#even when they're getting along there's just something off

[foone]

Along the lines of my previous posts about a "maid that doesn't realize everything is kink" and "other maid that's just tired of all the horniness" and "guy in an all-lesbian polycule and doesn't realize everyone thinks he's got a harem":

Guy who has several people simultaneously trying to feminize him (with varying degrees of force) and he's both unaware of and no-selling their attempts.

They try to talk to him about if he ever liked wearing dresses as a kid and he's like "oh, yeah! I used to borrow on of my sister's dresses all the time when I was a kid, because when you do a 180 in a skirt it swishes like Vader's Cape."

Someone else tries to put estrogen in his coffee and it looks like he drank it... but it turns out he traded with someone else because he was in the mood for a pumpkin spice latte.

His girlfriend gets him to put on a long blonde wig and show him how he looks in the mirror, and he's just like "dude! I look like a heavy metal guy!" and now he's listening to Swedish power metal and headbanging. His dog is confused but trying to join in the fun.

Someone convinces him to try different pronouns as an in-class experiment and he ends up using h3/h1m, because "he used to be a fan of that video game webcomic, home struck".

His mom got worried because he was eating so much soy and she'd heard it can feminize you but he launched into an explanation about how it's an important part of his nutrition if he's gonna build muscles.

(we thought the gym thing might lead him down the path of breast growth through steroid overuse and we could maybe do something with that, but nope. He's all nutrition and hard work, we can't even get him to try steroids. We sent in a guy about the size of a Volvo to try to convince him to try some steroids, and somehow he persuaded our bodybuilder guy to start estrogen?!)

Naturally this is just making his assorted feminizers more angry and determined. They're joining forces. Having meetings. Making plans.

And he's just off living his life, unaware of the shadowy council determined to make him a woman.

[jayden-writes]

safe

pairing: Lucifer x gn!Reader

wordcount: ~3k

genre: hurt/comfort, angst, whump

cw: kidnapping, strangulation, threats, violence, murder

summary: Did it truly matter that the hands cradling your face so very gently were bloody?

other notes: no name, Y/N or MC used // AO3 // thanks again to @gravedwe11er for helping me so much with this fic

A piece of fabric pressing over your mouth and nose was all it took to plunge your world into darkness, a pungent smell being the last thing you could process. You’d been on your way back from a short trip, unsuspecting, unaware of who was lurking in the shadows. How much time had passed, you couldn’t possibly tell, but as you finally came to, all you could feel was a dull pain engulfing your entire body. Upon trying to check for any injuries, you realized your wrists were tied, bindings digging tightly into your skin. Slowly, your other senses started to return to you, and you registered that you were sitting, something around your chest keeping you upright.

Forcing your eyelids open, you blinked a few times, attempting to make sense of your surroundings. It was dark, the small, sparse room only dimly lit. If you had to guess, you'd say it was some sort of basement; the floor was unfinished, and the brick wall looked rough. “Mh-” you tried to speak, but all that you managed to get out was a muffled, quiet sound. You’ve been gagged. A heavy weight settled deep in your stomach. The cloth forced between your teeth tasted musty, already damp with your saliva. Looking down with wide eyes, you took in the multiple rows of rope wrapped around your upper body, restricting your breathing, arms bound behind you at an awkward, painful angle that made your shoulders ache. The edge of the metal chair you were sitting on cut into your thighs.

When you wiggled around to free yourself, or at least loosen the restraints, the legs scraped on the crude floor, making your ears hurt. But no matter how hard you fought, it was futile. Holding back tears, you let your head hang, closing your eyes. Deliberately keeping your inhales slow and steady, you tried to think of a solution despite your racing thoughts. Panicking wouldn’t save you, you knew that. Clearly, you would be unable to free yourself without outside assistance. And with your mouth gagged, you weren’t even able to invoke one of your pacts to call them for help. So, what should you do? What could you do?

Before you had any more time to reflect on your circumstances, you heard heavy footsteps above you, drawing your attention. Seconds later, a door was opened, the light momentarily blinding you, then it was cut off again. In the remaining light bleeding through the crack of the door, you saw feet, legs and after that, slowly, the rest of someone unknown to you entered your field of vision - though it was obvious that it was a demon. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, the pale blue piercing through you. A wolfish grin curled around her lips as she stepped closer. You wanted to shrink back, huddle into the furthest corner of the room. But you couldn’t.

“Ah, finally awake, are we? I bet you must have a lot of questions.” Her voice was casual, as if she was simply out for a stroll while she towered over you. “Well, too bad! You see, as much as I’d like to have what would undoubtedly be a very productive conversation with you, I know you’d just call upon one of those so-called Lords that grovel at your feet.”

“Mph…! Mn…!” you tried again, only earning an amused chuckle from her.

“I’m not particularly keen on having one of those brothers that practically fawn over you come to your rescue. Pathetic, really. Demons of their status acting like that around a human. They're supposed to be leaders, to be an example to us lowly demons. Ha, as if! Traitors, all of them, and they should be treated as such.” She gripped your chin roughly, her pointed fingernails scraping along your flesh as you glared at her defiantly despite the ice-cold sensation running through your veins.

“Don’t give me that fucking look, human, show me some respect,” she sneered. For a moment longer, she held your gaze, then her eyes wavered. Faster than you could comprehend, a sharp smack resounded in the small room, and your cheek stung. The force of the slap made your head spin. “You’ll lose that defiant look of yours soon enough and learn to grovel at our feet, just the way it should be. I’ll correct the mistake that fool of a prince made.”

Leaning even closer, she brought her hand down to your throat, closing her grip tightly around it. “I could kill you, just like this,” she whispered harshly into your ear as you struggled against her. Faintness quickly took you over, and your vision became frayed at the edges. Were you going to die like this? “Throw your decaying corpse at the feet of these pathetic weaklings and watch them become consumed by their emotions. And then, I’ll be the king.” You couldn’t die. Not now. Not like this. Not here. Not at her hands.

Finally, she let go of you, and you slumped forward. Blood rushed in your ears and you coughed into the cloth. “Tsk.” She spat on the ground right next to where you were trembling on the chair. “That was more boring than I’d expected. Thought you had more fight in you. But you'll see-”

Her speech was cut off when, suddenly, the door was thrown open, banging against the wall and making both you and your captor flinch. “And what exactly,” drawled a frigid voice as slow steps descended the stairs, “was ‘more boring than expected’? Enlighten me.”

You immediately recognized who it was - of course you did. But the softness that usually laced Lucifer's tone whenever he was talking to you was entirely gone, replaced by a sharpness you’d rarely heard from him. It wasn't directed toward you, you knew that, and yet you couldn't help the shiver running down your spine at the sound of his booming voice. Though he sounded composed, it was clear that he was anything but. The air felt electric, and the dangerous aura he exuded made your hair stand on end. Your heart skipped a beat, only to start pounding faster, a whimper escaping from behind the gag.

Lucifer came to a stop in front of the other demon, who had become virtually frozen in place, all color drained from her face. Gleaming red eyes glanced at you, swiftly assessing your state, before, whatever it was he saw, made his gaze harden even further. “Look away,” he instructed you in an oddly soft tone, and then his focus returned to your abductor, who was now visibly shaking.

“M-my lord,” she stammered, the quiver in her words unmistakable. “Please, you must understand-”

Within the blink of an eye, Lucifer had her pinned against the wall, a pained shriek filling the room. “What must I understand?” he asked, sounding deceptively calm, as his fingers dug into the throat of the other demon. She fought against the grip, trying to loosen the hold. To no avail. Lucifer was unmoving, unbothered by the nails scratching at his gloved hands. Clicking his tongue, he let go, and she collapsed to the ground.

“Please,” she tried, her voice strained as she coughed, attempting to gather herself. A hard kick was delivered to her stomach, causing her to cry out again and curl in on herself. When it was followed by Lucifer stepping on her hand, you knew you should have heeded his order and looked away. As it was, you were unable to avert your gaze as the bones of her fingers cracked beneath the force of his foot. She was pulled up to stand, though most of her weight was being held up by him, pinning her against the wall once more. “I-I'm sorry,” she choked out as he pressed his forearm into her throat.

“Are you truly sorry? Or are you merely trying to save your worthless skin?” Lucifer questioned in a dangerously low voice. He trailed a finger along her cheekbone. “Perhaps,” he mused, “I should rid your body of it. Find a better purpose for it. I believe some bookbinders still use demon skin for books. It would make a terrific present for your family, wouldn't you agree?” He paused, taking in the horror flickering across her face with an impassive expression. “Of course, that would be rather time-consuming. And, quite frankly, I have more important things to tend to than your worthless existence. Let's make this quick then, shall we?”

As if she weighed nothing, he slung her toward the opposite wall, a sickening crack audible as her head made contact with the bricks. She bonelessly fell to the floor, groaning in pain. Before she was able to regain her bearings, Lucifer was kneeling beside her prone body, not caring about the rapidly forming puddle of blood that was dirtying his pants. A dagger glinted in the dimly lit room, and only when blood spurted from her throat, her last, gurgling attempts at breathing filling the air, did you look away, your breaths coming in sharp gasps against the cloth. You felt sick.

With the mangled corpse of the demon lying at the feet of Lucifer, his gaze returned to your quivering form. The intense sheen in his eyes vanished as he took swift steps toward you, appraising your pale appearance. Crouching near you, he partially obscured the gruesome scene behind him. But now, with him finally by your side, he didn't need to. You didn't want to look at it, didn't care about the dead demon, the only thing your sight was drawn to was him. All that mattered was the man before you. The man who could easily kill you just like he killed her, who barely even batted an eye at the wounds he’d inflicted upon that woman. You knew that, rationally, you should be terrified of him, at least as much as you’d been terrified of her. And yet you weren't.

Those same hands that had just killed in cold blood, still stained red, were gently working on undoing the painful restraints keeping you in place. Those same eyes that had shone with ruthless indifference as he had taken a life now looked at you with carefully guarded concern and cautiousness. The crimson streaking his sharp features, dripping off his jaw in beads, complemented the eyes that were looking at you with a contradictory softness perfectly.

Once the cloth was removed from your mouth, all you could muster was a broken sob in the vague shape of his name. With a soft sigh that was probably shakier than Lucifer would have liked to admit, you were gathered into his arms. A hand gingerly pressed against the back of your head, guiding your face into the crook of his neck. The wet blood on his glove was undoubtedly staining your hair, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care; the warmth and safety you found in his embrace was all that mattered.

“Do you have any serious injuries?” he asked quietly, his breath brushing against your ear. Upon feeling you shake your head, he lifted you from the chair, carrying your weight with ease, and you instinctively wrapped your arms over his shoulders. As soon as he'd made it up the stairs, you could hear multiple sets of steps approaching in a hurry alongside several voices, yelling over each other. You recognized all of them, and they rushed around you, a few of them touching you.

Lucifer tightened his hold on you as the sudden onslaught of sensations made you whimper and burrow yourself further into him. “Stop it. This is not helping,” he reprimanded them sharply, and immediately, it grew quiet and the hands withdrew. “I will return home,” he continued. “Do with the body as you wish, though you ought to leave some remains. And don't dawdle too long.”

With that, he went outside, the fresh, cool air replacing the stuffy, metallic tang of the basement. The trip back was short - or was it long? You weren’t sure. It was silent, neither you nor him said anything. The tension in Lucifer was palpable, his posture rigid as he carried you. You mindlessly played with the fabric of his shirt, rubbing it between the tips of your fingers while your head rested on his shoulder.

“I'm okay,” you whispered, although it sounded hollow even to your own ears. He released a heavy sigh and hugged you closer to him.

“You're okay,” he simply echoed.

Next thing you knew, you were back inside. Lucifer's bloody hands were gentle as they worked on divesting your still-trembling form of your clothes, his gaze never lingering anywhere but his own fingers. Not that you would have noticed either way; you were blankly staring ahead, only vaguely aware of his actions. When he had finished, he spoke in a soft voice, as if afraid to startle you, “All done. Are you ready to get in?” Your attention snapped back to the present, to the warm bathroom you were standing in. The tiles beneath your bare feet were a little cold, just now starting to heat up. In the background, water was running, gradually filling the bathtub right next to you.

“Lucifer…?” you mumbled, receiving a squeeze to your hands in response. Looking down, you realized he was gently holding them in his own, ugly bruises and abrasions blooming across your wrists. His gloves were still damp, some of the blood staining your skin.

“Yes. I’m here. Let’s get you cleaned up now,” he responded patiently, directing you toward the tub. Your steps were mechanical as you followed his guidance, entering the warm water and submerging your body in it. Drawing your knees up to your chest, you hugged your legs to yourself, simply gazing at the rippling shapes around you.

“I will leave for a moment to change. Call for me if something is the matter.” For a beat, Lucifer waited for a reply, a reaction, anything from you. When he received none, he sighed wearily. “It will only be for a moment, I will be right back,” he said before stepping out. As you submerged your hands, you watched as the water surrounding you turned a light shade of pink. The pain radiating from your wrists was distant, detached from your being. You observed how you flexed your fingers, then curled them toward your palm, nails digging into the flesh. Had your hands always looked like that? Turning them around, you inspected them, spreading the fingers apart, pressing them together and-

“Does it hurt a lot?” a voice asked and you flinched hard, spinning toward the source. Lucifer was kneeling next to the tub, his brow creased in a frown. “I did not mean to startle you. You seemed very… absorbed in your thoughts. I suppose you didn’t hear me return.” His gloves were gone now, with no traces of the blood that had marred his skin just minutes ago. He had changed into clean, comfortable clothes as well. Upon your prolonged silence, he reached for a nearby cloth, dipping it into the water, then moving it over your body in slow, gentle circles.

“Is this real?” you muttered, the words leaving your mouth before you had even formed the thought.

“Yes, it is real,” he confirmed calmly, though his ministrations faltered briefly. “We are in my bathroom, back in the House of Lamentation. You are safe here.”

“Mhm…” you hummed noncommittally, your gaze drifting down to your submerged hands as you balled them into fists and stretched them out. The water rippled at the repetitive motion and you couldn’t help but stare at the patterns it created. The sensation of the cloth brushing over your skin faded into the background. Only when larger hands stopped your movements, grasping yours gently, did you glance at Lucifer again. You blinked at him blankly. Something in his expression was off, though you couldn’t tell what it was.

“I’m tired,” a voice said and you didn’t have the energy to think about whether it was your own or not.

“Let’s get you into bed then, hm?” he suggested softly, letting the water drain and carefully supporting you as you stood up and stepped out of the tub. A large towel was wrapped around you with which he patted you dry before he helped you into a set of clothes. They vaguely smelled like him. With an arm over your shoulders, he guided you out of the bathroom and back toward his room. Once at the bed, you lay down, sinking into the mattress. For a moment, Lucifer simply remained next to you, regarding you with an unreadable look on his face. Eventually, he knelt beside you and opened the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out a small container. Gingerly, he took one of your arms and scooped out some ointment to apply to the raw skin on your wrist, then he repeated it on the other side as well.

After stowing it away again, Lucifer turned off all the lights besides the candles and climbed into the bed next to you, cautiously gathering you into an embrace. A hand cupped the back of your head, hugging you into his chest as the fingers stroked your scalp. Aside from his even breaths and your slow, shallow ones, it was silent. An invisible weight was tugging on your limbs, the only thing holding you in place, holding you together, were the arms enveloping you.

“Can I let go?” you mumbled, not quite sure yourself what you were trying to ask, but he seemed to understand nonetheless.

“Yes, it’s alright to let go now,” he reassured you, squeezing you a little tighter. “I’m here and I’m not leaving.”

Humming in response, you nestled closer to him, feeling your breaths gradually synchronize with his as you surrendered yourself to the heavy warmth overcoming you. Soon, everything else slowly faded away until you finally drifted off to sleep, safe in Lucifer’s hold.

[maxarchive]

How are the emotions on this Saturday evening in Las Vegas? Is it an overriding relief? Is that the main thing?

An immense relief, but also a little bit more emotional than I was expecting, actually. Both from Max on the radio and I let Christian give him, well, let's say carry out all the complimentaries on the radio, because I choked up a little bit as well, and I think it just comes down to that relief at the end of what has been actually quite an intense year. Not quite as intense as 2021, but it at times ran it close.

Why is this one so special?

They're all special, don't get me wrong. Last year was special for very different reasons, but this one's special because of the effort and commitment that not only Max, but the whole team has had to put in to make it happen. Ok, the first half looked like it was a bit of a cruise, but actually we entered quite a difficult period, as everybody knows. But we had to work day and night to really try to understand the source of the problems and I think we've started to come out the other side, which is great news for the team, but it's also meant that our performances on track have improved and we saw the combination of that in Brazil as well.

Tell us a little bit more about the job that Max Verstappen has done this year. Would you say it's his best season so far?

The worrying thing for the grid is that Max is improving every year, which is frightening really because he's at an incredible level as it is, but in all areas he's working hard with the team, his racecraft on track, his qualifying laps, his consistency and also his ability to give up when you need to give up, and we saw that today, you know, he raced for what matter today rather than the final place on the podium.

In all of those areas you've just described, where has he made the most progress this year?

I think ultimately it just comes down to maturity and experience. Having been there three times before, I guess 2021 laid the foundations and now he's just becoming a very, very, very complete driver.

Since Miami, McLaren have been running you close. They've quite often been faster than you. Has there ever been a moment this year where you've doubted that you were going to win this championship?

I wouldn't say doubted, but certainly you don't take anything for granted. And as I said earlier, we took one race at a time, there was bit of a trend towards the middle of the year where things weren't going our way and we could see that other teams, not only McLaren, but other teams were making progress on us, relatively speaking and we had to do something. We had to make some changes and the team has come through on that. So kudos to them.

And how is your bond with Max evolved this year because it feels like this is the first time since you've been winning championships that you've been under a lot of strain together. And we did hear a few flare ups along the way, didn't we? Has it always been all sweetness and light or have there been-

Hungary springs to mind. We had actually a very quiet week after, I don't think there was a word spoken in the 3/4 days after the Hungary race, but we had a really good meeting in Spa together with Christian and Pierre just clearing the air. Not that there was ever any animosity, but I think sometimes when adrenaline is running that high, it's best just to leave things alone. Max and I are very similar in that respect. We're not one to bow down and give in very easily. So, yes, definitely that portion of the year springs to mind. But for the rest, again, it's a relationship that's grown over nine seasons. So we know each other very well. We work together very well. So long may that continue.

Well, let's throw it forward to 2025. It looks on paper like it might be incredibly close. Does that actually help someone like Max Verstappen because he makes no mistakes?

I think it helps him knowing that he has the ability to pull off results that perhaps aren't always there. And I think at the same time that maybe hurts or dents some of his competitors psychologically, not all of them, but perhaps some of them. But, you know, 2025 is a few months away. Now, I think more importantly, we need to finish the year on a high to keep morale in the team up over the winter because again it's been a really hard, hard year. And I think this was a bit of a unique, as everybody knows, it was a bit of a unique event with the temperatures and the tyres behavior, et cetera. So I don't think it's a true reflection of the car performance out there today. We'll do our best to finish Qatar and Abu Dhabi on a high and hopefully grab another win or, or two. And then, yeah, next year is next year.

[loulovingho]

Rocker and Deacon are out shopping for groceries or whatever and Deacon just subconsciously reaches to hold Rocker's hand or to put his hand on Rocker's waist, while they're talking about something else, and Deacon not letting go even when they bump into someone they know.

Rocker is a little surprised because he remembers how they started off all clandestine and now Deacon is freely showing affection in front of others.

Okay, I saw this and had to write something about it 😩 then it turned into 1000 words! I hope you enjoy!

They've been together, really together, for four months now. No more hiding, no more affair, no more dirty little secret.

Deacon's moved into his own apartment, he's explained everything to the kids, he and Annie are figuring things out through their attorneys.

He and Rocker have even filled out all the proper relationship agreements at work.

All these steps came pretty naturally. They left both Deacon and Rocker feeling more free than they ever had their entire lives. Like a heavy weight had been lifted off of them.

They weren't exactly the most exciting pair. Sure, the sex was incredible, adventurous, sometimes daring, but life was about more than sex.

It was about fixing the broken cabinets in Deacon's apartment, it was dealing with the nightmares Rocker sometimes suffered from, it was making sure they got enough rest to be able to deal with whatever happened at work the next day.

It was figuring out who they were as a couple, all the things they liked and all the things they hated. It was laughing together, fighting together, helping each other, holding each other.

It was dealing with grocery shopping for two households on a Saturday afternoon.

“We should have gotten two carts.”

“You really want to try and maneuver two carts down every aisle through all these people?”

Deacon managed to step out of the way just before a lady could ram him with her cart. He sighed. “No. I just want to be done with this.”

“We just gotta get some breakfast foods for your place and we'll be finished.” He waved Deacon along. “Scoot scoot.”

With an eye roll, he turned and headed for the next aisle, Rocker following behind with the cart.

Deacon grabbed up a box of Fruity Pebbles and placed it on the side that had all his items, stopping with he noticed the look Rocker gave him.

“What?”

“That for you?” Rocker asked.

“Do I look like a Fruity Pebbles kinda guy to you?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

Deacon glared at him. “They're for the kids, Donovan. It's their favorite.”

Rocker shook his head, pushing the cart forward to get out of another man's way.

“What? What is that?” Deacon asked. “Why are you shaking your head?”

“They don't like Fruity Pebbles anymore.”

“Yes they do.”

“No they don't.”

“Yes, they- How would you know?”

“The last time they came over,” Rocker explained, “Lila mentioned that Samuel threw up Fruity Pebbles in the car and now none of the kids can handle the smell.”

Deacon picked up the box. “No Fruity Pebbles then,” he said, placing it back on the shelf. After letting three people pass between them, he moved back over to Rocker's side.

“Should I be offended that you know my children better than I do?” he questioned, wrapping an arm around Rocker's waist as they continued down the aisle.

Rocker smiled. “Well, technically you were in the shower when they told me, so...”

“Oh, the truth comes out,” Deacon said with a laugh. “You were just gonna let me think I should know this information?”

Rocker shrugged as they turned the corner. “It's fun to see you squirm sometimes.”

“Oh, you're gonna be doing some sq-”

“David!”

A woman's voice had Rocker and Deacon turning their heads to the side.

“Mrs. Chase!” Deacon greeted, smiling brightly at the older woman. “Good to see you!”

“You too. Busy day in here today, isn't it?”

“That's what we were saying,” Deacon answered, giving Rocker a pat on his side before resting his hand back on the same spot.

It was a little thing, and Rocker knew he should be used to it by now, but he wasn't. They'd spent over a year hiding. Making sure no one saw a touch, a glance, heard an unprofessional word. They'd once driven an hour out of town to go out to dinner somewhere that they knew no one would know them. And even then, Deacon had to be sitting so he could face the entire restaurant, just in case someone were to enter that he recognized.

Now though, with this woman that Deacon knew but Rocker had never seen before, his hand remained just above his hip.

“Mrs. Chase, this is my boyfriend, Donovan Rocker,” Deacon introduced. “He goes by Rocker though.”

And damn, that still felt new too.

Boyfriend.

Not acquaintance.

Not co-worker.

Not friend.

Boyfriend.

It might seem a little juvenile to some, using the word boyfriend when the two of them were in their forties and fifties, but in their line of work “partner” could mean many things. So, boyfriend it was.

Deacon gave Rocker's waist a little squeeze, “Donny, this is Mrs. Chase from my old church. Makes the best pies in the world.”

Rocker smiled, reaching out to give her hand a shake. “Nice to meet you, Ma'am, I've actually heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, my,” she replied with a little giggle, shaking his hand as a blush rose on her cheeks. “You're very handsome.”

“You're very sweet.”

She looked over at Deacon once she let go of Rocker's hand. “A lot of us have missed you at church, David.”

“I miss some of you guys too, it's just... that's Annie's place to go now. It wouldn't be fair to her.”

He left out the part of the news spreading like wildfire as soon as he and Annie filed for divorce. How the rumors had gotten so bad that the priest had called and asked him to not return. It wasn't like he was going to anyway, but that definitely put the final nail in the coffin.

Mrs. Chase nodded, her facial expression remaining soft, nonjudgmental. “Well, you have my number still, don't you?”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“Good. Use it. Call me soon and I'll bring you a couple of my pies.” She looked back at Rocker. “You like cherry?”

“Love it.”

“Good. I better get going. It was good seeing you, David, and nice meeting you, Rocker.”

After saying their goodbye's, they started down the next aisle.

Using one hand to steer the cart, Rocker wrapped the other around Deacon's shoulder, pulling him closer and pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Can we get out of here now?” Deacon asked, gripping onto Rocker's shirt with his hand as they passed a group of very loud tourists.

“Breakfast foods,” Rocker reminded him.

Deacon dropped his head down. “Damn it.”

[sili-redwing]

you ever just think abt Them

the mall video, the way moon followed sun, the way he immediately decided the yellow yogurt dispenser was for sun because it had his colors, the way he gave him a coconut popsicle because he wanted sun to be able to try it as well.

the way he knew sun wanted to buy things, and immediately gave him all the coins he found in the mountain so he could buy whatever he wanted. ("Moon! I want to try everything, Moon."

"Okay.")

the laboratory video, with how excited he was to show the things he made off to sun, the way he allowed sun to use them on him in turn for the fact he used them on him.

("Moon, we can't just become a common crimina-- what's this?"

"A chocolate popsicle."

"A...chocolate popsicle?"

"I made it."

"Oh! Like a homemade popiscle? :0"

"Yep."

"Oh my goodness, thank you Moon- I knew you cared about me deep down!"

"Sure.")

-.-

("Don't worry. If you ask, I can make things for you, too.")

the video where they first met monty, where moon told sun that he'd be the one to lie for him, because sun wasn't comfortable doing so himself.

another thing i may note with this episode is that monty never once physically hit sun; he hit moon because he was in the way, but other than verbal threats, he never actually did anything. this carries on to later episodes, too, i believe.

("We can't lie to people, Moon!"

"Yes we can."

"Why?"

"I can. You don't have to; I will.")

he treats FREDDY better than he does SUN. which i find particularly strange because both sun and freddy have the same exact traits.

they're considered the dumb ones, too kind, a bit naive. but in the episode they upgraded freddy, moon was so soft towards him while threatening sun the moment before

("Your joints are connected by screws, I will take off your limbs."

"Freddy, help me! He's threatening to kill me!"

"Uhh..don't kill him, please."

"Freddy, you are a sweet baby boy, move out of the way.")

sometimes i think about how bewildered and offset sun seemed when moon was suddenly being nice to him, the way while happy about it he still chose to keep his distance because something was obviously wrong with moon.

("You're so good at this job."

"...I am?"

"Yeah! You're the best at it."

"..Okay! [nervous laughter] Let's just- now go downstairs!")

moon clearly holds sun in a bit of a higher care than he acts like he does. hell, he panicked when sun was 'missing', and told monty he'd do anything as long as monty gave him back (even if it turned out that monty had nothing to do with it, and that sun was just sleeping.)

("I don't have a ringer! I don't even know what a ringer is! Why are you hitting me?!"

"Because I just had to go get a necronomicon because I thought Monty kidnapped you!")

i will say that the demon and angel episode added a lot of insight on how moon does feel about sun. my only gripes is that it feels like NOTHING WAS DONE ABOUT IT.

("I don't think we should be yelling at him--"

"You're right! i shouldn't be yelling at him! I SHOULD BE BEATING HIM TO A BLOODY PULP!

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I just wanted to share my cool science with you.."

-.-

("It's not like you try to get along with me!"

"I don't try to get along with you becase the first thing you ever did was just saying 'Oh, you're so annoying and dumb and stupid!' What do you mean, try?!")

-.-

"I've been trying my best! That's why I've been bringing you along for my adventures!"

-.-

("I made your favorite..."

"I want you to tell me right now what my favorite is."

"Gingersnap.")

it feels like after they got foxy, it went downhill. or maybe it was after roxanne on her own. maybe that isn't fair to them, maybe it is. i don't know. but there was definitely a shift in moon's behavior, to me at least.

because it feels like foxy brought a surge of violence...

("Hey, by the way, Monty? Sun ran onto oncoming traffic."

"I'm not too surprised, the way you treat him.")

...which only seemed to spiral further once they got bonnie.

("You just- he just hit me with the bottom of his gun, Moon!"

"Let the Sheriff do what he needs to do."

-.-

("It doesn't matter anymore, no one likes me."

"If no one likes you, then you'd think you'd try and be a little different."

"Why- why should I at this point?! Screw you, Moon.")

moon considers sun one of his best friends, which we know from freddy of all people because sun's name is literally part of the password to their internet.

("It's the names of his three best friends! Himself, you, and me!"

"I- I don't think you can be friends with yourself."

"Moon's very self-oriented!"

"Yeah, I know that one...selfish guy."

"No, not selfish! Self-oriented.")

can i just say that it's a terrible fact it can even be part of a bar when this is one of the few episodes moon doesn't physically attack sun, and that's only because hes too focused on investigating?

("So you're saying that Sun's the problem because he keeps getting caught!"

"No, you are in fact still the problem, Moon."

"HA!")

that entire conversation with foxy and roxanne both in the video that sun finally, perhaps rightfully if not in the best way, snapped.

("Just drop the gun, Sun- just drop the gun and we'll be okay- this isn't you- this isn't you, dude-"

"This isn't me? YOU MADE ME LIKE THIS! I'm going to enjoy watching you dissipate to nothing.")

-.-

("Why do you want to kill Bonnie so bad?"

"He has done nothing except torture me ever since he has come here!")

i don't know what moon was expecting, when trying to confess to him. moon, bestie, i think the first sign that you fucked up should have been the very moment he assumed that it was a prank. that eclipse was messing with him.

("I'm in love with you-- what?

"So Eclipse is doing something to you, right?"

"What?"

"Eclipse is doing something to you?"

"…n- no?"

"Yeah, okay, I get it. Eclipse, this some kind of big prank trying to get me to say I like Moon in some romantic light because he treats me like garbage all the time? Eclipsee?-- oh.")

that something was wrong with you.

-.-

("...Because I like you?"

"That's not possible. Improbible!"

"I mean, you're a good person, you're nice, you're kind."

"YOU LITERALLY BEAT ME UP EVERY DAY!")

the fact monty was surprised that moon liked sun. which says a lot because it feels like monty's one of the few moon hangs out around, besides foxy and bonnie.

("Yeah, it's because he doesn't believe i'm in love with him."

"Pardon?"

"Byeee.")

the fact that freddy's been trying to talk to moon about it. been giving moon advice. and moon hasn't been taking it whatsoever.

("He's been talking to me about it. He didn't know how to go about it because he thought you would hate him."

"I do hate him!"

"Yeaahh…I know. But I wanted him to learn his own way."

"He literally started beating me for some trivial reason-- for no reason??"

"Yeeeahhh… I know. I wanted him to learn from his own mistakes.")

while roxanne was..close to being a friend to sun, she's also- as much as i hate to say it- more of an...observer? like she doesnt have the- yknow- courage to actually prevent it outside of words. she was on that route of "she has the spirit, but she's too weak-willed to actually do anything about it" i think. because she like,, she did try! but she never actually followed through. all she said was "maybe we shouldn't do that?" and then never actually tried to stop them

and freddy- while he isnt actively doing things...did turn a blind eye to bonnie's antics in the carnival video. he, too, has never once actually said anything about how sun was treated.

the only one who EVER said anything about it was monty, and that was offhand. that and the fact monty said he cheered when sun pulled the trigger on foxy and bonnie. which honestly might as well be the closest person to an almost-friend sun has! because while monty hasn't been particularly helpful, he hasn't outright hurt him either!

for all the times eclipse has tried to send people after sun and moon to kill them (which so has bonnie! so has moon!), at least he hasn't once went under the guise of actually caring for sun. he hasn't lied to him or anything. also!! that time on the roof, with him and bonnie? while eclipse didn't say anything, he didn't dismiss sun either as he ranted about all the things bonnie did to him. he never once interrupted, let him get it out of his system.

which maybe thats the bare minimum! but honestly? despite all his faults, i'd still think sun was better off with him. because at least he knows eclipse doesn't outright care, and so he can't get sucked in that continious cycle of mixed feelings.

this is all just mostly my opinion though so. feel free to disagree, this is just from what i noted, and honestly i might not have worded it the best but its the best i got rip

i dont even know what im trying to say with this tbh. they are just... idk. i miss what they used to be. i wish things were better for them.

[alexanderwales]

The second chapter of Save the Cat! is about genre, titled "Give me the same thing ... only different!". The general principle is one that I strongly agree with, even if I don't always practice it in my writing: you must know how and why things work in fiction, you must be a student of the realms you're writing in, you must give your own twists on clichés if you think you might be writing them, and must be familiar with clichés so that you don't end up boring people. Study things that are like the thing you're trying to create. Analyze them, take them apart, understand how they work or don't work.

But then a lot of the chapter is taken up with Snyder's own system of ten genres, and when I was reading it I wanted to just stop him and say "hey, what the fuck, did you even watch that movie?"

Also I laughed for like five minutes at him putting Schindler's List in the "Dude with a Problem" genre, even though I agree that according to his typology it completely fits.

I'm a huge fan of making up arbitrary categories and then stuffing things into them. I don't think it's often very useful, no, but it's fun, and when you're done shoving things into boxes, you can pull them back out, find a new set of boxes, and repeat the process. I'm not going to repeat Snyder's categories here, but I think they kind of suck, and don't accurately reflect genre as we understand them, and the whole thing would have been better off is it was taking story archetypes and saying why they work and then what the usual deviations from them were.

Here are two examples that I take issue with, among others. First, by his accounting Planes, Trains, and Automobiles is a "Golden Fleece" movie, the kind of film centered around a hero's journey where what he ends up finding is, ultimately, himself, and every set piece along the way is important only in the way it relates to the hero's self-acceptance or whatever.

No. Wrong. Planes, Trains, and Automobiles is very very clearly a "Buddy Love" under this system. Look at this fucking image:

Could this DVD cover make this any more obvious? Literally all the promotional material is like this. It even says in the book that most "Buddy Love" movies start with the "buddies" disliking each other, and that their relationship is central to the movie. And if Snyder is getting this wrong, what else is he getting wrong about his own system?

Example two. I'm just going to quote it in full:

Now look at The Matrix and compare and contrast it with the Disney/Pixar hit Monsters, Inc. Yup. Same movie.

Fucking what do you mean.

Under this system of genres, Monsters, Inc. is very clearly another "Buddy Love" movie. There's a kid they have to deal with, but most of the movie is grounded in the relationship between Mike and Sulley. Like, what's the low point of the whole movie? They get banished to the Himalayas and then have a big fight! It's about their relationship to each other!

(I looked this up on the savethecat website and found an article claiming that it's an example of "Monster in the House", which is fucking stupid, because what's the monster and what's the house? Just does not apply. The child is takes the role of the "monster" for such a small amount of the movie, then they're looking after her and trying to return her home, and even before that it's not relatable as a monster to the audience. Blake Snyder didn't write the article, so maybe he had something different in mind.)

Meanwhile, The Matrix most closely falls into either "Dude with a Problem" (ordinary man thrust into extraordinary circumstances) or "Superhero" (extraordinary man in ordinary circumstances) and I would argue that it's actually neither of those because it's a goddamned hero's journey and those are their own thing and it makes no sense to try to split them into two parts because you don't get more explanatory power of what's working and what's not. His analysis of what he calls "Superhero" films also sucks for that reason and just totally misses the mark about what makes them tick.

So how are these the same movie? I don't know, it probably made sense to Blake Snyder. I have done my due diligence and searched for answers online, but haven't found much, just some weak ass defenses.

Also, I really hated that he says Chinatown and Who Framed Roger Rabbit? are basically the same movie because no shit. Who Framed Roger Rabbit? is a parody of noir, and was adapted from the script for a never-produced third film in what was supposed to be a Chinatown trilogy. But even then, I don't get how you can say they're the same movie without pointing out the strong "Buddy Love" through line in Roger Rabbit!

This whole chapter was a total miss for me. Decent advice at the start that I've been hearing and preaching for a long time, but this typology sucks and he doesn't even seem to understand it (or the movies he's putting in it) very well. And since the typology sucks, it's a bad lens for understanding the underlying rules of writing, of story structure, the components of story, etc.

[thelampisaflashlight]

Thoughts on how Swiss and Dew adjusted to life with the other ghouls as human/ghoul hybrids. Let's go.

-Swiss, having a ghoul for a mother, was a lot more aware of ghoul culture/pit traditions and dynamics, so he definitely had a leg up here over Dew; Additionally, because his mother was a ghoul, he developed more ghoulish traits early on, so he was less taken off guard by further physical changes that came with age.

Dew, having been born to a human mother, didn't develop his ghoulish traits until much, much later in life (the parent that carries the kit/baby influences their presentation at birth, although this isn't always the case, it happens more often than not) so his relationship with his ghoulish side is a bit more... turbulent.

-Since Swiss had both his parents present in his life from an early age, he always had someone to turn to for life's awkward questions... Dew did not.

In fact, Dew hid a lot of things from his mother, even as a kid, not wanting to upset her, so suffice to say he's a little envious of Swiss in that regard.

-It was relatively easy for Swiss to mesh with the rest of the pack and adjust to living in the abbey; He was thrilled to be around other ghouls and to experience things first hand, whereas Dew definitely felt more hesitant and insecure.

It took mere months for Swiss to settle in, but years for Dew to finally feel comfortable enough to really engage with the others outside of a professional capacity, and, even then, he wasn't as rough and tumble as the others, so he felt further outcasted.

That being said, not everything went smoothly for Swiss either; Much like Dew, he's a lover not a fighter, but because of his size and demeanor, he often wound up getting into altercations and feeling like he couldn't catch a break or have a moment of peace.

As such, Swiss also began to isolate himself.

-The first time Swiss joined a hunt, he felt very outside of himself.

He liked the hunt and everything leading up to it, but in the aftermath he felt ashamed/guilty for what he'd done, and needed to take some time to reflect after the fact. Ultimately, however, he decided he liked it enough to continue joining them, and eventually got over some of his more negative emotions surrounding it.

Dew, much like Swiss, rode the high of the hunt until it came crashing down around him, except he ended up deciding it wasn't for him.

He does, however, join the water ghouls on their outings to the lake to "control the fish population"...

-Since they're both half human, Dew and Swiss are more temperature sensitive than the other ghouls, so they're constantly battling with the pack over what is an appropriate temperature for the main den to be depending on the time of year.

-Neither Swiss nor Dew have a "scent" in the way other ghouls do; They smell like something for sure, but it's just their natural human-y musk, and it's nowhere near as potent as the others.

It makes them weirdly harder to track, and provides them an extra layer of stealth, which freaks the other ghouls out, because how can they possibly be more difficult to find than a full-blooded ghoul?

And lastly;

-When the other ghouls try to roughhouse with them in a "friendly" manner like they would with other ghouls, Dew and Swiss both have a more, "What the hell, man-" reaction to it, instead of seeing it as playful.

Dew learned to bite back and hiss if he doesn't want to play though, Swiss hasn't quite figured things out in that regard, and often ends up going along with it.

[valentine-cafe]

aristaios or zhào mùchén (vamp au) with a gn human reader who.... has less blood than the average person <3 (and a heart conditon) :3 wanting them to feed off of you so bad, give your life essence to keep them alive... but perhaps they're worried enough they wouldn't let you. after all, those fainting spells and your heart running wild were rather concerning, even if it was amusing at first. maybe you'd just have to beg for it, then...

˖⁺. ﹙ the mad vampire king of the carmine  x gn reader x the king of the nocturne. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . a delight to behold, you are !! 🍒 :  vampire kings ˖ mad vampire king ˖ the first vampire king﹙ vamp au zhào mùchén & aristaios. ﹚

coaxing your kings into drinking from your blood, despite your own condition

and you would beg so, time and time again. doing everything you could to get them to drink from you.. .

mùchén, despite his amusement towards your eagerness would be ever hesitant.

your blood was far more sacred than most.

to take it from you worried him. fearing that you would pass out or grow sick from the lack of life essence you could face.

until one day, you told him it could just be one drop. just one little taste, and it’d be it! you’d tell him when to stop and you explained to him if you were handled gently, it would all be fine.

how you truly managed to coax him into it, you have no idea.

his hands would wrap around your waist so gently. tongue lathering the spot on your shoulder he anticipated to bite. while peppering a few, reassuring kisses to it. eyebrows knitted together still with tinges of worry.

shifting his hand down to your heart to feel the pace, while his other kept you steady and still against him as he sunk his teeth into the delicate flesh.

your blood tasted so divine— but he knew he could not go for long. . . after a droplet or two of the blood, he pulled away to your dismay and simply thanked you for letting him. gently healing up the puncture wounds. whilst smiling lovingly at the pout you gave him.

---

and all the while, aristaios, would find himself amused and display of it, yet hide his worry and hesitation. he didn’t wish for you to see that!

you’d keep attempting, trying your luck. but he would often just wave you off and murmur something along the lines of: “no dear, it is far too precious. you musn’t beg, it will not sway me.”

it was just one drop of blood. that was it. but it felt as though to you, that he felt, if he drank any of it, he’d leave you with nothing left. and you would be nothing but gone.

and to an extent it was true.

no secrets held the fact that the reckless ruler of the king of the carmine was a bloodlusting, feral vampire.

he feared somewhere deep within his rotted heart he would drink you dry. it would take a bit of coaxing and reassuring for him to truly trust the situation and feel secure but once he did agree. he’d pull you out to one of the balconies of his castle and would pin you against the raling gently.

his hair curtained your face so beautifully, index and middle finger held against the middle of your chest to feel your heartbeat. assure it is steady.

his lips would press to yours a few times. cold, but soft and full of love.

until eventually, he bit down on your bottom lip and began drinking of the blood during the middle of your kiss. finishing the kiss with a bloodstained pair of lips pressing against yours fully again. while his saliva healed up the puncture wounds at the soft skin beneath his.

[reidhalstead]

Brows dipping inwards, mouth opening in question; he wants to say that she doesn't know what she's saying and amber-coloured glasses have her delusional. Reid should've stopped this because lucidity will come crashing down on them, tomorrow. And he will have to explain — what? In between licking his wounds and scraping away that hurt from the bowl of the pan, scratching and cursing. Say some bullshit about how whiskey is a motivator that dulls and fuels hungers; that makes him a boy again, thinking he's running off the football pitch, unbuckling his helmet as he whisks his second girlfriend of the month off her feet at the sidelines, kissing her in front of the crowd. Unaware he'll have a quarterback boyfriend the following week, and get suspended for breaking Kyle's nose for making an under-the-table remark about it.

Much like the pain of a broken bone, the aching of regret, or never knowing what could've happened if Reid had let it die. He knows that whatever lost time Anika implies, he never would have done this before tonight. Never without losing something first and he only let himself shed that skin when she had a marker lid between her teeth and held his hand like she had no idea of what kind of mark she'd left on him.

It burns all over again, that auric caramel bubbling on the stove scenting the room in the sweet but bitter scent of candy left unattended; left to boil over. It's difficult to clean and hardens like rock when cooled. It clings to every surface, just as Anika's hand clutches the fabric of his shirt, bundling it up, nails ghosting through to catch the skin on his chest. Fuck everything. He'll bench self-loathing, even if it's screaming put me in, coach, because that core value of selfishness will take this, whilst it climbs into his lap. Shit.

"Anika—" but, at the last second he realises he doesn't want her to say anything, when he silences her with a visceral response. A hand travels to bury in the crook of her neck, holding her there, as another tentatively wanders to her waist. He can feel the glacier melting; the icy walls of his resolve crumbling down as roaring flames lap at its walls. Battling wants to remind each other of lines they've never crossed.

Forgotten is the corridor either side of them or the flickering light above their heads, basking them in yellow. Shoved down is the voice that warns him this is too close for comfort, prompting his focus on the pairs exploration in warring tongues. The roar of those flames turn into the thundering rush of the blood in her veins, the twitch in his mouth that lapses when he has to shutter the part of him that might cut her open. He can't — won't hurt her, and he'll be the one to run if he has to. Denying Anika the chance. Hard to run, when she's on his lap.

It will be an awkward manoeuvre whichever way he looks at it. The cool hand on her waist slips lower, grabbing her underside for support as he holds her steadily against him. He's twisting them over so he can brace one hand on the wall; the corridor rushes back to him, an awareness that has his senses enflamed against Anika's mouth in pauses to peck the corner of her mouth and trail along her chin. Reid's hand squeezes her ass as he manages to get one hand purchased on the wall, and he brings himself to a stand with Anika still wrapped around his waist.

He rests her back against the wall for a moment, mouth dips to plant something on her throat, but signals for a recourse when he steers in the other direction, stealing lips he isn't entitled to. Voices in a head louder, goading him; laughing like he might shatter this painted picture.

"Okay?" He whispers when he has to let her breathe. He hoists her further up his body, smiling like he's scored a Touchdown in the fourth quarter. That he's successfully pulled the woman from the waters, and they're remembering how to walk on solid ground again. He's feeding a monster he doesn't know how to defeat; The Bydo Core in the final mission of a forgotten video game. And all he allows to win in his mind is, fuck it all. Because the sandstorm has the line drawn in the desert, lost.

He doesn't ask, or wait when he carries her in the right direction down the corridor; weightless as he has to break away from feral exchanges to peer around her for the lock — he's searched the tight pockets of her jeans for the key, as he one-handedly gets it in the hole in the door, to nudge it open with his foot. He's laughing about that, too. This. Them. Shit. Terrible idea. He doesn't know how to do this. All he can think about when he gets the door closed is that if he focuses on this, then he won't know the taste of her verbena-poisoned blood.

He's embarrassed enough. Unlike in youth, where everything came so easily.

The keys are dropped carelessly to the carpet and he doesn't know what surface they've hit with closed eyes in the messily mapped apartment in the back of his thoughts. Instead, he's mapping the curves and the trembles of her body as Reid busies her hand back in her hair; they're feeding hungry creatures.

I know. And her eyes took his face in, slightly wider than before, because his words were so soft, yet they made her head spin, like she'd taken a hit of something; a physical blow. He knew of her ghosts, but he didn't know of the power they held over her. He didn't know that when her lips fell from his, it was because her ghosts wanted to entwine with his skin, and she didn't want to share. She never learned how to. Maybe because she'd grown up with two older sisters, who never let her play with their toys. Because all of it was theirs. Because they got there first, and she was the third, the one that they could've been without. Of course, all of this changed when they grew up, but Anika never did learn how to share. She had skipped right over that lesson. With age toys turned to money, and trust, and power. Her hands only fell from his, because her fears would've shattered them, him.

Fingers brushed her lips, where phantoms spilled in mockery. She shouldn't have told him, Anika thought. Maybe then he'd just walk off, think she's had a change of heart, or was just a raging bitch. Made him think that this was all a game — of spin the bottle. Or that one where everyone hid in the closet. She'd been there once, with a boy she barely knew who wore the most ugly glasses, and she had warned him that if he tried anything she'd break his foot. They stayed in silence for however long, before they emerged from the closet. She did stomp on his foot, just so he would know that she wasn't bluffing. That defense mechanism she's worked on since childhood. But Reid had stomped on all her defenses. Those double doors were down and he knew of what went on in that haunted house. He knew of the creaking floor, and that leak in the basement. The lights that flickered, like the ones they stood beneath now.

I shouldn't. Fuck. She could quite literally jump out the nearest window just to save herself the misery. The thought of never knowing how he tasted crossed her mind. She'd have to sit in the prison of her own mind where she'd play endless guessing games. Bounce thoughts around like balls in a pinball machine — what if he'd taste of something sweet, like strawberries. She'd never seen him eat one, but she would very vividly imagine the way his mouth would wrap around one. Maybe something sour, bitter like the words on his tongue, those times they've fought over stupid, mundane things like who'd take out the trash. He would, and she'd promise to do the dishes, and then never do them. They'd live in that small apartment, and cross each other's paths every day, and she'd never get to know the taste. Then death would come for her somewhere in a ditch, or with hands burried deep in some monstrous fuck, and the afterlife would be her own personal hellish room where that guessing game would never cease. I shouldn't, he said. And you'd rather deem me a prisoner?

Her stupid heart stumbled. "No, no — You should've." a breath. "A very long time ago." maybe they'd learn to live with the ghosts, and the ever crumbling facade of both their watch towars. She dipped her head closer to kiss him, this time absent of hesitance. That hand on his chest curled in to grab a fist full of his shirt, and the other got lost in a mess of blonde. Only if she pressed more into him, would she stop running. Swiftly, she crossed one leg over him and moved to sit on his lap (only then would they ever be at an eye-level), while starved mouths were taking their fill.

[tuesziday]

My mother is threatening to put the house up for sale (again) and it's happened so many times that I can't tell if she's actually going through with it or not

[piko-power]

My Personal Headcanon On Why Amy's Love For Sonic Died Down Lately (and their dynamic)

When they were younger, Amy's love for Sonic was pretty extreme, and Sonic was, understandable, uncomfortable for the most part. He knows she means well, but that girl needs to calm down.

She can fight, but sometimes her hammer could only stun her enemies for a while. (It took her a long time to get rid of that robot that has been chasing her around Station Square.) She wasn't fully independent yet, even if she fought on her own a couple of times.

She often follows Sonic and his friends around. She is part of the team, but she was not a strong as she is now at the time yet.

She admires Sonic. A LOT. And Sonic knows that. Obviously, he could only run away from something like that, since he is NOT ready for that kind of thing, and whether Amy takes the hint or stop, she still loves him.

...BUT, I think things were slightly starting to change between her and Sonic after Lost World.

Remember this line?

You remember that? Okay, okay. Here's another totally unrelated question:

Before the events of Lost World, when was the last time Amy said "I love you" to Sonic out loud?

...YEP. 😈 (Unless I'm missing something, let me know lmao)

As more games and adventures come out, the characters get slightly older, and Amy is 12 to 13 now, and she is most certainly at that age where her body starts to change, but especially on how she views Sonic.

She knows she loves Sonic, but it was this moment during her change where she actually wanted to admit that she loves him.

I believe that Amy was all about sharing her affection to him not through confessions, but through obvious hints. Sonic totally got it, and there was no need to confess. Sonic knows she loves her.

...But she never said it. And she almost did, but she never did again for a while.

I think this was the moment in her life where, oh, God, she actually loves Sonic. SHE LOVES HIM, WHAT.

And she was looking back at all the times she had with Sonic that she can now see were unpleasant to Sonic (At least that's what she thinks) and that's probably why she isn't so expressive about her love to him than how she used to back then.

She wasn't sure what to do with this realization, and sets aside it for a while, and nearly stayed as her casual, peppy self... until the Eggman War happened.

During the 6 months of being with the Resistance, fighting Eggman's army all day and all night, all she can think of was Sonic.

She dreams that he still with not just her, but with her friends. She just wanted to see Sonic again, she just wants to be with her hero again.

But I'd like to think that she was also thinking about how she used to treat Sonic back when they were younger, how Sonic would almost always run away from her whenever she asks him out, or always look so uncomfortable whenever she gets so close to him.

Cringing at those memories big time, she wanted to change and hopefully when Sonic is okay and comes back, she can be better for him.

...Or will he still find her uncomfortable regardless? Would he even be happy to see her at all if he did survive?

But, hold on! She can't just give up her love for Sonic! He made her who she is today! A peppy, nature-loving, hammer-swinging, confident, brave... loud-mouth... annoying... Sonic obsessed... weak... pathetic... lonely little girl.

If she gives up on Sonic, it'll be like she gave up on the one hedgehog who saved her life. If she didn't she'll still be the same ol' Amy.

I also like to think she had parents a long while before she met Sonic, and was even expecting a little sister, but a robot invasion happened from where she was and attacked her parents and instead of trying to save them, after getting hurt, she ran away, hoping that they'll come back okay. But they never did.

She was all alone, and needed someone, a friend, a new family, someone who will hold her hand, anyone, to be there for her. But she was ignored by lots, and at that point, she's better off by herself, but still longed for company.

Eventually though, her tarot cards told her her future hero, and there might be hope after all. She encountered Sonic, held onto the belief of the cards tight, and the rest is history.

So, with that headcanon in mind, not only did Amy loose her parents that she didn't save because of her cowardliness (she was only so little at the time that happened) and also Sonic, who she thought will be her only hope, but now gone.

She doesn't even care if he did come back, he'd probably hate her now after everything she did to him, always talking about their "future wedding" or forcing him to go to Twinkle Park.

For the last few months of the war, it was nothing but Amy mentally beating herself up for either refusing to change or moving on, and they are both not fine choices.

She loves Sonic, but he does not love her, and she finally, finally realized it. And it's probably for the best if no body loved her at all.

But of course Sonic did survive and all of her worries wash away in an instant, she's just not expressive about her love for Sonic AT ALL now, since she's still worried about it but rather not mention it to Sonic because it doesn't matter.

If Sonic doesn't love her, then her feelings don't matter to him, and according to Amy herself, that is okay.

But also, I'd like to think that Sonic was thinking about his friends a lot up in the Death Egg for the past months, sometimes it's Tails (worried for his safety), sometimes it's Shadow (because he's wondering why he would join Eggman.) At some point, for a few days, Amy was in his mind the longest, and he felt bad about how he thought he was rude and pushy to her.

He wondered if she's not thinking about it too much, and if she is, will she give up on him? Yeah, he doesn't feel the same and still not looking for a relationship, but it's so strange but interesting how anyone could ever like someone like Sonic the Hedgehog. Amy was never afraid to show that, and she probably might be now.

He couldn't help but feel guilty. They were kids when she was like this, but he was so... arrogant at the time too. Not a lot happened at the time yet. He'd always have trouble expressing how much he value his friends, until he shattered the Paradox Prism. (I'd like to think Prime took place before Forces. It makes sense.)

She is such a sweet girl, and he probably made her believe that he didn't care for her. Just because he doesn't feel the same, that doesn't mean he hates her at all.

He wished he never ran away from Amy... Worrying for his little bro and wishing to be a good person for Amy was when Sonic cried in the Death Egg for the first and only time.

Frontiers, in my opinion, is kind of confirming their dynamic now. Sonic is a lot more sincere and kinder to Amy and she is not all hyperactive and lovey to Sonic. There is probably a real reason for this now.

They are both hiding their feelings from them, and they are both unaware of this. Amy, hiding her mental issues from Sonic, and Sonic, hiding his guilt away from Amy.

None of those things are important now. Sonic is with Amy and Amy is with Sonic. They are here with each other. They can be finally be better for each other now.

They don't care if they'll ever be something more when they get older. None of that matters anymore. They are here with each other. They can be finally be better for each other now.

Maybe someday they'll both talk about it, but for now, the present is important. They care about each other too much to think about it right now.

It's the kind of love that is unbreakable. It doesn't even have to be romantic. It's just love. Love is important for everyone, in any form. It's something Sonic and his friends need. And especially Sonic and Amy.

Amy Rose is the living embodiment of love, and without her, a lot would go downhill for Sonic and co. Heck, if it weren't for her, Shadow wouldn't have never remembered Maria's promise, which lead him to save the world with Sonic, before he temporarily disappeared from their lives for a while.

She is always there to lend a helping hand for anybody, even bad guys like Metal Sonic, and despite what she had been through, both in Forces and headcanon wise, she still fights back, even without her hammer.

She will pick you back up on your feet, reminding you that you are important and that you are loved, and that you should never give up. It's pretty much the words of encouragement she herself needed also...

She is still the happy, hyper, butt-kicking hedgehog we all know and love, but she still need someone to pick her back up on her feet after so long. Thankfully, she has her friends and her blue hero. The hero who made her who she is today.

I think Amy has no idea how important she thought she is, but Sonic does. Sonic knows fully well how important she is to a lot of people. It's about time he returns the favor to her. It's his turn to remind her how much a lot of people love her.

How much he loves her.

And I feel like The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog was the moment where their dynamic really shined, but also the starting point of their relationship not only healing, but also the next chapter of what's to come for them.

Everyone, friends old and new, gathered around for a special birthday. A birthday for the confident, unshakable, and radiant Amy Rose.

It was such a special moment in Amy's life. After years of chasing and following the people she look up to, she is part of the team, but most importantly, she is part of the family.

She is fully realized as someone more than just a fangirl, but someone strong, courageous, creative, kind and a big inspiration for others.

I feel like this moment here...

-is where Amy is eternally grateful to call her friends her family. A family she thought she'll never have again. She's not alone anymore, and as long as they're by her side, she'll never will be again.

Her chasing days are over. She's finally caught up to them. She's finally home.

And it's all thanks to Sonic.

If it weren't for him, she'd probably be alone forever. Her past moments with Sonic might be embarrassing to look back on for a while, but they are good memories regardless, because they involve him.

Sonic saved her life in more ways than one, and despite everything, he's grateful to have her too.

He cares about her. He really does... And in her eyes, that all she needed to know. As long as Sonic loves her in his own way, she'll be happy.

Amy hasn't given up on Sonic. As long as Amy always supports him, he'll be happy.

Maybe sometime in the future, they can talk about their problems, but that's a story for another time. At this point, they need to. Right now, they are happy. They are okay.

They are here for each other. They are finally better for each other now.

"You guys won't ever leave me, right?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

[smile-files]

now this, this is fascinating!

even before any kind of reveal, test tube is under the impression that a contestant's existence is dependent on the game they're in -- she doesn't think this season should exist, that it's a mistake, and likewise, she doesn't think these contestants should exist either, that they're a mistake too: a mistake as a by-product of the mistake that is inanimate insanity infinity ever occurring as a season. she doesn't even think that these new characters could've already existed, living their own lives, just recruited by salt and pepper... no, she thinks they were made. and...

...oh. damn.

yeah okay the twist wasn't even a twist, was it?

[peppermintack]

show tempe gang crossover with the morris islanders would actually have been the best episode of bones ever. btw

[hella1975]

not someone commenting on tams to tell me to update taob. what if you fucked off forever

[eggmeralda]

I need a massive sudden hyperfixation shock to happen again

[insoscreativedump]

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