#half of this might not make sense but also idl

[chillmayo]

what are those hot orv posts you're posting???? tell me about it I BEG

now im confused. u want me to tell u abt these hot posts (????) or orv?? either way im interpreting this as u wanting me to rant abt orv so. here we go babes.

orv was the most mind boggling insane heart wrenching gutpunching novel that brings you in to the point where u are basically bathing in it idk

orvs all about readers and characters and to me, it was a realistic take on what it would ACTUALLY be like if a stan actually isekais or whatever into a novel. you as a reader would think you know all about the characters but you slowly realize that ur characters arent characters anymore but real people. but orv is also about how authors write books for readers and how readers are what brings a book to life (literally)

its also a heavily queer coded found family core meta novel about readers, writers and characters with the most insane time paradox to fully round it all up idk

its also batshit insane bc im convinced the couple wrote half the stuff in it while hopping on drugs. the good kind. bc i can talk abt how heartbreaking and life changing orv was but also they held an award ceremony and my ship was nominated for Best Chemistry. The MC measures everyones attractiveness by if they could slap the protag and how many times. The MC and his reader best friend joyride in a "Ferrarighini" while the rest of the group fight to death. etcetc

anyway orv is a wild ride, 12/10 would recommend.

also it is 1.2 million words, has the prettiest official art (including art of scenes !!) and is written by a married couple

[hitlikehammers]

The One Where Wayne Munson KNOWS BETTER Than to Lend Air to IDLE GOSSIP

(and does it anyway on accident and ends up thinking his 💕boy's boy💕 might be ✖️stepping out) ——(1/3)

Wayne Munson’s lived his life mostly free from the hubbub of small town gossip. Some was unavoidable in his tiny holler as a boy; more was part and parcel to the service, and plain keeping half-sane in war—anything for a distraction. After all that though, Wayne’d had more’n his fill of even a teaspoon of hearsay, and compared to where he came from? Hawkins, Indiana was small potatoes for keepin’ his nose clear out of it.

Which is all to say he don’t mean to collect any of the latest scuttlebutt on his way just to town after he gets off his shift with the sun barely a glimmer, just past 5 for Leah’s to be open for a better cup-o-joe than the sludge he gets on the floor. All he wants is a hot nightcap because he knows damn well his boy didn’t pick up more grounds before Melvald’s closed last night, and Wayne doesn’t want to see his bed until he’s had a full mug of fair-to-middling coffee.

And honest: he don’t think that’s more than he’s earned to ask.

But it is more than he bargained for signing’ up to, when he sees the only other people in the diner at this hour on a Saturday.

Because the only other people are a girl he don’t know, though he can’t see her real well from the back, which only really means he sees her coffee date full-on and much too well in exchange because they’re leaned in and they’re being all touchy across the table, voices low but not too low—he don’t think they even noticed him come in, let alone come to wait close enough to hear ‘em while he insists on saving the lovely Leah herself the trip to a table when he can damn well carry his own drink, thanks kindly.

“You’re gonna have a coronary if you keep hiding this.”

The girl sounds…she sounds the way Wayne remembers his Mamaw sounding when she was about to hit his Grampy up the head over some harebrained such-and-such. Exasperated, but all from a deep well of unshakable loving.

Which is what perks up Wayne’s attention, and then churns his insides quick right-next, because—

Well. The boy this young lady’s being all over-fond at for his antics is Steve Harrington.

Who, for all that Wayne understands, is meant to be his boy’s boy.

“No, no,” Steve’s shaking his head, tone bowstring-taut; “I’m gonna tell him.” Kid sounds resolved for all of half-a-second before he’s groaning, running hands over his face: “Or, I mean—”

The thunk of the boy’s head to the tabletop clatters the cutlery, and if Wayne weren’t already clued into their conversation, he’d be wholly absolved for dropping eaves given how the noise echoes through the mostly-empty establishment bar-to-door.

“Dingus,” the girl says, and it drips with concern, with affection, with a deep choler that, again, sings loud of married-couple.

Which twists Wayne’s guts all the more to hear.

Because she’s talking to Wayne’s boy’s boy.

“I’m gonna, I promise,” Steve sounds not unlike a man on his way to the gallows, even more when he sighs deep as anything and traces out his lips with his fingers, hands shaky even out the corner of Wayne’s eye for a distance as he hisses low:

“Fuck.”

And Wayne, see, he don’t like borrowing trouble. He meant it about keeping his nose clean of the gossip and the hearsay. So he makes sure he reminds himself good in his own head that he don’t know the facts here, and jumpin’ to conclusions don’t do no favors to nobody.

It don’t do nothing for the way that what he does know, what he sees and hears with his own god-given senses in the now, don’t add up too kindly for the Harrington boy.

Not least because it seems to be adding up poor indeed for Wayne’s boy.

“Do you think he’ll—”

“Steve,” the girl’s voice goes softer, but also frantic almost, as Wayne sees her reach across the way and gather Steve’s hands with a familiarity to the motion that wouldn’t make sense unless…

Unless they’re something special to each other.

Wayne’s watched Eddie reach out for Steve that way. He’s watch Steve do the same. So it…it just don’t make sense—

“You’re shaking,” the girl says, all kinda pitiful, and Wayne’d seen it before, but now he chances a look again and: oh.

Boy’s a leaf in a cyclone.

“It’s a big deal,” Steve rasps out near under Wayne’s ability to hear it.

But he does hear it.

“You need to just lay it out,” the girl tells him, earnest now and more of that than any irritation, any frustration put-upon or otherwise; “be up front with him.”

And it ain’t fair, yet, even if all the signs are pointing that direction; but Wayne likes Steve. He doesn’t want to think the worst of him. And he doesn’t, really, in his heart, think Steve could do or be the worst, from all he’s learned and seen—Wayne’d had uncharitable thoughts about it he kid, before he knew better, based on hearsay which one more time, he don’t countenance as a rule, and he’d been taught better and quick from the second he saw Steve at his nephew’s bedside, and heard the only thing he’s proud and happy to have dropped in upon uninvited:

You nearly fucking died yourself dragging him out, Steve, what the hell—

That Henderson squirt, scolding Steve something fierce.

So Wayne reminds himself this boy loved his boy enough to risk himself to bring Eddie home. Before they were anything to one another. And Wayne knows damn well they’re both something to each other, now. It don’t make sense that Steve wants to…be up front about a notion with Eddie that could hurt.

But then: care can look a lot of different ways, and can change over time. Ain’t nobody to fault for that. And much as Wayne can’t quite believe the Steve he’s gotten to know these past many-months could swallow hurting his Eddie…

Wayne’s been proven incorrect about people more than enough in his life to know better than to think it’s impossible to be wrong about a man’s heart.

“Oh, I’m sure that’ll go over fucking fantastic,” Steve’s huffing, rolling his eyes—apparently he don’t want to be up front with the person they’re talking about. Wayne tries to remind himself that they’ve not flat out said it’s Eddie yet. Wayne shouldn’t go making assumptions.

“Why not?” the girl’s pressing him. “Be honest, with him,” then her tone does go a little judgemental; “you can’t honestly think he doesn’t suspect—”

“I really don’t think he does,” and it’s a strange thing, because no matter the words themselves, it don’t sound like Steve’s meaning to be deceitful about a thing. Kinda sounds a little like he’s mourning, like he’s just in a kind of pain. “If he did, then at least maybe I’d have some kind of,” he waves his hand in the air, looks frantic, at loose ends all around; “heads-up for where his head’s at.”

And they’re both quiet for a spell, and Wayne looks for Leah in the back, knew she was getting food ready and was happy to wait—for better or worse with the conversation he’s been privy to without permission unspooling at his side—but he’s starting to feel antsy for all that he’s hearing, and the way he can’t quite tamp down associating it all with Eddie, with touchy things Steve might have to tell Eddie—

“Tell him by the end of the weekend.”

And now: think he might have to tell, encouraged so damn strong and single-minded by his lady friend with her hand on his arm.

“That’s fucking tomorrow!”

“End,” she’s narrowing her eyes sharp enough Wayne notices more in the shift of the room than to see it head-on; “of,” and then she’s smacking Steve’s arm to emphasize hard enough it rings out; “the weekend.”

Then Wayne notices how her posture shifts, and she leans closer again, so much affection, and easy with it, and welcome for it, no doubt about it:

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” she says low and earnest; “especially not when the thing you’re like this about is,” and then her tone shifts to something bright, near-on hopeful, even:

“It’s such a good thing, Steve.”

“I mean,” Steve mumbles, kind of miserable really; “of course you think so.”

And Wayne don’t like where his head goes for things the girl who’s watching Steve with such soft eyes might think to be good, might think while she’s touching him so close and —

“He’ll,” and she huffs a touch before going all heartfelt again: “Eddie is going to—”

And the moment his plausible deniability about the subject of the discussion is gone, Wayne gives up waiting for his coffee at the counter and…retreats to the corner by the door, far as he can get from whatever’s said next. He’d leave, honest, but the truth of the matter’s this:

He can’t be expected in good faith to figure out how to bring any of this up with Ed if he don’t have no caffeine in him.

☕ 👀 ☕

✨ part ii >>>

For @thefreakandthehair, who requested 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST—and since this is almost a YEAR LATE, could I possibly offer it as a normal-amounts-of-late birthday gift, more than as an egregiously-and-unforgivably-late prompt fill for you?

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

NOTE: it's important to me that you know that Wayne's accept belongs to nowhere, and is just the voice of someone I knew as a kid, who also sounded like a little of everywhere and then again nowhere. so if you think some turn of phrase doesn't fit what you think you're reading in terms of dialect? it's just that this way of stringing words together is—with intention—its own amalgam of places and times

divider credit here and here

[illegiblewords]

Zodiark's Tempering

A lot of people have been confused about whether the Unsundered were tempered (they were) and how tempering works.

Long post under the cut.

First, I'm going to point at the exact line from Emet-Selch in Shadowbringers: "He tempered us. It was only natural. There is no resisting such power."

I believe this was said in one of the ocular cutscenes, but explicitly in no uncertain terms--the Convocation was tempered. This includes the Unsundered. The tempering was, in fact, so powerful, that even after having their souls cleansed in the Lifestream Convocation members still make 'the best servants' according to Emet-Selch.

Zodiark was not only the first primal, but a primal on a scale beyond fathoming. This was half a star's worth of souls, billions of people. I'd argue that we also see what this tempering looks like in practice with Emet-Selch at The Ladder scene in Kholusia, where he is genuinely moved and expresses admiration of both the Warrior of Light and the people of Kholusia coming together only to be railroaded back to 'but the world as it was was better'.

That was not a natural thought pattern. That was tempering. We see further evidence in how Emet-Selch tried repeatedly to live alongside The Sundered and had only the most negative qualities amplified--preventing him from ever finding peace. Hell, it shows in his argument that the qualities of a soul diminish with sundering too. For one, the default quality in a person isn't positive. He frames things in terms of other shards becoming proportionally less intelligent for example, or less kind--but arguably cruelty should have been diminished as well. The civilizations and inhabitants of other shards are also, notably, not at a huge personally/intellectually different framework compared to The Source--where souls are more dense and would (by Hades' argument) have been more advanced and capable.

What we actually know of unsundered versus souls mechanically is that they are more aetherically dense. Being more aetherically dense, it takes more dynamis to influence them. The ancients still feel absolutely and are vulnerable to Meteion, but the sundered are probably a bit more reactive on the whole. It might also be like an inertia situation where once an unsundered starts to feel something it tends to continue and build. That's speculation though.

Zodiark's tempering appears to be closer to magically enforced mental illness in the sense that it warps thought patterns, elevates some tendencies and minimizes/negates others, prevents certain ideas, twists perception, keeps some memories or experiences at the forefront while diminishing or losing others, etc. Psychological wounds that are useful to the mission are kept open artificially well past the point someone would have naturally started to scar over. There is a reason I've been arguing that it's closer to coercion and insanity plea in terms of diminished responsibility. The tempered aren't even able to accurately understand the situations they are in due to thought warping, and claims that their position is reasonable amounts to a completely psychotic person claiming not to be crazy. It's not as simple as mind control from an external source. It's that the person's own thoughts and tendencies are manipulated in unnatural ways to form a cage forcing them into compliance with the primal's mission.

I'd argue it's also very suspect that Elidibus, the lunar shades, and (IIRC) the despairing post-Terminus ancients Venat encountered all separately repeat the exact phrase wishing for 'a world free from sorrow'. Lahabrea explicitly referring to Zodiark as 'the master' at Praetorium strongly indicates tempering too.

A major source of confusion stems from the following scene:

Creation magics are complex and highly sensitive, requiring a tremendous amount of focus. A single moment of distraction can change the outcome of creation. Hades creating his phantom Amaurot having an idle thought 'Hythlodaeus would know the truth' is enough to make the shade of Hythlodaeus aware, even if it wasn't on purpose. Even if it was a split second.

Zodiark was a creation that involved not only the sacrifice of half a star (so likely billions of people)--it also involved the active participation and focus of those people in the summoning process. We know from the environmental storytelling and evidence at Akademia Anyder that I cited in other analysis that Lahabrea was the mind behind the Zodiark concept. We know that the scale of the creation was enormous to the point that it would not function without elevating one individual to steer it--the Heart. This being Elidibus. But the actual summoning was still extremely complex and on a vast scale involving multitudes of people at different skill levels. Hythlodaeus, while experienced as Chief of the Bureau of the Architect, has very limited abilities in creation himself due to aether deficiency. He still sacrificed himself as one of the participants in Zodiark's summoning ritual.

Faith was necessary to simplify the process across that many people of varying life experiences and skill levels. The Convocation would have been handling the more technical elements and forms the concept would take, and guess who was at the head of the Convocation's efforts?

Lahabrea. Who has recently failed to contain Archaeotania despite his people's every faith in him, who we know to be extremely traumatized and has every reason to be terrified not only of the situation but of not performing up to the expectations placed on him. For god's sake, one of the last things Athena said to him involved calling him disappointing after getting full access to his soul.

A single moment of Lahabrea being afraid and hoping everyone would be able to join together to save the star, to be on the same page, would be enough to cause tempering. He's not perfect, but he's been expected to be. He's expected to have perfect composure, impervious to normal human emotions. And of course emotions bled through at a time like that.

The same hope that others would join in to support the mission has bled into every subsequent primal summoning where tempering became a problem.

Venat's summoning technique is different from the summoning technique used by the Ascians. It's also different from the technique used by the Loporrits. Venat used standard creation magic without elevating faith as a tool. She had less people to worry about. The loporrits decided faith would be a useful tool for The Ragnarok insofar as the primals could help fuel its journey, but going off of pure faith rather than the hybrid of faith and strict procedure is dangerous. So they combined the two in a controlled environment knowing the risks.

What Livingway is saying is that using the hybrid technique that is being employed for the first time in that scene, a primal as powerful as Zodiark would cause a slight tug instead of the full force of tempering. Normally there isn't any sense of influence at all with that technique. Zodiark is on a scale and at such a monumental power level that even the safe method would try to influence its summoners along with any bystanders. Zodiark has the most powerful tempering of any primal that has ever existed.

I also want to take a moment to point at what primals are and how they work as distinct from standard creations.

When discussing creations, the shades at Hades' phantom Amaurot mention that souls are gifts from the star and cannot be artificially created. This is part of why Hermes claimed to be so distraught about the way concepts were being handled--there wasn't any accounting for dynamis as a factor.

Livingway mentions that Venat forbade loporrits from making anything possessed of a soul (impossible) or similar.

Here I'm going to point you back to the lecture from the ARR quest What Little Gods Are Made Of:

Primals, brought into being with faith rather than as pure technical concepts, have something like a soul. They are archetypes shared by the living and when they are slain, they aren't destroyed because archetypes can't be destroyed. They return to the aetherial sea, like souls, until they are called forth again. These archetypes reflect common human experiences and desires shared across many, many people. It makes sense that Zodiark would be built off of this premise in the first place as a way of creating common ground with that many participants.

It also makes some sense that something resembling a soul is advantageous, since logistically in FFXIV souls are sources of power in their own right. Thordan, Nidhogg, Shinryu, and The Alexandrians can attest to that.

I understand that there are people who prefer not to use tempering as a key factor in characterization of The Unsundered, and disregard tempering from their headcanons. Obviously this is allowed, but it's not canon. The game is explicit on this point and underlines it multiple times in multiple ways. Hades when told about what lies ahead is completely horrified and does not want to go down the path the Warrior describes--not just for his own sake but because he morally disagrees with it. His line about staying true to his principles at Ultima Thule is deliberately ambiguous--is he referring to pursuit of the Ardor? Trying to save his people? Trying to resist tempering as best he could despite being helpless against it? Giving the Warrior of Light an opportunity to mercy kill him? We don't know.

And regarding the memory of Lahabrea saying he can believe he would get lost trying to save his people to the point of becoming something horrific during Anabaseios... it's very, very important to remember that Lahabrea hates himself. Lahabrea just accepted for years that Erichthonios is better off with the idealized memory of his dead, abusive mother rather than the living father who rescued him. Lahabrea has been ready to commit pseudo-suicide throughout Pandaemonium. His entire Savage transformation design reflects that he thinks the only thing he's good for is being used for his DNA and serving to protect people as Lahabrea. He tries to shield his heart with his wings and the left arm representative of his personal self is long/at a distance, anemic, and basically non-functional due to too many joints. He doesn't want to exist as a person because he hates himself and he expects to be hurt.

And that's before everything to do with The Final Days.

Lahabrea is not a reliable narrator when it comes to questions about whether Lahabrea is a good person. He might be the least reliable source you could find. He is a guilt katamari who is ready to think the worst of himself given the slightest opportunity.

A huge part of what makes Zodiark's tempering interesting is that even if any of the Unsundered are freed, it's difficult to definitively answer the question of whether they might have made the same choices organically. Anything in their heads that might have given them tools to make another choice was taken away. And we know the sundered Convocation members were not tempered when they decided to join The Ardor as Ascians. Fandaniel was able to kill Zodiark because of this.

As it stands though, none of the Unsundered were free. They cannot be judged by the standards of people who are.

I hope this helps clear things up!

[jenscx]

ATTENTION 56 — wonyoung’s talk (half-written)

after minji had sent you a text, wonyoung bursts into your room, eyes blaring and cheeks puffy. minji awkwardly stares at her from your sheets, mouth agape. while she had briefly met your members during your relationship, she hadn’t had that ‘talk’ with them yet. no better time than the present, right?

right as minji was about to say something, both rei and jiwon come in as well, exasperated looks on their faces.

“uh…”

“sorry, we’re just here to collect wonyoung,” rei says, smiling as she hits the back of the girl’s head. hard. minji winces at the thud. wonyoung, however, doesn’t even bother acknowledging rei and instead inches closer to minji.

minji was grateful, don’t get her wrong, for wonyoung snapping some common sense into her and making her realise the importance of you. but she was also pretty terrified of the overprotective member. no matter you were older than wonyoung, minji knew of your importance to her. if you were to get hurt, wonyoung was your shield.

“are you going to hurt her again?” wonyoung asks. jiwon gasps and nudges her but she doesn’t back down, merely raising an eyebrow. minji swallows hard, “no, and i never will.”

“she was so heartbroken i couldn’t even laugh,” rei supplies, earning her a glare from wonyoung who frowns even more. “you shouldn’t be laughing at her anyway.”

“i talked to y/n last night,” minji explains, “she means everything to me. without her, there is no kim minji either.”

wonyoung smirks, “so you’re being overly reliant on y/n?”

“no, but she’s a part of me,” minji replies. meanwhile your other two members just stare at the back and forth between wonyoung and minji, choosing to cower behind the door. the interrogation was bound to be longer than an hour with the way wonyoung had stormed in. you might have even managed to return home by the time they were done.

“i love her, i can say that much,” minji says, “i don’t deserve her at all but she’s the one who makes the final call. i would be happy just letting her know how much she means to me. her acknowledgement is already enough for me.”

wonyoung stares at her for a moment (rei and jiwon think she’s about to pounce on minji) before sighing, “you’re right, you don’t deserve her at all.”

“why help me then?” minji asks, genuinely curious. if wonyoung thought she was undeserving of your love, why would she even text her to help her out?

“because y/n was sad without you,” she answers plainly. it was truly that simple. you were upset with the lack of kim minji in your life. wonyoung just wanted you to be happy again.

it didn’t matter whether kim minji deserved you or not. wonyoung wanted to see that spark return again. she wanted to hear your cheerful humming in the kitchen, a sleep-deprived yujin telling you to shut up. she wanted to hear your joyful skips in the hallway, gaeul telling you to slow down in case you fall. she wanted to see your face light up at the thought of minji. she wanted to just feel the happiness radiating off your body.

that was all she ever wanted.

“thank you, for making y/n happy,” wonyoung says finally, “even though she may be an idiot at times (rei silently thinks, mostly all the time), she means well. her intentions are pure. i hope you can appreciate that much.”

minji nods, “thank you for giving me this chance again. and for believing in me. i’m glad she’s as happy as me right now.”

the tall girl smiles, “good talk, kim minji.” she then turns to jiwon and rei, scowling at them and dragging them out of your room.

a notification lights up on minji’s phone. it’s you. minji subconsciously smiles before replying.

masterlist | next

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[draculasfavoritewife]

Idle Hands

Summary: Whenever Tony forgets to go to bed, it's always been up to you to bring him back to your side.

Pairing: Tony Stark x fem!Reader

Warnings: Heavy on the softness compared to most of my other stuff; I was in a very sentimental (read: sad and touch-starved) mood back when I wrote this lol. Tony Stark is a TEASE both in word and deed -- I have said it is canon therefore it is now. The feral way he makes me feel should be illegal. Also you can read the...implications of my vague wordings towards the end as tame or as smutty as you wish ;)

I feel the need to mention here that Tony Stark has been my most favorite comic book character since I was but a mere 11 years old. He holds the distinction of being my longest-running fictional crush/object of my obsessions and I love him so deeply and for so many little reasons that I could write a PhD dissertation on him. So please enjoy my little love letter to the man that has held my heart for nearly a decade and a half <3

It's that point of the night where you really can't decide if it should be counted as ungodly late or ungodly early. 4:00 am does tend to scramble the thoughts.

You've been drifting in and out of an uneasy sleep for what feels like forever, and as you roll away from the digital clock display on the wall with an annoyed sigh, you suddenly see why.

The other side of the bed is utterly untouched.

He hasn't been here with you at all.

You sit up, trying to remember if he had plans tonight. The calendar app on your phone has no record of a gala, awards ceremony, board meeting, or anything else that might have taken up his time.

Which means he's probably down in the lab again.

Briefly, you contemplate trying to call him, but you know from experience that he probably isn't taking calls right now, even if FRIDAY tried to put one through for you. He's in that zone that only designing and building can put him in, the one mindset where his too-busy brain is crystal clear and the world at last makes sense to him.

So you pull yourself out of bed, throw one of his old sweatshirts on over your cami and pajama shorts (he keeps the AC cranked all the way whenever it's warm outside) and pad out of the bedroom and on your way downstairs.

His lab is awe-inspiring as always, no matter how many times you see it. The purring thrum of the generators and the comforting pulse of dimmed lights, the heavy, electric feeling of the air itself -- he's described his workspace to you as having a life of its own before, and you can understand so well why time escapes him down here.

You just hope he's not using it to escape from other things as well.

He's deeply absorbed in his work on something at a station opposite the door, and your heart skips a beat even as you smile fondly at the familiar sight. Clad in sweatpants and a black tank through which you can just barely see the blue glow of his arc reactor, he looks all at once more human than usual and like some being from another world entirely.

It's the Stark curse, he told you once, and you recall the wry slant of his lips as he said so. To know you're a god trapped in a mortal body, an infinite mind with a finite number of years to use it. It's the reason behind all his greatest triumphs -- and all his harshest falls from grace.

And somehow, you were lucky enough to be the one he fell in love with.

It still feels like a dream sometimes.

Realizing he isn't going to look up on his own anytime soon, you stifle a yawn and knock sharply on the doorframe.

"Tony?"

He stiffens as if he's been shocked (always a possibility, when he's rewiring) and shoves the safety glasses high up on his forehead. "That would be yours truly. Everything alright?"

With a laugh, you cross the room, warmth rising in your chest as he immediately sets down his tools and steps out from behind the table to meet you. And damn, he always looks good -- he is Tony Stark, after all -- but there's always something about him when his hair gets all unruly and he has THAT look of intense concentration on his face that really drives home to you all over again just how gorgeous he is.

You cuddle up to him, and he kisses the top of your head.

"Asked you a question, Honey."

"Do you know what time it is, Tony?"

There's a prolonged moment of answering silence as he glances up at one of his nearby monitors. "Crap. Well, why are you up?"

Pulling back slightly so you can tease the protective eyewear off his head, you give him a look. "Can't sleep."

An eyebrow tilts; he's playing dumb.

"And that's my problem why?"

"Jerk." You take your time playing with his glossy dark hair, neatening it back up before raking your fingers through it to mess it up again. "Maybe because you love me...?"

"Oh, so you're down here looking for sympathy, got it." He smirks at you, a well-practiced and infuriatingly handsome look. "In that case, sorry about your insomnia, Beautiful. There's melatonin in the drug cabinet upstairs." He snares the safety glasses from your fingers once more and makes as if to return to his work. "Sympathetic enough for you?"

You wrap your arms around his waist from behind, stopping him from going any further, though the smug son of a bitch starts tinkering with his new designs again even through your persistent clinging. It mesmerizes you for a couple seconds, always has, the way his hands work with such delicate precision and dexterity, and you can't help selfishly wishing he would turn them towards other, less...mechanical endeavors at this moment.

He probably would, in all honesty, but Tony Stark is the king of making you work for it. Philanthropic he may be, but some things even you have to earn from him when he's feeling particularly devilish.

"I don't want your pity," you hum, pressing a sleepy kiss to his shoulder. "I was lonely without you."

"Perfectly understandable. I've been told by many that I'm scintillating company. You can, by all means, stay and watch me work, you know. Feeds my humble ego."

You roll your eyes and impatiently reach up under his shirt, feeling his muscles tense at the unexpected coldness of your hands.

That finally gets his attention and makes him turn around. Before you can even fully comprehend it, he's swept his work out of the way and lifted you up onto the worktable instead, restless fingers drawing intricate patterns on your inner thighs, though his eyes never leave yours, crystalline blue pinning your attention to his amused face instead of his very distracting hands.

"That," he grins, "was adorable. Sleepy version of you is so much more demanding. Maybe I should stay down here too long more often."

You try to frown at him, though his sparkling gaze and mischievous touch make that impossible. "How dare you."

"I do a lot of dumb things to see where they get me. You know that." He nods at the thick gray sweatshirt still keeping you warm. "Why don't you take that off for me, Sweetness. You make me cold, I get to return the favor."

Unable to come up with something snarky to say in return with the way his hands are making you shiver now, you do as he suggests with little resistance, the exposed skin of your arms and chest prickling at the much cooler air.

He leans in to tenderly kiss your neck, and your breath leaves in a sigh at the way his facial hair scratches at your throat. He's always been a helluva kisser and the meticulously maintained goatee is just the icing on the cake. Making out on his worktable was not the original plan when you first came down here, but even by his own admission Tony's best plans are usually improvised.

And you're certainly not complaining.

"What did you want from me again?" he murmurs, close to your ear.

The absolute audacity of him.

"Mmmmmmm," seems to be about all you can manage at the moment, and you know very well what's coming next.

He pulls you closer to him, the movements of his fingers turning agonizingly slow and prompting a slight gasp from you.

The smile that gradually spreads its way across his mouth is absolutely wicked.

"What was that, Sweetheart? I didn't quite catch it."

You try to reclaim some semblance of coherence, but his firm hold on you prevents you from escaping his delightfully systematic torture, so instead you grab on to his well-defined shoulders, your forehead resting against his chest. The mechanically-stabilized beat of his heart echoing beneath his skin a brief reminder that he's alive, despite everything he's been through, and he is yours. There's no one else on his mind, no one else he's let this far into his messy and often painful world.

The world may know him as Iron Man, the one who has saved them more times than they could ever count, but how many people really know the Tony that you know?

That same Tony who now raises one hand to tip your head back, whose sharp eyes soften with affection for the slightest of seconds before the anticipated words fall from his tongue, the words he knows will always unravel you.

"You just have to tell me what you want. Come on, Princess. Use your words."

You shudder and lean in to beg for another kiss.

"You, Tony. Always you. Please."

He kisses you back with renewed intensity, leaving you completely breathless.

"There we go...was that so hard?"

[aziraphales-library]

Hello and thank you for being a great source of fics! I read a super sweet outsider AU that included Crowley singing Abba songs and I need more! Are there any Abba themed fics you would recommend to us?

Hi! Here are some fics featuring ABBA songs/references, and a couple of Mamma Mia! fics...

The Stars Were Bright, My Dear Boy by not_joeys_secret_account (T)

It’s 1977 and Aziraphale and Crowley go to see Star Wars in the theatre, and, surprisingly, Aziraphale has never heard of ABBA

And Everything Is You by acetonitril (T)

Once a week, Crowley joins the local pub's karaoke night to sing an ABBA song. Aziraphale doesn't know about this. This is the story of Aziraphale finding out. Also, there's a bunch of students who might or might not be involved.

How You Thrill Me by ingafterdark (E)

There were three things Crowley would remember about this movie. The deception-driven chaos, the blastedly delightful musical numbers, and the idle weight of Aziraphale’s hand on Crowley’s thigh, which grew ever-more insistent from about the half-hour mark. Or: The night in the South Downs when a certain Angel debauched a certain Demon as Mamma Mia! played in the background.

I Believe In Angels by Raphaela Crowley (T)

Crowley and Aziraphale travel to a Greek island under false pretenses. Aziraphale's a bit worried about the morality of the situation, while Crowley just wants that blasted ABBA song to not be stuck in his head any more. Sophie S. wonders if the father she's never known is Sam Carmichael or just some guy in sunglasses named Anthony Cowwley.

One Look And You're Hypnotized by quiltedspacemittens (T)

“What are you doing in Greece?” Aziraphale asks, with distanced politeness, as the silence between them stretches a moment too long. Crowley ambles, one step behind him. “’M here on business. Supposed to tempt some poor woman to engineer a decades-long inheritance and property tax evasion scheme. Something about her ex-boyfriends.” “I see. And she’s on Kalokairi?” Kalokairi, Greece, 1977. One moustachioed demon on business, one clean-shaven principality on holiday, and one island in need of a little divine intervention. A Mamma Mia!-themed Tony fic written for Stayin' Julive aka Tony Month. Hypothetically updates every Wednesday in July. Title from "Angeleyes" by ABBA.

dancing queen (guaranteed to blow your mind) by Quilly (T)

Warlock has a secret, and it's that he invited three former staff members from his estranged parents' household to his wedding in the hopes that one of them is the one Nanny is still in love with. Crowley is just wondering what entity he pissed off to make three of his old flames show up the day before his adopted kid's wedding.

Do You Like ABBA? by Matcha_Tea_and_Other_Delights (T)

“I heard there’s going to be a meteor shower tonight.” The boy tells Aunt Lilith. “Oh?” She says in response, still a little unfamiliar with some of the earthly phrases and customs. “Yeah, stars falling from the sky and you get to make a wish, it’s great. Might stay up in my room watching them for a while.” Aunt Lilith looks up at the sky too, this time with an odd sense of woe coloring her features. “Falling stars, huh?” Or: Seven years after the events of Not-mageddon, things start to gear up for the Second Coming: Supreme Archangel Raphael would sound the alarms, a flight is boarded, as a swarm of locusts envelope the Earth. Everything is destroyed, with nothing left standing. The End. …yeah that’s not gonna happen. For starters, Satan is missing. Or or: Like the ones before them, it’s up to an angel and a demon to try and stop the world from ending. Third time’s the charm isn’t it? (Basically, what if Good Omens 3 went like this?)

- Mod D

[kittyplushy]

Rose Colored Everything

House Guest beach episode(?)! Insane lesbian journalling.

I took Julianne camping on the beach like I had promised. Somewhere far from the strip of parties and luxury resorts, we set up our base under the palm trees. We had to move our equipment several times throughout the day due to the fluctuating tides.

Julianne told me she wanted to go swimming. She excitedly described the cool waters and the soft sand as a tide tickled our heels that morning. She could hardly wait. When I was satisfied with the state of our setting, she went ahead and dipped her feet into the water. She lifted her sundress and allowed the waves to push her off balance. I only caught up to her moments later and she was already dancing in the water, laughing at how wet she was getting and the breeze caught her hat away. She steps out of her idle glee to grab it, placing it back on with a grin. I could feel my heart beating with a warmth that rivaled the infernal sunshine.

I came closer to the water to join her. Neither of us were even dressed appropriately for the waters. The jeans drag with me, and the polyester warps around my body. The sheer of the sundress might rip if the waves crashed harder and harsher. The sun was only getting hotter as the minutes passed. We just stood there together for comfort. For our safety. I looked down to her drenched face and wiped aside sea grass that stuck on her cheeks.

I thought the waves had taken the glasses away from me.

I was expecting that this trip would slap some sense back into me. Make me remember why I even tried this experiment at all. Maybe I would call it a good few months and let the boat go. Drift the pieces to the bottom of the sea for her fish to eat.

However, the more I looked at her, the pinker the sky became. For those brief moments the voices in my soul were completely shut. My ears were satisfied by the sound of the wind and the water. Then the feeling of uncertainty returned that evening. I am in some beach I had never been to. Under coconut trees I've never seen. I am a twisty rope that needs to be straightened out. I lost my apetite again.

But then she came back to me later that evening. As the sun set, she showed me a collection of shells she had accumulated walking and swimming around. She found smooth pebble-like shells with spirals winding down to the center. She also found vivid old red hermit shells with distinct patterns and orientations. She tells me again that nature has a term for perfection. I couldn't think of anything else thoughtful to say so I just smiled.

It started to rain after the sun set. The water had risen with the moon but we sat on the sand until the water took half our bodies under it. I dried off her body in our tent and she returned the favor. We shared some fresh clams we caught that afternoon. Even in a sand-filled sleeping bag I could see flowers bloom all around her. I could see that a storm was creeping up the horizon from her garden. I can touch what is real.

[lycemagee]

Soulmates

Cult AU (click for more Informations) - Ikevil

Summary: What was it that Florence disturbed so much, after the talk with Nika and Darius? - Childhood flashback

Warning: domestic abuse, child abuse, panic attack, cultism, violence

Words: 4004

When we were seven, I asked one of the maids what a soulmate was. 

Some days before, when our father reminded us about our destination, soulmates were also being explained by him. Because I wasn’t able to really grasp the concept, I asked her to clarify it for me. Surprised she laughed whilst doing my hair, the two additional occupants in the room idling away. The brown haired seemingly reading a fairytale book, while the other, with black hair, just sat on a chair, looking around with a bored gaze. 

"Isn't it the same as a lover?" the one with the bored gaze, asked. 

"Not necessarily. A soulmate can also be someone who just understands you completely, for example if you are sad or happy," added the other kid and looked up from his book. 

"Eh... Like a mind-reader?" I asked bluntly, turning my head, but the maid laughed and reminded me to keep my head straight. 

"Noohooooo!" said the two boys simultaneously and as a reaction I pouted and ignored them. "Thea, what is it now?" 

The maid named Thea still chuckled and kept braiding my hair. 

"The two didn't get it wrong. A soulmate can be a lover, but also someone who understands you so well that they are able to tell when you are sad or happy. But it's much deeper. It is said that soulmates do not possess a whole soul." I looked at her, shocked at first, until the confusion got stronger. 

"Why? Where is it? How can they live when they are broken?" 

"Not broken, dummy. They are just... not whole," said the boy on the chair and leaned against it, tilting it. 

"Isn't that the same?" annoyed, I turned my head, shooting him a glare, which made Thea pull my hair a bit and reminding me to stand still, talking further.

"Just because something isn't whole, doesn't mean it's broken. But the soul senses its imperfection and tries to make itself "whole" again. Their whole life without it, it will feel lonely and search for the other half, continuing its search until it finally finds what was missing."

"That sounds sad. Poor soulmate," I wiggled my legs. The other two just listened quietly, waiting. 

"Yes, it is sad. Fortunately, a soulmate is never born alone. The other part of their soul reincarnates in another human body," her voice took a soft tone, seemingly reminiscing. 

"Really? That's good! So they aren't alone!" I said enthusiastically. 

The boy looked up from his book again. "That might be but they still need to find each other."

"And that can take your whole life! Sometimes they find each other and sometimes they do not. But the longing for the other part will never disappear," Thea tried to explain and put some ribbons in my hair. I pouted even harder, my legs shook off impatience. 

"Then it's dumb to be a soulmate. I don't want to be one!" I said clearly frustrated. The other boys looked at each other, they exchanged weird looks but didn't say anything. Thea gave me a little slap on the back and I breathed out heavily, gave out a surprised yelp. 

"You shouldn't be so ungrateful! After all you have your soulmates already," her tone was serious, but her playful mimic towards the two boys revealed her intentions. I looked at them confused. 

Curious, I looked back at her "Who?" 

The boy with brown hair laughed and the bored one sighed resignedly, before jokingly saying "Let it drop, Thea. It's already too much for her." His raven coloured hair dropping onto his forehead. Thea walked towards him, signaling him to sit upright. 

"What is that supposed to mean again, huh?!" I snapped at him, complaining further. "You are always annoying me!" 

Thea began to do his hair. She was chuckling again. 

The boy with his picture book finally closed it, looking at me. "You really didn't listen to Father last time."

"Huh...?"

I looked at him, confused and trying to remember the details from yesterday, but Father spoke a lot of words, so I couldn't really find the important ones. 

"Flo, did you ever feel lonely?", Thea suddenly asked. I looked back to her and jumped from the chair looking at the mirror. I saw the other two and grimaced a bit. 

"No. I am always with these two nags! They never leave me alone!" I crossed my arms and shot them an annoyed look. 

"You are the one who sticks to us like a limpet," the black haired one said mischievously and turned his head slightly, but Thea straightened it again. I clenched my hands into a fist.

"That's not true!" I shouted at them, feeling a bit embarrassed, but they were just laughing. 

"Psst, children please. Calm down. So Florence, you never felt alone. Have you ever had the feeling that you have lost something important? As if something is missing, that you immediately need to find?" A soft smile raced her face. 

"I... I don't know. Maybe... When I am alone in our room," I said with a thoughtful face. 

"You are always crying when you don't find us in the morning!" the other boy with the shining brown hair said with a mocking smile.

"You are mean! I am just worried!" I answered hectically and stomped my feet on the ground. Again Thea held her hand up and shook her head, signalling us to calm down. 

"Haven't you realized it yet, Florence? Of course, the ones you've spent your whole life with are your other parts," she said with a little laugh and I looked at her flabbergasted remembering, that Father said something similar. My head was smoking, trying to make sense of all this information and words. I leaned against the sofa and frowned. 

"But we are three! Not two!" I said in disbelief. 

"A soul can split up not just in two."

There was just silence in the room. Looking at the two boys I felt warm inside, but their mean attitude lately darkened it a bit and I pulled a grimace, huffing and continuing to complain without noticing that someone else entered the room. "No, I don't want to! They are stupid! I'd rather be alone."

"So?"

Suddenly I heard a deep voice and I turned around, when I felt my cheek sting and I stumbled on the ground. Holding my cheek in pain, not even daring to look up. I was in shock, sitting there quietly, my body trembling, not trying to let him see my fear. Furthermore, I didn't even dare to let a tear drop, even if half of my face stung so bad, the skin almost feeling numb. 

The other two boys stood up quickly, but didn't dare to move either. Not only were they scared, but they also feared that their intervention would make the situation worse. But their expressions were filled with worry. Even Thea just looked down and didn't do anything, pretending she didn't see anything. 

"You'd rather be alone? Child, I cannot remember to have taught you such egoistic and ungrateful thoughts," Father said in a chilling, calm voice. I wasn't allowed to speak. I wanted to speak up, but I was scared. His steps were heavy and I could feel his gaze on me, coming closer and closer. 

"Be grateful for a real community, grateful for living in peace, because the world outside is much more cruel. So cold. Full of violence. Full of pain. You three are the chosen ones, able to change this world into something better, cleansing the corruption deep in human nature. But only when you are cleansed from it too," he said slowly, and gripped my arm, as he pulled me up. Realisation did hit me even worse than the slap and I looked up with a pleading gaze. 

"No! Please! I am sorry! I am not corrupt! I am pure! I know the pain! I know the sorrow! Please! Please!" Pleading, I tried to pull away from his grip. Instead his grip tightened and the sharp pain made me yelp. 

The two boys twitched at the same time, as if they could feel the pain through them, and both of them moved quickly forward, until Father gave them a look that made them stop again. They looked at each other, back to me and Father, overwhelmed with what they should do. The brown haired one opened his mouth, trying to choose his words carefully, but before he could even speak up Father interrupted him, his voice sharp as a warning. “Speak up and resist. I know you just want to protect, but realise this is for your own good. And for hers. So don't make it worse.” He moved to the door pulling me outside. I didn't have any shoes on, therefore my socks soaked up the water. It was cold, it gave me an ick, but he continued pulling me further. 

"I was too lenient with you. I think we should teach you what true loneliness is. Holding up pain alone. Your own voice and thoughts are the only thing that will accompany you."

Other adults stepped out of their houses, some of them looked on with a cold gaze, some felt pity, some resolution. 

"I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry! Please! Don't!" I screamed, still trying to pull free, feeling the panic in my throat, the saliva in my mouth vanishing and I looked back to the ones I lived my whole life with, held up my hand, and pleaded to them. With slow and careful steps they followed us, but still kept their distance. 

"Don't leave! Don't leave me! I don't want to go alone!" 

"Thea, don't let the boys step outside. Bring them inside," he said with a louder voice. Panicked, I looked up at him and then back, where Thea gripped the two boys on their arms and pulled them back inside. 

"No! No! Noooooooo!" I screamed and threw myself to the ground, putting all my weight against him. 

"Stand up," he commanded, agitated. 

"No!"

I didn't care how bratty, how ungrateful I seemed at the moment. But exactly this was a mistake, because our Father was not a man of much patience. He had let go of my arm and whistled two adults over. I fell on the ground, my new clothing now dirty and wet from the earth. 

"Take her," he quickly said and I felt four hands on my arms and legs. I tried to pull away, but of course I was too small, too weak. I was thrown away in a cabinet away from the village, away from anyone I knew. The cabinet was dark and cold. There were no windows, just a door, which was always closed. I couldn't see anything outside. No one would talk to me in so many days. Sometimes Father came, giving me lectures. 

I didn’t know what was worse. Being all alone by myself, no one to talk to, no one to be with, or father's lectures. It was when I realised that pain and suffering was much harder to endure, when you have no one who you can share your pain with. I missed them. I missed them so much, I cried every night when I was alone, laying down on a cold bed. The first few days I was screaming against the door, punching it, kicking it, trying to find a way out, but nothing. Furthermore, I could only wait. I can't remember how long I stayed there. I just know that my first wounds were already healed when I came out. 

I sat on the bed. Dreaming. I imagined their voices, when I felt someone sitting next to me, stroking my head. Fathers voice was heard. 

"What are you dreaming about?" 

I was silent for a moment until I answered. 

"I miss them."

My voice was shaking. 

"That's good. Hold on to that feeling. Remember that everything you have, everything you love and honour can be taken away. At every second. There are forces outside, so dark, so sinister. Don't choose that way," his tone insistent, as he held my shoulder. 

“You know, these two are almost happy that you are gone.”

Shocked, I looked at him and shook my head in denial. Father just nodded. “Yes. I mean, you were so vile, so cruel. Who would miss someone who wished to betray the ones that love you.” 

“I didn’t mean it! I was just… angry.” 

“So you are a liar? You know that lying is something you need to take responsibility for. Not just for them. But for all of us. How can we rely on you?”

I was silent. As a child, I was too overwhelmed with these words. To grasp the concept of responsibility. I just knew my loved ones were angry at me. Maybe they didn’t love me anymore. I couldn’t take it. I could feel how tears of frustration built up in my eyes. But I quickly rubbed them away. Father didn’t like tears. 

Saying nothing, not able to make myself talk, we sat for a few minutes on the bed. Suddenly he stood and I looked up at him. My big eyes had a pleading look, making him sigh. I imagined his eyes to soften a tiny bit. Shortly thereafter, he stretched out his arms. 

“Come here. We’re going home,” he whispered and held me in his arms, as we returned to the village again. 

After I took a bath and got new clothes, I went with Father to our house. The smell of wood and rain took over, such a nostalgic smell made me feel safe and home, but my gut also took some hits at the thought of seeing the two again. Did they really not like me anymore? Am I a bad child, who will end the cold darkness, like the humans outside? My thoughts were racing and we stood on the entrance, when Father called them. My eyes staying fixed on the floor. I heard their footsteps, until they stopped in front of us. I heard Father saying their names, when he laid a hand on my shoulder. 

“Florence has something to say, go on!”

It was silent. I stepped forward, still denying to look at their faces, went on my knees, hands on the ground as I lowered my head. I could feel the satisfaction from Father.

“I am very sorry that I doubted, lied and hurt you. I lost my way, but I found it again. I will help to regain the pure state of the world again and sacrifice my blood, my tears and my flesh for it,” I recited, one of the many lines that have been preached to us for years, having burnt them deep into my head. 

I didn’t dare to look up. So I waited. Until I heard Father's footsteps next to me. 

“Good. That was all. Don’t forget you are destined for each other and that you live for each other. You are just as whole as you are together. You are important to them, especially… for the future. Stand up and go to your room. You all!” Father commanded and I slowly stood up, my gaze still fixed on the ground. The other two didn’t say anything, so quietly, I just followed them when they moved towards our room. Why didn’t they say anything? Are they still mad? Will they ignore me forever? 

We entered our room, and I moved to the middle of the room, when one of them closed the door. As if something loosened up, I felt arms around me and my name from their mouth. Surprised, I looked up at them. They looked sad? Relieved? Weren’t they angry? 

“Are you… not angry at me? Don’t you hate me?” I asked in confusion. 

“We? Angry? Why should we?” asked the brown haired boy, his voice strong with relief. 

“We missed you,” said the other one in a mumble and hugged me even deeper. 

Their sincerity moved my heart and tears fell over my face. I was not able to hold them any longer, not after all this time. “But I said so many mean things! I didn’t want to say that. I don’t want to be alone!” I sobbed, rubbing my face.

“It's not bad. We know that. You probably felt worse than we did,” said the brown haired boy with a soothing voice. 

“I couldn’t sleep! It was so cold!” 

“For us too, it felt like something was missing. It was not pretty.” said the raven haired boy and patted my head. After some minutes I calmed down a bit and we held each other's hand on one of the three beds in the room. 

“Father said, you were mad.” I began quietly squeezed their hands. 

“Father said we should be mad. Showing you the cold shoulder, so that you understand. But…” began the brown coloured boy to explain and looked and the raven haired one. He smiled cheekily.“But we searched the whole time for you! It was a bit hard, snooping around with the adults around. But any free second, we gave our best. Even… if we didn’t find you in the end,” he continued, but his cheeky smile turned now more into a regretful one. I shook my head in response. 

“No, it's better like this.. What if you got punished for it too?”

“More punished and cleansed than usual? I've already got used to it, don't worry!” he answered and brown haired agreed. I trembled and I felt how my eyes stung, when I thought about the cleansing time I needed to spend alone. 

“Getting cleansed alone hurts much more. I don’t want to do it alone anymore.” Quickly, I rubbed my tears away.

“Does something hurt? I can make it go away,” the raven haired boy said and held his hand up. 

“Pssht! Don’t say that too loud. You know we are not allowed to use it. There is someone downstairs,” the brown haired one admonished and looked towards the door. I shook my head and their gaze landed on me again.

“No. There is no pain.”

It was silent again and I bit on my lips, deep in thoughts but not able to grasp one. To articulate one. One of them nudged me softly with an elbow against my arm. 

“You are still sad. Don’t be! We are together again!”

“Exactly, and we stay together!”

“We will marry each other.”

“And live together!” 

“Right?” they finally asked in unison, and for the first time I had a smile on my face. 

I nodded. “And they all lived happily ever after!” 

.

.

.

I still have our laughs in my head. Their smiles. But I am blocking out their faces. I don't want to remember. Happily ever after? They are gone. They left me behind and never looked back. I don’t know if they are alive, or died on that night. I just know that my bed has felt cold ever since. With this bitter feeling in my heart, my blood was boiling and even after Fathers death his words continued to hunt me down, making me doubt my path, making me feel guilty about my own thoughts, always.

“We are not together anymore… so don’t waste my time. Every single one of you.” 

I sense how someone enters my room, while I stand by the window, looking outside, not bothering to look towards the door. These light and elegant steps are more than enough to guess who it is. I could hear him putting something down on the desk.

“Are you still thinking about the conversation we had earlier?”

“I am just haunted by memories of the dead. Or… people who should have been dead.”

“Hm…” Darius mumbles. He is sitting on the bed behind me and crosses his legs elegantly. His smile is as angelic and beautiful as ever. “What kind of memories? Your father?”

“He too,” I say vaguely, feeling his gaze on me. He has something on his mind, but seems to be waiting. For a reaction from me? Or something else. I don't give him anything and stare blankly. 

“Why did you feign ignorance, when you knew the answer to the question?” he suddenly asks, and I feel trapped. 

I am looking at him with widened eyes, instinctively rubbing my arms, as if it's cold. He holds his hands up and looks at me with a reassuring smile. “Don’t be scared. I am not mad, nor do I want you to punish you for it, that you chose to keep it to yourself. Remember? You are free to do what you want.”

I have been living with him for over a year now, but the warnings in my head, all the time of obeying orders and fearing for a ‘cleanse’, make it still hard for me to believe his words alone. I stand away from him, so that he needs at least two steps before he could grab me, concentrating on his reactions, his hands, just any of his movements. 

He can feel it. He sees my analysing gaze and leans back, his hands on his thigh and he waits. So long till I calmed down a bit, my shoulders falling down, my breath slowing down and sighing, “I am… was already destined for someone.” 

“I don’t need to know, I just wanted to know why you are pretending.”

“Because they are gone! I don’t want to think about it! They are long forgotten,” I say agitatedly and look out of the window again. 

“They died?” Darius asks and tilts his head. I am just furrowing my eyebrows and biting my lips, saying nothing. His eyes widen a bit, when he starts to realise, “No… they left you.” A pitiful smile paints his face. 

The ring on my finger feels so cold and heavy, my stomach twisting and I am turning starting to snap at him, “What does it matter? I will never see them again! I don’t want to see them ever again. It’s better when they are just dead. This is less painful than the thought that they didn't come back to get me.”

My voice vibrated through the room, until I realised that I raised my voice and my skin became pale from shock. I am putting my hand on my mouth, shaking my head.

“I… I am sorry! I didn’t want to do that. Please forgive me!” I apologize quickly, looking down, but Darius just laughs. 

“No need to apologize. It’s more refreshing to see you getting more and more emotional. How interesting!”

I look at him bewildered, but he just smiles, standing up, making my body twitch instantly, but this time it doesn't hold him back, instead he stands right in front of me and takes one of my hair strands between his fingers.

“You already have been here for over a year now, Florence, and only recently you began to come out of your shell, more and more. I am really glad, you know,” Darius leans forward and whispers in my ear, causing shivers to run all over my body. He then steps back just as quickly as he stood in front of me.

“You don’t need to go after your so-called destined path. You know it doesn’t exist. You can enjoy your existence as you like, also with whom you like,” he says as if he would reassure me, but I am only able to stare at him blankly.

“I know…”

“You are saying that, but you still look unconvinced.” 

“Because they lived with me as my soulmates.”

“Soulmates?”

“Bearer of a part of my soul.”

Children laughing are heard inside the room, and I am closing my eyes, shaking my head. It was a lost memory. It should stay in the deepest part of my mind. I stare at the ring on my finger. A simple rose gold ring with no value and no benefit. 

[sqarletsworldlesswandering]

Hello there fellow Worldless Fan!

Got any fun headcanons or theories?

Hello hello! (Gosh y'all are so welcoming, I love it-)

Hrmmmmmm. I don't have a ton of headcanons (yet), but I can certainly come up with a few, lol. Mostly for the personality of our beloved duo.

Edda:

Strikes me as the more "professional" of the two (I mean, look at her idle-). However, this is more true early in the game, while we're still chasing Aven.

That said, when actually revving for a fight, she's more akin to a chihuahua in my head. Smol, but Will Fight You. Also true early on, and just takes on a more chaotic undertone as you progress and she has someone to Protect.

She has impulse control, and half the time knows something is a bad idea, but will do it anyway if she's riled up enough. This also tempers out a (very) little bit, and shifts from "I'm gonna do it anyway" to "Let's see if I can scare the living daylights out of Aven."

Has a serious playful streak, once she get's comfortable. Especially when dashing hither and thon and sprinting across water (Aven refuses to accept any challenges to a race after getting fooled once). I like to think this surfaces after merging with Aven, and that beforehand she was too focused on being "professional" to indulge. Aven gets her to chill a bit.

Aven:

The more casual, even-keel of the two, but early on also a bit chaotic compared to Edda's markedly militant undertones.

Also the more playful by default. He seems like he would have a good sense of humor.

That said, I also envision him as being a little more reserved up-front, given that after the initial awakening, he opts to run rather than fight. I always pictured that as a mix of fear, calculation, and reservation, with emphasis on the reservation since something very new just happened, and he needs to process that before he tries fighting the other participant in that.

(Edda: "He asked for no pickles.")

I also envision him as the rest of Edda's impulse control when her inner chihuahua wins out. This is also the part where he develops grey hairs every time she decides scaring him with a stunt would be fun.

Both Edda and Aven have their aggressive streaks, but where Edda has the aforementioned chihuahua vibes, Aven is more of a porcupine/cactus - he prickles at you, and glares at you, but would also like to deter you from starting the fight if he can, and if he can't, he ain't instigating.

Less of a personality note, but that scarf of his is somehow immune to water (joking off of how in-game it continues to flap underwater, and doesn't get soggy and weighed down), and Edda is jealous. (I would like to think that at least once she snags the end of it to use as an umbrella.)

Some other miscellaneous stuff:

Aven would 100% braid Edda's hair if she lets him (which she might, later on).

As much of a fuss as he makes of it, he doesn't actually mind her using his scarf as an umbrella (even though it doesn't work very well).

Aven is the one who likes taking time to explore, and encourages Edda to slow down and enjoy things (I base this largely off of how Edda has faster movement).

The fight with Angel? Yeah, Aven ends up taking back-seat for that one, and not even because he wanted to, but because Edda has found a Groove and he's not sure he wants to interfere with it.

A similar notion is true of fighting Demon, if for...different reasons. (Basing that both on the angst potential, and on the fact that I pretty much only used Aven for evasive maneuvers and fire in that fight.)

Anyways, that got long-

I will add more as more comes to me, and knowing me it will eventually, lol. Hope you enjoy the headcanons!

[msbhagirathi]

The Angel That Set Them Free [TATSTF 7]

Hi. Welcome. Go on. Read it. :)

She kept crying for what felt like hours and sagged into the bench. Exhausted. Her body giving away.

The baby already fast asleep. A few minutes ago she had woken up, crying as loudly as she could to inform about the empty-ness of her small tummy. Khushi had somehow managed to pull herself together and went to the reception for help. They had immediately brought up a bottle of warm milk for the baby.

Already exhausted with all the panic and worry she couldn't help but drift away in deep slumber.

She was knocked up abruptly from her sleep by a nurse. She vaguely registered her voice speaking out, addressing her, to wake up and go see her husband.

She managed to nod her head and raising herself up from the bench clutching the baby carefully. Her grip had somewhat loosened due to the lack of meal last night.

She entered the room where he had been shifted.

"Room no. 326."

The nurse had replied.

She pushed the door open and the cold-ness of the air-conditioner acted like a whiplash on her senses. The door slowly closed behind her. She stared at her husband lying, in the bed, unconscious. An oxygen mask covering up most of his handsome face.

Khushi had always found her husband beautiful outwardly. God had taken a great deal of time to make up his features for that matter.

The chiseled jaw, the beautiful and very expressive set of brown orbs, the long and sleek nose and the pretty but chapped lips.

She kept staring at his ~half covered by oxygen mask~ face.

"I can't say anything right now. If he doesn't wake up in the next ~forty eight or so~ hours, he might be in the risk of slipping into coma." Came tumbling the doctor's words from last evening.

She shivered, recalling the finality in his tone.

Please don't slip into coma.

Please wake up.

Please.

Your daughter needs you.

Your wife needs you.

She knew she was being overly-emotional. Even though he would of course accept his daughter and even embrace her but he would never accept her as his wife. It probably was just wishful thinking.

She also knew that there was no reason for her to yearn for his validation and acceptance of her, she knew she was much better in that sense. She knew she didn't need any man to validate her position anywhere in this life. She was in fact a very proud and sensible woman in that sense.

But nevertheless. She had always felt this inexplicable urge to give him the tightest bear hug ever since she had laid her eyes on him. She had weirdly felt that the man might be in an urgent need for it.

She had always found herself thinking about him in her idle time. Ways in which she could have helped him get over his state had he just asked her for her help.

And yet she also understood the difficulty of opening up about such a dark past to a complete stranger.

She had kind of grown a fond-ness for her husband.

Arnav Singh Raizada.

So much for not seeking out help for his condition.

"Why did you do this to us?"

She found herself wailing out, miserably failing to contain the sob that was bubbling out from her weak being once again.

"Why...?"

And she broke out into another miserable sobbing once more.

After going back to the penthouse, to freshen up, she quietly turned the key to open the door.

The baby, meanwhile, sleeping peacefully in a cot beside her father's bed, in the hospital.

She gingerly entered the apartment. Fearing the sight that would welcome her in the kitchen.

Horrific flashbacks from last evening came tumbling into her memory continuously.

Drops of panic starting to spread into her insides. She tried to will herself into calmness.

She kept trodding further inside the penthouse, closing the door behind her.

The sight of the kitchen doorframe instantly had her sprinting for the bedroom. Her limbs shaking with the trauma. She tried strip away from her clothes and take a bath somehow.

The cold water running through her body somewhat relaxed her from the panic.

She wore a new set of clothes shakily and walked towards the kitchen keeping her eyes closed.

"Please be clean."

She turned on the lights and kept chanting continuously as if the floor would listen to her and would clean itself up immediately.

She slowly opened one of her eyes and then the other. Sagging against the doorframe, she felt her body relaxing at the sight of a clean and spotless floor and instantly recalled that the penthouse was assigned to domestic helps, who regularly used to come in to clean the whole apartment.

Relief now coursing through her veins, she again broke out into sobs.

After a few minutes of crying and sniffing she went about the kitchen to make something for her starved self.

Occasionally, the memory of her husband lying behind her would pop up randomly in her mind and as a reflex she would try to dodge around it only to realize that he was now lying in that hospital bed, probably safe.

She tried to imagine him walking into this very space at that time and fishing out the largest chef-knife, which she hardly ever used because of its obvious enormity. She played in her mind the way he would have pulled out the knife and whether he would have thought about her and her reaction to this drastic decision that he had taken.

She wondered whether he would have even considered her presence in his mind and life, enough to think about her reaction.

She jerked away from that chain of thoughts and instead concentrated on her food.

After finishing her meal, she cleaned up the kitchen and went back to the hospital.

The day went by in a whoosh, with her sitting beside her husband's bed staring at him; waiting for him to wake up.

That night she once more fell asleep with trails of dried tears streaking her cheeks. She woke up the next morning only to repeat what she had done the last night from reaching the penthouse, freshening up, getting dressed, preparing her meal, eating it, occasionally getting the flashbacks and shivering from the horror of it, cleaning up the kitchen and going back to the hospital room to stare at her husband wait for him to wake up.

However, as evening was fast turning into its darker counterpart, worry started gnawing at her insides again.

She kept praying to all the gods of the world while looking intently at his medical reports to spot some kind of miracle which could help him to gain his consciousness but she couldn't find anything as such.

And suddenly.

"Water."

She heard a low rasp and looked up at the man in front of her. Thanking the gods for listening to her prayers, she quickly picked up the glass from the side table and held it to his lips.

She hesitantly slipped her left hand behind his neck and held the glass in her right.

But as soon as she did it, he choked on the water and coughs started bubbling out from his weak being. She helped him sit up on the bed and kept the glass firmly to his dried lips to help him down the liquid slowly and more carefully.

She saw him gradually come to his senses as he carefully looked around himself. As if a mind of their own, her fingers quickly pulled up his medical reports and she firmly kept her gaze at them.

She didn't know the reason but slow and blind rage started creeping into her being and she found herself clenching her teeth to somehow rein it all in.

She stubbornly kept staring at the reports even when she sensed his gaze on her.

She knew she was being stupid because a moment ago she was the one who could do anything for him to wake up and yet now when he had woken up she felt nothing but angry.

Angry for putting her through all this. Angry for not thinking through his decision.

Angry for not thinking about his daughter and who would be responsible to raise her.

Angry for so many things.

And yet, she did not find it in herself to point out her objections at this specific moment. Tired as she already was by all the things that was going on around her from the past two days.

So, she looked up from the file and unsprisingly found her husband's eyes already on her.

She raised an eyebrow to question him for god knows what.

She somewhat felt him turning red, before he cleared his throat and asked the one thing she wouldn't have ever prepared herself for out of all the things in the world.

"Doe...does my family know?"

[lesharl-eclair]

simi fic recs pt. 1

um i wrote half of this at 2am so.. any errors mine ::::) heed the tags etc etc i think this doesnt; need to be saisd

all fics below the cut; if you enjoyed these fics, please show the authors comment and kudo love; should you be the author of a fic that's here, and don't want to be here, please reach out to me and your wish is my command :)

individual fics first as always!

maybe just a little by neonbreadsticks (G, 4.1k)

Kimi doesn’t remember much these days. Only the soft glow of the sunlight through the beige curtains, and the smell of the flowers in the garden before they bloom. The sound of a beat-up Aston Martin idling in his driveway and his dustless shelves in his living room. The curve of Seb’s lips, pulled back against his cheeks, the crows feet that only appear when he laughs at things beyond Kimi’s level of understanding.  Kimi doesn’t remember much these days, but he remembers enough.

ok fr i cried (and proceeded to write this)

this is one of my all-time favourite simi fics because of how beautiful it is - their story isn't over-embellished, it's just given a lot of space to shine. there's a certain heartache that comes w/ the added complication of ferrari & discarding of naivete & us vs the world levels of heroic framing & the idea that seb isn't ok but kimi's there that makes the fic really bring on the waterworks for me.

***

to survive the tides by @shih-coulda-had-it (T, 4.6k)

The surge of want nearly overwhelmed Sebastian’s impulse control, sorely tested since the beginning of their partnership in Ferrari, and now so worn and tattered that Sebastian almost said, ‘Yes, go ahead, take whatever you want, I will give it to you.’ Sebastian Vettel attends the 2018 FIA Prize Giving.

OH MY GOD i spent an embarrasingly long time making sure it was actually your tumblr hehehaha.

something really special about the way you wrote the interactions. everything is incredibly true to life (warily impressed at the amount of research you must have done)

there's a sense of restrained tension slash want slash bittersweet something that runs through this entire thing. am very compelled. every time i reread this it's a different experience.

***

to the finnish line by @rosyjuly (E, 3.2k)

"It’s the perfect car to have some fun. Might even take the roof down.” They do. They also take Charles back to their hotel room.

can i just say i let out a very embarrassing noise when i realised who the author was on tumblr like oh my GOD. OH my goddd

SIMI DOMESTICITY SHINING THROUGH??? as unlikely as it seems in such a fic. inside jokes. the very questionable power dynamics lol. seriously torn about how to feel for charles. very brilliant unexpected characterisation.

***

what a thing to choose by @thereisstillalifetolive (E, 2/2, 10.1k)

If someone had asked Kimi what he thought about Seb’s acting ability prior to this he would’ve laughed in their face, Iceman or not. Because while Seb’s ability to talk circles around a question he doesn’t want to answer is unparalleled, a reasonably trained goldfish could discern how he feels about it. Except. Right now, Kimi’s not entirely certain what year he’s actually in.

still don't know how to talk about this fic coherently it was one of the holyshit moments for me

there are still some tiny sweet moments that shine through. amidst all the Stuff going on. and the vulnerability becomes all the more devastating. like yes this is ageplay this is performance (to some extent) but it's also very real. characterisation is breathtaking, sex speaks for itself, possessive kimi + desperate seb is hmmmmhmmhm. rearranging my brain.

***

thanks for reading, etc. there's loooots more simi fic recs coming your way if i can be bothered

as always, if you enjoyed this, or if i missed any fic, please let me know :) drop me an ask for any ship if you're dying to see something!

[octuscle]

DeepTraining Part 2 – Gus

One of the first people to approach Stefek after IronData's presentation was Constantine. Constantine had worked with Stefek on two startups and had also made a lot of money on the exits. Unfortunately, he had been less fortunate with his business ideas after that; much of his fortune had already been spent. But there was more than enough left over for a carefree life. Besides, Constantine was a truly brilliant Data Scientist who loved his work. He was not made for idleness. Stupidly, he also looked like a Data Scientist. He looked like someone who loved to sit at a computer for a living: fat, pale, a bit unkempt. He had been an oddball since childhood. He was always teased. The feminine-sounding name hadn't helped. So he had kept to himself. But after seeing his old pal Stephen, he wanted to change that. If the nerd Stephen could become the alpha male Stefek, he wanted that too.

The two had met in Paris shortly after the trade show where Stefek had presented IronData. Stefek was on a promotional tour of France; Constantine was serving as interim CDO at a pharmaceutical company. "Let me be honest," Constantine got straight to the point. "IronData is hot shit. Great concept. I believe in your success. But your body wasn't shaped by IronData." The two had deliberately not met in public. Stefek had guessed it would be about DeepTraining. But there he was sworn to secrecy. And he didn't even want to imagine what could happen if he didn't keep to the agreement. Therefore, he answered honestly that he could not say much about it. But he could try to make a contact. And he wanted to point out that it would be expensive. How much Constantine would loosen up like that. Constantine was counting up his financial possibilities. He once estimated his fortune at $80 million to $90 million. Stefek slipped him the public business card of the young man from DeepTraining. It looked completely neutral. Nothing pointed to DeepTraining. Stefek thought it might be a little difficult to reach the contact. But a man with Constantine's skills should be able to do it. The two arranged to meet for lunch the next day, after which Stefek had to return to Gdansk.

Constantine had spent the whole night on the phone and at the computer. But he had actually managed to make an appointment with the young man. In three weeks. Somewhere in the countryside of Burgundy. Stefek didn't say a word. But instead Stefek slipped him an envelope. If he should meet someone, he should hand over the envelope. Constantine nodded. The two said goodbye.

A few weeks later, Constantine and the young man were sitting across from each other in a wine cellar of a chateau in Burgundy. The young man read Stefek's letter. He put the paper on the table, smiled at Constantine. What could he do for him? Constantine was sweating. He was nervous. And then he stammered that he wanted to become like Stefek. Maybe not such a colossus. But he wanted to become a man. Masculinity made flesh. He wanted everyone to want sex with him. And that he could have sex all the time. Constantine was in his early 30s and still a virgin. With no chance of ever going to bed with a woman or a man. Sure his money had helped him hook up with hookers and hustlers. But he had always been too nervous to get down to business. That was his driving force. "Well," the young man said. "You have half Greek roots, after all. Southern genes, in my experience, are a good basis for transformation in your sense. From there we should be able to comply with your wishes. I have just read the letter from our dear common friend Stefek. We are making a proposal to you. The transformation costs $100 million. Unfortunately, we cannot do it cheaper than that. Stefek offers to buy all your possessions from you for exactly that amount. We will carry out the transformation in Johannesburg. The authorities in South Africa are quite lax, there it will be easier to integrate you into a new life. Stefek has even already organized a plan for your departure. Settlement of the purchase contract, farewell party. And you should renew all your IDs beforehand to give you as much time as possible before you have to apply for new ones. You'll understand that when the time comes." Constantine looked first at the floor and then at the young man's face. "And what happens then? Then I'll be in South Africa with no money!" "Don't worry, Stefek is a smart man and has thought of everything. You'll get two months paid leave and then become CIO of IronData Africa with a generous salary."

Six weeks later, Constantine was in a limousine that would take him from the airport directly to his transformation. Here, the process was fully automated. After he got out of the car with his bit of carry-on luggage, doors opened and closed right behind him. There was not a person in sight. A few doors down, he found himself in a locker room. And a voice asked him to undress completely. Constantine became more and more nervous. And sweating like a pig again. But he did as he was told. Another door opened. And Constantine stood in a perfect copy of the room in which Stephen's transformation had also taken place. And the sequence of events was also identical. The only difference was that he was naked. My God, what if someone is watching me. Or filming. He felt ridiculous. But when he got on the weight bench to bench press, energy flowed through him. And the energy grew. He could already feel his new body; seeing anything in the dim light and without a mirror was difficult. But then the light came on. And a door opened. The young man and Stefek were waiting for him. But Constantine couldn't help but jerk off in front of the mirror first.

A year had passed since that day. No one had called Gus "Constantine" for a long time. After two months in a backyard gym learning everything he needed to know about bodybuilding and how to use IronData, he had joined IronData's software development team. He had never had a job like this before. Whereas before he had lived a completely asexual life, now he was surrounded only by men who made it hard for him not to think about sex. And more often than not, they were having some. The glory holes in the staff restrooms were legendary. And Gus' cock was a legend, too!

@peepshow321, thanks for the challenge!

@zakucavanje, awesome picture! Thanks for that too!

[redstringraven]

in wake of the "don can't cook" post, here're my personal hcs on the boys and cooking (with also @plantdonutwrites addition of why mikey got into cooking lmao).

don: generally not great with cooking due to being spacey/easily distracted/losing track of time. can easily follow a recipe up until it's time to put something in the oven, leave it on the stove, or otherwise let the thing idle for a given amount of time. that's when we enter the danger zone. will forget to take meat out of the freezer to defrost. might set a timer for something, the timer goes off but he's in the middle of working, turns the timer off, says "i'll get it in a minute" and then a half hour later the food is harder than bricks. doesn't "burn water" but will forget he prepped water to boil and return to find that it's all evaporated and he has to start over. might do it a second time.

leo: great cook (sorry, fanon, i can't side with you on this one) and enjoys cooking/general meal-making, especially for his family. finds the process kind of therapeutic and very rewarding. this is one of the bonding activities he does with mikey, actually, and the two of them will often cook together. is the person who might wander around asking "hey, i'm about to make [insert meal] do you want any?" because he prefers cooking for more than just himself. especially enjoys discovering new 'family' recipes, perhaps passed down to him by april, angel, master splinter, or even usagi if earth 2 and 3 ingredients are similar enough to be substituted for. wouldn't surprise me if he asked about recipes during christmas aliens, from the folks who brought food.

mikey: excellent cook. has always been a bit of a foodie but, per jenn: 'he woke up one morning and chose Petty Violence and got really into cooking because he realized humans sometimes have 'a thing' where the people who cook don't have to do the dishes afterward, and doing the dishes is mikey's least favorite chore. so, if he cooks, he doesn't have to do dishes. wound up genuinely loving to cook. i like to think s1 mikey was like "i can scramble eggs!" and post s4 mikey is like "check out this souffle that i set on fire to caramelize and i made homemade mousse whipped cream enjoy".' as previously stated, cooking's become a bonding activity between him and leo, with leo preferring to stick to the recipe and keeping on task/track but mikey being a little more adventurous and willing to experiment and cook intuitively--especially during the times they might be a bit more limited on ingredients. they can make a mean meal together.

raph: can cook, prefers not to. rarely cooks for himself, and when he does cook he dabbles heavily in the "comfort food" and savory foods. when raph cooks, it's usually because someone needs the warm meal. maybe he has a sick brother, a sad friend who needs an old classic pick-me-up, or just senses the vibes are off in the studio today. so, here's the best grilled cheese and tomato soup combo you've ever had. don't ask him how he did it or how he knew what you needed. it's not important. just shut up and eat. you're welcome.

[ciaossu-imagines]

sangaku manami + 👼 - babysitting, 2nd prompt

Oh, I like this question! This one really made me stop and think, consider out everything and weigh out what was in my head. It’s always exciting when requests do that – challenge me to consider characters in ways I’ve never done before. I hope these end up being fun to read and that they feel true to the incredible character Sangaku is!

How good is the character at babysitting?

My first initial, knee-jerk reaction to this question was to think that of course he’d be a great babysitter. There’s a lot about Manami that can be quite childish and child-like in nature, so he’d be able to click well with the children. As someone who hates to be still, idle, and bored, he’d keep the kids active, tucker them out for the parents, and keep the children entertained.

On top of all that, I really do see Sangaku as someone who really does enjoy children. They’re fun to him. Instead of viewing kids as having too much energy, being too needy, or too emotional, Sangaku sees all those things about children and loves them because of it. Kids keep things fun and interesting for him and he finds their honesty about everything they see, think, or feel refreshing.

Seems a natural choice for a babysitter, someone who would be loved by the parents and the children.

But when I really got into thinking about it, the more I picked it apart, the more convinced I was that my answer had to change and that no, he would actually be rather a horrible babysitter in a lot of ways. There’s quite a few children who would absolutely be terrified upon hearing he was going to be their sitter and I think a lot of parents would find fault with him in that position as well.

For one thing, outside of cycling, Sangaku doesn’t have a strong sense of personal responsibility. I mean, how many times has the boy been late to school or gotten so caught up in doing something that he completely forget that he’d needed to be somewhere or that he’d needed to be doing something else. Hell, sometimes he’s purposefully gotten caught up in something as an excuse to not do the needed thing. I can definitely see this being where the parents would hate him at times comes in. I can see him spacing out, being too into cycling or was taking a nap or who knows, maybe he plain out forgot that he was supposed to be babysitting. He’d agreed, been told a time to be there, and whoops, now he’s half an hour late. An hour late. Maybe he just didn’t show up at all.

On top of that, Sangaku can get a little too caught up in something and that, combined with his really relaxed and laid back attitude, means that sometimes he gets careless or forgets to pay close enough attention. When you’re around children, especially younger children, this can not only be a very bad idea, but a very dangerous one.

That laid back attitude can also mean that he really does let the children get away with a lot of things that their parents would very much frown upon. If it’s not actively harming the children and it makes them happy, why not, right? It’s why he’d have parents come home to find their kid eating their sixth bowl of ice cream, still awake at eleven on a school night and riding a sugar high.

The last thing that I thought of, that firmly put it in the no camp for me, is that there’s really only specific types of children that Manami would actually be good with and would get along with. Like I mentioned, he’s not really someone who wants to slow down, to just stay indoors and play video games or do crafts or things like that. He wants to be active, he wants to be up and doing things. When the kids he babysits are also those types of people, this works out fantastically. But not all children are alike and those kids who are more indoors people, who might be more shy or just more laid-back in that type of way, where they prefer to stay indoors and play games or have tea parties and such, are not much going to like him. In fact, they’ll probably cry when they hear Manami is going to be their babysitter, because he’ll force them to do mostly what he enjoys doing – getting them outside and running around, playing in the park, etc.

[mangoisms]

ok here are my current thoughts on ck and tim’s silly goose-ness and steph’s very low tolerance to it

aka an excuse to introspect on their past relationship and also my first ever attempt to write a canon character’s pov which might or might not be good so! You Have Been Warned

(also excuse any typos LOL)

“What do you think you’re doing?”

A slow blink. “Updating Redbird’s security protocols?”

The garage of Tim’s townhouse smells sharply of oil and rubber. But he isn’t elbow-deep in the engine today, just seated off to the side, laptop perched on his lap and hooked up to its system. ‘Updating’ it. God knows why. The Redbird’s security protocols are just as stringent as the Batmobile’s.

Jason once regaled them with his plan, way back when, to blow it up. Bruce included. And how he went about it.

“It’s got safeguards like crazy, right? Even when it’s idle or shut down. Come up to it, fire a gun, launch a missile—doesn’t matter. Not gonna touch it before the security protocols kick in. It can sense you on thermal, air currents, video recognition, all of it.”

“So, how’d you get past it?”

“SEAL-grade wetsuit. Invisible to thermal with reflection fibers that play hell with video. But the biggest thing? Going slow. And I mean slow. Like five seconds per inch slow.”

The insane attention to detail and paranoia runs in the family, obviously.

Tim had sat in for that. Stephanie remembers the look on his face. Begrudging respect, combined with a familiar twitchiness that told her he was absolutely dying to run out and start updating his stuff.

Question everything. That’s what Bruce says.

Tim tries to separate himself from it. He really does. It gets tiring, exhausting, to live like that. But old habits die hard and his big brain precedes him sometimes. Wondering at the possibilities, at the million-in-one scenarios.

Ordinarily, Stephanie has more sympathy for him. Really. But right now, after your phone call about his little visit to Circle K…

She’s pissed.

“Don’t play dumb,” she says, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“What is it that I’m playing dumb about?” he asks, averting his attention back to his laptop, keys clacking quickly, pausing momentarily as he takes a swig of Red Bull.

She tells him.

At the sound of your name, he stops.

But now that she’s started, she can’t stop. “Visiting her? As Red Robin? What are you thinking, Tim?”

The clack of keys resumes. The set of his gaze on the laptop screen is very intentional now. Avoiding her.

“It’s nothing, Steph,” he says and she almost believes it. But she knows him, so she doesn’t. “It’s harmless.”

“So, why won’t you hang out with us? Her? Because I assume you’re also avoiding her individually.”

A little sigh. Impatient. “I’m not avoiding her. I really was busy. Have been busy. You know how the heat messes with the city.”

It’s the excuse that bothers Stephanie.

Tim is making some kind of choice here. Choosing to favor Red Robin over himself, over Tim Drake, and it makes no sense. Red Robin isn’t your best friend. He isn’t even your favorite vigilante. (Black Canary is. She agrees, though it would be nice for Spoiler to get some spotlight but that is neither here nor there.)

You know who is your best friend? (One of them, anyway.)

Tim freakin’ Drake.

Stephanie knows why he’s avoiding you all of a sudden. The connection will be too easy to make. It’s why she—as Spoiler—keeps her distance. Tucks away her hair, hides her face even more, when she and Cass visit Circle K.

Even though! They had talked about telling you. Stephanie wanted to tell you so badly. You know who her father is. Was. You know how her mom used to be like. You know everything and you never once judged. You were, to be sure, a bit wary of them—the vigilantes—but most were. You wouldn’t turn them away if you knew.

If there is anything Stephanie knows, it is that.

But then she went away to Metropolis for a week and a half and suddenly, he’s visiting you as Red Robin. And he’s not trying to ease you into it, not trying to help you latch onto some clues, to make it easier—because they’d discussed that, too!—he’s doing it because… Well, she doesn’t really know. But there is a reason. She knows that much. A big reason.

It makes no sense to her, considering his feelings. Complicates things unnecessarily. Especially with how he’s avoiding you because of it, because he apparently got cold feet on telling you the truth.

And it’s the excuse… it’s the excuse that pisses her off.

Their relationship, back when they were kids, had some questionable origins. It did. Stephanie did things she wasn’t proud of. He did things he wasn’t proud of. It was messy. She tries not to kick herself about it—about being a silly girl in love, awed at the attention of a boy like Robin, knowing he was dating a girl (Ariana Dzerchenko, her name was, she would later find on) and making moves on him despite that, moves that he always, always went along with. Like two magnets that couldn’t help but fall together.

Don’t get her wrong! The blame is not solely on her. It’s on him, too. She shouldn’t have pushed. He shouldn’t have went along with it, knowing he had a girlfriend, too. He shouldn’t have held his knowledge of her identity over her head the way he did. He isn’t mean-spirited at heart but he had an advantage over her. He knew she was Stephanie Brown. She knew him only as Robin and nothing else. Not until later on that would change and that… that was another mess entirely.

But they were dumb and young. Stephanie tries not to hold it against herself. They know better now. She knows better now. Knows what she deserves.

But this feels too close to him crossing that line.

No, he has crossed that line.

Given one persona up for another.

Approaching you as Red Robin, while you know nothing of him, and doing god knows what…

Someone is going to get hurt.

Last time, it was him. The circumstances, Bruce’s unceremonious reveal of his identity to her—a mistake, an egregious overstep—it all culminated in Tim feeling betrayed. Betrayed that Bruce would reveal that to her without Tim’s say so, without even asking him if he was okay with her knowing. Betrayed that Stephanie went along with it.

This time?

Stephanie feels it in her bones.

The person who is going to get hurt is you.

You, clueless about these lives they lead, clueless as Tim monopolizes your time as Red Robin, all the while you have no idea it’s him. You, her best friend. Stephanie loves you to the end of the universe.

She doesn’t want to see you hurt.

The mere thought of it, of the potential fallout, leaves a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Steph. Steph, it’s fine.”

She blinks, coming back to herself. Tim is standing in front of her now, dark brows knitted together, blue eyes intent on her face. Concerned.

“You’re lying to her.”

“We’ve been lying to her.”

“Not like this,” she says quietly. “Not this way. You’re… This is too much, Tim. I don’t understand why you’re doing this. What happened?”

“Nothing,” he says. For what it’s worth, to anyone else, it sounds believable. But like she said. Stephanie knows him. For better or for worse.

And on that end, she also knows he is not going to budge. No matter how much Stephanie wants to drill this into him, grab him by the shoulders and make her point. Once he’s made a decision, he commits.

Or more like he’s dug himself into this grave and he doesn’t (can’t?) want to get out.

“This is a mistake,” she says. “And you know it. I just hope you actually try to fix it sooner rather than later. Because if you break her heart, I’m going to break something of yours.”

Stephanie loves Tim. He’s a great friend. They’ve had their ups and downs—even discounting their relationship—but they’re solid. They are.

But she loves you, too. So much so it sometimes feels like she’s going to burst with it. She’s never had something like that, like this, and in the end, she doesn’t want to choose, but Tim knows better. And because he knows better, you are her first priority.

Even worse, he doesn’t seem bothered by the threat. Relieved, if anything.

“I’m counting on it, Steph.”

Which is so unfair in so many ways (fix it, she wants to yell, don’t rely on me to come clean up when shit hits the fan—do it yourself!) but she’s had enough of this conversation and all the ways this can go wrong.

Maybe he will turn around. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But she doesn’t think so. He won’t. Not until the consequences of this, of his lies, of his excuses, come hit him in the face.

She wishes it weren’t like that—knowing what it will result in.

But some things you just can’t change.

She knows better with Tim.

She really, really does.

[threewaywithdelusion]

When the Villains Fall (The Kingdoms Never Weep) -- Max & El Fic

Read it on AO3 here:

Max was jealous of El’s tears. 

Maybe that was a horrible thing to say. Maybe that made her a terrible person. But Max couldn’t help it. 

El cried all the time these days. Heaving, gulping tears that screamed her heartbreak to the world. Silent, streaming tears that showed that her grief never left her alone, not even for a moment. Morning tears and evening tears and couch tears and shower tears. 

Max couldn’t bring herself to cry. 

She lay in El’s bed with her, chatting about idle distractions some of the time and holding El while she cried the rest of the time. 

It made sense for El to cry over Hopper. He had died a hero. 

“Billy died a hero too,” El had said when Max had voiced the thought out loud. “He saved me.”

“He did,” Max said. She would forever be grateful to Billy for saving El. She’d never even gotten to thank him and she hated that he would have that over her forever. If he’d still been alive, he would have been insufferable about it. Every time her mom asked Billy to do the dishes or clean his room or whatever, he would have foisted the chore off on Max, saying “I saved your friend, so you have to do whatever I want.”

She would have hated it. And now she hated that he would never act like a dick to her again. That he died while she was in his debt.

So yes, she missed Billy. 

But she was also so, so grateful he was dead. 

Billy would never shove her around again. Never grab her arm so hard she had bruises in the shape of his fingers. Never drive recklessly just to scare her, threatening her with death in a fiery car crash to get her to agree to whatever he wanted.

For the first time in years, Max felt like she could breathe. She wasn’t tiptoeing in her own home. 

Neil was drunk and enraged of course, but he had never laid a hand on Max in all the years he’d been married to her mother. There was something darker and colder in his eyes these days, and Max thought he might lose that self-control some time soon. But Neil had never been the man in Max’s nightmares He might scare her on occasion, but the very sight of him didn’t make her blood run cold. 

Max’s monster was dead. 

“You do not cry,” El said, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. She was half-propped against the headboard, wearing one of Hopper’s old flannels and curled in on herself like she could protect her heart. “Joyce says tears are good. They are ca-thar-tic. Feel better after crying.”

Max fought not to roll her eyes. El didn’t have a good bullshit detector and she took everything people told her as a statement of fact. And sure, Joyce’s advice was good for El. But that didn’t mean it was good for Max. And if Max rolled her eyes, El might think the advice was untrue, instead of just that it didn’t apply to people who shouldn’t be mourning. 

“Billy doesn’t deserve my tears,” Max said. 

“Why?” El asked. “He was good. At the end.”

“That doesn’t make up for all the time he was bad,” Max said. She wished he’d just died bad. She wished she could still hate him unadulteratedly, without needing to factor in the heroism of his death. 

She’d cried at Starcourt. She’d lost it, sobbing and screaming, trying to hold onto Billy’s body. She didn’t remember moving from inside the mall, didn’t remember being pulled away from the corpse. 

All she’d known was grief and pain and horror. He’d died such a bloody death. 

When she’d come back to herself, she’d been in the parking lot outside Starcourt, held in Lucas’s arms. She’d still been sobbing, clutching onto Lucas’s shoulders with blood-stained hands. His arms had been around her, his voice in her ear going, “it’s okay, Max. It’s over. You’re going to be okay.”

“Billy,” she’d keened. 

There had been a beat, and then Lucas had said, “I’m sorry he’s dead, Max. I’m so sorry.”

Max couldn’t think of that night without being ashamed. It would have been bad enough to let Lucas see her cry over Billy when Billy was a racist asshole who had tried to kill him. But she hadn’t just cried. She’d made him hold her. Made him comfort her. 

Lucas had told her he was sorry for Billy’s death when he would have had every right to dance on or piss over his grave. 

“I’m mad at him,” Max said. “I’m so mad at him and he’s gone so I can’t do anything about it.”

El stared at Max for a moment then said in a small voice, “I am mad too.”

Max blinked. “At Hopper?”

For a moment hope rose in her. El wasn’t a bad person. If El was mad at Hopper for something he’d done and she still grieved him, maybe it was okay for Max to do the same. Maybe Max wasn’t horrible. 

El nodded carefully. “He said he would be okay. He was not okay. He lied.”

Max’s stomach sank. “That’s normal, El. A lot of people feel angry at someone for dying. It’s not the same.”

El stared at Max for a long time and Max wondered what she saw? A grieving sister? Or a monster of a girl?

“It is okay to miss a bad person,” El said seriously, her dark eyes wet with tears. “Hop said.”

“Hop wasn’t a bad person.”

El shook her head. “Not Hop. Papa.”

Max hardly dared to breathe. El had never mentioned her Papa before. 

“Did he hurt you?” Max asked. 

El nodded slowly. 

A flash of rage broke through Max’s griefguilt. El was kind and good, nothing like Max. She didn’t deserve to be hurt. “Where is he now?”

“Gone,” El said. “Two years ago.”

Two years ago. That would have been the year of the first fight against the Upside Down. The year El had escaped from the lab.

“And you miss him?” 

El shook her head vehemently. Then she stopped, looked at Max with big, ashamed eyes, and nodded. Then, looking frustrated, shook her head again. “Two years ago,” she said. “I cried.”

Max understood what El was trying to say. Did Max miss Billy? No. She probably never would. Did Max wish Billy was alive to torment her? No. But she also desperately, more than anything, wished he wasn’t dead. 

“Billy doesn’t deserve my tears,” Max repeated. 

“I know,” El said. She leaned over Max so she was staring straight down into her eyes. “You do.”

Max let out a choked little sob. One of El’s tears splashed onto her cheek, rolling down towards her ear, and for a moment, between the tightness in her throat and the wetness on her cheeks, it almost felt like she was crying. 

But Max didn’t deserve to cry. Not even for herself. 

She was a terrible person. The type of person who got jealous of El’s simple grief, who made Lucas comfort her about his would-be murderer’s death, who prayed for Billy to die and then had the audacity to play the victim when he actually did. 

Max was grieving, yes, but not for Billy. She was grieving for the girl she’d been before Billy’s death, before she’d learned the depths of cruelty inside her. Maybe even for the girl she’d been before Billy had taught her how to be afraid. Before he’d made her into the kind of person who saw a man die, bloody and heroic, held his body in her arms, and thought thank God. He can’t hurt me anymore. 

Max didn’t deserve to cry. She didn’t deserve catharsis. 

Monsters didn’t deserve comfort. 

Max almost missed the days when Billy had been her monster. At least she could run or hide from Billy. 

She didn’t know what to do when these days, she saw her monster every time she looked in the mirror. 

El was still crying and she curled in closer against Max’s side, soaking her shirt with her tears. Max wrapped an arm around her, holding her while she shook. 

This, she could do. At least this one tiny part of her — the part that El saw, the part that gave El comfort — was still good. 

But El was leaving with the rest of the Byers for California and Max was afraid of who she would become once she was alone. 

Everyone always left. 

But maybe this was what Max deserved.