#he wanted to die because he felt unsafe

[gaypiratepropaganda]

can't help but think that the crew adopting Izzy so fast may have contributed to Ed wanting to leave

[mossterunderthebed]

[detective-pancake]

Hey, so I don't want to be that guy, but when are we going to acknowledge that Akechi was right?

No, I obviously don't mean about the things he was very clearly wrong about. I'm referring to the things he says in interviews about the Phantom Thieves. I hate how many people switch up after playing through his betrayal who previously agreed with his views, because nothing he said is wrong and nothing he did changes that fact. He speaks in the TV Station on the objective facts that he should know about, and with or without the context of his form of justice those facts stay true. It's a fallacy to claim that his form of justice being universally less approved of makes the Phantom Thieves better by comparison, or discredits anything he said. I don't think the Phantom Thieves are evil, or that they should necessarily be imprisoned, but I do think that they are not morally sound. They're kids. Prior to his betrayal I think he served his purpose well, but it's easy to disregard the validity of his words when you find out that he's a murderer. With the knowledge he SHOULD have had (and that many DID have), everything he says is true. And honestly? It still can be true for basically the entire plot of the game. Mishima's confidant tests the thieves in that way. They could have changed the hearts of anyone who's not a persona user, for any personal reason. It's a slippery slope.

I'll use these three options as an example for why he's right:

"They're justice itself" is just subjective and incorrect, because justice as a concept is individualized and given how each Phantom Thief has different reasons for being one it's ridiculous for even them to say. Their first target was before they even formed a group, and Ann was ready to kill Kamoshida. The others were not even going to step in, and they were going to respect her choice either way. All the members are so different, so this is an insane claim to make.

"They're necessary" is wrong because to say they are necessary is pretty disingenuous to all "justice" that has ever happened BEFORE they existed. I don't believe that the Thieves were a necessity per say, and personally I think their actions can only be judged on a case by case basis. Some Mementos targets for example have issues that stem beyond what they have done. Now they have their desires stolen but still have the issue that pushed them to immortality in the first place, plus a shitton of guilty baggage. The Thieves only help with the atonement, but not the push. How many of those people didn't just go right back to their past behaviors? How many of them got worse in other ways? Think about Futaba, she felt so guilty for something she thought she did, she formed a palace to condemn herself to die alone. To claim the Thieves are necessary to reform society implies that their method is the most effective, and I think that's a lot to claim for something they don't understand.

"They do more than the cops" I almost agree with. Legally the police in Japan in this game anyway (yes I'm aware it extends to reality in many ways, but I'm referring to just the game right now) are corrupt and flawed for the most part, but the thing I don't agree with is that this makes the Thieves a better alternative. They're not. For the same reason Yoshizawa says later, the Thieves can only do so much as vigilantes, and to imply that society should rely on these faceless nameless flawed people to fix society is not any better than what they have now. Especially with the method being unknown, potentially unsafe, and easily exploitable. I cannot be the only one who if the Phantom Thieves were real, would be extremely alarmed by the prospect of a group of vigilantes "changing hearts" right? It's so vague, and the pattern is dystopian. At least police methods are familiar

What I'm saying is that they're kids, and it's kind of insane that this game places Akechi as the narrative foil for the Thieves in their message and then makes it so easy to disregard because "he's an assassin so how could he know anything about justice". The Thieves don't either, and Ann was nearly a murderer. If the bar is "don't commit murder when you're infiltrating someone's mind" then it's far too low. I wouldn't trust a group of adults with this power to reform society, even less a group of teenage vigilantes. I'm 19, and I find this odd. And Strikers frames them as even more righteous, and it bugs me even more in that game. At least Royal has the third semester to give a bit more nuance to how big of a responsibility Ren was given, but that's also very frequently misinterpreted.

I love this game, and I love this fandom, and I have thoughts that get weird and ranty. I apologize, but I hope you all found this as interesting as I did.

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

There’s no chaos, there’s no drama…

Chaos and drama are Ed’s baseline.

His childhood home.

His experiences on Hornigold’s ship.

Probably the early days as Blackbeard as Ed built a reputation.

And then Ed became so talented at creating the theatre of fear, controlling the chaos and drama to his own ends, he was able to cocoon away, and for a time was probably glad not to feel it directly…

‘The feel of not to feel it When there is none to heal it…’

And now Ed’s numb.

Because it’s all Ed’s known; his brain is built around it. The adrenaline, the cortisol. Without it he feels hollowed out, a ghost.

But think of what Ed’s asking for. Chaos - disorder, panic, confusion. Ed thinks he would rather feel such emotions than safety. He���d rather die in the sturm and drang than live in ennui. Because it’s familiar. He doesn’t know there is anything else. Chaos is familiar, boredom is death.

But Ed doesn’t really want chaos and drama. He wants novelty, serendipity, originality. And he wants love - to receive and experience it. It’s just Ed has only felt the centres of his brain light up by the negative. What he begins to realise on Stede’s ship, and then through meeting Stede, is that the same (better) stimulus can occur from positive experiences.

Ed’s immediately drawn to the knickknacks, overkill, and lunacy. You see the awe and wonder at the auxiliary wardrobe. The delight at finding someone to play dress up. The seventh heaven of the lighthouse fuckery. The dizzy delight of that damn good marmalade. The relief of unburdening to someone who cares. And it just keeps getting better… beautiful clothes, moonlight compliments, conversation and foot-kicking, lazy breakfasts, flirty swordplay, nighttime story-telling, treasure hunts, co-captain brandies… it’s all hitting Ed’s amygdala over and over.

And at the centre of it all is Stede understanding every part of Ed intuitively. Stede explains, ‘Guys like Blackbeard live for adventure… it’s like nourishment for them.’ But Stede doesn’t plan a raiding party, he plans a day of fun. He understands how Ed needs variety better than Ed.

When Stede leaves, Ed tries so hard to recreate the feeling through food and textiles and an on-deck sing-song, but returns to the chaos and drama after being made to feel unworthy, unsafe of any other life. It’ll never again be enough, though. It wasn’t enough before; just a holding place for where a real life could’ve, should’ve been, and Ed knows that now.

In the end, Ed doesn’t choose drama and chaos - he actively revolts against it because he realises it’s killing him. Instead Ed chooses a quiet life in an inn in some backwater with Stede. It’s enough.

The slow whimsy and delight in the everyday is what Ed learns to appreciate. As Roach says, ‘We eat, but how often do we taste?’. Ed can find novelty in the ordinary because Stede knows how to see idiosyncrasy in the seemingly mundane. After all, a successful raid is returning with a half-dead plant now displayed in pride of place.

Stede’s the god of small things really, and whilst he does have an eye for the extravagant, his baseline is set in the minutiae. Stede can inspire wonder in a shared cup of tea. And that’s what Ed needs - to watch the clouds and sunset for the beauty, and feel the quiet wonder of everyday life.

[moonlitenvyillust]

Hey TeleNeo fans, want some pain? No? Too bad here you go

Tags: men crying (why would that be a warning tbh), angst (or at least a try out of writing angst), love letters but the sender is dead, major character death, Telemachus is mentioned but is the sender, EURYCLEA MY QUEEN, Neo cries <3, don't you love making character's suffer, ancient Greek gays, TELENEO CLUB HAS FOUR/FIVE MEMBERS ISTG-, deprived of content. So I'll write it!, me being a tired bitch, based on: "to my dear Historia" With too many alterations.

•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙|-π-|⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

And so the letter ends.

The second he heard of the great Odysseus's return, he felt a pang of relief for Telemachus. His beloved finally got the one thing he had dreamed of for his entire life. He couldn't help but feel a little jealous... He never got such reunion with his own father. The great Achilles had died and that was why he was drafted to war.

He immediately set sail to Ithaca as he heard the news. He finished his little quest and immediately jumped onto a ship. His little mind could not comprehend how much he missed the island, but more over, how much he missed his Telemachus

Walking down from the ship to the docs, he was just about to go to the palace when-

"Excuse me, Lord Neoptolemus?"

That voice... Neo remembered her, that's Telemachus's nurse maid, Euryclea.

"It's so hard to try and find you, here, a favor from the prince"

She handed him a letter, albeit an not so old not so new looking one. Atleast a few weeks old. A stain is seen on the edge... Coffee? No, that's the colour of Telemachus's meds when it dries on white.

And the letter wrote...

"To my dear, Phyrrus

As I write this, my health is severely declining. I wished to give this letter to you directly–hell, maybe even say the words I wish to say. But my voice has been lost through my last fight with a suitor. He hit me hard enough, I think I broke my vocal chords. However I of course had asked Euryclea for her word, to give this to you during your next visit. I know for a fact you are a busy man, multiple quests given to you at a time. Henceforth I didn't send this letter, I didn't want to worry you and give you an unsafe return.

That said, I want to be selfish. Just for once. I swear it. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner. But even before the suitors plagues my life, I had been dying. In a literal sense.

My body is weaker than an average man and it's not only because of the fact I am untrained, but it's because of severe health disorders... Yes I have been training under Athena, but that doesn't mean my chronic pain just Dissapears. It gets worse, actually. But I can deal with it. Usually

I have realized that my time is no longer than at least a few weeks when this letter is wrote. The headaches had been more frequent, I fall over with leg pains more often, and it just overall shows a sign that my name is in the "to reap" Soul list of Thanatos.

I love you, more than how I would love a friend. But not able to be as a lover, for you deserve someone better. Someone stronger. Someone... Your height of glory. But I shall let myself be selfish for my last few days. I love you.

I ask for my body to only be burnt when you made an appearance. I know it's so much to ask. But words spread fast and you run faster.

So, if I die before you return... Consider this as my goodbye."

It had been a while since the last time Phyrrus cried

But just this once

He let himself weep

•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙|-π-|⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

I had a vague idea for this after watching a "to my dear Historia" Edit, so have this. Share my pain.

@ list because I know who would like this stuff @cutob @no1teleneoshipper @lenamiyabi @lemonade-tree7 here you go. We are deprived of content tbh. Have angst, almost forgot @kindred-spirit-93

[kick-a-long]

i find it so desperately sad that goyim generally would be so much less antisemitic if jews started physically fighting back with guns or sticks in every country. calling for the murder of muslims all over the world, if the jewish population was big enough to have large scary groups of crazy fringe fundamentalist synagogues all over the world, a billion strong, that preached murder and hate so goyim could look down on jews like some noble savage in need of assistance and western education and protection. so we could be reformed in obvious patronizing ways because there were so many of us that we had militant violent fringe extremists, like christians and muslims have, mixed in with the normal jews.

if jews didn't have such a reputation for success and intelligence maybe conspiracy theories would stop blaming us for controlling the world. if we felt less in danger maybe we wouldn't be so obsessed with long term survival.

is antisemitism some warped form of envy? maybe. what sucks is that jews are no better or worse than anyone else. some jews are brutes and some are the most wonderful people imaginable, just like any other group. what sucks is we don't all live up to the reputation of tactical geniuses and wizards with mind control magic. all of us jews are just tired and abused humans who have lived with 2000+ years of generational trauma and the endless fall out from a popular jewish book written 3000+ years ago describing the best practices of jewish culture. It has some great stories, histories, life advice, diet recommendations, hygiene, and rules about how to treat others.

is that such a crime?

trying to show a path forward? not demanding anyone else follow those rules but wanting to do our best to follow them anyway? how to live a good life that makes the world better and makes you proud to have been on earth for the time you were there? jews fail to do this all the time, just like everyone else. I fail all the time. why are people so obsessed with that? people say shylock is a stereotyped antisemitic character but,

"I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction."

so why do jews always have to be the better man? why do we have to apologize for being angry and sad and hating the people that attack us? that was written by Shakespeare, a christian in the 1600s who who had probably never met a jew, they were expelled from england, but imagined us as money lenders, the only profession left to jews at that time. even he saw the double standard. it makes a good point.

now, i don't want vengeance, i don't want violence, but i feel vengeful. i feel angry that i am unsafe because of play actors and terrorist supporters who want revenge for jews existing but scream bloody murder when jews refuse to dig their own graves, beg forgiveness for ever being born, and lay down in them to be mocked and pissed on and abused in the worst ways imaginable for the entertainment and conquest of it. i want peace with them. they are as human as i am, full of foibles and anger. i want nothing to do with them. i want them to never come near a jew again for the rest of time.

i am sad. all i want is to feel my feelings and advocate for what is the most ethical and practical work around to a world filled with unending suffering while i am still alive. i want them on thier side to live in the world they want and me on my side to live in the world i want. why don't these children of all ages, lost in delusions of fantastical battles and ultimate good and evil, see that? why can't I be a human first as well as a jew first? why do they ask me to pick? why am i not allowed to pick?

it's been almost a year. we're all so tired.

I'm going to a music festival. I'm trying to decide whether to wear a star. why is it dangerous to wear a star around my neck?

[youngcreature28]

Persist - July 29th, 2024 - Jegulus microfic - into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 1016

Masterlist | First | Previous | Next

Regulus clenches his eyes shut, holding his breath deep within his lungs until he can feel his chest constrict from lack of oxygen. 

Pain is good.

It means he’s feeling something, that this is real. 

The sound of bustling strangers, people who have never met him or know him buzzing in his ears. 

He can hear the whispers, the backlash.

But mostly he can hear the people who don’t even bother to hide it. They way they stare and glare as if he’s some spectacle on display.

Suddenly there’s a hand in his own, fingers wrapping around Regulus’, and with it everything slows.

The noise and voices die down, muffled by the sensation of a small hand gripping his tightly.

Regulus feels himself relax, straightening his spine as he looks down.

Wide, scared eyes meet his.

“Papa?”

Harry’s voice is soft, a quality unlike his usual happy and energetic self.

“Hi, baby,” he smiles gently, squeezing Harry’s hand where it trembles. “It’s okay. We’re alright.”

Harry gives him his own wobbly version of a smile before it falls and he looks around once more, skittish eyes roaming nervously.

He hates it. 

Regulus wouldn’t care if they yelled in his face, hit him, blamed him for everything bad in the world.

But to do it in front of Harry, in front of his innocent son, to show him the cruelty of the world sparks a shot of fury in him.

“Why does this happen to you?” 

The question is so innocent that it makes the nature of it feel bigger somehow.

How can someone so young and innocent be so aware of the unfairness of the world? Why does he have to see how cruel and unforgiving people can be before he’s old enough to understand?

“Because papa made some mistakes, remember?” Regulus says, never waiting to have secrets or hide away behind false promises when it comes to his son.

He refuses to be like his parents. 

Together, James and Regulus have worked hard to be good parents, to ensure Harry never felt unsafe or unloved in his own home.

And to have it happen outside of it anyway, just makes it all feel pointless.

“And it makes people angry,” Harry frowns, reciting the words, “because they don’t understand why?”

Regulus nods slightly, a lump forming in his throat. 

“But why?” He asks again. “Daddy told me that your mama made you do it, why does that make them so mean? It’s not your fault, papa.”

Hearing those words from Harry makes him sob once in his throat, knowing that James had spent so long talking it over with Harry so he understands.

He’d been so adamant that he wouldn’t let Harry grow up thinking Regulus was bad, that he understood why and that Regulus had no choice.

“I don’t know, Haz,” he replies honestly. “Sometimes people just want to be mean because it makes them feel better about themselves. Sometimes that means they get mad at other people so they don’t have to be mean to their family.”

“But,” Harry’s lips tremble, tears welling up, “but you’re my family.”

Regulus doesn't think he’s felt a pain like this before, it’s as if he can feel his heart shatter at the pure sadness and confusion of a small child not understanding why his family is being hurt.

“Why do they have to be mean to my family instead, papa?”

“Oh, baby,” Regulus drops to his knees, ignoring the pain that shoots through him. 

Harry doesn’t hesitate to dive forward, crumbling into Regulus’ arms and holding on as if he’s terrified Regulus will let go and he’ll be alone. 

“Why do they have to be mean to my family?” Harry cries, his tears soaking through Regulus’ jumper. “It’s not fair.”

The last word is said as a loud cry, sobs wracking through Harry’s small body as Regulus holds him as close as possible. 

“It’s not fair,” he agrees into Harry’s hair, his own tears silently falling. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry you have to go through this with me.”

The image of his son so hurt, so shaken, will be permanently seared into his memory. 

“You just have to persist through it, it gets easier the longer you try,” it’s all Regulus can say. 

There's no way to promise him it won’t happen again. He can’t tell Harry that people will stop being mean, because they won’t.

Regulus made his choices, it doesn't matter to those people that he’s destroyed Voldimort and saved them.

All they care about is having someone to blame.

“But,” Harry looks up at him with innocent, wide eyes, filled with confused tears, “why do I have to? Why do you have to let people be so mean to you, papa?”

“Sometimes,” Regulus’ voice cracks, “sometimes you have to be brave and keep going even if it hurts. It’s not fair, but papa would do it all again if it means I can keep you safe, Harry.”

Harry nods into his neck, his body slumping as the exhaustion from crying so hard hits him. 

“I don't like it, papa,” he confesses, “it makes my belly feel sad and yucky.”

The childlike mentality and innocence has Regulus standing up with Harry in his arms, wrapping him up into a hug as he forces his breath to even.

“I love you, Harry,” Regulus says, “always and forever.”

“I love you too, papa,” Harry sighs, his body going lax as he drifts off to sleep, knowing that he’s safe within his papa’s arms. 

Regulus keeps his head held high as he walks his way back to their house where James is waiting for them, ignoring the whispers and stares.

He holds Harry close and refuses to give in.

He’s strong for this reason, he keeps going for Harry and James.

Despite the pain it brings, Regulus wouldn’t go back and change it, not if it would risk the love James holds for him and the way Harry is able to look at him with so much love and care. 

It's worth it all.

For them.

[copinghex]

Hell's address is Watery Lane | T.S.

Summary: There are countless ways to reach hell, sinning, not believing, not regretting. For you, it was when you accepted a job in the discreet betting shop in Watery Lane, crossing paths with a handsome devil, Thomas Shelby | dark!AU

The lovelies who showed interest: @brummiereader @lau219 @lilladygrinningsoul @zablife

MOODBOARD

• Your torment started in the first months of 1919, the Great War broke Europe's economy and as consequence you had to abandon every dream to provide for yourself and your family. The salaries were low, the jobs were rough and you didn't have much experience in anything. You were about to accept an opportunity in a factory when the light at the end of the tunnel, that eventually would turn into frightening darkness, showed up: A betting shop in need of a bookmaker.

• At first, you were intimidated by the male lead ambient. You never worked in a place like that before and the illegally worried you, however it was still better than a factory. The woman to interview you was serious and intimidating, Mrs. Polly Gray explained she couldn't pay much, times were rough for everyone. After finding out about your lack of experience, she backed off and that was when you met him…

• Thomas Shelby was Polly's nephew and responsible for attracting new gamblers, the moment he set his eyes on you, time froze. You'd heard rumors about him and the Shelby family as a whole, but you had no idea of the sickening tendencies hidden under his handsome face. He was the one to step in and argue you'd gather experience with time.

• From then on, you worked from 8:00 a.m to 6:30 p.m, compared to the working hours and salaries around, you got lucky. The job was relatively easy, the other employees were friendly and besides the tough pose, the Shelbys were nice people. With the past of time though, you noticed a certain favoritism coming from Mr. Shelby, Tommy, as he asked to be called. No gambler could stay at your desk for more than five minutes without getting a stare from him, on rainy nights he allowed you to leave earlier than everyone and he often checked on you, asking if you needed something or if someone was bothering you.

• In addition to this strange event, some nights while walking home you noticed someone following you from far, which forced you to ask Scudboat, your working mate, to accompany you. Once he started to, it didn't take long for the mysterious person to leave you alone. Aware the police nor the Blinders would do anything if you didn’t have proof, you let the subject die. A few weeks went by until Tommy started to surround your desk with a more straightforward approach.

• He asked questions about your personal life and offered himself to walk you home (or actually, gave you an ultimatum). Not wishing to make things awkward, you saw yourself obligated to accept.

• That night you felt strange in his company, hesitant to behave freely because you still remembered the terrible rumors, but interested in an unknown side of him. He didn't seem intimidating under the moonlight, walking slowly with a cigarette between his lips.

• You couldn't focus solemnly on him when you got home and found the broken door handle. Someone had broken into your house and you had to hold yourself back from panicking. Like a true gentleman, Tommy offered himself to walk in first, he checked every room and stated there was no one there. Apparently, nothing was stolen either, making you wonder what interest someone would have into breaking in. Tommy comforted you by saying it was probably some idiot looking for a place to hide from the police, but if you felt unsafe, he'd gladly keep you company.

• You refused, not wishing to cross any lines, besides everything he was still your boss and you wanted to keep professional. After this occurrence, your routine carried on incredibly quietly, Tommy walked you home and sometimes flirted, you never responded to any of his advances. You also started to look for another job, believing the invasion of your home was the result of your proximity with the Shelbys and their gang. Out of honesty, you told him you were grateful for the opportunity he gave you, if his family ever needed anything they could reach for you, but illicit work wasn’t your cup or tea and as soon as you had the chance, you’d jump ship.

• Tommy said he understood your side yet his face showed profound disappointment. Some time after, you overheard him talking to Mrs. Gray over preparing themselves for your resignation, he was thoroughly against announcing your position, claiming it was disrespectful since you were still there, Polly argued he never cared about respecting anyone. You went back to work before you heard something you wouldn’t like.

• Every interview you got was ruined by Tommy demanding you stay until late hours or people not being interested in hiring someone connected to the Shelbys. The upsetting situation eventually guided you to the Garrison, where you could drink away your frustration, he always kept you company. Suddenly, you got the perfect opportunity, the interview went well and all you had to do was to sign the contract next week. You went to the Garrison to celebrate that time, Tommy congratulated you, then on the very next day, you received a dismissing letter.

• You bottled your frustration up, you couldn’t tell your family because they didn’t even know you were looking for another job, you only had told them you were a bookmaker, omitting the illegal part. You couldn’t tell Tommy anything either because it’d be indeed disrespectful to show how badly you wanted to leave the betting shop. The weeks went by, you kept looking at every announcement in the newspaper, until you finally snapped.

• The night was cold, Tommy was walking you home when the words left your lips, you were doing your best and everything kept going wrong. He was comprehensive like you’d never imagine, acknowledging your efforts and validating your feelings. At your doorstep, he hugged you tightly, his hand held your neck his shoulder while the other pat your back, his body was warm and you breathed in his unique scent: His clothes smelled like expensive soap, the type you only used to wash your best dresses, his cologne was mainly citric with undertones of wood, all mixed with the familiar smoke of his cigarettes. You held him back, hiding your face in the soft fabric of his overcoat and muttering, “Thank you, Tommy.”

• He didn’t break the hug until you did, as your eyes met, you knew what his intentions were, lowering your guard was a mistake. His eyes fell to your lips and he cupped your cheek, trying to pull you closer. You stepped back, forcing your head away from him. “Mr. Shelby, I’m sorry,” you awkwardly searched for the door’s keys in your purse. He waited in silence, you ran inside straight to your bedroom, from the window, you watched him stand there with his head low, slowly turning on his heel to go away. It creeped you out, he moved like a predator, but you didn’t know it yet.

• Everything was awkward from then on, he stopped talking to you and walking you home. You also avoided confrontation, keeping your head low when he was around. The situation couldn't go on forever though. Eventually, Tommy interrupted your shift demanding to talk. It felt weird to enter the Shelbys' house and sit on their kitchen's table, especially to talk about that matter.

"I've made my intentions towards you very clear," he started, "I need to know if I'll be reciprocated or if I'm wasting my time,"

• Even if you had a tiny soft spot for him, you weren't able to picture a future by his side. Tommy was a man on the run and involved in questionable business, much more than the betting shop, you were sure of it.

"I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, Mr. Shelby, but I'm not interested in a relationship right now," you explained, "can things go back to normal? Like it was before? I enjoy your friendship besides everything,"

"...alright," he nodded, "will I see you on the Garrison tonight?"

"Yes, of course." you smiled, glad he wasn't offered by your rejection.

• Later that day, the pub was strangely quiet, he leaned on the counter with a scow on his face. Noticing your arrival, he poured you a glass, whiskey wasn't your usual drink, but considering the climate between you, you chose not to complain. The drink burnt your throat, much more bitter than you remembered. You forced a smile he didn’t respond, looking away from you with a face you couldn’t read. He poured you another, which you went slower on, you weren’t lightweight in any way, surely those drinks were stronger. Your head spinned, forcing you to lean on the counter. Tommy asked if you were alright as you squeezed your eyes shut. Grabbing into his arm, you could barely force his name out your lungs before the world disappeared completely.

• Comfortable, clean and something else, the strange scent you felt when walking past opium houses. Your head hurt. Wherever you were, it was soft, the sheets and pillow were better than yours, that wasn’t your bedroom. With no idea of what happened or where you were, you forced your eyes open. The wallpaper was dark, with flowers between stripes, at the side of the bed, there was a glass and a whiskey bottle nearly finished, small paintings of nature hung on the walls and the wardrobe was of dark wood.

• Slowly, you sat up, the curtains were closed to keep the sunlight out. It was morning already. Looking down, your clothes were gone, replaced by silky sleepwear. You rushed to the door, pushing the handle and finding out it was locked, you managed to open the window, but stated it was too high to jump. With no other option, you called for help.

• The fear didn't go away with Tommy's presence, he closed the door behind himself, blocking your way out. His face was different from yesterday, lighter, satisfied. He brought a sandwich and a cup of tea. Very kind of him. Nevertheless, there was something in his eyes you couldn't shake off. The whole situation was beyond strange and instinct told you Tommy wasn't exactly your ally.

"What happened?" You asked under a shaky breath.

"You drank too much," he explained.

"No, I had one glass, two at most,"

"Alright," he sighed, "I won't lie to you, you passed out and I took you home,"

"The door was locked," you gulped, "and you didn't have to change my clothes, whose pajamas is this?"

"Yours,"

"No, they're not,"

"They are, just like this is your new home," his tone gave you bad shivers.

"What do you mean?"

"I talked to your mother, y'know? She said-"

"You don't know my mother," you interrupted.

"But I do, she's a lovely old lady living alone at thirty minutes away from here, or so you wrote on the notebook you keep on the center table,"

• The dots connected against your will, it couldn't be, things like that didn't exist in real life, Tommy was a busy man and wouldn't go so far to get you.

• But he did.

• Tommy followed you home.

• Tommy broke into your house.

• Tommy sabotaged all your job interviews.

"...you're fucking mad," you whispered.

"Your mother told me you were always complicated when it came to men, you've never been in a relationship, so I took this decision for you-"

"What decision?"

"A taster of how good life could be if you weren't only some bookmaker," he said, "I can give you much more than that,"

"I don't want anything from you," you teared up, "let me go, Tommy,"

"Listen, Y/N, this can be easier or harder for both of us, it depends on you,"

"How so?"

"You behave yourself and everything will be like before, you can even work in the fucking betting shop again, but at the end of the day you come back here," he pointed to the floor to indicate the bedroom.

"And what do you think this will lead to?"

"Relationships are sustained by respect and mutual benefit, love comes with time,"

"In your sick mind perhaps," you hissed.

"...I want to take care of you, Y/N, and I assure you won't find anyone better, not in Small Heath at least," he confessed, "eat something, I'll check on you later,"

• With disturbing normality, Tommy cupped your face and kissed your forehead. You kept still, shaky, too scared to move. Then he went away, locking you in again.

• You waited until nothing more could be heard and went to the window again. On the wall, with only an arm of distance, you could reach the gutter's downspout. You shook it the strongest you could, testing how firm it was. No use. It wouldn't handle your weight. Besides, it'd be worse if you fell and Tommy caught you.

• Next, you peeked through the door's keyhole, there was only an empty hallway with other closed doors, at the corner, you saw the stairs. The way out.

• Defeated, you threw the tea out the window and checked every layer of the sandwich before eating. You didn't trust Tommy at all, but to get your freedom back, he had to trust you, and what way was better to earn trust than going along with his games?

WHAT NOW?

[sillygoosealert]

I was so hurt after (https://www.tumblr.com/sillygoosealert/757389587337412608/stuipid-fucking-slut-i-hate-you) 🥹🥹, can you do a part two where reader goes missing after he left her but found unconscious/dead because of a reason (you could come up with one! :D)

AND ALSO, UR WRITING IS SOO GOOD, +1 FOLLOWER >.<

-🍞 anon (I will try giving you good requests >:)

I promise I won't kill myself, death is not my last resort

haiiii :3 so I'm making this part two but honestly, I might end up deleting both of the stories because I was in a bad place when I wrote that 😓 also..besides the other anon's rotting in my inbox until I respond..ur my first anon !! yippy !!

Implied Rape. You die, talks of being unsafe and how it feels to be assaulted

Love is a gentle thing, as is the innocence you once had.

It wasn't a gradual fruition to see that being a woman would change the reality of everything for you. They warned you to steer clear of dark spots and secluded areas and always be aware. The things events that were organized and reenacted are nothing short of gender-based violence.

You understood why you and many others were constantly warned, but experiencing it was so different and vile, something you should never have gone through.

Today almost didn't end with you dead, but you didn't listen to the one thing that was looking out for you- you. That day, your gut instinct felt something was awry.

The morning was fine. You got a quick kiss on Sukuna's cheek before running off to your garden work.

The garden is split into sections. Working in them isn't an issue- except the one furthest from the estate. It's where you are most likely to get harassed by other servants as it is where most people turn a blind eye to.

Your body physically would not go near it today, you just couldn't.

Maybe it's the black crow you saw out of the corner of your eye or the sinking feeling you got whenever you looked over in its direction, but you couldn't shake the uncanny feeling it was giving you.

But as a mouse gets caught in a mouse trap, you are lured into the back part of the garden when something that resembles a doe is staring right at you. Not wanting to pass up the chance to see something so pure so up close, you walk to it.

But as you walk towards the feeble deer, and it walks further and further into the now forest, you question if you really saw anything at all.

When the doe is no longer in sight, you think about how you got here. Is it too late to turn back? I don't want this anymore.

You don't get the chance to turn back, as a pair of hands are roughly groping you from behind.

What happened in the woods wasn't your fault. You were lured to the spot in the first place. Then, when you wanted out, the exit was no longer there.

It wasn't your fault.

When you don't show up to clean the garden, that one thing.

But your body was found before dinner, where the forest meets the garden, disrespected in horrendous ways.

When you mentioned the concern that you were being targeted by other peers, he recognized the validity of your perspective.

He knew you were being harassed, but to accept it was something he couldn't do.

It would mean several things to take action - the most significant being that you had a major influence on how he chose to address the situation.

The other is over half of the people working for him would be slaughtered if he honestly wanted you safe. That type of fear egged him on usually, with him being your savior at the end of the day.

Knowing the nature of these situations, something would have to be addressed sooner or later.

He was scared indigo at the thought of making that type of commitment to someone, but he wanted to for you.

The thought of death didn't scare him. He would tell death himself he wasn't afraid to die. However, the idea of you being beaten nearly to death, only to bleed out and perish, shook him to his core. This was something no amount of strength or intimidation could undo.

He doesn't find out about...your passing until he requests to see you after dinner.

The feeling that washes over him is indifferent, he doesn't know what he wants anymore, but he knows that he wants you back.

He will never know how the world could keep spinning after you were ripped away from his grasp, it should have been the end of the world.

You didn't want to die, you shouldn't have died.

That shouldn't have happened to you, you didn't deserve it.

Death is a pathic escape, I will not kill myself- not for my loved ones, but for me.

Songs referenced: Velvet Ring, The End of The World, N64, My Body's Made of Crushed Little Stars, Crack Baby, Anything.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesongfics.

Vigilante Shit

October Prompt: Vigilante Shit by Taylor Swift | Word Count: 7777 | Rating: E | CW: Unsafe Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent | Tags: Modern AU, Past Break-Up, Divorced, Angst, Exes-to-Lovers, Hopeful Ending, Famous Eddie, Corroded Coffin, Platonic Stobin: Ride or Die (Eddie Might Die If Robin Has Her Way, lol), Unsafe Sex, Barebacking, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Except It's All Love Underneath, Mr. Americana and the Heartbreak Prince

Also available right here on ao3.

they say looks can kill and I might try Taylor Swift, Vigilante Shit

Steve steps out of the taxi, and looks down, smoothing the lines of his shirt. Hoping it's not too wrinkled. He's left it unbuttoned one more button than would be considered decent, but nothing about today is going to end up decent, he's sure of it. The fabric is tight, midnight blue and clinging to his sides, his biceps, tailored to perfection. He made sure of it. When he looks good, he feels good. And today? He needs to at least feel good about how he looks. 

He stands on the sidewalk, shrugging on the leather jacket that doesn't actually belong to him. The one with the chained up broken zipper on the sleeve. The one from before. A relic of years gone by, of kids that have been dead and buried by adulthood.

He doesn't actually need it, weather-wise. But if he's digging up bones, he might as well dig deep.

And he looks good in it, without fucking question.

Tonight he isn't dressing for women, or men. He's dressing for revenge.

The event space is old, he can tell. One of those remodeled places, salvaged from the hands of time. He's never been here before, and wishes he didn't have to be at today, either. He wishes he was seven hundred miles away, at home. When the plane touched down here this morning, he felt like he was being suffocated. Like the air was thicker, like he was being stifled, just because he lives here.

Steve avoids the city like the plague. Henderson moved here a few years ago, though, and Steve would be lying if he hadn't felt betrayed. He felt like a side had been chosen, and that it wasn't his. 

Steve knows that's irrational. But he still feels that way, especially when he's alone with his thoughts. Robin has gotten sick of hearing about it. She's the only person on earth he feels comfortable letting see how much he still hurts.

How much he'll always be hurt, maybe.

Coming here today feels a little bit like torture, and opting out was definitely his first instinct. 

But here Steve is. He couldn't do that to Henderson.

Even if he lives in town. It's not like Henderson ever mentions him anymore. Dustin quickly learned that was a bridge not to cross with Steve if he wished to continue living.

So, Steve cut off his nose to spite his own face, like a fucking idiot. Now he gets no information on Eddie, no secondhand gossip from friends, no nothing that doesn't come from the gossip rags. 

Steve double-checks his reflection in the door of the brick building, fingers combing through his hair. Looks good. Like the rest of him. That much he is confident about. Everything else is the problem.

It's an old building, and when the old elevator opens, Steve looks around the big, airy ballroom. There's an open window seat, and he walks over and perches in it, waiting. The setting sun is warm on his back, and while he hasn't heard for sure, he knows in his gut that Eddie will be here. There's no way Eddie's missing Henderson's engagement party. 

Even if that means seeing Steve.

Steve had checked the tour schedule, hoping, praying he'd be halfway across the world tonight. But there was a suspicious looking break in their dates. As if this had been planned around it. 

It probably was.

But Steve can't worry about Eddie. He will, of fucking course, but it would be so much better for his own well-being if he didn't.

Eddie cut the first tie between them, but Steve is the one that burned the bridges behind him, making it permanent. If Eddie wanted to run from him, well, then he was gonna stay fucking gone. Steve wasn't interested in providing any sort of lifeline for Eddie to ever use to climb out of the hole he insisted on digging for himself.

Robin and Henderson have both said in soft, roundabout ways that Steve was kind of being a dick. Being petty, bitchy, mean. But Steve doesn't care. He got his heart broken. He lost his husband. He can be all of those things, and more. 

Steve spins the ring on his finger, the one he hasn't worn in years. The old gold band that he dug out of the back of his closet, and spent all morning polishing into a gut punch.

His motto for tonight: Don't get sad, get even.

He wishes Robin were already here, but she's never been on time a day in her life. Every flight she's ever booked has been delayed, if not outright canceled, and today was no different. Unfortunately, that means he's sitting off to the edge of the ballroom by himself, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing does.

Friends who have become closer to strangers mingle, and laugh, leaving him on fringes, alone. And Steve knows that's his fault. He cut a large swath out of his life, isolating himself. Licking his wounds in solitary confinement. Robin is his only companion, besides his misery and grief.

He needs to suck it up, go mingle, force himself to dole out apologies and be a little more active in the festivities, certain that he's been foolish. Eddie isn't coming after all.

Steve makes his way over to Dustin.

"Congrats, kiddo," Steve says, wrapping his arm around Dustin's shoulders, squeezing.

"About damn time, I thought you were gonna sulk in the corner all night," Dustin snaps, and Steve laughs. No, he's not gonna do that. He just needed a minute. And he gets that Henderson understood that. He's a good kid, a good man, now.

He keeps talking, "I thought you were gonna go on some sort of anti-marriage tirade."

No, no, Steve was wrong. He is still a little shit.

"I'm not anti-marriage," Steve says, and he isn't. Sure, his didn't work out, but he's not going around assuming that everybody else's will end up the same way.

Unless they plan on marrying Eddie. Then, that's on them. Play dumb games, win stupid prizes.

"He was supposed to come tonight," Dustin admits.

Yeah, Steve figured as much, "Sorry he let you down, kid."

Dustin looks up at him, "Sorry he let you down, too."

Yeah, well. Shit happens.

The room is sparkling with twinkling lights that look even better as the sun melts into the horizon. Tray after tray of drinks and passed hors d'oeuvres make the rounds, and everyone seems happy to see him, maybe forgiving him a little too easily for his disappearing act. 

They come see him in his window, like it's his new office. Handing him drinks, food. Doling out hugs and kisses. Stories. Sharing their lives with him.

Robin comes in earlier than he expected her, and she throws her hands in the air, announcing her arrival.

Dustin hugs her, and then she marches over to the window seat he's been holding court from.

He stands, and she steps into his arms, squeezing him tight, "Hi, dingus. Sorry I'm late."

"You're early," he says, and she's not. She's nearly an hour late. But for him, she's right on time.

Eddie didn't come. He doesn't have to say it, she knows. He feels foolish. He's wearing Eddie's leather jacket and his old wedding band, and dwelling on a past Eddie clearly doesn't give a flying fuck about.

Steve squeezes Robin back. It's been too long. Living in separate cities is for the goddamn birds. Maybe he should move closer to her. Pack up his life and just hit the road and be wherever she wants to be, always.

That sounds like the best plan for a lifetime of happiness that he's had in a goddamn long time.

"We could call the FBI. Tell them he's a drug mule. Tell them he's evading taxes."

Steve doesn't think either of those things are true.

He's about to say so when he feels the air in the room change. 

Fuck.

He drops back to the bricks, not really able to stand under these conditions.

Eddie's here, Steve can't see him yet, refuses to scour the room, looking, searching, but he knows. He always knew when Eddie manifested himself into Steve's presence. Like a magic trick Steve doesn't know the secret behind, and probably never will. 

Steve leans back, and sprawls out on the brick window sill he's been sitting in, and Robin is looking down at him wide-eyed. Because she's well aware of the only thing here that could knock his feet out from him.

She steps to the side and turns to look.

And he's determined to keep his head up. He's gonna meet this head-on, no-holds-barred. If Eddie wants to look away, wants to run like he always does, then he can be the one to do that. Again. Because Steve's got nothing to be ashamed about.

He didn't fuck up their lives. Eddie did.

Two black suits, his private security Steve's sure, flank Eddie. Like there's a threat at his friend's engagement party. Fucking ridiculous. 

Well.

Maybe there is a threat: Steve. 

At least a threat to his peace, and as if on cue Eddie stops in the middle of the room and stares. Steve stares back. Wrist resting over his own bent knee. They say looks can kill, and tonight Steve damn well might try.

Steve won't blink first, won't back down.

And eventually Eddie gives, loses, and looks away.

Steve smiles to himself, taking a sip of his drink, swirling the ice in the lowball glass, as Robin's eyebrows have permanently lodged themselves into her hairline. He makes small talk with her, when he knows she wants to say so fucking much about what just happened. There will be time for that later, time to dissect and replay, but only then does he unfold himself from the window seat, sauntering across the room, stopping to talk to his friends. His. 

Steve doesn't look his way again, but he can definitely feel the eyes boring into him as he moves around the room. Good. Let him stare. 

On the way back from the bathroom, Steve passes a little too close to the sun.

And Eddie reaches out, snagging Steve's hand in his, squeezing it hard enough that it pinches his skin between the ring he has no business wearing, but Steve doesn't react. Doesn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he can get to him in any way.

Not anymore.

He just looks at Eddie, and Eddie stares back. 

Eddie doesn't let go. Instead he shifts his hand, sliding it upwards, until he's hooked his finger through the chain on the jacket sleeve, and starts to pull Steve by it, like he's on a lead. His feet betray him, and he follows. 

So do the bodyguards.

"No, stay," Eddie says, like they're guard dogs. Maybe they are. They definitely heel to his command.

And he leads Steve out of the ballroom, down a long hallway, trying to push open door after locked door, until he finds one that gives, swinging open. It's empty, and probably used for staging or a dressing room during other events. There's a fancy couch, and the whole place is lit by the moonlight coming through the deep-set windows.

Only then does he let go. Steve feels burned.

But he doesn't react to that, instead Steve stands there, hands on his hips as Eddie lingers, several paces away, staring back. 

He didn't ask for this, for any of this.

"What the fuck do you want?" Steve snaps, and Eddie's teeth are showing as he stalks forward. Steve refuses to take a step back, refuses to flinch or lose an inch of ground to him. Eddie's not gonna steamroll him, not ever again.

"What the fuck is this?" Eddie asks, reaching out and squeezing Steve's wrist. The jacket. Then flicking Steve's finger, the ring, as it rests on his hip.

"It's a wedding ring. I know that's probably confusing for you, since you never wore one of them. It ruined your aesthetic, or whatever this is," Steve mocks, waving his hand around Eddie's whole being. All the black leather and silver jewelry that doesn't mean shit.

Eddie ignores all that, and his eyes narrow down on Steve's hand, demanding, "You marry somebody else wearing my ring?"

"Maybe I did," Steve snaps. "What's it to you?"

And Eddie loses the standoff. His hands find his hair as he roughly pulls at it, spinning in a circle.

Steve smirks. 

"You want it back? Here. Take it," Steve spits out, angry, so fucking pissed off for the past decade or more, pulling the ring off his finger and throwing it. Listening as it hits the wall across the room, and then clatters across the hardwood flooring. 

He shrugs out of the jacket and throws it next. Hitting Eddie square in the chest.

The sound Eddie makes is distraught, feral, and if Steve didn't know he's only bullshit and bluster, he'd probably be scared.

But he's not scared of Eddie Munson. At least not in the way the rest of the world is, hoodwinked by the reputation he built with his carefully cultured public image that is just lie after lie.

Steve wasn't sure what would happen next, but Eddie on his hands and knees, patting around in the dark, his phone flashlight darting around trying to catch the glimmer of metal, wasn't what Steve expected.

"Why fucking bother?" Steve asks as he crosses his arms over his chest. Because honestly? He doesn't need it. He made his point. He cut him. He won this round. He needs to leave before he gets left. Again.

And Eddie didn't want him to have it back then, so why waste time digging up old bones? Let sleeping dogs lie. 

"Because," Eddie grits out.

"Just let it go, Eddie. Just like you let me go," Steve snaps, and Eddie's head whips up, the flashlight suddenly blinding Steve.

Steve shields his eyes, "Put that down, asshole."

"Then don't fucking say that," Eddie snaps.

"Like it's not true?"

It is true, and Eddie can't even begin to deny it. He fucking ran, two years into their marriage. Two years that they spent more nights apart than they did together. Two years where they were too young. Too different. At least that's what everyone else said when the dust settled. Like, it was just a mistake anyone could have seen coming.

Like, two years had been a good run, but that this had always been the expected end result.

Steve hadn't expected it. 

That didn't matter, though. They divorced, long-distance, papers delivered and signed through lawyers. All contact completely severed. And then they both spent more than a decade being extra careful to not wind up in the same region, let alone the same building, or room.

Now, here they are. Eddie on his hands and knees rooting around for ancient history, and Steve wishing he could be swallowed up by the floor under his feet just to be out of here. Away. Anywhere else.

It's bullshit. All of it.

Eddie finds it with a huffed laugh, and Steve isn't sure what happens next. Does Eddie pocket it? Keep it? 

No, he stands, and stalks over to Steve, "You wanna wear it? You're gonna wear it."

And he forces it back onto Steve's hand, a perversion of the first time he did it. It catches on his knuckle, and hurts as Eddie forces it on, but Steve watches it happen, can't look away. 

Then, Eddie's even further in his personal space, mouth closing over Steve's, hand sliding into Steve's hair, pulling. Steve kisses him back, hands digging into his back, holding on tight to everything he's already lost.

Steve's whole fucking body betrays him. He moans in Eddie's mouth, dick rushing towards hard, as Eddie leans further into him.

Learning all Steve's secrets from his time away.

Steve doesn't want Eddie to know anything about him.

He also wants him to know everything.

It's infuriating.

Even more so when Eddie spins him around, shoving him forwards, making Steve catch himself on the back of the couch.

Eddie puts his hand in the middle of Steve's back, and presses downwards, hard. Bending him over the back side of the vintage couch. Steve goes, willingly. The ornate wood trim digging into his belly. Eddie's hand rubs up and down his sides, hands feeling how his shirt is hugging his skin, and Steve knew it was a good choice. But he doesn't have time to gloat before Eddie's fingers slide around, brushing Steve's stomach, slowly unbuttoning every button of his shirt. Roughly pulling it from his arms, catching on his wrists before being tugged loose, then moving on to unhooking his belt, unbuttoning his jeans, before yanking them down his thighs.

Steve digs the toe of his boot into the hardwood floor, trying to get some leverage that he knows he'll need. It's gonna be rough, and fast, and hard. Desperate. 

Overdue.

Maybe a little bit mean. Steve's not sure what kind of headspace Eddie's in. Hadn't had the chance to really gauge him, before he was drug away into the darkness to fight and fuck about unfinished business.

All their business is unfinished.

Eddie's pressed flush to his back, his palm pressing into the center of Steve's chest, his fingers moving through his chest hair. His cock, hard through his jeans, pressing into Steve's ass. A promise, or a threat.

Either, both, maybe. And then Eddie makes good on it. Steve hears him tearing open foil. Then he feels the cool liquid running down his crack. He tries not to jump, startle. Of course Eddie's carrying travel packets of lube. He shouldn't have assumed anything else.

Then there are slick fingers, one, then two, pressing at him, in him. Sliding deep, working to push all his buttons, proving Eddie hasn't forgotten a goddamn thing. One hand working fingers inside him, the other palming his balls before reaching down to tug on his cock. Just like Steve always liked. But Steve won't make any noise. Won't give Eddie the satisfaction. But Steve's breathing deep and hard, panting as he pushes back against Eddie's hand. Demanding more.

Eddie listens for once, too fast, too soon, and Eddie's breaching him. Steve wanted to draw this out. But that cock that Steve has loved, missed, needed is working him open, fast and rough. It's not enough, it's too much. All at once.

Steve loses, can't bite it back any longer, and Steve huffs out a whine of a breath as Eddie slams into him. He hasn't felt this in years. It's exactly the same, but totally different, too. It's like being fucked by a complete stranger.

It's also like coming home.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to keep quiet. The last thing he wants is any of their friends to see him like this. To know that he allowed himself to be bent over this easily. That all he had to do was spend fifteen minutes alone with Eddie before he allowed his resolve to crumble to dust, desperate for it, the second Eddie laid hands on him.

Eddie's not wearing a condom, Steve can feel the difference, can feel the ease of the slide in a way that he hasn't since Eddie cut and ran. Steve knows he should be mad, furious that Eddie thinks he still has that right. That he thinks his blanket permission from a decade ago overrides a goddamn divorce. But Steve's not mad. And he hates that he's not mad. Resents that he gets off on the fact that it's still only Eddie that has been invited inside him, and has been allowed to leave his mark deep, in more ways than one.

"Fuck you, Harrington," Eddie says, and Steve claws at the fabric of the couch, blunt fingernails scraping against the rough texture of it. 

"You already are, asshole," Steve says back.

Eddie laughs. It sounds more delighted than deranged, and if Steve keeps his eyes shut, he can pretend this was another lifetime ago. 

It's easy to go along for the ride, just allowing himself to feel what he hasn't in so many years. It's not like he's been celibate, or alone, but he has been without this. Without Eddie, and having a taste of it again might just wreck him.

There are lips against his back, and a cock splitting him wide. In his mind he's twenty-two and in love. Really in love. 

When he opens them again, he's thirty-four, and bitter. Broken.

Angry. 

So goddamn angry that his life, their life, turned out to be bullshit.

And suddenly the tears burn his eyes. Fuck. He's gonna cry. He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if he can stave it off with that alone. As if he can just will it away, by wanting it bad enough. But it's not working. He's gonna do the very last thing he ever wanted to have happen in Eddie's presence ever again. When he can't hold it back a second longer, he hitches in a ragged breath, and Eddie stutters, stilling all momentum, immediately.

It nearly gives Steve whiplash, going from a hundred to zero, just like that.

Which is fitting. That's how their whole relationship turned out. From hot and heavy, to distant strangers. Why would this be any goddamn different?

"Steve?" Eddie asks, a warm palm against his back. Rubbing soft, soothing circles, his guitar calluses scratching gently. "Sweetheart?"

That's the last straw, it's too familiar, too much, and he curls over the back of the couch as far as he can as Eddie pulls out, leaving him empty and more bereft than he already was. Steve tries to reach backwards, tries to lure him back. Back inside, back to Steve. Just back, in any way he can get him.

It doesn't happen, of course, and Eddie tries to manhandle Steve into turning around to face him. Steve would rather do anything else, so he won't allow himself to be turned because Steve's still bigger, always has been bigger and stronger, and Eddie's hands disappear before reappearing as he moves around the couch to kneel on the cushion next to where Steve is actively wishing to be swallowed whole.

"Steve," Eddie says, the voice reedy and scared, hands brushing down Steve's back, then moving through Steve's hanging hair, trying to find his face. "Did I hurt you? Did you…" Eddie trails off, thumb on Steve's cheek, "Did you not want that? Did I - did I read you wrong?"

Steve shakes his head. He's hurt, of course he is, just not in the way Eddie means. Of course he wanted this. He just can't. Not with Eddie. It's too hard.

Even if that's all he wants.

He looks down at the cushions below, he sees Eddie's bare thigh, tattoos unfamiliar, and his cock, very familiar, scared into softness. Nestled there in his open fly. Steve wonders if he smells the same. Wants to bury his face in Eddie's crotch and breathe deep.

What an unhinged thing to want, he thinks. But Steve just wants to go home, go back in time.

Eddie's still gorgeous. Always has been, though, and Steve snakes out a hand, curling it around Eddie's forearm.

Asking him not to go.

Asking him to stay this time.

"Sweetheart. Look at me, or I'm getting Robin," Eddie says, and Steve hiccups a laugh as Eddie plays with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

He's not his sweetheart, not any longer, he knows that all too well, but hearing that come out of his lips makes something bloom in his chest. An unfurling longing. Nostalgia for a time he'll never be able to return to, as long as he lives. 

It's already gone. They've already grown up, distant from each other.

And Steve raises his head enough to meet Eddie's eyes.

"She'd kill you," Steve says, trying to blink the wetness from his lashes.

"I'd let her," Eddie answers.

Steve misses him. He's right here, looking right at him, but Steve misses him something fierce.

"Are you okay? What's going on?" Eddie asks, scooting closer, his hand never leaving Steve's neck. Fingers brushing against his skin, keeping contact, soothing him in a way only he ever could.

Steve laughs, bordering on unhinged.

"Vigilante shit," Steve breathes out, and it's like he's ran a marathon, maybe an ultra.

And Eddie laughs, leaning forward and pressing his mouth to Steve's temple.

Steve leans into him. 

"Well, that's fair, sweetheart," Eddie says, "I'll give you that. I deserve it. But are you okay?"

"I'm okay," Steve reassures. As okay as he'll ever be, anyway, here surrounded by the smoldering embers of the life he watched burn to the ground.

Eddie rotates until he's laying down on the couch, and opens his arms for Steve. Steve takes the offer, sliding over the back of the couch, crawling on top of Eddie. Not very gracefully since his pants are still trapped around his thighs, boots on his feet. 

"Here, let me help," Eddie says, trying to maneuver him to sitting. Steve allows it.

And Eddie slides off the couch, kneeling at Steve's feet. Eddie looks at how Steve has them laced so they just slip on and off, and it's an old Eddie trick. Steve knows it, Eddie knows it.

"Well, this is sexy," Eddie says as he gently pulls the first one off his foot, then the second. And Steve laughs. Eddie then pulls his jeans down, tossing them aside, "Can you breathe now?"

Steve nods.

Undressed, and a little more unburdened, Steve watches as Eddie sheds his own pants, and then gets back on the couch, laying back against the cushions, an invitation.

Steve takes it.

He's pretty sure their naked asses aren't supposed to be on this antique piece of furniture, but he'd like to see anyone tell Eddie Munson no. It's impossible, and a waste of breath. Always has been.

So, they lay together, Eddie's hand stroking up and down his back, fingers against his spine. Whispering words that Steve's waited a decade to hear. And Steve listens, feeling the rumble of Eddie's chest, the timbre of his voice that is somehow even deeper than it was at twenty-three. They kiss and grind soft cocks together until they aren't soft anymore. They roll together until Steve slides back down on Eddie's cock, ready to finish what they started. 

It's gentler now, and Steve's pretty sure that might make this worse, after. Hate sex, angry fucking to get each other out of their systems, he thinks he could get over. That he could take at face value.

But this?

This is too soft. Too loving.

And that's gonna destroy him when it's over.

Eddie was, is, will always be, the greatest thing he's ever lost. Steve swears he only blinked, but in between that breath and the next, Eddie had slipped through his fingers.

But he wouldn't give this up. He never wanted to give Eddie up. Not then, not now, and that's really fucking hard to wrap his head around. That it ended against his will. That the thing he was sure was forever, crashed and burned so fucking quickly, completely out of his control. 

He couldn't save them from themselves. He couldn't save them from the self-destructive streak Eddie just couldn't shake.

He couldn't stop Eddie from running.

Distance, blossoming fame, and the road just being more of an obstacle than they would have ever imagined when they stood up and said I do, promising forever. 

Well, forever was pretty fucking short, Steve guesses.

He rocks on Eddie's cock, fucking himself as Eddie holds his hips in his hands. 

"That's it, sweetheart," Eddie encourages, and Steve's setting the rhythm now. The pace, the intensity, so he can't even blame Eddie for this slow down. For this softness.

This is all on him. 

But Eddie still fits in him like he was made to be there. Of course, Steve assumes Eddie's cock has been in lots of places since they buckled and folded. So, yeah, that probably means a doctor's visit, and a nerve wracking wait for test results will be in his future for being impulsive and foolish.

At the same time, he still trusts Eddie. Maybe he shouldn't. It makes no sense to, for fuck's sake. Eddie broke his heart, abandoned him like he meant nothing. But for some reason he trusts that Eddie would have never slid into him, warm and bare and familiar, if there was a cause for concern. 

He's always lost his fucking mind when he came to Eddie. That not changing today is no fucking surprise, not really.

Steve angles himself so Eddie's bumping his prostate, over and over, and it's just too much, too good, and Steve tenses, coming all over Eddie's belly. But he keeps grinding down on Eddie's cock, determined to get him over the edge, too.

Eddie groans, hand squeezing Steve's hip, "I'm gonna come."

"Do it," Steve breathes out, and Eddie does. Shoving up into him as far, and as hard as he can, and Steve tilts his head back, enjoying that this moment has happened for them, one more time.

He collapses onto Eddie's chest, laughing the way he always has after good sex, Eddie's softening cock still inside him, and Steve's not about to pull away yet.

The door opens, and Steve pops up to look to see who has found them.

Robin. 

"Goddamnit, dingus," she says from the doorway. He's aware from her angle she can see he's shirtless and debauched. She can't know that Eddie's still in him, soft, but unwilling to extract himself.

"I take it that asshole ex of yours is under you?"

"Hi, Robbie," Eddie says, still unseen by her, from his place on the couch under Steve.

She doesn't respond, ignoring Eddie. Which is to be expected, Steve supposes.

"Get cleaned up. Dustin's realized you're both missing."

Steve watches as Eddie stretches his arm backwards into her view, making the okay sign and she slams the door in response. 

They both laugh, and Steve lays back down on Eddie's bare chest, kissing him again. And again.

"She hates me now," Eddie says, when they break apart.

"With the fire of a thousand suns, yes," Steve answers, tucking his face into Eddie's neck. Robin and Eddie used to be friends, best friends, but when Eddie cut and ran, Robin wrote him off swiftly, with finality, and without remorse. Steve appreciated the loyalty. And he's gonna need it, tomorrow. Because he knows this was just one night, one mistake, but he's gonna milk it for all that it's worth since he's already in for a penny.

"We really have to make an appearance," Eddie says, and Steve whines at the idea. But he lifts up, Eddie's cock sliding out of him for the last time. At least he knows this time. At least he can brace for the impact.

But Eddie has other ideas.

"We'll be seen, we'll congratulate the kid, and then I'll take you back to bed, and show you how much I've missed you."

Steve nods. Yes. That. All of that, please. 

If he only gets one more night, he wants to draw out this long overdue goodbye as much as possible.

"We hadn't even had dinner," Dustin admonishes, shoving Steve's shoulder. Eddie puts a hand between them, like this might escalate.

"That's my bad, kid," Eddie says, shit-eating grin on his face.

Henderson is more forgiving. He loves them both. But Robin's glaring daggers through Eddie's back. There's no way he doesn't feel it. Steve can feel it, and it isn't even directed at him.

The party is winding down, and at the first opportunity, Eddie holds out the old leather jacket, helping it up and over Steve's shoulders.

"Steve," Robin says, a warning, and he steps away from Eddie, leaning down, hugging her.

"Let me say goodbye right this time," he pleads and she nods against his cheek.

She hates this, Steve knows she does, but she lets him go. She'll let him make this mistake. Will let him poke at this old, never-healed, wound.

Eddie leads him out the front of the venue. A crowd has gathered. Word must have spread that Eddie Munson was in the building, and now flashbulbs are blinding Steve, and Steve's instinct is to let go. Drop Eddie's hand and run. Hide, get out of sight. But Eddie doesn't let go of his hand. Even as he's guiding them towards the waiting black SUV. 

One of the security guys reaches for the door handle, and Steve sees Eddie rest his hand on his shoulder. The guy immediately backs off, and Eddie opens it for Steve himself. Standing there, looking grown up, and then suddenly his arm pops out, and he dips into a half-bow.

Steve laughs, loud and happy. He's still Eddie. 

He wishes he had a picture. Wants to replay that memory in his mind forever, and he realizes suddenly that he probably can. That in the next ten minutes the entire walk from the building to the car will be uploaded from at least a dozen angles.

There's gonna be story after story of Eddie Munson entering the building alone and re-emerging four hours later with his ex-husband on his arm.

The divider in the car goes up, and they can't keep their hands off of each other.

Steve shifts on the leather. 

"What's wrong?" Eddie asks, pulling back to look in his eyes.

It's only Eddie, so he tells the truth, "I'm leaking."

And Eddie grins, wolfish and wild, "Well. I could take care of that."

The pulse of want goes through Steve. It's filthy and is he really gonna let Eddie eat his ass in a moving car, a driver just on the other side of the barrier?

Yeah, yeah he is.

He moves to his belt, but Eddie's fingers replace his own, "Let me, sweetheart."

And at this point, Steve thinks he'll let Eddie do anything he wants.

The pictures from outside Eddie's building are sure to be obscene. Eddie, mouth red and lips shiny, Steve's hair in utter disarray. The crowd is rowdy, extra loud and demanding, and Eddie seems to be in no hurry. He's smiling, and looking around, as if this is completely normal. 

As if he always hooks up with his ex-husband, rims him in the car, and the waves to the fans, after. He looks happy, thrilled even, instead of annoyed to be caught in the public eye.

Maybe it is normal for him, but it's definitely not for Steve. This was never his life, not even when they were married and Eddie's star continued to rise. Maybe, especially not then. Eddie wanted his private life to be private and that meant Steve was left at home, out of sight. 

Not tonight.

Tonight it's obvious what they've been doing during the car ride. The press will have a field day building a timeline with the pictures and videos.

Eddie holds Steve's hand, tight and protective, leading the charge, but he uses the other to wave. To stop and sign an album. A poster. All while his security tries to wrangle him inside.

"This is Steve," he tells a fan, a camera shoved in his face.

Steve tries to put on a pageant smile, and is certain he's failed. This is fucking bizarre. Has Eddie really changed this much? Then they're moving again, finally making their way towards the door.

"Thank you," Eddie says, looking right at the man holding open the door.

"Mr. Munson," the doorman says, and Eddie shakes his hand, and Steve really thinks the guy wouldn't have if he knew where Eddie's hands have been recently. 

They're taken to a private elevator, and when it opens, it's in the middle of a huge penthouse apartment. 

Which is pretty amazing. The only thing fucking up the view is Gareth on the couch, in his underwear. He's holding a bowl of cereal under his chin, and he accidentally tips it on himself.

"Sorry," Eddie says, "I wasn't expecting to bring home company."

"Oh, that's okay," Gareth answers with a smirk.

"I wasn't talking to you," Eddie laughs, and Gareth grins. "If you got cereal on that couch, clean it up. I'm not smelling sour milk for the next decade every time I sit down."

"Yeah, yeah," Gareth says. 

Then he looks right at Steve.

"Steven," Gareth greets, and Steve gives him a little wave. He's really grown up since Steve saw him last.

Eddie puts his hand on the small of Steve's back, "My bedroom is back here."

It looks like his closet exploded, a familiar mess. Eddie starts picking up clothes off the bed.

"Sorry, I had trouble deciding what to wear tonight," Eddie says, several pairs of black jeans that look identical to Steve slung over his arm. 

His room has a hell of a view. There are floor to ceiling windows, and Steve stands there and looks over the city. Eddie's done well for himself. But Steve knew that, never doubted that he would, but it's just something else to see the reality of that with his own eyes.

Eddie wraps his arms around Steve's middle, hugging him from behind, his chin hooked over Steve's shoulder.

Steve closes his eyes and just leans into his touch.

Eddie's hands are all over him. Rough calluses touching, stroking, remapping his skin. Seemingly marking the changes. Steve's face down on the softest, worn-in sheets he's ever felt. They smell like Eddie. They feel like home. 

They aren't fancy, no satin or showy black here, just comfortable gray cotton. The real Eddie, not the persona.

The lights of the city are casting the room in shadow, but Steve doesn't need to see Eddie. He can feel him. 

Eddie is rocking into him, slow and steady. There's no hurry, no racing towards the finish line.

Because this is goodbye, and neither of them are quite ready to let go. Not yet.

When Steve wakes up, it's dark in the room, and Eddie is dead to the world, his hair is fanned out across the pillow. As much as Steve wants to roll over, curl into Eddie's body and go back to sleep, he's aware it's time to go. He doesn't want to do it in the morning when it's awkward and sad. The harsh light of day ruining this. Eddie had shown him how much he'd missed him, as promised, and Steve's gonna carry that with him, feel it for days. 

This is a better ending than they got last time.

He dresses quietly, and Steve's carrying his boots out of Eddie's bedroom, when another door in the hallway cracks open.

"Oh, hell no," is the pronouncement, and Steve turns and looks. Gareth.

"Yeah, well, I love you, too, Gareth," Steve says, as he keeps walking. He doesn't need any lip from this kid. Never has, never will.

But then he's jostled as Gareth forces his way in front of Steve, blocking his path out of the hallway. Standing in front of him, not allowing him to just sneak away in peace. Does there really need to be salt rubbed into the gaping wound? He's going. Maybe he fucked up. Maybe they both did. But it was one night. Closure. Ripping open old wounds. Whatever you want to call it.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Gareth hisses, and Steve just glares at him. 

"Back to my own hotel, back to my own life. What the fuck is it to you?"

And Gareth grabs Steve's boots, yanking them from his hand, one landing with a thunk against the plush carpet. Then he kicks his foot out, banging it against the door they're stopped in front of, like a crazy person.

"What the fuck is your problem, dude?" Steve snaps, and the second door opens. Goodie, then Jeff, standing in the doorway. Why are they all fucking here? Don't they see enough of each other on the goddamn road? Steve tilts his head back, annoyed, "Great. Just great."

"Steve?" Jeff asks. Like he might be someone else.

"Don't you run away from him again!" Gareth hisses, and Steve feels insane. In what universe did Steve ever run from Eddie? 

"What the fuck? Run? Me? I'm the one that ran? I think you've rewritten history there, kid," Steve says, squatting down to pick up his fallen boot.

And Gareth shoves his shoulders, knocking him off-balance and onto his ass. 

Oh, Steve's gonna kill him.

But Eddie gets there first.

"What in the actual fuck?!" Eddie screams, getting in between Gareth and Steve as Steve puts on the one boot he has control over.

Eddie attempts to wrestle the other away from Gareth, bullying him around the hall.

"I was helping you!" Gareth yells, ducking under Eddie's arm, darting to the side, but that allows Goodie to easily snag the boot being held hostage during the evasive maneuver. He turns it over to Jeff, who hands it down to Steve, waiting for him to get it pulled on, and then helps him to his feet.

Ushering him past Eddie roughhousing Gareth against the wall, making him squawk and squall. Not a thing has changed. It'd be funny if it wasn't so ridiculous.

Jeff holds his arm out behind Steve, a protective gesture, and presses the down button for him.

Steve steps in when the door opens, sees Jeff pressing the intercom on the wall, and then the doors close. The last thing he hears before he descends is a hand slapping against the doors, and Eddie's muffled, "No!"

When Steve steps out of the private elevator, the same doorman from earlier is waiting and steps forward.

"Mr. Harrington, this way," he states, and hovers a hand behind his back, just like Jeff had, like Jeff must be so used to this, that now he was doing it himself. He hears the doorman radio for a car to be sent to the escape hatch and Steve thinks that sounds a bit dramatic, but smiles to himself.

So, there's a back entrance they use, but Eddie decided to have them dropped off out front. He wanted them to be seen, and Steve doesn't try to read into that. Tries not to interpret it as a hard launch, as he's led down a long hallway, far away from the front of the building. 

The doorman holds open a door that leads to a flight of stairs that go down, down, down. Steve smiles at him, even if he's a little embarrassed to be slinking off underground in the middle of the night. Maybe the doorman is used to it. Maybe this is part of his regular job, ushering out Eddie's conquests. 

"Steve, wait!" he hears, as Eddie is rushing down the hallway toward them.

"Mr. Harrington," the doorman says, giving him a choice. He surely works for Eddie, especially if he knows who Steve is without having ever met him before, but he's clearly giving Steve an out. 

"It's okay," Steve says, and the doorman takes a step back, as they both watch Eddie run down towards them only in his jeans, barefoot.

The doorman lets Eddie and Steve step into the stairwell, and then closes the door to the hallway, giving them some privacy. Eddie nods towards another door, and then taps his watch against the plate on the wall, lighting it up green, unlocking it. Once he opens it, it's a small balcony. With some sort of dark screen that Steve assumes only works one way. They can see out, but the world can't see in. Eddie's sure living a fancy life.

The fresh, fall air feels nice against his face, and Steve closes his eyes. Eddie pats his pockets, finds what he's looking for, and then lights a cigarette. When it's offered up, Steve takes it. At least on this side of the building, the street is blissfully empty. The crowd from earlier, totally gone. 

It feels normal, and the sounds of the city hum with life down below.

"Don't go, or at least let me walk you out," Eddie says, hand on Steve's forearm, and he keeps talking, "Are you okay?"

Steve laughs, "Just plotting Gareth's demise."

"I'll help," Eddie says, a small grin on his face. Then he looks serious, "He shouldn't have shoved you."

"I just didn't have my center of balance, and he took advantage like a little shithead."

"Still," Eddie says.

Steve's not mad. Trying to be forced to stay is way better than being encouraged to leave.

"It's fine. He just didn't want me to run again," Steve says, raising an eyebrow, and he smiles when Eddie cackles. "You been telling stories?"

"No. Well, of course, but not about that. He knows what really happened. He's just-"

"Your Robin," Steve fills in.

"Yeah. How is Robbie? We didn't really get a chance to catch up."

Steve laughs, Robin would have eviscerated him had he tried.

"Good, great. Happy. Well, probably not tonight. She doesn't want to clean up any more messes you and I make with each other. But good, otherwise."

Eddie just stares at Steve, eyes unwavering.

"What?" Steve finally asks.

"What if we don't make any more messes?" Eddie asks, big, brown eyes looking into Steve as if he can see his soul if he stares hard enough.

"Eddie," Steve says.

"Seriously. What if we do it right this time?"

"Are you not still on the road?" Steve asks, because he knows the answer to that, and Eddie's a lot more famous than he was the last time he thought he needed to leave Steve in the dust.

"Yeah, but not in the same way. I'm older. Wiser."

"You sure about that?" Steve teases.

"Let a guy dream," Eddie banters back, then adds, "Let a guy make up for his sins."

"Well, you do have plenty of those," Steve teases.

"I do," Eddie admits, then reaches out to squeeze Steve's arms, "But I'm ready. For you. For this," he says, hand sliding down to brush against Steve's wedding band. "How 'bout it?"

Like it's that easy. Like there won't be conversations to have, and the same old problems to tackle. Like there isn't deep-seated hurt to smooth over, overcome.

But none of that matters. Not really. 

Because, yeah. Steve's ready for it, too. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesongfics and follow along with the fun! 🎶

Notes: If you're familiar with the song by Taylor Swift, you'll have recognized where several of the lyrics popped in. (And other songs from Taylor's discography as well.) I love these song challenges, since music inspires me to write things SO often.

This got way longer than I intended. I was gonna write it jointly for this and "wrath" over at @corrodedcoffinfest, but 1313 words went by way too fast, haha. 🤣

[galesleftearring]

Thinking about how sadly realistic Gale's romance arc is right now, and how in different ways this applies to each of the BG3 companions but especially his:

His whole life he's been told or felt for some reason or another that what he has to offer isn't *quite* enough. That being himself is not going to earn him love and companionship, and that those are things that he has to earn in the first place. Even his cat and his mother, who he clearly adores, have not managed to dissuade him from this.

Then he falls for this goddess; she is quite literally everything to him. She is his muse, the literal magic running through his veins. He *worships* her. And she takes his love, because it's flattering or it's there or it's something to do, and gives him very little in return. She certainly doesn't love him. She just loves the control, and he doesn't know the difference.

And then this inevitably collapses, this love built in hubris and self depreciation, and he is left feeling hopeless. Who could love him as he is when nobody else has been able to? Willing to? Surely the problem must be *him.* Surely the things he wants--companionship, adoration, reciprocity--just aren't things he can have. Or maybe they just don't exist.

Then he meets the player, and he finds himself falling again into these desires and he's scared, he's so scared, because he's now living on borrowed time and as much as he wants to give himself to Tav and have them give themselves back, why would they? Why would this person be different from every other form of love he has ever known? And on top of it all, who would want to pledge themselves to a dying man?

Monogamy isn't for everyone and that's fine but it is for him. He wants to give of himself completely and for that to be reciprocated, he wants to love deeply and truly and completely. He wants to find home in another person and give that person a home within himself. He has to wait until he's sure that he's safe, or until he's sure he's unsafe enough that it doesn't matter--his last night, at least he can die knowing he *tried,* Godsdamnit, and if he wasn't enough in life then maybe he can be enough in death.

But Tav loves him. Simple and ordinary and selfless, or incredibly selfish--not wanting him to martyr himself if they could just keep him there with them, keep loving him. They have taken the broken pieces of this man and said that those broken pieces are enough. They don't want to fix him and don't want him to fix them. They have taken his hand in theirs and given him the love that they have. No more, no less. No grand illusion, just themselves.

But he can't quite believe it, because why would he be enough now if he never has been before? So he tries to earn Tav's love, tries to give them what he *could* be, what he wants to try to be for Tav, what he'll never stop trying to be if it earns Tav's love. Love is transactional. And Tav says no, you were already enough, and I want from you what you want from me. Companionship, togetherness, just us, just me, just you. How could he believe it? How could he truly fall into this steady rhythm of everyday love?

When someone is used to transactional love, how do they learn to accept unconditional love?

[danielleargentino]

blackbright stuff + rant for todayyy!!!! happy holidays everybody :))

christmas blackbright . hell yeah

silly doodles for a twitter thing.

ms paint thing i did in 10 minutes based on a song i really really like (luna roja by soda stereo). please listen to it i'm begging youuuu. if you do tell me your thoughts on the tags pleasepleaseple

very quick aziracrow gomens thing . not a fan but felt like sharing you know. whatever man. i might edit it later though

blackbright body hcs andd the little rant!! i've been thinking about them and how i want to interpret their relationship . so i've decided that my drawings will feature an au where bobby was kidnapped and rescued a short time after turnabout for tomorrow. very important warning i need to do research and stuff for this, these are just my initial thoughts on the matter. stuff will probably change.

he and simon reunite, they had worked together 7 years ago on some cases and met again much later a week before bobby's abduction (which was a bit before the events on dual destinies). now that they're meeting once more, feelings are weird and complex.

the phantom has affected them both a lot, the trauma is fresh and simon didn't even get a chance to process his feelings of betrayal before bobby appears again and now he's feeling so many things at once he thinks he might die. they have a slowburn that also goes super quick ? how do i explain it.

after a month or two, they impulsively move in together because they can't stand how lonely their respective houses are. they're pretty much the only ones who can understand each other, they need each other a lot; but they also feel like running away and from the other and hiding forever.

simon needs constant reassurance that bobby is himself and not the phantom; on occasions he can't look at him in the eyes, he feels unsafe with him at times and has to leave and look for other's company and comfort. still, he also wants to cling to bobby and never let him leave again, to know him properly, to learn to love him healthily.

bobby on the other hand feels horribly guilty, responsible for the things the phantom had done and the damage he'd caused simon even before taking his form. the way simon looks at him sometimes makes him feel dangerous, but because of that he needs to be there for simon, to help him heal, to give him all the love he's been deprived of.

they have to work a lot on their problems, attend a lot of therapy and take some time off work, and, slowly but surely, learn to trust and love each other.

aaghdhs whatever these are just sketchy thoughts please don't be mean if you don't like them i will cry a lot and die

same au, three years after aa5 just like in the previous picture because. i like to draw them healed and happy. but i will draw more of their process.

...about that, however, i won't be able to draw on my computer for like two weeks starting this saturday, since i'm going on vacation. i really hope i can buy a new drawing tablet when i come back, tho!

thank you if you read everything <3 wishing you all a happy new year in advance too!

[detective-pancake]

Hey, so I don't want to be that guy, but when are we going to acknowledge that Akechi was right?

No, I obviously don't mean about the things he was very clearly wrong about. I'm referring to the things he says in interviews about the Phantom Thieves. I hate how many people switch up after playing through his betrayal who previously agreed with his views, because nothing he said is wrong and nothing he did changes that fact. He speaks in the TV Station on the objective facts that he should know about, and with or without the context of his form of justice those facts stay true. It's a fallacy to claim that his form of justice being universally less approved of makes the Phantom Thieves better by comparison, or discredits anything he said. I don't think the Phantom Thieves are evil, or that they should necessarily be imprisoned, but I do think that they are not morally sound. They're kids. Prior to his betrayal I think he served his purpose well, but it's easy to disregard the validity of his words when you find out that he's a murderer. With the knowledge he SHOULD have had (and that many DID have), everything he says is true. And honestly? It still can be true for basically the entire plot of the game. Mishima's confidant tests the thieves in that way. They could have changed the hearts of anyone who's not a persona user, for any personal reason. It's a slippery slope.

I'll use these three options as an example for why he's right:

"They're justice itself" is just subjective and incorrect, because justice as a concept is individualized and given how each Phantom Thief has different reasons for being one it's ridiculous for even them to say. Their first target was before they even formed a group, and Ann was ready to kill Kamoshida. The others were not even going to step in, and they were going to respect her choice either way. All the members are so different, so this is an insane claim to make.

"They're necessary" is wrong because to say they are necessary is pretty disingenuous to all "justice" that has ever happened BEFORE they existed. I don't believe that the Thieves were a necessity per say, and personally I think their actions can only be judged on a case by case basis. Some Mementos targets for example have issues that stem beyond what they have done. Now they have their desires stolen but still have the issue that pushed them to immortality in the first place, plus a shitton of guilty baggage. The Thieves only help with the atonement, but not the push. How many of those people didn't just go right back to their past behaviors? How many of them got worse in other ways? Think about Futaba, she felt so guilty for something she thought she did, she formed a palace to condemn herself to die alone. To claim the Thieves are necessary to reform society implies that their method is the most effective, and I think that's a lot to claim for something they don't understand.

"They do more than the cops" I almost agree with. Legally the police in Japan in this game anyway (yes I'm aware it extends to reality in many ways, but I'm referring to just the game right now) are corrupt and flawed for the most part, but the thing I don't agree with is that this makes the Thieves a better alternative. They're not. For the same reason Yoshizawa says later, the Thieves can only do so much as vigilantes, and to imply that society should rely on these faceless nameless flawed people to fix society is not any better than what they have now. Especially with the method being unknown, potentially unsafe, and easily exploitable. I cannot be the only one who if the Phantom Thieves were real, would be extremely alarmed by the prospect of a group of vigilantes "changing hearts" right? It's so vague, and the pattern is dystopian. At least police methods are familiar

What I'm saying is that they're kids, and it's kind of insane that this game places Akechi as the narrative foil for the Thieves in their message and then makes it so easy to disregard because "he's an assassin so how could he know anything about justice". The Thieves don't either, and Ann was nearly a murderer. If the bar is "don't commit murder when you're infiltrating someone's mind" then it's far too low. I wouldn't trust a group of adults with this power to reform society, even less a group of teenage vigilantes. I'm 19, and I find this odd. And Strikers frames them as even more righteous, and it bugs me even more in that game. At least Royal has the third semester to give a bit more nuance to how big of a responsibility Ren was given, but that's also very frequently misinterpreted.

I love this game, and I love this fandom, and I have thoughts that get weird and ranty. I apologize, but I hope you all found this as interesting as I did.

[fuckit-a-rosekiller-blog]

Pricks of Love

Rosekiller Fluff because they deserve it, Evan gets his ears peirced.

[343 words]

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

“So where'd you want it?”

Barty asked, balancing the sewing needle in his mouth, Evans stomach flipped as he eyed the pointed tip, he gulped;

"Aren't sewing needles unsafe for piercings?”

Barty scoffed “who are you Reg?”

he climbed onto Evans lap

“ear right?”

Evan nodded and Barty took out his sharpie to mark the spot.

“Seriously though, this is not what I imagined when you said we’d get my ears pierced.”

Barty moved to mark the other ear humming noncommittally

“Well I'd rather die than have anyone else have your blood on their hands.” he mused, kissing Evans forehead.

Evan rolled his eyes “you're making it sound like I'm gonna die from this.”

Barty shrugged “you shouldn't. I've done all of mine. I'm basically a professional.”,

"not professional enough to have a piercing gun though?”

Barty laughed, causing Evan to grin, giddiness however quickly turning to nausea as the needle was placed gently on his earlobe.

“Are you really going to faint on me right now?” Barty teased, tilting his head slightly.

“no.” Evan scoffed,

he picked at his nail polish.

“it's just- is it…gonna hurt?“ he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bartys smile dropped and he put the needle on the ground beside him

“Hey, you know we don’t have to do this.”

Evan looked up at Barty, god what did he do to deserve somebody like him.

“No, I want to do it," he said firmly,

“it's just…needles.” he smiled sheepishly.

Barty nodded understandingly, running his hand soothingly up and down Evan's arm.

"You know Rosie…you're tougher than you think,"

he said with a reassuring smile.

"And I'll be here the whole time, holding your hand.”

he leaned in kissing Evan, Evan melted into it but started as he felt a quick prick.

“There.” Barty said with a smirk.

“that wasn't so hard was it?”

Evan rolled his eyes bringing his hand up to feel the earring in his ear.

“You're such an asshole you know that Bat?”

Bartys lips quirked upward “yeah I know.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62544448

[verdantwyrm]

Just want to point out that no, absolutely not would anyone tell Daisuke what Jimmy did to Anya, for many reasons beyond his age, but most importantly because when someone comes to you about an abuser, you don't tell other people unless you have explicit permission from the victim to do so. If you do it anyways, you could be putting them, the victim and possibly even yourself at risk.

Not telling Daisuke would be the most sound and responsible thing because of the situation at hand. What if he was told and Jimmy lashed out? What if he felt even worse than he already did, making his short lived experience on the Tulpar feeling even more unsafe and scared than he already was?

Daisuke's life was tragic, just like his death, and he already had to die believing that the Captain had sentenced him to that death, the last absolute thing he needed was to find out that the co-pilot was a rapist and an abuser.

It generally has nothing to do with his age or his "immaturity" but the safety of him, physically and emotionally. I highly doubt he had the best opinion of Jimmy for how he was guilt tripped into going into the vent, but he died thinking Jimmy had genuine good intentions because it meant attempting to rescue Anya. When Daisuke gets hurt, and he's laying on that bed dying he only blames himself for messing up.

Daisuke wasn't told about the truth of the situation not because they didn't care about him, but because they did care, alot.

Remember, Daisuke was the first one to see Anya's corpse. The first and only one (Besides Curly) to experience that heartbreak and he died with that image fresh in his mind because he cared about her, and he wanted to save her so badly. And she cared about him enough to attempt to save him from the harsh truth, to scar him for life that one of the people he was supposed to trust hurt her so badly it drove her to suicide. She thought that her death was going to save them, going to prevent something even worse from happening and she died thinking it was the greatest, most selfless decision she could make in that situation.

Daisuke just wanted to help.

[ralibo14]

TPN Brainrots part 1:

Another TPN manga panel redraw, but this time everyone goes down with me (because it's sad).

Also part one of my 'wonderful' tpn theories and head canons. It'll be long😅. There will be manga spoilers so please, read at your own risk😊.

First character I go through is... Ray.

He is one of the most complicated characters I ever saw (all tpn characters are, tbh). I always thought that people who have photographic memory are so lucky. Ray showed me that it's both a blessing and the curse.

Like in the picture above. You can clearly see that the first 2 kid waving at his direction. It's strange to know that there was a time when the Trio were one of the young kids and not the older ones. My first head canon is that Ray tried to save more kids, not just Emma and Norman when he was younger. When the blond haired boy leaves (first panel) he looks like he is about to cry (also the Trio is around 4 or 6) but when the other kids get 'adopted' Ray keeps his head low most of the frames (I'm convinced that when the second kid left he was already working as Isabella's spy.)

Ray coloration explained:

Purple eyes are self explanatory to me. I started draw him with purple eyes as soon as I found out he is Isabella's son. Purple in the hair and freckles? Well... I'm still very, very convinced that Leslie didn't die (at least not when he left the House). I always think about his situation, like what Norman got into with Lambda. The Ratri-clan is big but they need outsiders, to be soldiers, scientists, etc. And since girls from the Houses can only become Sisters and Moms... maybe some boys can become scientists and soldiers. (I can't believe I'm writing this but think about Andrew🤢... he was 100% not Ratri yet he could become an adult). So by this logic I believe Leslie could grow up too and (because I'm a sucker for happiness) he met Isabella again at some point.

Ray turning away:

On the second frame he is not looking at the girl who is leaving, but to the opposite direction. Why? Notice something else? Yes, Norman is missing too. Gilda has her winter jumper on so I figure Norman got sick again. Ray priorities his friends safety over everything else.

Also notice how Emma and Norman slowly get into the middle of the frame while Mom/Isabella get out of it? Pretty strong metaphor. It's the perfect example of 'Blood related family ≠ real family'. And while I'm a RayEmma shipper (obviously aged up version) I would never forget about Norman. He is as important to Ray as Emma. This Trio sticks together no matter what.

(older manga colouring ⬇️)

Now onto the hearth breaking stuff:

Ray's relationship with Isabella:

This deleted scene with Ray and Ayshe lives rent free in my head. Like there are two people with similar family situations and the one who lived int the middle of nowhere with a demon parent thinks positively about their parent, while the other, who grew up in a comfortable home like space with a human parent, thinks the opposite.

"But to me, she was always a monster"– Ray.

Like ufff... This sentence hits real hard. And it's low-key true from Ray perspective. He studied and read all the books in the House, not because he was interested, but because he had to. Norman is a genius, Emma learns real fast, Ray does everything he can to always get max points on his tests. But he also secretly planning his friends excape. Collects scraps of technology to build the device which makes them able to excape, plans his own 💀 carefully, so no one else will get hurt and on a top of that he is 'spying' for Isabella. Sacrifices people he wanted to protect. I can't imagine that inside panic when he didn't get max scores to that one test. I'm sure he was happy because Norman and Emma got their regular scores, but deep down he felt like he failed.

My head canon here is that Ray always gets nightmares if he is alone or in an unsafe place. And 'thanks' to his perfect memory his nightmares build up from actual memories (like we see that in the Seven Wall Arc). Also he doesn't get sick often but when he does... it's like a memory fuelled fever dream, with hallucinations and etc.

Ray's healing journey starts after the Jailbreak Arc. As soon as Mom is not around anymore, he ever so slowly starts to let down his guard and starts to show more and more emotions. His relationship with Yuugo/Mister is like a greatest archivment in his case. The playful, sarcastic 'arguments' and the way he openly said his opinion on things in front of Yuugo and Lucas. Shows how much he changed and opened up.

Isabella on the other hand... her change of heart and feelings were a mistery almost to the very end. To be honest I hated her most of the time, until the Back to Grace Field Arc. (Older manga colouring again⬇️😅)

Two things in this page which are very important.

1: Ray's guard is up again in no time, when he sees Isabella, while her emotionless mask is cracking. This is the first time we get a little inside of how she really feels about Ray.

2: Flashback of the two most important things that connects them. The song and the way they were forced to sacrifice others to stay alive.

The lullaby is very important, because it's calming and feels very intimate (like a normal parent-child relationship should be).

You also can't convince me otherwise that Ray didn't hummed this lullaby at least once in the B06-32 shelter to help the youngest kids fall asleep.

And now... onto the last picture. Their goodbye.

Saddest part ever! Never forgiving for this decision.

Ray and Isabella were never allowed to talk even two short sentences with each other without any consequences. In the House they had to play their assigned roles. Then they didn't see each other for almost 2 years. Finally they had to save half of the team from getting unalived... And they moment they would have time the last twist happens... leaving us with a sad ending.

Epilogue and Human World Arc...does little to compensate. Although I can't get over the fact that Yuugo's, Conny's and Isabella's 'ghosts' helped Ray found Emma in the Human World.

Speaking of finding Emma. My last head canon for Ray is the following;

When they found out that Emma lost all of her memories from the Demon World. Ray couldn't help himself but whisper a "I wish this happened to me". And everyone looks at him with an understanding smile thinking he blames himself for this... But in reality he really just selfishly thought (only for seconds) that he could forget everything happened on the other side.

Okay. That's all. Sorry for the supper long post and I'm forever thankful if you read through my brainrots 🥰😘. Also let me know if I should cover more characters like this. I'll obviously do Emma and Norman but if there any other characters you want to see please let me know🥰🤩💖.