#he screwed up. but neither is the monster

[good-soupmens]

Something I noticed in the confession is that they don't REALLY respond to what the other is saying

Crowley says "run away with me" and Aziraphale says "come with me to heaven"

Both are saying "be with me" but neither stops to figure out why the other wouldn't want to go

Crowley says "you can't leave this bookshop" and Aziraphale says "nothing lasts forever"

Crowley thinks he ended it.

Aziraphale says "we can make a difference" and Crowley says "good luck"

Both are leaving. Neither stayed until they could agree, or at least understand each other

Aziraphale says "I need you" and Crowley says "no nightingales"

Aziraphale thinks he ended it.

Aziraphale says "I forgive you" and Crowley says "don't bother"

That's the one that sticks.

[twlgholts]

always kind of was, j. black

chapter nine, things you don’t say

— jacob black x f. reader

a/n: holy long chapter its like double the length of other ones oops! but we almost done so stay tuned…

prev. series masterlist! next.

Death is imminent. Most don’t get the luxury of reaching the end of their life naturally–peacefully. Most don’t die knowing their life was well-lived, well-loved.

You, however, were going to take that luxury away from Jacob Black.

Thirty-five hours, forty-two minutes, eight seconds. That’s how long it had been since you last saw him, since that night. You hadn’t texted, but neither had he.

To be fair, he knew you needed more space than he did. Jacob always seemed to know that about you–how when your emotions boiled over, you needed quiet. Stillness. Time alone to cool off so you could speak your mind without every word carrying too much heat, especially ones you didn’t mean.

And he was right.

Which only pissed you off more.

Because if he understood you that well–understood what you needed, how you worked, how you shut down–then why did he keep you under the dark, like you hadn’t spent your entire lives knowing each other inside-out?

He knew you wouldn’t reach out first. You weren’t the kind of person who broke the silence until you were ready, and he knew that. You knew that he knew that. Which made it all worse because even if he knew you needed space, even if he understood it down to a science, a part of you still wished he’d done the opposite anyway. You wanted him to prove you wrong, to show up at your doorstep soaked and breathless and say, screw space, I care too much to stay away.

But he didn’t.

And maybe there was no right move he could’ve made. Maybe there was no winning. Maybe this whole situation was designed to screw you both up.

When Jacob felt things, he felt them with everything in him. He was stubborn. He loved hard and fast, but he always, always, put others before himself. That’s why it felt natural for him to throw his life into danger without blinking–because protecting Forks from real monsters gave him purpose. It distracted him from thinking too hard about stuff that really scared him.

Like feelings.

Like you.

Everything had happened too fast. The shifting, the imprinting, the supernatural chaos. One second he was just a kid worrying about homework, dreaming about a girl who moved away. The next, he had fur, paws, responsibilities, and a cosmic bond telling him the person who kept him grounded was now the axis his entire universe spun around.

You didn’t do anything wrong and it wasn’t something you said. You just existed, and somehow your existence alone became the thing Jacob needed to survive.

When you left, he told himself the crush would die quietly. And it did–kind of. It fizzled out, but not really. Never really. He buried it, shoved it down with both hands, and then you came back and suddenly it was like he didn’t need air, or food, or sleep. Just you.

You being near him rewired everything. The progress he’d made–the person he was trying to become–froze. Halted like his growth hit a red light and never got the green again.

He never wanted to hurt you. Not ever. He wanted to do the opposite, to protect you and preserve your peace by keeping you from the heavy, tangled mess of what he was now. The last thing he wanted was to trap you in something you never asked for.

And the worst part? He knew you’d understand because you always did. You’d listen and nod and hold space for him the way no one else could.

That made it scarier.

Because if you understood, then it’d be real. It would mean accepting what he was, what you were to him, and what that might do to you.

Not seeing you sucked. But knowing you were hurting because of him? That made his skin crawl, his chest ache. He could feel it–literally–because of the damn imprint, the cosmic tie that tethered his every heartbeat to yours.

And lately, with patrols getting more intense, with rogue vampires creeping through the tree line again, Jacob’s already limited time had shrunk even more. Which meant pushing you further out. Which meant more guilt. More regret. More thoughts circling like vultures.

And everyone noticed.

“You look like crap,” Embry told him one afternoon, smirking around a half-eaten granola bar as Jacob slouched deeper into the worn couch in Emily’s living room.

Jacob didn’t bother answering. His arms were crossed, hair a mess, dark circles etched under his eyes like bruises.

Quil threw down a reverse card during their lazy Uno game and raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, man. You’re gonna implode. Or imprint-sulk yourself into an aneurysm.”

“I’m fine,” Jacob muttered.

“Liar,” Embry replied immediately, not even looking up from his cards.

“You’re not sleeping. You’re screwing up on patrols. You let a tree root punk you last night. A root, Jake.” Quil gestured toward the bandage around Jacob’s thumb. “That’s embarrassing for all of us.”

Jacob sighed through his nose. “Yeah. I know.”

There was a pause.

Then Quil leaned back and said, “Look. I’m saying this because I love you, bro. But you’re being a total idiot. A certified, capital ‘I’ idiot. You know it. We know it. Probably even the trees know it at this point.”

“Great pep talk,” Jacob replied, sarcastic.

“I’m not done,” Quil said. “You don’t even have to tell her the wolf stuff yet. Honestly, I wouldn’t. She’s already trying to figure out why you’re acting like this moody-loner-slash protector hybrid. You’re already giving off major Angel-from-Buffy vibes. Don’t make it worse by dumping a werewolf-shaped bomb on her.”

Embry snorted. “For real. If you disappear dramatically one more time, she’s gonna start journaling about you in cursive.”

Jacob cracked a reluctant smile but didn’t say anything. Then, without looking up, he tossed his last card onto the pile. “Uno out.”

Quil blinked. “Wait–seriously?”

Jacob just leaned back against the couch, looking up at the ceiling, eyes dull. “Doesn’t mean I’m winning at life.”

Embry let out a low whistle. “Damn. That was darker than expected.”

“Talk to her,” Quil said again, more serious now. “You don’t have to say everything, just something. Something real, honest, because not saying anything? That’s what’s killing you.”

Jacob was sad, but so were you. 

Not just sad. Confused. Conflicted. Hurt. Stuck somewhere between rage and ache and it all sat heavy in your chest like a weight you couldn’t breathe under.

You were drinking a glass of orange juice and staring at the fridge like it had answers. Maybe if you looked hard enough, the swirling storm inside your brain might settle.

“You’re looking at the fridge like red laser beams are gonna shoot out of your eyes and evaporate it,” your dad said, stepping into the kitchen with that familiar dry tone, breaking the silence like a crack of thunder. He clocked your slumped posture and pinched brows instantly.

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Practicing for my victim.”

He walked over and rubbed your shoulders, then kissed the side of your head in that comforting, fatherly way he always did. “Black? Don’t do that to my boy.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m just so annoyed. Like why is he acting like a freak and being so secretive? I’m not asking for the government’s confidential top-secrets. I just want him to be honest.”

“I was just like him,” your dad says, smiling as he opened the cabinet and pulled out a mug. “Young. Rebellious. Mysterious. It didn’t help when I fell in love.”

You raised a brow and perched up a little, staring at him like he’d said something criminal. “With Mom? You? Mysterious?”

He smiles with pride written all over his face.

“Mom said you used to call her five times a day and show up to her work ‘accidentally’ like, three times a week.”

He nodded solemnly. “That was me being mysterious.”

You laughed, for real this time.

“I once tried to impress her by dancing backwards down the hallway in rollerblades while holding a boombox in high school. Hit a locker, flipped over, broke my wrist, passed out, hospitalized. She was sitting next to me when I woke up. That’s when I knew she was the one.”

You blinked. “You never told me that version.”

“Because I looked like an idiot,” he replied, sipping his coffee. “But an idiot in love.”

“So what’s that got to do with Jacob acting like an emotionally repressed cryptid?”

He chuckled, deep and loud from his belly. “Everything. You kids think love is clean. It’s not. Sometimes it’s stupid and messy and makes you act like a weirdo who stares at a fridge. But if you don’t deal with it head-on, it eats you alive.”

You stared into your juice, feeling heat crawl up the back of your neck.

“Just… don’t wait too long,” he advises, heading for the hallway. “I’d like a warm thank you in your wedding speech, not a cold one on your deathbed. Go talk to him before your temper rips him apart.”

Your dad disappears down the hallway, leaving behind the faint scent of coffee. You take another sip of your orange juice and just sit there, watching the condensation slide down the glass, listening to the silence settle in the house like fog. Your thoughts churn quietly beneath the surface–heavy, sharp, loud, impossible to name. You look down at your hands and they’re still, but everything inside you is not.

You don’t know how much time passes. Maybe a few minutes. Maybe an hour. But eventually, after thirty-seven hours, twelve minutes, and fifty-six seconds of silence and distance, you throw on (his) hoodie, grab your keys, and drive.

The road is muscle memory. You’ve taken this route so many times, it’s etched into your bones. You pass the place where Jacob taught you how to skate, where he pushed you too fast down a hill and nearly gave you a concussion. Where he laughed so hard he fell over with you.

Eventually, you’re on the reservation, the ocean wind shifting in through the cracked window, and the ache in your chest building like pressure before a storm.

You park in front of a small, red wooden house that always looked too much like a barn. A little weathered by time, but standing.

You barely knock before the door opens.

Jacob looks tired, his hair messy like he had just woken up, his chest rising and falling concerningly fast. He looks at you like he wasn’t expecting you but was hoping you’d come anyway. But you don’t give him a chance to speak.

You step forward and just let it all out.

“Do you know how much it hurt not knowing what the hell was going on with you? I felt like I was screaming into a void and you just stood there watching. Do you know what it feels like to have someone look at you like you’re everything one second and then like you’re a stranger the next? Like they’re holding behind some thick wall and you’re not allowed through, no matter how hard you pound on it?”

You don’t even notice your hands are shaking until you grab at the sleeves of the hoodie.

“I came here thinking things would be different–or maybe just the same in the ways that mattered. But you’re not talking to me, Jacob. Not really. You show up, you bail, you look at me like I’m the answer to a question you won’t even ask. And I’m trying. God, I’m trying to be patient and soft and understanding, but I’m not a mind reader. I don’t want to be. I want you to trust me enough to say something. Anything.”

He’s still. Watching you. Breathing heavy.

You keep going, voice cracking just slightly now.

“Because this isn’t fair. I know you’re going through something, I see it. But it feels like you’re grieving something I don’t even know about, like there’s this shadow over you and you won’t let me near it. You shut me out and I feel like I’m just waiting for the version of you I used to know to come back. But maybe that version is gone. And if he is, at least say that. Is that too much to ask for? Too selfish?”

There’s a moment of silence. He doesn’t move.

Then he steps aside and lets you in.

You follow him into the warmth of the house, your heartbeat still thudding, your throat dry. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a long breath before finally looking at you again.

“I can’t tell you,” he says, voice low but steady. “And before you get mad again–just listen. I want to be honest with you, more than anything, but there’s this part of me I didn’t ask for. Something that’s not entirely mine to explain. And I don’t even understand it yet.”

He swallows, his eyes are shining too, but he blinks quickly.

“It’s been eating me alive since before you came back. Every time I look at you, there’s this war inside me wanting to protect you and wanting to keep you as far from me as possible, and I don’t know how to handle that. I don’t even fully know what I am right now, let alone how to share that with someone else.”

He finally steps closer. “And I know you’re hurt. I hate myself for hurting you, but I’m hurting too, and I don’t have the words or the tools to fix this yet. I just need more time. I promise I’ll tell you–everything. But right now, if I did, I’d only be handing you a burden that I’m still trying to carry myself and I can’t do that to you.”

You breathe in slowly, heart thudding against you ribs.

“Nothing about you is a burden to me, Jacob,” you whisper. “I love and care about every inch of your soul. You know that, right?”

“I do,” he says quietly, “And that’s what terrifies me. Why do you seem to love and understand me more than I do myself? Just let me figure this out first. Let me become the person who deserves that kind of love. Then I’ll tell you. I swear.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Then you nod once, slow.

“Okay, I trust you. Don’t go breaking it, Jake.”

“I won’t,” he replies almost immediately. “I swear I won’t.”

“You’re not kicking me out now, are you?” you ask, voice soft.

“No,” he says, voice low, like the word had been waiting in his chest this whole time. “Stay. Please. Stay.”

There’s something raw in the way he says it–not desperate, exactly. Just sincere, like he’s finally admitting that he needs something.

You stop, half-turned toward the door, and look at him.

“Okay,” you say softly.

You drop your keys on the table, toe off your shoes, and glance around the room like it’s unfamiliar, even though you’ve been here a hundred times before. Everything feels a little warped, like the air’s heavier now, slower. Jacob stays quiet, eyes following you with that same unreadable look. Part guilt. Part relief. Mostly something deeper–something wounded and tender.

You shift your weight, then glance down at your phone. “Crap. I forgot my charger.”

His voice is steadier now, a little warmer. “Top drawer on my desk. Might still be that old one you left.”

You nod, grateful for something simple, and head toward his room.

His room smells like him–that mix of pine and clean laundry and something warm you can’t quite name. Possibly familiarity. You flick on the light and go to the desk.

You open the drawer and pause.

The overhead light flickers softly, catching on the edge of something crinkled and colorful nestled between loose batteries and old screws.

Starburst wrappers.

Dozens of them.

Some smoothed flat, others crumpled into little cubes like they’d been stuffed into a pocket in a hurry. Pink, orange, red–every color, every flavor. You pick one up, your fingers still recognizing the texture, the weight of it. A soft breath escapes you before you can help it.

Jacob’s voice floats in from the hallway. “You find it?”

You don’t answer right away. You’re still staring into the drawer, holding a piece of your shared history between your fingers.

He steps into his room. “Hey, you okay?”

You hold up the wrapper without turning around. “You kept these?”

A pause. You can feel him stop in the doorway behind you.

Then, quieter: “What do you mean?”

You look back at him, your expression a mixture of incredulous and something tender. You shift back slightly so he can see inside the drawer. His eyes land on it–on the sea of familiar colors–and something in his face changes. Softens.

He walks forward slowly. “I forgot I still had those.”

You raise a brow. “Did you, though?”

Jacob scratches the back of his neck again, half a smile playing at his lips. “Okay. Maybe I knew. But only because I never wanted to throw them out.”

You turn toward him, arms folded loosely, a pink wrapper still in your hand. “Why?”

He looks down at the drawer, then back up at you with a sort of quiet vulnerability. “Because they were yours. Ours. I don’t know. I guess… I held onto them because they reminded me of a time when things made sense. When getting a kiss from you only cost a few pieces of candy.”

You scoff lightly. “You were constantly broke.”

“I know.” He smiles. “But you still patched me up anyway. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

You shake your head, stepping closer. “You’re such a sentimental idiot.”

“I’m aware.”

He meets your eyes, and something heavier settles between you. A beat of silence. A shared knowing. You search his face for something—an answer, maybe. Or a reason why you’re still here, why your heart still aches when it comes to him.

“I missed this,” you say, your voice quieter now. “Us. Before everything got complicated. But I’m glad we talked.”

Jacob nods, almost solemn. “Me too.”

You inhale slowly, chest tight with the things you haven’t said. Then he reaches out and pulls you in gently, his arms wrapping around your waist like they were made to. You fold into him without resistance. The hug is soft at first, then stronger. He tucks his chin over your shoulder, and you stay that way–for a long, quiet moment. No words. Just breath, warmth, and the ache of being known too well.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His hands are still resting on your arms. “Let me make everything up to you.”

You tilt your head, suspicious. “How?”

“Tomorrow,” he says, but certain. “Be free at six.”

You blink. “You’re giving me a time but not a plan? Again?”

His smile tugs to the side, sheepish. “I swear I won’t drag you hiking this time. Not without warning or verbal consent, at least.”

“Hmm,” you pretend to mull it over. “But I’m expecting, like, a five-course apology.”

He raises a brow. “You’re getting a pack of Starbursts and my sparkling company. Anyone else would be fighting for that.”

You snort, despite yourself. “Modest, aren’t we?”

“I’ve been told it’s one of my more annoying qualities.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile’s already taken over. “Guess I’ll allow it.”

He leans in a little, playful but tentative. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, softer now. “I’ll be there.”

He grins. “I’ll take what I can get.”

There’s a beat. Just the quiet hum of the room and the distance between you shrinking a little more.

You tilt your head. “We’re okay?”

Jacob meets your gaze, steady and warm. “We’re okay if you’re okay.”

You nod, voice just above a whisper. “Then we’re okay.”

And you don’t need to say anything else. Because right now, in his hoodie, in his room, in this moment—you are.

[angelsdean]

Can I just say, I really hate when the "previously" opening bits recontextualize things in their effort to "condense" and often wholly make up stuff and add lines that never happened. Like in early season 3, multiple episodes open with Dean saying:

"Look, Dad's gone now. We have to carry out his legacy, and that means hunting down as many evil sons of bitches as we possibly can." (another variation: "Dad's gone now. He wants us to pick up where he left off. Whadya say we kill some evil sons of bitches and we raise a little hell?")

He never said this! He said, in 1x02, when John was missing:

"I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things. The family business." AND "I mean, I figure our family's so screwed to hell, maybe we can help some others. Makes things a little bit more bearable. I'll tell you what else helps. Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I possibly can."

and then in 3x01 he says:

"Whatever. You're alive, I feel good – for the first time in a long time. I got a year to live, Sam. I'd like to make the most of it. So what do you say we kill some evil sons of bitches and we raise a little hell, huh?"

But neither of these are a sentiment he held following John's death, which is what the made-up abridged line in the s3 intros suggest. And Dean never says anything about wanting to "carry out his legacy."

In s2 when John died Dean very much wanted to stop hunting. And he expressed this multiple times. While Sam was the one who kept wanting to hunt because it's what John would've wanted.

2x02:

SAM I'm having second thoughts. DEAN Really? SAM Yeah. I think. Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job.

2x09:

DEAN I'm tired, Sam. I'm tired of this job, this life . . . this weight on my shoulders, man. I'm tired of it.

Meanwhile in the previous episode Sam says:

SAM Evan Hudson is safe because of what Dad taught us. That's his legacy, Dean. But we're still here, man. So we gotta keep going, for him.

Dean getting back into the whole "what do you say we kill some evil sons of bitches and we raise a little hell" in s3 has nothing to do with John or wanting to honor his legacy. It's because he's going to die in a year and he wants to make the most of it, stop as many monsters as he can and save as many people as he can before he dies.

Like it's not that he doesn't express the sentiment or even use those exact words ("kill some evil sons of bitches" etc etc) it's the way the intros re-frame these moments into being about "honoring John's legacy" and doing what John would have wanted that is just wrong and frustrating. That is NOT what is motivating Dean. Not after John dies and not in s3 either. In s1 sure he wants to "pick up where Dad left off" and he is largely saying all this to convince Sam to stick around and also to actually hunt and save people instead of just going on a revenge quest.

But by s3 Dean has grown completely disillusioned with John and his "mission." He's bitter. S3 is the same season we see him crash out and get the iconic "My father was an obsessed bastard" scene. Ever since his death he has become increasingly more critical of John, while Sam has done the opposite.

So it's a little bit infuriating that the intro for most of s3--which serves as a way to summarize and catch up casual viewers--puts the idea in the minds of these viewers, who likely are not paying attention or thinking deeply about these things, that it's Dean who thinks they should be honoring John's legacy after his death. When it really isn't.

[mediumgayitalian]

PAUSE would you have any more hcs about cecil/will 😭😭i love cecil thirsting over will (as he should because will is a blonde bombshell)

cecil and will met when they were very little and in the same cabin together (hermes). neither had been claimed yet.

will's coming to camp was...rough. it wasn't something camp saw often. no one really knew how to handle this eight year old who hated everything and anyone and never responded to anything.

when he cried, at night, people put a pillow over their ears.

but cecil has these giant brown eyes. and he would sit up and watch, on his bedroll, as this boy cried and cried and cried, never running out of tears, freckles glowing in his fury and sobbing until he was sick.

once cecil decided to sit with him.

he didnt say anything. will glared at him anyway.

but he sat there. watching. quiet. all the way until the sun came out, and he blinked awake to will's quiet snoring.

he got the hell out of dodge before will woke up. he didn't really want to learn what morning-grouchy will looked like, and besides if he skipped out of the cabin fast enough he didn't have to help sweep.

(cecil will saw off his own arms to avoid chores. he'll take a monster attack any day of the week.)

he barely sees will all day. their cabin is huge and the camp is huger.

but at night will cries again.

and he comes again.

and he sits.

and watches.

this time will talks to him. snaps at him, rather, but it's something.

cecil just shrugs.

will gets used to his presence eventually. cecil's mama tells him he is like a a hissing baby monkey; grip like a steel trap and impossible to shake. will finds this too.

they talk, eventually. it would be hard not to. plus, will didn't know the camp store had candy. neither of them have any money, but will is a really good lookout and he's faster than cecil is.

(twizzlers is a balanced meal. there's protein in there.)

it takes some time for will to warm up to anybody. but cecil is funny, even though will doesn't like to admit it, and if he can make will laugh more than five times in the day will has to give him his bedroll for extra padding and sleep on the floor. them's the Rules.

it's boredom, really.

there aren't a lot of kids at camp. well, there are, but not kid kids, you know? mostly tweens, and they all suck and think they're too cool for anything fun. cecil and will form an alliance to avoid being wedgied from the top of thalia's tree again. they make a pretty good team anyway.

plus. as mentioned. cecil is tricky and will is fast.

together they bleed the camp store dry, along with most hip-length pockets.

they are friends first. it just happens over time. they spend most of their time together and they have similar interests. duh.

there is also the marriage incident.

the dumbass flirting is a result of the most poorly timed romantic relationship in the world.

look, they're both kind-of year rounders. moms are busy and travel. camp is stable, and neither fares well in the mortal world. and camp is fun but when it's not crowded, it's barren, and there is fuck all to do.

there's like.

studying.

and homework.

but homework is for people whose parents care about them, so.

what will and cecil do is a lot of fucking around.

they live in eternal summer and have a forest to screw around in, and will went ahead and got tall this summer, which cecil didn't know was allowed, and also he's starting to look more like his dad every day and not that cecil was looking, or anything, but field trips to olympus are boring as all fuck and apollo is literally the sun god, okay. he glows. he's hot. cecil has Eyes and he notices.

he also has eyes when he is not bored and those eyes are not blind to the fact that will is hot when he's mad and boy is it easy to make him mad. cecil is a growing boy with urges. there is no wifi at camp. what is he meant to do.

so one day they are thirteen years old (well, cecil is thirteen years old, and busy lording that over twelve year old will's head for five months) will comes to him, chin trembling, hands shaking, and says i like boys. im bisexual.

and cecil thinks very very quickly. son of the god of cunning, you see.

and says bullshit you are.

and will blinks.

he had a list of contingencies and responses. cass helped him write them out and something.

i. fucking of course i am, cecil.

eh.

i am. allergic to lying, you jackass.

no, i just mean -- you dont know. youve never kissed a boy in your life. maybe youre just trying to impress your dad.

are you????? fucking??? unwell???

and cecil is very good at keeping a poker face. it is a genuinely god-given right of his.

along with, of course.

trickery.

especially trickery in the name of Getting It.

and so he keeps a straight face and goes, nah. i'll believe it when i see it.

and will is very clever and very observant and an excellent planner etc etc. but he also has a temper. and cecil's number one favourite hobby is poking the bear.

(will is, aforementioned, hot when he is mad.)

and will stomps his foot and his face gets tinkerbell red and says i'll SHOW you kissing a boy!! dickhead!!

and well.

he sure does.

and it takes him approximately ten seconds to realise he's been Duped but he's kind of charmed by the idea of being manipulated into getting kissed.

and they're already techincally husbands.

so they date.

it's not that cecil is unattractive. he's cute actually.

and it is not that will does not have the occasional dream.

again.

attractive.

good with his hands etc.

it's just that.

well.

they forget.

to do boyfriend things.

they've been friends for so LONG okay.

literally the vast majority of their waking days for five fucking years. no weekends or summers off. constant.

they FORGOT.

three months later they're both like oh shit we're supposed to be making out aren't we.

and it's like. cecil has been flirting. but he ALWAYS does that bc it makes will roll his eyes and it's for the bit

he forgot it was not for the bit anymore

so they try again but they keep FORGETTING and adhd is their enemy in this moment and another month later they're like kay i give up. if you feel inclined to ravage me go for it i guess.

and cecil is like yeah good plan. i will hot stuff. and will Rolls His Eyes and they move on.

the issue now is that 1.

theyre married. technically.

2.

every time this greasy angsty emo boy comes to camp will is a kicked puppy about it. has been for years.

3.

cecil's literal favourite hobby is pissing his best friend off.

4.

he knows will thinks he's cute.

so sometimes he just...influences things.

will would jump off a bridge before admitting it but he has a thing for nerds. so when cecil wants to bother him he locks in for the month and picks up a really intricate hobby and stops wearing his contacts.

and lo and behold.

a couple weeks later.

there is Screeching in the night.

YOU ARE DOING THIS ONE PURPOSE.

bat eyelashes. bat eyelashes.

whatever do you mean, my darling.

KISS MY ASS, MARKOWITZ.

can i?

SHUT THE FUCK UP AND -- PUT THE EYES AWAY!!!

they're never going to date. they would never even bother it goes Nowhere. but hoo boy are they both attracted to each other and is it not the funniest ordeal in the world

it's funnier bc they were genuinely each other's first time. they decided to before the manhattan war bc they both didn't want to die virgins as in their Lifetime Pact.

but the issue is that cecil thought it would be funny to show up to the Event™�� in a honkable clown nose and will has never forgiven him.

so.

it is in the dream sometimes.

[kurikurikur1]

✦ RED OR BLUE?! — s. gojo, s. ryomen —. 赤か青か?!

ღ small event ! - pick a choice, get served a fic!

sum. red orrrr blue? Who will you choose over, Gojo? Or Sukuna? You're set in a scene towards the heian era, You're a known jujutsu sorcerer who travels across Japan once every year—in this yearly tradition you've obviously made one sided enemies—sorcerers who were a waste of your time and thought of annoying—they unfortunately to be The Six Eyes and The King Of Curses, this year—you happen to stumble upon both—who will you end up with?

each fanfiction does end up with smut. mdni.

The Nagoya region was quite peaceful—out of all the regions of Japan you had stumbled upon—this might have been your favorite. You're a jujutsu sorcerer from a small family that had practiced jujutsu to strive—crossing Japan from different directions was also one of the family traditions. Unfortunately—for you, you're one of the only ones left of your generation, so you've picked yourself from the ground and continued the tradition for many years.

The experience might have been enjoyable exploring Nagoya if it weren't for (not only the incoming stride of curses that will possibly wipe out Japan,) but—the dangerous double cursed energy you felt from afar when stepping on the dirt of Nagoya. Neither coming from your left side that you swore somehow left a blue taste on your tongue with familiarity with the cursed energy you think is coming from Tokyo. While the other—which you came in conclusion with that it came from the Hida Region had a closer reach to you, you thought the aura felt red.

.

.

And that's when it struck you.

What a dumb, dumb idiot you are—how couldn't you have realized sooner?!

No wonder the energy felt so strange and familiar—It was both the infamous Six Eyes and King Of Curses's cursed energy. You slurped up your green tea at the thought—forgetting its temperature and quickly spitting it out as your hands landed on your burnt tongue.

Across your many years of traveling across the country by foot, you had interactions with these sorcerers.

Not only that—you were fucking screwed because of your history with the two, these two are mortal enemies.

The Six's Eyes affiliation with you started all the way back towards 4 years ago, stepping forward in Tokyo for the first time in a mature age—you didn't remember much of your memories when adventuring during your infant years at the time for obvious reasons—so you were slightly familiar with the city. After discovering not a pinch of the region, you stumbled upon him—Satoru Gojo. He isn't easy to miss—soft white hair with his overwhelming blue eyes glaring at you, his usual haori he would wear. He had shown you around—you without your knowledge, followed one of—if not the strongest jujutsu sorcerer currently, your time spent with him was short—but it was full of affection as he treated you like family, something that could break but had so much potential as a sorcerer. You swore you remember those eyes secretly gazing at yours, ranking your body down from up with desire.

Not until a year later, you found The King Of Curses. Well, he found you. Satoru was all soft—vanilla and all, but compared with your first meeting with Sukuna? Couldn't say less but more of an opposite. His greedy little hands got a hold of you when he infiltrated a village for meat—bored out of his mind, he wanted to take you and simply have a little fun with toying with you. Your week with Sukuna was nothing but a mix of torture but also—infatuation? Sukuna had given you a week, a week to spend time with him—he had given you an option, considering you hesitated to call him a name when you first woke up in his shrine because of your pure heart, his options for you were: tell him he's a horrible monster and leave, or stay till the end of the week and possibly get eaten, during half the week, Sukuna's small affection wasn't hidden as it was obvious, caring for you here and there.

Fortunately for you—somehow, you had escaped his grasp without choosing, staying as far away from The Hida Region—though you felt eyes on you the same after you had left Tokyo.

You reflected, you did have to move from Nagoya—and hell in front of you was The Hida Region or Tokyo, and by the feeling of the energy surging around you, maybe it was a good idea to break the tradition for once. But you really had no choice—the swift of curses were coming and you needed to cross japan immediately.

please remember that the most picked option will be the next fic, which will contain smut. mdni <3

raaaaghh, options like a dating sim! i wonder which one will yall pick 👀

+edit:; if you wanna get tagged on the next part of "RED OR BLUE?!" comment a red and blue heart if so♡

[differentnerddiplomatopera]

Odydio? Maybe 🤔

*Preparing for Palamedes Stoning

*Odysseus is rambling about something or the other*

-“Odysseus”.

-“Diomedes”.

*Diomedes looks towards Palamedes

-He was dead the moment he arrived on your shores. No. Oh no. Poor man, he was dead the moment he was considered to bring you to the war effort.

-Hm.

-Odysseus. When will you kill me?

-I’m sorry?

-Early apologizes, I see. When will I meet my end, disgraced, bleeding at your feet? 

-Are you mad?

-Mad enough to understand you. 

-Hm. 

Pause.

-I will tell you.

-Tell me what?

-When you have become so insignificant, such a pathetic person. No more than a man, less than a dog. A shell of a once powerful man. I will tell you.  And then, then I will ruin you. Because you became but an empty shell of maggots and death; nothing behind those eyes, nothing meaningful coming out of your mouth. You would have become so foolish. If you try to screw me, I might add. Crossing me, as you and I have seen, is the worst mistake man has made since men were made. I will tell you Diomedes. You would have become so dull that when I ruin you, you wouldn’t know. There. Happy?

-Very.

-Are you not going to respond in kind? Diomedes, don’t tell me that head of yours is-

-You love talking, do you ever shut up? 

-If asked nicely. And given something special to earn my silence.

-I do. Have something, an idea of what I'd do.

-Please share.

-Hm. Fine. Odysseus, in the time I’ve known you, I have observed your love for games, tricks, schemes, machinations and the like.

-Oh wow-

-Hush. I will ruin your games. Tear your silks, shatter your masks, crash your festivities. I will slow down my pace, always two steps behind you, and I will drag you down. I will ruin your games, Odysseus. I will rip back the layers, peel the curtains, pray to Apollo to shine his light to expose for who you truly are. Who you are, what you are, I have no clue. But you must be dreadfully disgusting to hide behind those masks of yours. Ones that I am starting to differentiate and mark down into memory and notice. 

Be proud of me Odysseus.

-I am.

-Quiet, an interesting look on you.

*Palamedes screams fill the background.

-Promise it. Diomedes, swear it to me.

-There it is. 

-What?

-Your face, unabashed, naked. 

-You’re the monster and the most beautiful creature, Diomedes.

-The poison and the remedy, all the same, Odysseus.

-All the security I lack, and all the danger I crave.

-Somehow constant, even though you are ever changing.

-Delectable, tasting of the most beautiful wine with the sharpest after bite.

-Uncomely, vile you are, Odysseus. And the most beautiful, perfect example of magnificent I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.

-Hm.

-I never stood a chance against you.

-And it would still be true, even with your poison down my throat.

-Poison you would let me feed you, because  for some reason, you choose the option of suffering.

-Projecting your traits on me isn’t a good look.

Long Pause

-I would. Let you. He didn’t stand a chance.

Pause

Neither did I. 

Found a post, can’t find the original poster. If you find it, please let me know. Here it is.

[reds-writings]

if only tonight we could sleep?

the dora lange case had come to a close...but was it really ever over?

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: inspired by getting lost in the sound of the cure's kiss me, kiss me, kiss me album. this is set somewhere in the same world of jealousy, jealousy!. your feedback, as always, is greatly treasured!

word count: around 2.6k

warnings: angst, canon-typical death (mentions of what happens at the Ledoux shootout), nudity (showering together!), cursing, dread, etc (minors go away)

The Dora Lange case had finally been closed once and for all. All the bullshit and danger that had accumulated over all these weeks could finally cease to continue. You’re sure that even within the next twenty something odd years or so when all of this would be well blown over and buried you would never be able to truly process the fucked up-ness of it all. 

Your mind was thoroughly numb and all of your limbs ached to no end. You could feel everything you’d endured catching up to you as your body finally allowed itself to let go. Adrenaline and sheer will had been what kept you from fully crumbling during the case’s most crucial and final moments. The shit Rust and Marty decided to pull with that druggie Ginger had already left you worse for wear. Discovering Ledoux and the horrors that were transpiring in that shithole was something you couldn’t let yourself dwell on for too long lest you wanted to find yourself having a complete mental breakdown. Bodies and skulls being blown to bits right in front of you. The sight of rich blood and scattered brain matter sprayed to stain onto your boots. Finding those kids like that…you’d never get over it. One was sentenced to a life of trauma that left her catatonic and the other one deceased. You’d had the naive thought more than once telling you if only we'd all been a bit quicker…

But there was no point in dwelling on all the ifs and maybes. That was a guaranteed one-way ticket to self-induced insanity. 

You should feel relief that this is over. The weight of one of the many atrocities committed in the world removed from your down-trodden shoulders. Solved. A monster taken down and put into the earth where he couldn’t return to cause more strife. Why couldn't it feel over? Where was the relief?

You didn’t know much of what Rust and Marty felt on the matter, too busy dealing with keeping your stories straight on just how you all had come across Ledoux’s hideout instead of finding the time to have a heart-to-heart on how much this might’ve permanently screwed with your heads for ages to come. You knew well enough that ending the case like this wasn’t easy for either of them given their respective standpoints when it came to kids. Marty discovered those children and both men had carried them back. Rust had shouldered the burden of carrying that poor boy. A small choice of action that had your heart twisting even more painfully than you thought it already had during it all. The Texan could go on and on about the world being shit and there being no control over the horrors one would be put through trying to live life but you found that it was he who tried the hardest to shield others from said pain and horror whether he was aware of it or not. He cared a lot more about the human race than he let on but it would be more than ineffectual trying to convince him of that particular truth. 

Things with Rust had been all over the place since the fiasco of a night you had after the bar as well as any event that followed afterwards: surprise, surprise. The time you’d initially aimed for to really sit down and decipher where it was exactly you saw the two of you headed had found itself slipping away at every possible chance. Neither of you was to necessarily blame, as the nature of your work was in constant demand of your full attention, but that didn't make it any less frustrating.

You guys weren’t even truly anything yet and it was already this arduous. What kind of shelf-life did a pairing such as this really have down the line? It was more than likely that acting on any idea of pursuing Rust romantically was destined to never end in your favor. He was your coworker for Christ’s sake. Yes, there was no one else who could probably understand what it is you go through like each other but it was harder to separate other crueler aspects of your lives as well. Everything would get in the way of professionalism. It already had when it came to the showdown with Ginger. 

Trying not to let your thoughts go down the usual Rust rabbit hole it found itself in you decided that you’d take the longest and hottest shower you hadn’t had the luxury of taking in weeks. Any extra time you had lately was reserved for quick and cold rinses to keep yourself up and at 'em’. Relaxation in any sense of the word was hard to adjust to after long stretches of work such as these. It was like your body had forgotten how to just be. Nothing was chasing you and there was no clock ticking over your shoulder to mock you that time to get shit done was running out. The empty quiet that followed would never not be unnerving to you. You had nowhere to be and nothing to do. 

Where was the fucking relief? 

With a huff, you set aside the jack and coke you’d been cradling out on your front porch in the dwindling evening light. The air was more balmy than the stifling hot you’d experienced day in and day out though your skin still held that essence of a humid dew that kept your hair and clothes sticking to you like a second skin. Dusting off your pants you made way to get on up from your depressing reverie only to find the outline of a familiarly limber figure at the end of your driveway. How the hell hadn’t you heard him pull up?

“Are you gonna stand there like a regular ol’ weirdo or get up here?” You feigned nonchalance at his sudden presence but your heart told another story with the quickening pace it decided to adopt. 

Wordlessly, Rust ventured his way up the pathway and onto your shabby porch. He eyed the abandoned drink you had by your side so you offered it up to him. He loosened the tie around his neck and undid the first two buttons of his dress shirt before accepting the silent offering. It took two long gulps before the glass was drained.

There was a heavy silence for longer than what was comfortable. Where could you even start? You didn’t want to catch yourself in an awkward fumble trying to gauge what it was he exactly needed from you as it was clear there was a purpose in him showing up without a warning. The set of his posture made it seem like he was curling in on himself more and more by the minute. He couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye, fearful that it would be his complete undoing. This visible deflation in action made you feel panicked for not knowing what assistance you could offer without having him pull away.

“...D’ya wanna talk about it?”

Rust shook his head softly as if in a daze. His eyes growing glassy and increasingly distant while he stared at your porch’s floorboards. 

At a loss, you cleared your throat shakily, “Well I was just about to hop in the shower. You can come inside…hang around if you want. We don’t have to talk or nothin’...o-or we can if that’s what you wanna end up doin’ after havin’ some quiet.”

No reply.

“Well, there’s beers and whatnot in the fridge if you choose. Don’t be shy to helpin’ yourself.” You got up and squeezed his hand gently, warm and calloused like you’d been dreaming about since they held you. That already felt like ages ago. He still made no move.

“I’m here.” Was all you could say and with that, you loosened your grip and headed on inside then upstairs to your bathroom. After setting out some comfy clothes and shedding out of the day’s stiff attire for all the press work that entailed you waited for the shower to reach its desired heat. The person looking back at you in your steadily fogging mirror was almost unrecognizable. Bruises from recent incidents had barely begun to make their way towards the fading process. Skin so sullen and hair even duller. When had you started to look so tired? This beaten down? You felt sorry for anyone who had the displeasure of viewing your walking corpse as of late. 

The spray of the showerhead above you was nothing short of heavenly. Any pain and misery melted away to be forever cast down into the depths of the tub’s drain. Your bones felt like lead as you let yourself stand there, waiting to gain the sense of motivation to start washing yourself clean. It could’ve been ten minutes or even ten hours before the sound of the bathroom door clicking ajar had you opening your eyes. The silhouette of the cause of your heart’s aching and beating stood beyond the fogged glass as if at a loss of what to make himself do next. You said nothing, not wanting him to feel as if he was unwanted or on the other hand forced to join you. To expose himself beyond what a casual act of nudity could display already. 

It was another elongated moment before you heard the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothes being discarded. You were so far gone that it hadn’t occurred to you he was about to see you at your most vulnerable. He’d witnessed you at some of your lowest, shittiest points but this was crossing into an entirely new territory. 

And yet you didn’t feel as scared as you thought you would. You didn’t find Rust to be as judgemental about the physical as he was about the metaphysical. 

The shower’s sliding door worked its way open and you didn’t turn around until a few moments after it had closed. The look on his face was similar to the one you’d been subjected to all those weeks ago after the bar. One of true fear. Fear of being seen at his very core. Open and raw. Fear that you’d take this all in and decide to turn him away in disgust or disinterest. Rust’s eyes didn’t wander down any further than your face. He wasn’t here out of primal desire. He needed something…someone…you to help him hold himself together for just this moment. Any and all strength he usually had keeping him upright had escaped him after the weight of everything finally penetrated his psyche. 

You found your hand making its way up to his face, tracing dampening tendrils out of his line of sight before cupping his jaw. That empty blue fluttered closed, giving himself a moment or two before completely relinquishing himself to your gentle touch. Your other hand met the other side of his face before you leaned forward to touch your forehead to his. The downfall of water in the small cubicle drowned out any other possible thoughts or worries that could’ve been had in the current moment. There was nothing and no one else that mattered. 

One kiss to his nose, then his chin, and finally his trembling lips had large palms come up to rest on the supple flesh of your hips, steadily gripping you as if you’d float away from him. You separated for a moment as his hands traveled up to clutch at your back. Before he could bring you closer you kissed him gently once more before succumbing to his grasp. Settling with leaving barely-there imprints of your mouth on the expansive skin of his chest and neck, your own hands brought themselves up to return his embrace. You felt the soft press of a peck linger on the side of your head as his grip grew a bit tighter. Seconds passed until the subtle shaking of broad shoulders had you clinging to him impossibly tighter. His sobs were not all that audible but the shuddering breaths he’d take in every now and then were more than enough to clue you in on just how much he was hurting. Tears began to burn behind your own eyes as your pain melded with his. 

Here you were, just two broken people who gave up all notions of stoicism to completely and utterly crumble in front of each other. Fully at each other’s undeniable mercy. 

- - - -

You didn’t know how much more time had passed after holding each other but as the water began to grow more frigid you made haste to help each other wash up. You both stepped out so you could wrap yourself in your own towel before making your way to your linen closet to fetch him one as well as to not have him left wet and cold for too long. With your mind a bit clearer from the emotional release experienced, you finally came to realize the presence of the exceptionally athletic physique in front of you. He seemed to be in the same state of appreciation towards you and you caught yourself feeling hot in the face as you clumsily thrust a towel in his direction. 

“You don’t have to be shy in front of me.” His voice sounded raw from lack of use. The first words he’d uttered since he’d come here.

You tucked a wet piece of hair behind your ear, trying to casually meet his stare, “I know. Just didn’t expect us to end up here when you showed up is all. It’s just catchin’ up to me…” The pinch of your chin between long fingers drew you to kiss him again. 

“You’re everythin'...and then some.” 

You fought a self-deprecating scoff but he said it as if it were the most simplest fact in the world. You had no choice but to believe him.

“Let’s just find you some clothes. I am in dire need of one looong hibernation after everythin’. You too, mister.” You flicked his chest then slinked out of the bathroom. You finished any of the necessary preparations for bed by the time he had wandered into your room. The window you cracked open let in a gentle breeze while the warm glow of the few candles that had been lit danced in the haven you created. Whether you wanted a form of light for the sake of your own comfort or it being done out of some subconsciously innate need to keep Rust out of the dark for the night, you didn’t care to unpack. 

Climbing into bed once and for all, you lay facing each other. Letting peace and stillness settle in. 

“We did it y’know…it’s over. We can be okay.” You couldn’t help but say. Feeling the need to find something to reaffirm the so-called fact that should’ve been comforting at the end of all this. Anything to soothe underlying anxiety as the heavy shadow of the unknown and incomplete loomed over you. It should’ve been over but Ledoux was but a small piece to a hugely fragmented puzzle. Both of you knew it deep down but hadn’t the strength to confirm it out loud. Afraid to shatter this sense of temporary false security.

This was far from being done and dealt with. From being fully uncovered.  

Rust didn’t say anything else as he pulled you into the warmth of his chest. Caging you in with no choice but to surrender to the silent feeling of safety he was trying to provide you. You could only pray that the two of you could make it through anything as you both found yourselves victims to the passing of time and any other trials it had ready for you.

Especially with whatever was waiting for you on the other side of Carcosa.  

----

a/n: ahhhh! hurt/comfort is always a guilty pleasure. sorry for the immense dread at the end. i'm thinking of cooking up another fic that draws back to what exactly went down with our trio and ginger if that's something of interest to you all! thanks for reading!

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

Hiii! Can you do something with epilogue and the reader watches his little girl (Pete and reader already knew each other from the club), it’s so obvious that he likes her but the reader wants to play hard to get until finally….THANK YOU

(Lol i don't see why not.

Title: "Maybe"

Pete DiNunzio wasn’t exactly the guy you pictured calling you up for a favor. Especially not this favor.

"You’re not busy or anything, right?" he muttered into the phone, scratching the back of his neck, sounding like he regretted even dialing your number. "I just...I need someone to watch Gabriella for a couple hours. Ma flaked."

You leaned back on your couch, smirking to yourself. "Oh, so I’m second choice?"

Pete huffed. "Don’t start."

You’d known him for years, back when the Eltingville Club was still a thing — when he was just Pete, the loudmouth with a short fuse and too much horror trivia crammed into his skull. Now he was Pete, the single dad who still swore too much and wore the same dumb backwards cap...but something about him had gotten warmer. Even if he’d rather die than admit it.

You agreed, of course. Playing hard to get didn’t mean being cruel. It just meant teasing him a little.

When he dropped her off, he stood in your doorway a little too long. Gabriella clutched his pant leg, peeking out at you with big brown eyes and a stubborn little frown that was so Pete it was almost funny. Pete bent down to her level, ruffling her hair — and you noticed the way he kept glancing up at you, like he was making sure you were really okay with this.

"You got my number, you got my address, you got my emergency contacts," he said gruffly, ticking each item off on his fingers. "You screw this up, I will kick your ass."

You raised an eyebrow. "Relax, Pete. It’s not like I’m gonna sell her to the circus."

He pointed a finger at you, trying not to grin. "You would."

"I mean...depending on the price," you teased.

He rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might pop out of his head. But his ears were definitely turning pink.

Before he could embarrass himself any more, he mumbled something about being back soon and practically bolted.

---

Hours later, after an easy afternoon of Disney movies, drawing pictures, and Gabriella proudly showing you her monster figurines ("Daddy says this one's called The Gill-Man!!"), Pete showed back up — and just stood in your living room doorway, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, watching.

He didn’t say it — of course he didn’t — but the look on his face was so obvious:

You're good with her. You’re good, period.

You decided to twist the knife a little.

"You miss me already?" you teased, tilting your head.

Pete scoffed. "Pfft. In your dreams."

You just smiled sweetly and handed Gabriella her jacket. "Maybe."

And Pete — tough, grumpy, can’t-admit-a-thing Pete — didn’t say anything. He just looked away, scratching the back of his neck again, trying and failing to hide the dopey little smile tugging at his mouth.

You could definitely keep playing hard to get.

It was gonna be way too much fun.

---

Later that night, after Gabriella had knocked out on your couch mid-cartoon marathon, Pete didn’t leave right away.

Instead, he hovered near your kitchen counter, arms crossed tight over his chest like he was holdin’ himself together by sheer force of will. His jacket was tossed over a chair, his backwards cap pulled low, like he didn’t really wanna meet your eyes.

You leaned against the fridge, holding up a bottle of red wine you cracked open once Gabby fell asleep.

"You want a glass?"

Pete hesitated a beat too long. Then he shrugged, real casual. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever."

You poured two glasses and handed him one. His fingers brushed yours, warm and rough. Neither of you said anything about it.

For a while, it was easy — the two of you leanin’ there, sippin’ wine, the TV buzzin’ low in the background. You cracked a joke about how Gabriella could probably school you on monster movies at this point.

Pete actually laughed. A real laugh. Not forced, not bitter.

It was nice. Too nice.

Eventually, he shifted his weight, settin’ his glass down with a clink and mutterin’, "Listen...about her mom."

You blinked. Pete never brought up his personal shit.

"She left," he said flat, like he was rippin’ off a band-aid. "Couple years back. Said she couldn’t 'do it' no more. Said I was..." He stopped, jaw clenchin’. "Difficult."

You stayed quiet. Let him get it out.

Pete ran a hand down his face. "Said it was like livin’ with a fuckin' teenager. Like I never grew up." He gave a hollow little laugh. "Ain’t exactly wrong."

"Pete..." you started.

He waved you off, snappin’, "Nah, it’s fine. Whatever. I’m better off."

His voice cracked just a little, almost like he didn’t notice.

He stared down into his wine, scowlin’ at it like it personally offended him. His ears were red. His whole face was, actually.

"You ain’t difficult," you said, voice soft. "You’re just you."

He snorted, but it didn’t have any bite.

"You’re the only fuckin' lunatic who thinks that."

You smiled a little. You couldn’t help it.

He could be an asshole sometimes, sure. He could say shit without thinkin’. But at the end of the day, Pete was real. And there weren’t a lotta real people left.

You reached out, real gentle, and touched his arm.

Pete stiffened like you’d smacked him — but then...he stayed. Didn't move. Just stood there, breathin' a little heavier.

"Y'know," he muttered, glancin’ sideways at you, "you always were a little nuts hangin’ around us idiots back then."

You smirked. "Maybe I like difficult."

He huffed a short, almost nervous laugh through his nose. Shook his head, lookin’ down.

"Yeah, well. You must be a fuckin' masochist."

You sipped your wine, slow, starin’ at him over the rim.

Daring him.

Pete set his glass down hard.

And then — with all the grace of a guy throwin’ himself off a cliff — he kissed you.

It wasn’t smooth. His nose bumped yours. Your teeth clicked. He cursed under his breath halfway through.

But none of that mattered.

It was real. All that bottled-up want, all that stubborn, gruff, loud love he didn’t know how to show — it all poured out at once, rough and messy and perfect.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, Pete kept his forehead pressed to yours.

"...You gonna bust my fuckin' balls about this now or later?" he muttered, voice low and wrecked.

You smiled against his mouth.

"Maybe."

[lets-try-some-writing]

Not only fauna screwing with them but being screwed over by it.. Moose for example. KnockOut (ratchet maybe his team too) probably had vehicons to patch up that ran into mooses and it's not like theyre gonna admit they almost died because of earth mammal

All the Cybertronians on Earth have problems with the fauna. Ratchet has a personal vendetta against deer since he runs into them frequently enough to despise the stupid things. He has run over one and he complained about it for a month afterwards when he couldn't get part of the gore out of his wheels. Optimus has a vicious and very much unspoken hatred of squirrels. He will tolerate them, but after they got into his passenger seat one time while he was recharging in alt-mode... he now detests them and lives with the haunting sound of his passenger seat being torn up.

Bumblebee has regular problems with the dogs in Jasper. There is no solid reason for it, but perhaps they sense what he is. Whatever the case, they can and will chase him all over the face of creation whenever he drive through and it has led to an overall avoidance of all dogs ever. Arcee has personal beef with the loyal crows since they have learned to pick her out and know that Jack tends to have food. Jack always feeds them while leaning against Arcee, and this in turn means that when the crows see her, they assume its feeding time. She hates it.

Bulkhead and Wheeljack have never run into anything too bad (surprisingly). However there was a singular time when they met a bear on the road and that moment scarred them forever mentally. The bear knew no fear, and not wanting to kill it, Bulkhead and Wheeljack attempted to drive off. But of course the bear sprinted, and neither were aware creatures that big can go so fragging FAST. It haunts them sometimes. Smokescreen has a problem with fish. Why? He fell in a lake and one ended up trapped in his plating for a day. He hated feeling the slimy thing so close to him and has since avoided lakes like the plague. Ultra Magnus, for all his issues, has thus far had no issues with animals.

Knockout ran into a moose with Breakdown once. The monster rammed right into Breakdown and knocked him around. The fact that the moose managed it at all has since left the duo with the firm belief that it is not worth the effort to drive in moose territory. Starscream will forever have problems with birds, but gulls in particular. He hates them with a seething passion and they seem to share the sentiment. Megatron hates organic life, period. But one creature in particular happens to be magpies. He went to the wrong place at the wrong time and got swooped and he has never forgotten it. Soundwave actually likes the wildlife a great deal, but he has had problems with on particular tiger that decided Soundwave was a kill on sight target whenever he turned up.

[totallynotavampir3]

not the only one

a/n: i changed the og dialog because i was half asleep when i wrote it, but i hope you still enjoy!!

small tw/cw: there are deep topics discussed in this fic revolving around depression.

The stars shimmered like scattered dreams across the sky, distant and unreachable. A soft breeze passed through the grass, rustling it like whispered secrets. You sat beside Sans in silence, your shoulders just close enough to almost touch.

Neither of you had spoken for a while, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that settled gently between two people who didn’t need words to fill the space. The night was peaceful—unnaturally so, considering how restless your mind had been lately.

You glanced over at him. His skull tilted slightly upward, eye sockets lost in the stars. One of them glowed faintly blue, pulsing in time with something you couldn’t name. He looked... calm. Or maybe distant. It was always hard to tell with him.

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

“Y’know... monsters didn’t exist in my universe.”

His eye flicked toward you, faintly curious.

“Not like you, I mean.”You quickly added. 

“then what do you mean?” he said, turning slightly to face you.

You hesitated. It felt silly now, trying to put it into words. But he was patient. He always had been, even when you felt you didn’t deserve it.

You stared out at the horizon, the line where night met the world. “The bad kind,” you said softly.

“bad kind?” he echoed, more serious now.

You nodded, fingers curling into the grass beneath you like it might ground you. “Yeah. The kind that’s inside us. Humans, I mean. Not something you can fight with magic. Its the kind that lives in your head. The kind that tells you you’re worthless. That nothing matters. That you’re not enough—won’t ever be. The kind that makes you stop caring about things you used to love. That makes waking up feel heavier than sleeping. Or it can be the kind that’s vicious. Or angry. Or scared, and doesn’t know how to deal with it, so it just lashes out. The kind that destroys things it loves without realizing until it’s too late.”

You paused. He didn’t interrupt.

“It’s the kind of monster no one else can see. Not really. But it’s there, inside. Whispering that you’re not enough, or that they’ll leave you anyway, so you might as well push them first. The kind that makes you believe you don’t deserve anything good.”

You swallowed hard. “That’s the kind of monster I grew up knowing of.”

Sans was quiet for a long time. The wind played at the edges of your clothes, and somewhere in the distance, a frog croaked before falling silent again.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “i think i get it.”

You looked at him, surprised.

He gave a small shrug. “not the human version, maybe. but… we got somethin’ like that, too. inside. the kind that keeps you up at night, tellin’ you it’s already over. that you don’t get a second chance. or that even if you do, you’ll just screw it up again.”

Your breath caught.

“guess what i’m tryin’ to say is…” He looked up again, as if trying to avoid meeting your eyes. “you’re not the only one who’s got bad monsters.”

You didn’t respond. You just leaned slightly closer. Close enough that your shoulder brushed his. Close enough to feel the faint warmth of him, even through the fabric of his hoodie.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

And then, quietly, you whispered, “I think maybe… it’s not about being free of them.”

He glanced sideways at you, eyes curious.

“It’s about choosing not to let them win.”

Sans smiled, soft and tired. “heh. sounds like a pretty good plan.”

You let the silence return. But this time, it felt different.

This time, it felt like healing.

[oceansarepink]

"constant condescension, demands of service, and emotional abuse."

"constant condescension": do you mean the nicknames Stolas gave to Blitz where it shows the clash of POVs from both sides (Stolas POV he's just being tender and loving, but of course his oblivious ass raised in a classist family won't realize that, meanwhile from Blitz POV, where class weights way more on him, assumes he's being condescending, despite not being his intention and not being a reality either). But psh, screw that right? It's way better to oversimplify and say Stolas does it on purpose and is a big monster, surely that's the most intelligent way to go!

"demands of service": alright, it's another part of POV clash, because the so-called 'demands' are something that Blitz perhaps understands what his affair with Stolas is like, for obvious reason, he's a goetia, he's an imp, yada yada, power imbalance, logical reasons that explains why the foundation of Stolitz in the first place is messy and shouldn't ever be the base of an relationship and the reason ppl root for it is for them to get out of this but no you all just assume everyone wants them to create this narrative that 'Stolas is in the right Blitz in the wrong' when the NOT FUCKING STUPID people don't pick sides and conclude this was a trainwreck bound to happen, fans are just waiting for the resolution (which hasn't come yet)

Anyways back to my point about the so-called demands, as I explained why it's understandable Blitz views this way, this is also not an reality. Paying attention to Stolas language in Murder Family, fucked up context aside, he don't bring up consequences if Blitz didn't accept the trade neither mentioned his power to threat him to accept it either, he offered and even asked if it's fair, someone as powerful as Stolas could control Blitz easily, yet he doesn't and it shows a lot about his character, but of fucking course you all don't care about that, Stolas is a big meanie.

and lastly: emotional abuse.

What. Just what. Everything that's going on with Blitz right now is not Stolas fault, this overwhelming 'torture' for Blitz as shown in these episodes are because of the obvious fact of the MASSIVE self hatred Blitz holds against himself, which, guess what, was actually SOLVED in this episode with Millie's help. This was not a damage by Stolas, sure, it's the most recent wound and Blitz feels guilty not for falling up for him, despite him desiring that, but he just straight up refused consciously to sit and talk with Stolas seriously because he WANTED that pompous rich asshole projection he had of Stolas (that is shown on his Truth Seekers hallucination), and talking about that, YES, EVERYONE KNOWS THE STOLAS PERCEPTION OF BLITZ SHOWN IN THAT EPISODE IS FUCKED UP, is not by any means healthy and is just self degrading, Stolas social class by itself already does that but his words towards him he >unconsciously< fed this preconception;

I could discuss Stolitz for a while and explain the appeal to Stolitz is not their previous dynamic, as fun as it was to watch sometimes, most know those conditions are not the healthy base of an relationship, and no, Stolas arc is by any means resolved, him taking the action to end the transactional deal with Blitz is just an start, the episodes are setting up so much stuff about Stolas realizing more stuff and ACTUALLY CHANGE FR.

What do you think the Striker line towards him about how the royals take everything from 'us', Blitz ranting (which is not a calling Stolas out, it's a rant of feeling unfairly dismissed and how he's having his feelings being played), but regardless, mentioning his attitude towards other imps and Apology Tour description literally calling Stolas not being self aware enough, and it's the episodes where petty Stolas keep talking bs at the start (with an Blitz that refuses to talk seriously fr)

This misconception you all have that Stolitz fans think all this needs to happen is Blitz to confess, and that Stolas has nothing more to improve is just wrong. Just plain wrong. I love both of these characters and I hate seeing an enormous mischaracterization of both.

Let's see if you won't oversimplify all I just said

Not oversimplify, but to summarise how stolas fans excuse him:

(1) Not the nickname. The fact he is asked not to say it, but does anyway. Because it makes him feel good. That is condescending. He is screamed in his face how people feel, and he ignores them not because he is “oblivious” or “tender and loving” but because he wants them to feel something else. This is wilful ignorance.

His response to his abusive marriage and family he has no control over, is to control those he knows cannot say no to him, to make himself feel better. The same way he abuses drugs and absinthe. He does it to his own staff, his daughter in the LooLoo land episode causing her breakdown, which he later regretted. In general to all imp kind, hellhounds also. This is the toxic mindset of someone with pain, who has let his victim mentality go too far. He is exploiting his privilege, which he is perfectly aware that he has. “Being part of the Goetia family is rather valuable you know”

Oddly enough, despite his “oblivious” self….he knows not to act this way towards Paimon, Asmodeus, and Andrealphus. He uses respect for all three. Ever wonder why? Him and Stella are in a clear power struggle. How they use power is unstable. An explanation, not excuse, for how he acts. This isn’t a prince problem. This is a stolas problem. His trauma isn’t blitzos fault, but Blitzs trauma is caused by how stolas has behaved to him.

“His oblivious ass and being raised in a classist family won’t realise that” hm. Wont realise….what? But you say everything is all in blitzs head and not the reality at all? So what isn’t stolas realising???

…..Oh and these…which are not even all of them.

(2) Now hang on, you can’t just “yada yada” away a power dynamic that you recognise is the problem. Stolas can control blitz. You do not understand what the sexual abuse is here. You think the fact he could rape him even more, but doesn’t, is worthy of praise. I think what he’s already done to abuse his power, is worthy of disdain. You’re pretending this was consensual, but despite how pro stolas the narrative is, even they have to admit it was not. Stolas said it wasnt right for a reason. And you seem to take his reality and his truth as the only reality, so why make this exception. When someone says they were sexually abused, you don’t get to say “Well you’re wrong. That’s not the reality. Because he loves you, and he didn’t mean it. He’s doesn’t see it this way, he’s one of the good ones.”

That first sentence is a mess. They’re demands because “no” isn’t reasonably on the table. He had to beg him not to take his business away, he said he could fulfill the bargain. You and stolas are squeamishly in denial about it. It’s not that blitz doesn’t feel this way, and that it isn’t what happened, it’s that you wish he didn’t and you wish that it didn’t, you want to pretend it is “society” or blitzs mental illnesses or Blitzs dad. But never stolas and what he did.

Er….you are taking a side. You said everything blitz feels is not reality. The source being, his trauma, and because stolas doesn’t see it that way. This feels like accusing an abuser person of “hysteria”

The emotional abuse part was explained very clearly, stolas does all of these; shifts blame, denial, shames him for his past relationships, switches victim and offender, rewrites past events, dodges questions, uses hefty amounts of guilt tripping, projection, deflection, silent treatment, taunting, and torment. By comparison, Blitz yells at him not to dismiss him, says he behaves in a classist way, makes sex jokes, and says “fuck you” these are all reactions. Something called reactive abuse which is what victims do in frustration and lack of control. Like stolas screaming back at Stella. She almost always starts it. (Not counting one scene where the start of the fight is offscreen so I don’t know who did)

“This was not caused by stolas. Sure it was the most recent wound” bit of a self contradiction. The way stolas behaved was disgusting, and abusive, his combination of control and guilt tripping, caused a massive decline in blitzs confidence triggering a mental break. As stolas’ behaviour has done to him several times.

Did Blitz “not want to talk?” Or did stolas order him to leave three times, and kick him out by force the second time? And turn his back on him every single instance. Causing the angry “im not being listened to” response stolas always causes in people. No. It’s stolas who refuses to. And as you and I both know, he has all of the power.

Third last paragraph, Viv cannot allow blitz to be right about stolas, so she compares him to a more convenient “bad” example, Striker. Ppl want to pretend the problem is “society” and painting royals with the same brush like a meanie head, and pretend it’s not stolas’ fault cause he’s just “loving and tender and oblivious and silly” This is a massive case of denial and creators pet behaviour, that is even irritating the spindlehorse animators and non-Viv writers.

Second last paragraph, don’t tell me what I think lol?. Many of the fans say they actually do feel that way, it’s no misconception. In this message you are dodging stolas having any moments of malice at all, by using “trauma” and “blitz just sees it that way” as reasonings.

[throneofsapphics]

haunt me like the wind that blows (part 3)

Feysand x f!Reader

(part one) (part two)

Summary: it wasn’t really a nightmare, it felt more like a gift. Even with the pain, her subconscious was the only place she could taste freedom.

Warnings: dark feysand, toxic relationships, dubcon, kidnapping, nightmares, non-consensual bondage, references to suicide attempt, a bit of smut, gaslighting probably, minors dni!

Word Count: ~2.7k

A/N: this is going to be the last part! please mind the warnings

Seconds after she breached the wards of Velaris, a familiar hand clenched around her wrist - tight enough pain lanced through her hand, and she wondered if he’d break her wrist. 

“Feyre said you could be trusted,” he purred, “but I knew better.” 

The wind, the beautiful and cruel wind whipped around her face, the ends of her hair rising. She could taste it - the freedom on the horizon. Then - gone. She was alone. She stumbled back, eyes wide as she glanced around her. Had she imagined it? Bruises circled her wrist and it still ached as she clutched it to her chest. 

“No, that was real.” Rhys crooned. 

“Leave me-” 

“Alone, yes I know.” His voice took on a cruel tone. “Let’s see if you survive the night, monsters worse than me are out there.” 

Gods. Gods. She was so screwed. She wouldn’t put it past him to unleash something. Something to haunt her, to scare her into coming back. “Anything is better than with you.” Y/n taunted, unable to control herself. A snarl echoed through her mind, but she took off into the night. Maybe this was just a game, but she’d be a fool not to take the chance. But where to go? She didn’t doubt that word spread of her in Vallahan, of the rogue mate to the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. 

Branches whipped against her arms and legs, small cuts scraping against her but she didn’t care. All pain was drowned out as she sprinted, as fast and far as she could. Temporary freedom was better than nothing. She would take anything she could get at this point.

“You really think you’ll manage without us, don’t you?” Feyre’s voice echoed in her mind - and she didn’t know if it was real or not. Reality seemed to warp around her - the trees shifting in unnatural rhythms, the ground shifting underneath her - rolling like waves of the sea as she struggled to balance. Any trees she tried to grip for balance shifted out of her way. Y/n fell down a hill, tumbling and barely covering her head as she fell -

“Y/n,” a voice shouted, overtaking everything else. Hands braced her shoulders, shaking her awake. This voice was real. She knew that. “Wake up love.” She groaned, rolling away and tugged at her wrists. Chains - still sleeping with the chains on. Her eyes blinked open, spotting Feyre leaning over her, Rhys’s hand stroking down her arm. 

“You had a nightmare,” she brushed her finger over her hand. Y/n glanced down at her bare arms - no cuts or scrapes, no evidence of her wilderness ‘adventure.’ Did they plant this one inside of her, to give her some kind of sick hope? Neither of them replied, or gave any indication they were listening to her thoughts and she let out a slow breath. 

“I wouldn’t have them if you took these off,” she mumbled. At least they’d lined the interior with something soft, after Feyre protested about the bruises on her wrists.  

Her eyes glazed over, and y/n knew she was speaking to Rhys. Feyre had always been a bit … softer, maybe she would argue on her behalf. A few minutes passed as she chewed on her bottom lip. Rhys let out an exasperated sigh behind her, but the chains unlocked and she forced herself not to yelp out of excitement. 

“On a trial.” Rhys warned, flipping her around to face him. His eyes had darkened, a clear warning that if she tried anything, worse consequences would face her. “Do you understand?” 

“Yes.” She spoke softly. Maybe it made her weak, but sleeping in those damned chains had worn her down and she would have begged on her knees to be free of them. Captive. She thought she was trapped before, but it was nothing compared to this. Eyes she couldn’t see followed her everywhere, and anytime she spotted something remotely sharp - it disappeared. If she ate with a butter knife, Rhys or Feyre watched her the entire time. Even the cups and glasses had been charmed not to break. 

A clash clattered across the floor as tea spilt on the kitchen tiles. Rhys winnowed into the room within seconds. His eyes shifted between the cup on the floor, and her face. 

“I dropped it, I promise.” She nearly wailed at the dark look on his face. She felt him rifling through her mind, and gave a nod after deciding she was being truthful. A snap of his fingers cleaned the liquid up, the mug disappearing. 

“You need to be careful my love,” he said in a soft voice, gathering her in his arms. “We don’t want you getting hurt.” Or hurting yourself, went unsaid. He made her sit, brewing her another cup and almost made her feel loved. It was all a game, everything was a game to earn her trust and wear her back down. At least she told herself that. 

The memory faded, and she hadn’t realized she was facing Feyre again, her back pressed firmly against Rhys’s chest, his hands wrapped around her waist as Feyre rubbed out her wrists. Like she would every morning. Always checking to see if she could feel everything, if anything was injured - like it wasn’t them inflicting any injuries. 

“Aren’t you going to thank us?” the High Lady teased her. 

“Thank you.” She said quickly, not wanting to risk anything. 

“Such good manners when you get what you want.” Rhys’s sleepy voice came from behind her. She loved that voice, when he was soft and gentle - first thing in the morning or in the middle of the night. Loved. Y/n threw that word out of her mind. No love for them, nothing redeemable about them. 

“Sleep.” Feyre ordered both of them, “I’ll take the nightmares away,” her hand kissed the inside of her wrist. But - it wasn’t really a nightmare, it felt more like a gift. Even with the pain, her subconscious was the only place she could taste freedom. How sad everything had become, how painful of a trap she fell in. She thought of everything she lost, of everything gone to her. Gone with the wind, swept away at every moment. 

-

When she woke, alone, the sun was already shining, and she rose, a genuine smile on her face for the first time in months - but something pulled at her. Chains. Gods was that a dream too? But, they were longer this time, long enough she could reach the side table. A note placed on it. 

We had to leave early, we’ll come back as soon as we can. 

Tears spilled, dripping down on the paper and smudging the ink. The best dream she’d had in months, and it was soured. But, her favorite book and a still-warm mug of tea sat on the side table, within reach. She could indulge in this small kindness, just this once. 

They returned at the same time, looking pleased to see the book propped on her knees, one hand holding her page open as the other held her mug. 

“I told you she’d be happy.” Feyre elbowed Rhys. Maybe happy was an overstatement. The male rolled his eyes. 

“I still like her in chains.” Feyre hummed an agreement. Speaking of her like an object. That’s all she was to them. 

“You’re our mate.” Feyre frowned at her. “If you’re not going to be grateful …” 

A few minutes later, she was spitting out apologies and thank you’s as Feyre’s hand landed on her ass, her body draped over her knees. She would pause, letting Rhys run his hands over her already bruised ass. His hand slipped between her legs, and she fought back tears of embarrassment as he felt how wet she was. 

How sick was she that this turned her on? At being punished for her thoughts. 

“How else would we correct them?” Rhys’s voice entered her mind. “It’s alright to feel this way,” he spread her arousal over the small abrasions on her ass, and she winced as it stung. “The bruises will remind you.” 

The chains unlocked, but the freedom was temporary as her hips were dragged back, and she was shoved to her knees in front of Feyre, her legs spreading, dress hiked up around her hips with nothing underneath. “Take your reward now.” She cooed, one hand on the back of her hair, guiding her towards her core. She wanted to fight and protest, but the temptation and taste of her was too much. The desire to please her mate was so ingrained in her that sometimes she couldn’t resist it, and this was a way to alleviate it - a less harmful way, she justified to herself. 

-

Three months passed before she could wake alone and unchained. A treasure, and she prized herself on earning back that trust. But, she shoved that thought deep down - in a place nobody could reach. The thought was filled with a sense of vindication, and the last thing she needed was them catching wind of that feeling.

She moved silently, sneaking through the halls how she’d learned, and heard voices coming from one of the small dining rooms. 

“That could work.” Feyre said. “It would keep her here.” 

Keep her? How? Hadn’t they already done everything to keep her? 

“I have to go,” Rhys said and a chair shoved back she quickly took a few quiet strides back, before reapproaching with louder footsteps - the ones they’d become accustomed to hearing. 

Rhys exited just as she approached, a smile curving on his face as he spotted her and wrapped one arm around her waist, tugging her into his chest. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, “Good morning.” 

“Good morning.” She repeated, forcing some inflection into her voice. Not overly so, but enough for it to come off as natural. 

“You enjoyed your gift?” 

“Thank you.” The smile actually did reach her eyes. 

“You’ve been so good.” He ran a thumb over her cheek, brushing across her lips. 

“You’re going to be late. Rhys.” Feyre said from the doorway, shooting her a smile. “Want to go to the markets today?” 

She nodded eagerly, picking up any crumbs they would string out for her, and tried not to despise herself for it. Feyre had a pleased expression on her face at her excitement, and Rhys reluctantly released her. 

“I’m the High Lord. I’m never late.” He muttered, but winked at her as he winnowed away. 

Feyre’s grip on her was tight as they walked through the city streets, arm in arm. Not giving her an inch unless she allowed it, but she would take it. No familiar faces, either. Some she recognized as old neighbors, ones who used to work with her in town, but their eyes glazed right over her as if she didn’t exist.

Her mouth opened once, as if to try and call out to them, but she couldn’t find her voice. As she met Feyre’s eyes, there was a warning glare there. Don’t talk to anyone. Feyre didn’t have to speak the words for her to understand the message. She swallowed and gave her a nod. Immediately, her expression lightened and she reached over to squeeze her arm, stopping for the next person to greet her. 

Popular, Feyre was incredibly popular with her people, they loved her. If only they could see how she is behind closed doors, the wicked cruelness and quickly shifting moods. What her love really looks like. 

“And who is this?” An older female smiled, her face lined with wrinkles - hair just starting to silver. As soon as she’d acknowledged her, the woman’s eyes changed as if she didn’t register her at all. Feyre was making sure nobody recognized her - that she was forgotten. 

No talk of “who was that on the High Lady’s arm?” or “Did you see y/n, she’s been gone so long!” would go around Velaris that night. Nobody would remember her. Nobody except who Rhys and Feyre allowed. 

- Two years and three days to the date after she was first returned, y/n got another chance. Gods did she take it. She ran and ran and ran. Breaching the words of Velaris, just as a hand clamped around her wrist - bruisingly tight as it ached. 

“Feyre said you could be trusted,” he purred, “but I knew better.” The same words from that nightmare, but this time he didn’t let go. Fear might have rung from every sense of her being, but she brought up as much determination as she could as she turned to face him and took a step closer. His brow furrowed in confusion, but she spat. The drops glistened on his cheek, surprise evident in his eyes. A satisfied smile crossed her features, but his gaze turned feral quickly and it was gone as soon as it came. 

He leaned towards her, his breath grazing her ear. “Run.” He dropped her wrist, and she did. 

Wind whipped her cheeks, branches scraped at her skin, but the floor and trees didn’t move this time. Of course, it was useless and futile, of course it would end as quickly as it began - but she’d take the chance to feel the wind against her hair, to feel the strain of her legs as she got a mockery of freedom. 

Rhys let her run, maybe gave her a ten minute head start before she began to feel his presence nearby. She would catch a glimpse of him, and cut a sharp angle to another direction, weaving in and out of trees to try and lose him. She didn’t know how long it lasted - but her lungs burned and legs threatened to give out under her. Keep going, keep going, she chanted to herself, wanting to draw this out as long as possible. 

She screamed as a weight slammed behind her, shoving her down to the forest ground. Her face pressed into the dirt and a hand yanked the back of her hair - arching her neck as his other hand circled her throat. 

“You believed it, didn’t you?” He murmured. “That I would be that stupid to give you that chance.” His hand tightened around her neck. “I don’t make the same mistakes twice.” 

A whimper left her throat. “Fuck you.” She said weakly, and her cut some of her air off, keeping any words from coming out of her mouth. 

“You’re already in trouble. Don’t make it worse.” If she’s already in trouble - she threw an arm back, a weak punch landing against his shoulder. He laughed at her, finally releasing his grip on her hair and neck as she flopped back into the ground, and scrambled to turn, backing on her knees as the rough bramble scraped the bottom of her thighs. 

He shook his head, looking at her almost fondly. A shield quickly deflected the rocks and sticks she tried to throw. But, she couldn’t stand - her legs fell out under her as she tried, already worn out from all of the running. He must’ve entertained her for at least an hour or two. 

“Three.” He corrected. “I was impressed with you.” A game, this was all a gods-damned game to him. The curve of his lips told her she was right. “A game for me,” he taunted, “but it’s so sweet when you think it’s real.” 

She threw out a string of creative curses at him, but he rolled his eyes and she watched his patience slowly wane. Still, she kept cursing as he heaved her to stand, keeping a firm grip on her as he winnowed back to the river house. 

He let her go and she fell onto the tile, wincing as her knee hit the ground. Feyre stood with her arms crossed. “You let her hurt herself.” She frowned at Rhys. 

“I let her have some fun.” Rhys hedged, but even he wilted slightly under Feyre’s disappointed stare. At least she wasn’t alone in that. In everything else, she’d be alone. For the rest of eternity. 

“Don’t be so sour,” Feyre tutted, reaching out a hand for her. “You have us, that’s all you need.”

[deerbeatrice]

Afraid -

⚠️ black brothers again. angst. abuse. ⚠️

Sirius had a small fear. Well actually, he had lots of fears over time. When he was 7 he was afraid of spiders. They had way too many legs and his nanny had told him about this huge spider that might have killed a girl at school. He kept this fear for a year until Regulus found one under the sink and begged Sirius to just take it outside. When he was 10 his mother and father sat down and repeated every page of the fantastic beasts over and over. At 10 years old Sirius was afraid of werewolves, unicorns, centaurs, even pixies. When Remus Lupin cried in Sirius' arms about being a monster, Sirius decided werewolves weren't that scary.

"Pads?" Remus was looking at Sirius with a small smile. Sirius looked away from the bookshelf he was building to see Remus crouch down with a cup of hot cocoa. "There's this girl at the high school. Her name is Nymphadora and she's got herself into some trouble that I think we can help."

Sirius chuckled, "What sort of name is Nymphadora?"

"The same sort as Sirius Lupin?"

"Ouch point taken." Sirius pointed towards a screw driver sitting by Remus's foot. "So this girl?"

"She's pregnant." Remus paused looking towards Sirius. "She doesn't want the boy to end up in foster care, but she's too young to take care of him."

"That's awful, her parents won't help her?"

"She doesn't have any Padfoot. They were murdered when she was a kid." Remus inhaled and bit the inside of his cheek. "How do you feel about being a dad?" He breathed out.

Sirius dropped the screwdriver, the screw still sticking out of the wood of the shelf. "What?"

"We could.... adopt the boy? Dora can come round see her kiddo, he'd be loved Pads."

"I just- I don't think- I can't Moony. I can't. I can't. I can't. I have to- I'll be back." Sirius was trying to catch his breath, to explain to Remus that he wasn't leaving for good.

"Sirius? Love, are you okay. It's okay we can wait. We can talk it out?" Remus reached towards Sirius who was standing up and heading towards the door.

"Yes- Talk. Just not now. I'll be back-I'll be back. " Sirius ran out the door leaving Remus sat near an unfinished bookshelf tugging at his curls.

++++++++

Sirius was still afraid of many things. He was afraid of cows, afraid of tight closed spaces, afraid of dragonflies. Fears come and go for Sirius all the time but being a father? Sirius has done that before. His kid ended up hating him, fell in line into a cult despite his many attempts to stop and was now missing.

Sirius approached a small brass cross. It was embellished with snakes and planted into the tree him and Regulus used to hide at.

"Hello Reg. I know i've not been here, well neither are you." Sirius laughed to himself. "Remus he asked me a question today. Asked if I wanted to be a dad. I ran. It's what I'm good at, you'd tell me that." Sirius wiped a tear from his cheek.

"Being a dad though? Not so good at that. I know logically that i was a kid too but i couldn't protect you, how am i supposed to protect him?" Sirius continued to chat to Regulus through all his fears. It had begun to get dark and Sirius had fallen asleep against the trunk of the tree.

+++++++

"Sirius?" Remus had shaken Sirius and he had begun to blink awake. Remus spent 3 hours trying to figure out where Sirius could have gone; he checked the park Padfoot liked to run in, the coffee shop Sirius ran too after he ran away and lastly, the small grave Sirius had planted for his little brother.

"Moony?" Remus sat down next to Sirius and leaned into his side.

"Good morning Pads. I think it's time we had that talk huh?"

"I'm sorry for running Remus." Sirius tilted his head on top of Remus'. "Having a kid outside of Reggie. I mean I know he's not my kid-"

"Sirius listen to me. Regulus will always be your kid. You raised him, you gave him food, you showed him laughter. You protected him from really evil people. This- His death? It isn't on you. You tried Sirius, you went back 3 times. Walburga cursed you every single time." Sirius shook his head.

"We haven't even found him! He's missing and he's dead. I can't do that to another kid." Sirius cried into Remus. "I'm scared I will miss that boy up too."

"You didn't mess up Regulus. Did you hit him?" Sirius shook his head. "Did you tell him you would only love him if he joined the Death Eaters?"

"I would never."

"Did you starve him when he cried?" Sirius shook his head again. "Okay good, so what did you do to him exactly Sirius?"

"I left him there. I knew what they would do."

"What would they have done if you stayed?" Remus let the answer wash over him. The potential death of Sirius Black sitting in the area around them.

"Can we name him?" Sirius asks eventually. "Regulus liked the name Edward, he always named the teddy bears I got him Edward." Remus laughed dipping his head down.

"He names his teddys... Teddy?"

"No Edward I just said!"

"Pads love, Edward is the long form of Teddy."

"Godric, Regulus was 70 years old?!" Sirius joined Remus in his laughter. For the first time since Regulus went missing, Sirius laughed in his memory.

[guess-that-ship]

S15 Round 2

Another Episode

cw: spoilers

"C" and "M" are put into contact with each other and tasked with a mysterious project. They had never met prior to the project's start, but the urgency of their task, combined with neither of them really having friends to confide in, leads to a growing long-distance friendship.

They swap strategies for dealing with the stresses of their difficult jobs, and get into shared fandoms and hobbies. M helps C move forward from a mistake that haunts his past and regain his lost passion. C helps M find freedoms and happiness that she never had before. While their relationship is long-distance, they hope to meet in person one day.

Unfortunately, M realizes two things-- if the project is incomplete, C is doomed, but the project being incomplete is the only reason why M can even exist anymore. She completes the project, lamenting their tragic reality and sending a final farewell to C.

...except that C tells M that, screw "reality", she deserves to live anyways. He wills M into existence himself, letting them both finally meet in person, and then they quit their jobs in order to run a store together.

cross-political dating

cw: major spoilers

Pride and Sorrow met as children, starting out as enemies before gradually becoming each other’s first friends. War and politics drive them apart, with neither being sure if the other is even still alive until they are reunited as teens — whereupon Sorrow immediately proceeds to sacrifice himself to save Pride’s life twice within the span of about five minutes. Sorrow transfers to Pride’s school, and even after years apart the two still use the secret language they made up as kids. However, unbeknownst to them both, they are on opposite sides of the violent political conflict at the center of the narrative, with their secret identities being nemeses on the battlefield. Pride finds out Sorrow’s identity first, has a complete breakdown about it, and starts working overtime to protect Sorrow and convince him to switch sides, although he refuses to use his superpower on him to do so (despite having very few qualms about manipulating everyone else with it). Unfortunately for everyone, Sorrow has a massive guilt complex and is actively trying to get himself killed, eventually pushing Pride to use his power to forcibly compel Sorrow to stay alive. Sorrow later discovers Pride’s identity, right on the heels of Pride’s worst mistake — and, fueled by grief, betrays him in the worst possible way.

The two each proceed to get unfathomably worse, manipulating and betraying each other in increasingly awful ways, while still treating each other as best friends at school in a truly stunning picture of cognitive dissonance. Even in the rare moments when they really do try to repair their relationship, forces outside their control only end up driving them further apart. Finally, after a series of civilization-destroying shenanigans and wild revelations, the two reluctantly join forces to take over the world and wrangle it into peace, with Pride as the ruler and Sorrow as his reaper. They become close again during this time, although their relationship remains complicated and fraught, and finally they conclude their grand plan by having Sorrow assassinate Pride in front of the entire world. Despite everything, Sorrow cries when he kills Pride, and Pride cradles Sorrow’s face through it. Sorrow has to spend the rest of his life carrying out Pride’s vision for the world, left alone as the only person who knows that Pride wasn’t the monster he made the world believe he was.

[thousandyearphantombunker]

CW: I'm mean here about shows and stuff people like

syndrome from incredibles, Thanos in the comics, mad hatter from Batman, tighten from Megamind, frollo from Hunchback of Notre Dame, Red Hulk, parasite from superman and Ozai all of these villains are pathetic but they work for some reason I cannot place. A lot of stories try and write villains that are pathetic but also scary and it doesn't work- I love Starscream he can be an amazing character (he can be sympathetic or a straight up monster he can be lame but still threatening etc) and I like most versions but God can writers screw him up and he can fall flat (i love tfp i swear but god i hate their starscream! He just didn't work for me! Megatron and knockout are cool tho) Belos for some reason doesn't work for me at all- I know he should be scary while the fandom is wrong about him being a colonizer/cult leader/a dictator (he's not stop using words you dont understand the meaning of)and how insane it is that he's in a kids show (watch more cartoons there's villains darker than him) he's still trying to commit genocide and he's abusive and he's at his core got very little depth or complexity- he's really just an isekai character gone wrong- a pathetic guy with a hero complex and emotional baggage who becomes a villain- but he just didn't work for me. Neither does Jacob Hopkins- he's just Ronaldo from SU if he was written to be a straight up hate sink. I'm a lesbian latina with autism and was raised with a different sect of christan beliefs from him- I know historically this guy would have murdered me and i know he should work but something about him didn't stick the landing! The main thing I think about with belos isn't 'wow this guy is a great villain' it's 'can y'all stop being weirdly ableist toward this old man' or 'why do so many of y'all wanna fuck this man he's ugly' and dont get me started on mcu villains - their version of the mandarin, she-hulk's dumb men rights activists on reddit (seriously that's the scariest villain you can come up with? Like revenge porn is evil but really? I don't like the term man-baby- I have personal issues with how the term has been used in ableist ways- but yeah erm man babies on reddit are the best you can do for a villain? That's freaking stupid) and OMG Sutur in Ragnarok was terrible etc etc- these villains all suck!

How do you write villains that are pathetic but still work? How do write villains who are at their core whiny insecure losers but still work as detestable threatening villains? Like marvel made a character whose whole thing was that he's an incel work but so many other stories fail to write that stuff. Part of me thinks it's because these stories are desperate to make their villain into a hate sink joke but still make them scary and it fails but Tighten and Red Hulk are right there and there's no way the writers weren't purposely writing hate sinks with them! And they work! Why doesn't belos?

[cannibal-nightmares]

Anamnesis

Night terrors. anamnesis (noun) - 1. the remembering of things from a supposed previous existence

Wrote this at 5AM. Fill in the blank. Short and... sweet?

Soul Eater - Stein x Spirit (ship is up to interpretation, SFW) // hurt+comfort, night terrors, sleepwalking, dissociation, non-verbal Stein, acts of care, domestic? agereg implied? idk Word count - 584 -- [AO3 link] -- ["Anamnesis"]

"We need to get things."

"What is that?"

"We need..." Stein looked frantic but didn't know where to go or what to do. "...to get things. Our things."

Spirit had awoken in an electrified daze to his partner confusedly wandering the bedroom in a panic. The professor had opened the closet by the time Albarn fully came to, but Stein stood at the door frame as though he didn't understand what he was looking at. Spirit heeded caution sleepily circling around the bed to his side.

"Why do we need to get our things, Stein?"

Spirit moved to take his partner's hand, but Stein jerked away. He corrected his mistake in leaning back inwards to him, but couldn't figure out why; he searched Spirit's face like the weapon wasn't really there. Stein wasn't really there. It was upon his eye contact did everything fall into place all over again for Spirit, and a sort of amicable discomfort relaxed the tightened anxiety in his chest. Another night terror.

Franken didn't say anything but stared. He pursed his lips and brought a slow hand to his bolt, clicking forward only a single ratchet clank, and sank his empty eyes to the floor. As his palm slipped off the screw, he looked like he could fall over.

"Hey, Stein?" Spirit closed their gap and rubbed his back comfortingly, though Stein didn't seem to convey feeling it. "Where'd you go?"

The meister delicately reached out to the fabric of Albarn's shirt and melded a piece of it within his fingers like a toddler actualizing the plushness of a beloved stuffed toy. He didn't know what to make of it.

"Is that soft?" Spirit half-giggled, partly surprised and amused, but mostly still worried. Upon hearing a chord in his voice this time, unsolicited tears welled up in Stein's eyes and he choked to cry, unknowing why.

"Whoa, hey, Franken, Franken..." He brushed silver hair out his face and brought a firm hand to his neck. "You're okay, it's okay. You're safe, dear." Spirit wanted to bring his partner into a hug but wasn't certain what it might have amounted to, so he tried to see his face instead. "Come, sit down, love."

Sit down? Yes, okay, Stein's legs went to lead and he slowly tugged on his weapon's shirt, his knees going slack in the want to meet the floor. Oh, this wasn't what Spirit had in mind, but he followed his partner's shoulders to keep from collapsing, Stein hiding his face in his collar as they knelt to the hardwood like a house of cards. Neither of them could place Stein's wallowing, where it came from or if that's what it really was at all.

Spirit took both of Stein's hands and rubbed his thumbs into his palms, his own chest threatening to convulse with nervous tears. "Hey, do you feel that?" He let his chin over his shoulder. "I'm still with you."

Somewhere in the in-between they were younger again, Spirit comforting the night-time fears of a little one, and Stein wielding what he could against imaginary monsters under the bed. Spirit wasn't unfamiliar to this, but something was different about the experience for Stein. He found himself with an ear to his partner's chest and he listened deep to the sound of his heart, the rhythm of his breathing like a two-man boat on the sea. Somewhere, he thought he felt a cool and soothing breeze, sinking into warm and welcoming water.

"I'm still with you."