarily silence followed by a loud explosion of noise as the other three question if that is the case*

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

Hannah: When I was younger I used to set toilet paper on fire and flush it down the toilet for fun and only stopped because I burnt the seat.

Eduardo Frollo: Again, weird but not a sin.

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

Luke: One time when I was a kid the toaster caught fire, so I went over to my dad who was arguing with my grandmother and tugged on his sleeve for six minutes till I had his attention and calmly told him the toaster was on fire.

Hannah: Oh yeah I remember that. He was all like 'WHAT? AHHH!' and your grandma asked why we didn't say anything lol.

Kyle: why do you remember that?

Hannah: Oh I was there.

Kyle: ?

Hannah, fondly sighs: Good times.

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

Lady Tremaine, impatiently: And if I wanted to sit around all day going nowhere, I’d be a teacher!

Luke, fed up *hits the gas and starts driving recklessly* Got it.

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

Lady Tremaine to Luke: You’re not fit to be king of … name a place

Luke: and you're not fit to be a mother, let alone a hair stylist.

*five minutes later*

Luke runs and hides behind Drizella: MOM! GRANDMA'S TRYING TO KILL ME!

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

Lady Tremaine, regarding Luke: My third biggest fear: He brings home a whore and says, ‘We’re married!’ Oh, and the whore has bangs.

Darcy: I'm literally right here.

Lady Tremaine, drinking: And I wish you weren't.

Darcy: And I wish you were dead but we can't all have what we want.

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

Luke: Your point being- *freezes in horror*

Hannah *staring at him wide eyed*

Haul: Uh... What's wrong?

Luke, screaming: I'M TURNING INTO MY GRANDMOTHER!

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

Luke: You know, when I was little I used to pretend you weren't my grandmother.

Lady Tremaine: Me too.

[thephoenixking732]

Something I will never understand is when you're a big content creator and you actively bash on another content creator for something they've worked hard to accomplish. Is Hazbin Hotel perfect? Not at all. Is Helluva Boss? No. Should Vivzie be the person who represents indie art? I don't think ANYONE should represent such a broad spectrum. But she made something she worked hard on and people enjoy it. If you don't like it, then don't engage in it. You're doing it just so you can say more shit.

You're not being honest or fair, you're hatewatching. It's really stupid. Draw your fucking comics and enjoy yourself, you know who you are.

And don't complain that Hazbin/Helluva fans are giving you shit when you talk about/engage with the fans over and over again, you criticize Viv for that shit all the fucking time, stop throwing stones in the glass house.

Also I thought it was decent and fun to look at but did not have the time to actually be as complex as it was making itself seem, truly a shame.

[out-of-heaven-and-hell]

Rant below the cut

Idk man people nowadays don't understand the difference between 'this person is being genuinely harmful to our community' and 'they were a jerk'

One is deadass a serious issue that should be publicly addressed the OTHER is something everyone does. We've all been a little shitty whether intentionally or otherwise for various reasons, which maybe it's my American nature but everyone has the right to be as much of as asshole as they want to be over the internet

Should everyone be all sunshine and rainbows? Ideally yes but it ain't gonna happen. But even then it's not something to cause a witch hunt over

I get a rude IM? I ignore it. I have an argument with my friends? I keep it private. Someone blocks me for no obvious reason? Shit sucks but I get over it. The fact people blow UP over such small issues is baffling and dumb

And even ignoring all of that 9/10 any situation where 'one party was mean to the other' it normally turns out literally everyone involved was just being an asshole in some way. Like its always funny when people go around sprouting about how awful someone is but they're just as bad or they support someone equally if not MORE problematic

You would fundamentally be better off just IGNORING everyone involved and not associating with that mess altogether which is understandably what most normal people wish to do. Cause big surprise if you make personal issues PUBLIC then why would anyone want to get close to you? Clearly you can't handle these disputes like a normal person

That's not even mentioning some of it is just victim blaming let's be real here, you were shitty to someone they were shitty back in response then your ass couldn't handle it so you blow up about it

Bitches in glass houses shouldn't throw stones take notes

And even then ASSUMING we do have a genuinely harmful abusive individual among our ranks how in the FUCK is messaging random people on anon going to do shit especially if you don't even check to see if they're still interacting with that person or have any consideration for their mental health (surprisingly in a community SO SELF AWARE ABOUT ANXIERY AND PTSD we don't consider triggering others, stressing them out or ya know...giving them unnecessary anxiety)

Like if you're so worried message us privately? Which even then I feel like you should only do with mutuals you KNOW are interacting with said harmful individual. Most of us are NOT going to take a message from a stranger and again RESPECT OUR RULES

RESPECT OUR BOUNDARIES

HOW ARE YOU ANY BETTER THAN THE HARMFUL PEOPLE YOU "WARN" US ABOUT IF YOU DELIPERATELY DONT RESPECT US OR CARE IF YOU CROSS OUR BOUNDARIES

It's not hard. It's never been hard. Ya'll make it hard.

[rainintheevening]

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV

Sometimes he watches Peter, when Peter isn't looking.

They go home for the Easter Holidays, and Mother takes them to church, and they stand and sing, everyone singing, lots of mothers shedding tears, but Edmund looks up at Peter, so tall and straight and singing hard, and Ed wishes he could be that brave and confident, even as he hates that it's Peter taking Mother's arm as they leave, and not Dad.

He misses Dad so much. Misses talking in the evenings by the wireless and looking over the newspaper and Dad not hiding things from him like Peter does. Misses Dad’s jokes and quick wit, and Mother laughing at breakfast when her hair is messy.

Edmund doesn't really say his prayers anymore, but he does beg God to bring Dad home safely.

Peter makes him think about Dad too much though. It's easier with his friends at school, with them there's always something new to plan, always some delightful new way to twist words or people or events. When he works his brain like that he forgets how small he is, and he forgets how hungry he is.

He tells himself he's glad to go back to school.

It's two more terms before the bombing starts. Right at the end of summer holidays, there's a week to go, and the school gets hit. Everyone says how lucky and what a blessing it was that school was out. Otherwise, think of all the children who might have been killed!

There's a grainy picture in the paper, And Edmund stares at it for a long time. He imagines the stones falling in on him, crushing him, and there's something terrible and thrilling about the idea.

He imagines those stones hitting Peter's face, and grins wickedly. But only for a moment. He can't hold that smile, not truthfully.

So they don't go back to school. Neither does Susan. They all stay home, and the grown-ups start talking about sending them away to the countryside, away from the highly populated areas where the Germans would concentrate their assault.

Mother always looks so desperately sad whenever it's mentioned at church, and anytime Edmund tries to ask questions, Peter looks at Lucy and shuts him up.

Peter's always telling him what to do. Sometimes it makes Edmund feel like swearing.

They learn the drills, they develop a routine. There's a week where they spend at least a few hours in the Anderson every single night.

There comes one bad night.

They wake up, and the sirens are wailing, and bells are ringing, and Ed stands at the window, watching the orange and red blossom to the sky. It all swirls around him, chaos, but it's strangely beautiful, there's a terrible power in it.

There are bombs falling on them. They could all die, right now, tonight.

And then Mother is there pulling him away, and Lucy is screaming, and Peter's herding them all down through the back garden, and Edmund remembers.

They're not all here, they've forgotten someone.

Dad.

Dad’s picture, the good one, of him in his uniform, the last one he took before he went away. Ed always brings it with them, and if he doesn't remember, Mother or Lucy usually do. But they've forgotten this time.

They've forgotten Dad.

He hears Peter yelling, he's back in the house grabbing at the framed picture, and then there are arms tight around him, throwing him to the floor, and the whole world explodes, shatters, glass raining down, but Peter's holding him tight, safe just out of reach of all that glittering, jagged shower.

Time blurs.

They tumble into the shelter, Edmund staggers, falls on one of the beds, hand slipping on the broken glass of Dad’s picture. He stares up at Peter, who looks more horrified than Ed has ever seen him before.

They're staring at each other, and Peter's shouting, he sounds like he might cry. Mother hugs Edmund, and he feels a sting on his palm, knows he must have cut himself, but he looks back up at Peter, square on, like he hasn't in ages, sees a wild sort of anger, like a cornered animal.

“Why can't you do as you're told?!”

It rings in Ed’s ears, almost worse than the explosion.

The next morning Peter stands in front of the shattered front window, staring blankly out. Ed comes up beside him, opens his mouth to make a smart remark.

“You could have been killed,” Peter says. “Or worse. That glass would have cut you to ribbons.”

Peter's voice does something funny, and he turns and walks away too fast, and Ed turns, a beat slow, to watch him, watch his back, and it isn't ramrod straight, not today. Peter's head is bowed as he leaves the room.

Next

[edgelordfinalboss]

🌊OF SHARP STONES🌊

SECTION ONE: OCEAN

Chapter: Introduction//Prologue

Fandom: The Lost Boys (1987)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Blood, Violence, Witch hunting, Witch burning, Witchcraft, Trauma and Character death.

Summary: A coven of witches living on the beach of Santa Carla have to deal with the death of their leader after a lethal witch burning that leads to the bounty hunting of both them and their romantic partners, the notorious lost boys of Santa Carla. Yet, something more terrifying lives in Santa Carla and it's the spirits of those killed by the hunting, begging for revenge.

Note: Please Like and Repost! It would be much appreciated. Thank you so much!!!

Fanfiction playlist:

🎠Kimora🎠

Night has long fallen.

Upon the pier sits a gathering of birds, crying out my summons within their own strange language. The beat of their wings, silvery and onyx along with the song of their caws once had filled me with awe. Now it's only a nuisance and a reflection of my shortcomings.

A witch without her familiar is as dangerous as holding a wild viper, no protection in her craft or against those who seek to harm her. The birds call out to a familiar seeking a witch but it seems that all of them are too far from earshot.

"Maybe they're dead, Kimora." The blonde lays across my lap, his blue eyes tinted with flecks of gold. "Or deaf."

"Don't speak of misfortune." I'm quick to hush him. "Paul, you know what happens when a witch loses her familiar or worse, never finds them."

"Maybe you have found them." Paul reaches for my hand, his bracelets shimmering and clinking against mine.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Star has David. She lost her familiar but with him, she seems quite fine." Our hands intertwine, the cold of his fingers becoming less bothersome with the passing of months. They cling on to the warmth of a recent feeding, but it's quickly passing, leaving the warm tone of his skin to pale to his unique silvery gleam.

"But she's not. You can't be my familiar, Paul. That doesn't even sound right." I lean back and listen to the magic below, the blue and turquoise waves crashing on the shore of the beach. It sounds much like electric currents, shifting through the waves, up and under the crash in the way that fish do.

"Oh, am I far too lame, not magical enough?" The dramatic part of him itches to push at my core but I can barely hinder my laugh, the true me that all the harsh training and shadow work could never bury away for good.

"No way."

"Then what is it?" Lifting himself, he throws his head back to slap me in the face with his golden hair. His beads and bangles chime softly, even the hook of sapphire stone and vibrant sea glass I hooked in his hair creates their own song.

"You don't understand witches. Our familiars can't be humans."

"You talk about witches like you're some kinda secret club, much like us vampires but witches always have to be superior, you can't sit with us types." Paul jokes around. "Well, I'm not human."

"Familiars have to be ancient spirits in the form of animals," I say, pretending to be tired of going back and forth with him. "Not human, not vampire, not werewolf, not witch."

"I know." His breaths slow. "But what about us? When that animal comes, cat, dog, or whatever you'll have less time for me. Less time for our jukebox dinners, less time to play records or shred a guitar with me. I'm scared that I'm gonna lose you."

Paul has always been the small feeling of warmth that lasts in my heart through the lonely nights, the reason I would sneak away from the coven's beach house at twilight. When I had first met him I was far different, plump with pecan tan skin and a hunger for familiarity, a hunger for the snow-capped mountains and the endless wildness of home.

Now my muscles have formed from straining the magic within my blood, dancing with it, and burning my skin under the scorching Santa Carla sun. My body, one I was unhappy in had grown consistent in muscle mass, yet, still, I've found no peace in my self-perception. Paul was a force to be reckoned with on his own but still, somehow he'd remained playful and carefree.

It was what drew me to him amongst other listable things, of course.

He was the cool water on the scorching sand.

"Do you really think a familiar will change things?" I lift my hand to his face, cupping his cheek.

"You'll be doing much more magic." He whispers. "You and the coven might disband."

"Never."

"Star left the coven and joined us." He looks off in the distance as a ship rings its bell across the waves. The chime echoes in my head, ringing as I try not to get lost in my thoughts.

"She lost her familiar. It was no way that we could convince her that she was still one of us. She was also terrified of her family's judgment." I hold his hand tight.

We both sit in silence as the ship passes below us, heading towards the boardwalk. Leaning against his shoulder, I wonder if he truly believes it. Lines of bright gold lights up a clear path through the ocean as the blue and white hunk of metal slices through the waves.

"And you know how much Darla loves Marko and Dwayne has the hots for Angel."

"Yeah."

"Your uncontrollable powers and my hunger for blood." He chuckles. "We make one deadly duo."

"And none of us will age." I say. "We'll always be young."

I stand up, called to the trees by something that rings through my blood like the bells of the ships docked. I know it isn't that though because this sound is far too strong. It isn't tangible or has a source I can pinpoint. Though, it's personal.

Paul stands with me, the metal decor of his jacket jingling softly as we leave the wooden pier and head toward the beach. He silently follows close, not questioning my reasoning as he used to. It's our ever-growing trust combined with the little things that my magic has found that keep him from stopping me. Antiques and small trinkets, sometimes trespassers on witchland that made him a nice blood snack, and another picture on the missing board.

The lights of the ferris wheel and the millions of attractions splayed out across the boardwalk catch my eye but the feelings running strong through my veins keep me on my path, strengthening it so that if I wanted to break away from it, my attempts would be in vain.

The wood of the pier disappears into metal gates, chain link fences, and sand as we cross the threshold, the waters fading into golden sand stretches and shrubs. The salty smell of the water fills my nostrils, a smell that took nearly six months to get used to.

My eyes stay on the trees swaying in the wind, the shadows that dance on the forest floor through the space where light pierces through the veil of darkness. The birds on the pier, the servants of the witches lift and fade into the night as flashes of black.

Maybe it's my familiar. I doubt it though.

My feet don't stop as Paul steps to my side, his eyes filled with worry and a silent plea to turn around. It's unclear if he can sense that something is wrong. If even the vampire feels the stillness in the air, I know I should note.

The tree branches poke into my sides as I slap them away, moving farther and farther through the forest. They leave scars on my face, drawing blood as the pines reach out. The ground thins but my feet are dragged along by a sensation burning through my body, seeping into every part of my being. The sweet smell of pine hangs on the leaves, getting stronger with each step.

"No!" I fall to my knees as the earth slants downward, leaving me without a foothold as Paul does the same. Shocked, even he's not fast enough to hold us both up as we plummet down into the earth's pore.

Through the crashing and thrashing, nothing holds me. With every rock that my feet touch, they simply fall with me and the awkwardly twisting branches snap.

I dislodge pieces of the earth as I grapple at stones, slippery with what feels like ocean mist. My feet kick up stones and gravel as I fall. Paul calls me as he half floats, half falls through the space.

"Blood!"

Halfway through calling me, he stops.

With one last slam into the earth, it all gives away and I hit the ground with no warning. Pines cones and needles lay under my back with the occasional stone ripping into my skin.

The sky hangs above dotted with thousands of blinking stars, twisting and twirling in the night sky. They fall around the moon as if in mourning, a sign that had only happened during the final witch trials, the symbol that marked the last burning, never happening before or again in history.

Crunching on the leaves breaks my eyes away from the sky, the panic of Paul reminding me that this isn't some weird dream. That this is real and my blood, the life of me led me here.

"Kimmy." His hands find my face.

I look up and see his fangs and the tremble of his body, the attempt to keep himself from vamping out.

"What?" I lift my eyes to the circle of sticks that surround me against the trees, each stick only a few feet away from the other in the clearing with charred lumps attached to them with the smell of magic and blood in the air. I can barely make out what they are, but like some ancient connection that ignites the primal fear of all witches, I scream loud and guttural.

I gasp, dragging myself up despite the pain in my back and arms. My feet threaten to drag me back down as Paul fights against his hunger and true nature.

"No. No. No!" I scream to the poles, to the bones that remain, and the blood that seeps from the pine wood to the earth. Small crosses litter the earth, poking up from the litter of dried-out pine needles.

My magic threatens to burst from my veins and set the entirety of Santa Carla's forest ablaze but Paul's grip on me keeps me restrained. Not that could but I would do anything to calm my anger and fear.

The memories of this place go straight to my head with a hazy fog as I touch a torn piece of fabric from a frilly young witch's blouse that hangs on the splinters of the partially burnt pole.

The scene comes to me. It smells of sage and warm cinnamon pies, the dinners of the witches of the bluff, a coven far from the boardwalk but within walking distance of the beach. They had always been rather kind but different from my coven.

The witches of the bluff were far more open with magic as the sight of tarot cards, wands, crystal balls, and herbs come to mind, attractions to bring in humans, to make money.

The scene shifts to darkness, of the blue-tinted sky of the evening shifting into the night, of the first stars blinking around the moon. They're alive.

Screams come next and magic, oh, glorious magic. Gold and pink, cobalt and deep green as men dressed in black march with each witch carried and dragged with rope, their powers subdued with flames upon wooden sticks wrapped with cloth.

A young hippie witch, much younger than me, dressed in pink falls to the ground as a man pulls on her ropes with a cruel laugh that boils my blood. Pieces of sleeves rip as she fights against a pole, her magic, a flash of bright yellow flares from her palm so bright that the man who holds her rope shrieks.

She's so ferocious and strong but in the face of hatred, in the face of terrified men, she's nothing but a weak attempt.

I gasp, my lungs burning as life returns to me and the past fades away. The witches are no longer fighting for the last bits of life. They're long gone, burnt corpses above us like angels of death.

Paul holds me tight, suppressing his hunger. His claws dig into my skin as I linger at the foot of a pole.

My head twirls again and I hear her voice. The voice of our High Priestess calling in my head, her cries strained by sobs and gasps for air. Between her screams for help is the sound of leaves crunching as something heavy drags across the earth.

Her life flashes away like smoke, the scene of ropes binding her hands as magic the color of fire spills from her fingers as she tried to do what was right fades.

I know her intentions as if they're my own. She gave her life as the ropes of death snatched her noble existence away in little more than a few seconds. Now our coven is without a leader. Without a teacher, without a figure to keep us strong.

She's dead, snatched away from my coven when I should have been right at her side, even if that meant death.

And I'm without a glimpse of the faces and the bloody hands that took her away from me.

[bestbonnist]

YAS! My not-so-subtle hint was a SUCCESS!

For Character Ask Game: -

Fushi (duh): Q2, 3, 5, 6 (I know you answered this in Discord before, but! Maybe others will like to hear about it?), 7, 8, 11 (HAHAHA I KID, I KID), 19, 23 (I ask because I lowkey think yall have a whole treasure trove of manga panels in your local storage, and you're our manga provider and a temporary translator. You've gotta had a fav!), 24

Lefthand Nokker: Q1, 9, 12, 14, 18, 19, 24

The Beholder: Q1, 2, 3, 10, 18, 19

I hope it ain't too much. Nah who am I kidding, this is a lot. But hey, it's

the Non-Human-in Origin Trio!

Fushi

Favorite canon thing about this character?

That they lie all the goddamn time. The expectation for a protagonist like Fushi, who has this sympathetic, innocent quality, is that they're an honest person. But Fushi loves lying to themselves and everyone around them. Fushi doesn't necessarily need to be truthful to be a good person, although they do need to be truthful to have good relationships. I think that's very interesting.

Least favorite canon thing about this character?

Maybe the fact that their usual body is considered good looking. How is that relevant + who cares.

What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

Slipping Through My Fingers by ABBA. I don't know why! It just reminds me so much of Fushi in the present era and their relationship with March.

What's something you have in common with this character?

I can relate to their feeling of isolation from everyone else, particularly how they don't think of things in the same way as other people. Seeing Fushi have the same experience as me is reassuring.

What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

When people give them bubble tea. It's nice! They deserve a little treat.

What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

Ship them with Kahaku. I'm well aware that I'm throwing stones from a glass house considering I also ship them with Kahaku (kind of), but. It's like people are incapable of liking the ship without turning Fushi into an entirely different person. That is not the same guy.

How about a relationship they have in canon that you don't like?

That's really tough. Maybe their relationship with Bon? Because of the role Bon played in the Renryrr arc, his relationship with Fushi is a lot colder/more professional than their relationships with their other friends. Even in the present era, they're still more comfortable going to Bon for advice than going to anyone else. I actually really like that, I just wish the change was acknowledged by either of them. Because it connects so well to the theme of the present era about letting go of the past, and making a move towards peace: Fushi and Bon's relationship is a remnant of high stakes of the Renryrr arc. Should they change it, or does it work fine the way it is?

Favorite picture of this character?

I do have a treasure trove of Fushi panels. My computer is lousy with screenshots I've taken and forgot about. I think my favorite is from volume 14's inside cover.

Look at their expression! Look at the color contrast between Fushi and the Beholder enveloping them! I love it when we get Fushi's whole body, because then we can see their posture. They slouch a lot :)

What other character from another fandom of yours that reminds you of them?

Yato from Noragami. You've read Noragami, right? He was created to fulfill the wishes of his father figure, he's an immortal god, and he's tasked with destroying creatures that prey on humanity's weaknesses. In Noragami, there's also the possibility that Yato's living friends could have their memories of him severed, or they could lose those memories of him after they die. It's the reverse of Fushi's situation, but there's still stuff going on with memories so I say it counts.

Left Hand

Why do you like or dislike this character?

I like it, because it serves as such an excellent foil for Fushi. When Fushi's trying to reach a peaceful solution with the knockers in the present era, the left hand is there to try and drag it back down. It hates Fushi so much, it cares more about Fushi suffering than the knockers' entire reason for existence. To most of the knockers, these two things are indistinguishable, but the left hand wants Fushi to destroy the knockers instead of cooperate with them because that means Fushi will lose.

Could you be roommates with this character?

No... well, I could. The left hand would probably be a great roommate until it killed me in my sleep and replaced me with a knocker.

What's a headcanon you have for this character?

Not really sure if this counts as a headcanon, it's more like a theory. I think the left hand will get an actual name by the end of the manga.

Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

Not sure what it's called but I like the idea of the left hand wearing a lot of jewelry and mismatched layers of clothing. Because the two characters it's closest to, Fushi and Mizuha, are both collectors of very different types of things. Mizuha collects medals and trophies and trinkets that are bright and shiny. Fushi collects things that most people wouldn't find any value in, like mud balls. So I think the left hand would be a type of collector too. And I would like seeing that reflected in their outfits somehow. I mean, Mizuha has a home to display her stuff in, but the only place the left hand has is whatever body its in. So wearing a bunch of its stuff might be a way of making that body feel like home. But that's all just speculation.

How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

With Yuuki. That's the only relationship the left hand has with anyone in canon that's even remotely good.

How about a relationship they have in canon that you don't like?

With Mizuha. It's not dislike, per say, it's more like they were together for so long but we have no idea how they interacted with each other. What they thought of each other. To Mizuha, maybe the left hand was only a tool, but what about what she was to the left hand? I find it hard to believe that the left hand didn't care about her at all when it's got the same Kahaku issues as Fushi. And we saw how that turned out.

What other character from another fandom of yours that reminds you of them?

The only one I can think of is Orokappi from After God. They both take on a human form in order to infiltrate human society, and then start to resemble a human on the inside as well. He even makes the same pose as the left hand when it traps Fushi underneath it (which it does twice during their fight) when he's trying to kill his friend. Orokappi is a little less... sophisticated than the left hand, but he's no less of a complex and interesting character.

The Beholder

Why do you like or dislike this character?

I'm kinda neutral towards him honestly. I've defended him to people who don't like him very much, but he didn't get enough development for a character of his importance.

Favorite canon thing about this character?

I like how he just disappears when he loses an argument. It's really petty. In the time when he just seemed like an omniscient, uncaring god, it made him feel more human.

Least favorite canon thing about this character?

I guess I expected him to play a bigger role in the present era, so it was disappointing when he didn't. He was still there quite a bit though, despite his insistence that he didn't want to be involved. I think I would have liked to see how and why he decided to save Tonari and everyone else at school, instead of just "well, I've been human for a while now, so I guess it's having an affect on me," which is what we got. That's a big turning point for Satoru. It's the first time he's actually intervened in anything instead of acting as an observer. But it feels like he went from point A to point B with nothing in between.

Could you be best friends with this character?

I tend to stick to people I find entertaining for whatever reason, and he's definitely entertaining. Maybe that would eventually become a close friendship. But probably not.

How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

... Sumika? It's sweet how Satoru can just be a normal kid with her, even before he loses his memories.

How about a relationship they have in canon that you don't like?

I think the closest to "don't like" would be his relationship with Fushi. I have sympathy for him but he's a terrible father figure.

[thestrangestthlng]

I have some opinions about this whole recording of the live whatever yesterday because, of course, I do.

Firstly, they hosted a whatever they're called to bitch. Okay? What's your point?

People don't like to admit it, but fandoms are communities, and communities are allowed to discuss whatever they want with each other. Fandom conversations are supposed to stay within fandom spaces. That conversation was in a fan space and the people who violated that are the ones that made it public.

But the fact that you spent four hours of your life recording it and then other people spent four hours of their lives inserting themselves into conversations that they weren't invited to is honestly weird.

The thing about discourse is that it requires a dialogue. Y'all have your own conversations and happenings about shit, honestly has nothing to do with y'all yourselves.

I am not today, or ever, going to dictate how other people feel about actions that harm them. What I will say, however, is that we are parasocialing a bit too close to the sun.

We do not know these people, any of them, and we never will. We see their public persona and see what they want us to see. We see them through a looking glass.

People saying bitching about OS not "defending" his co-worker from the vitriol from his fans is honestly weird. Firstly, he left social media because the fandom was so toxic. I'd be very surprised if he knew the extent to which these hateful and toxic individuals have gone. When he has seen things he has said something. OS seems, from an outside POV, that he's pretty disconnected. I love that for him.

Now, the cognitive dissonance of some people from a certain faction of fandom should be studied. The number of times I've seen posts about BT shippers being "hypocrites" because they're supporting a "racist/misogynist," which they then immediately proceed to imply that the LFJ supporters are racist because they shit on the Hispanic man, but not the white man.

Babes, those shitty ass memes were a decade ago. Were the offensive? Yes. Should he have shared them? But it was a decade ago. Please share with the class any REAL evidence of him being racist/homophobic/transphobic/xenophobic/islamophobic/harmful since then. If RG is allowed to grow and develop as a person, so is LFJ. And if you are like "well at least RG apologized... LFJ didn't", just say you don't know how PR or social media relations work and move on.

(Don't you dare use that fake ass meme that homie and his little friend made up. It's not real, bsffr.)

That being said, people are calling out RG because he has a history of racist actions. Within the past week he's shared content from transphobic accounts. Have you seen some of the accounts he follows? It's weird.

That being said...

Doxxing people is illegal and fucking unhinged. What the actual fuck is wrong with y'all? People are allowed to hold celebrities accountable for their actions and inactions, in their own spaces. They shouldn't have to do it in private to not risk their personal fucking safety being put at risk.

Ship and let ship and live and let live.

No one is telling you that you HAVE to like LFJ or RG or OS or anyone. But when people are keeping fan conversations in fan spaces where they belong and y'all come in a violate their safety - YOU'RE THE ONE IN THE WRONG. Full stop.

They are real people and people aren't perfect. Those in glass houses shouldn't throw stones and I got news for ALL Y'ALL: We all are in glass houses.