#hes emotionally conspitated

[every-dayiwakeup]

If canon Steve were to talk to fanon Steve he'd be like:

The only thing different we do about Billy is actually give him support and a safe home. I'd even argue that fanon Billy is the Billy we only see glimpses of in canon... when he's not on edge.

Which gets this fandom all hot and unbothered for some reason 🤷‍♂️

[hijackedhoneybeeez]

Okay but UM AKSHULLY for Chailaios, who do you think kissed first/initiated, what's your ideal modern au scenario for them, and does Chil climb Laios like a tree? (Only yes answers accepted for the last one)

Kissed first/initiated: in my head, Laios makes the first move (he's less emotionally conspitated) but something has to force his hand to do so bc there's no WAY he's going to break a boundary like that without there being something at stake.

Ideal modern au: I rotate this around in my head a lot and I literally can't decide. I think it's a tie between vet assistant/animal shelter worker Laios and Normal Ass Salaryman Chilchuck. Tho I'm also very stuck to single dad union construction worker/handyman chilchuck who works too many damn jobs to take care of his kids and hardware store employee laios who sees chilchuck way too damn often to not be interested. It's a toss up lol

Does Chilchuck climb Laios like a tree: you're right, the most obvious answer is yes. How the hell is he gonna get up there to get the smooches he's owed??? The man can't carry a ladder!!!

[mamuzzy]

From your angst prompt list I'd like to ask for Fives x Deadshot! <3

With either:

"I'm the only one who gets to decide if someone deserves me, and I can confidently say you are that someone who does"

or:

"You're right, I do deserve better"

Depending on how much angst you wanna put into it 😈

Oooooooh boy. Oooooh boy. You really gave me a challenge here @ithillia. But you also made me write the first debut of my babyblorbo in a fanfiction, you can't imagine how happy I am that I could finaly made it happen <3 It took a time while I figured it out how I integrate the lines into the fic without sounding OOC or off but I think I'm satisfied with the outcome. I hope you will like it too <3 PREPARE FOR HEARTBREAK!!! So in the end I went with

"I'm the only one who gets to decide if someone deserves me, and I can confidently say you are that someone who does"

Summary: Captain Rex had enough with Deadshot's digging into the past and decided it's time to have a conversation neither of them wished to have. Word count: 2446 Rating: Mature, no explicit content, characters swear. Talking about a dead person and grief. Characters: ARC Trooper Deadshot, Captain Rex, ARC Trooper Fives Relationship: FivesShots (cloneship) Warning: Splitting. The characters are emotionally conspitated and have mentalhealth problems. NO BETA. Additional tags/tropes: Fives is Rex's adopted son, Fives and Shots is in established relationship, clones speak mando'a (just a little), Deadshot is a little shit. Amnesia due to recondition. AND ANGST. LOTS OF ANGST.

Alright. Here we go. :)))))

“Wanted to speak with me, sir?” asked Deadshot, and since he wasn’t given a permission to sit down, he stood before the Rex’s desk. For his surprise, he was offered a seat.

“Sit” said Rex without looking up from the paperwork.

Deadshot hesitated a bit, he wasn’t comfortable about sitting down to the sligthest but in the end, obliged.The flickering booming of the lights irritated Deadshot just as the silence they had between them, and he couldn’t be sure why he was called the first place. He watched as the captain signed the last datapad, putting away on the top of the organized pile at the right side of the anyway-pristine clean desk. Rex then looked up, straight into his eyes. Dark browns started to squint after the first few second, but in the end - as always -, Rex averted his gaze, cupped his face in one hand until only the furrowed wrinkles were visibe on his forehead which made him look so old, Deadshot almost almost felt sorry for him. Almost. By now everything was clear for Deadshot why was Rex was so hostile with him before but the sweet taste satisfaction and victory killed any compassion he had left for the captain.

“I want you to stop” Rex finaly spoken up, weariness in his tone.

“Sir?” Deadshot scoured the captain for messages wasn’t spoken out loud but he probably should have known without telling.

“This existential crisis of yours.” Oh.

“I have a lot going on, sir, you have to be more specific than that.”

This made Rex come out from hiding, expression exasperated, those dark eyebrows curled disapprovingly. “Don’t be a smartass with me.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Rex leaned in his chairs, hands now rested on the desk, fingers tied together and looked at him once more. And Deadshot stared back with his usual skeptical look on his face, ambery eyes ever-judgeful. He started to notice some patterns when the captain was able to maintaining eye-contact with him, irises shifted toward the left side of the eye, probably have found a spot to stare at instead of him. His ears probably.

“You got your answers now.”

Rex had not ask a question so this time Deadshot didn’t respond, just waited for Rex to elaborate.

“You figured it out, who you were. What have you done. What now? What else do you want?”

Deadshot considered his next words. Rex was right about him, he was still in investigation about his past but for entirely different reason now.

“I need to know why I had to die, sir.”

“You know it very well.”

“And I think that’s a lie, sir. I have a gut-feeling about it and…”

“I don’t give damn about your gut-feeling, Deadshot” said Rex harshly. Deadshot was tempted to say that he also didn’t give a damn about Rex’s opinion but, swallowed and just stared into those brown eyes, just to spite him in hope he can manage secure another victory of dominance again. But Rex didn’t turned his face away, not this time, because Rex continued speaking.

“These brilliant gut-feelings of yours will be our downfall one day. Have you ever considered what would happen if someone recognizes you? Do I really need to lock you up in the solitary everytime I can’t keep my eye on you? Maybe you had forgotten what would have happened if someone recognized you on Coruscant?!”

“Sir…?”

“You almost got us killed with that stunt.”

Deadshot couldn’t say anything. Deep inside his mind he knew Rex was right, right about this one at least, but still, the captain shouldn’t have to state it like he was deliberately wanted to ruin the muster with that panic attack. He felt those few bites of rationbars switching places in his stomach. He had to endure it.

“I risk everything” Rex continued. “Everything, my company, my men, my only son remained, the very trust of General Skywalker put in me, to cover your shebs.”

“I’ve never asked for this, sir-“

“But you are here, now, in the present. Now that you know why is it important to keep your identity a secret, you are still reckless. You are an ARC Trooper for fuck sake, and I get it, your duty calls you to work alone, but you have responsibilities toward the company and your personal agenda endangers your brothers every time you decide to going after your own head.”

“So convenient of you deciding when I’m one of you and when I’m just a walking ghost of-“

“DON’T!” Rex raised his hand to emphasise on his objection. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear his name, I don’t want to hear that name ever again. He is dead. He was dead to us even when he was alive.”

“So I’ve heard. And with all due respect sir, I don’t give a shit about it” Deadshot felt a sudden surge of confidence, probably came from his anger and he felt he really wanted to flood Rex with everything he got. “He was an asshole, I get it. For every sin he committed against the Republic, against you against his batchmates, I have to suffer ten times, wielding this burden like it was mine all alone and you know what? It is. It’s mine alone. Maybe I deserve to be treated like shit, maybe I deserve to be spitted on because the face I have or what it represent to those… what, like, three people who actually recognized me?” Deadshot counted on his fingers, gesticulating his inner frustration. “And didn’t gave a single cocksucking shit about me when I needed help? You are all cowards.”

Rex rubbed his forehead again, mouth pressed like he was in pain, stifled any emotion that was about to come out.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” asked Deadshot, confused.

“For not being a good commander for you.”

Deadshot expression distorted by spiteful bitterness faded away, left only cautios skepticism. He finally got to tell him everything this time. His anger, his disappointment in him, the words just flowed like sluice opened to ease the waters behind it before breaking out, under supervision and control. He never would have hoped for such opportunity. His whole body felt the tension, like his inner self scratched the surface of his skin from behind, but this time it wasn’t the crawling sensation in his veins, hoping for an easing scratch, more like, wanting to detach himself, because he wasn’t sure how would he able to handle these uncharted waters of… finally having the attention of Captain Rex.

“I wasn’t fair with you, right from the start. I have responsibilities toward my men but even if you are… YOU, you are my trooper too.” Rex talked slowly, as if the words were hard to spoke. He wanted to be elsewhere, it would have been better to be outside, fight a fight and dying in the process, anything but not to be here. “I don’t know how, or why, but you were given a second chance and you are wasting it away by chasing demons of the past. Like I said, your past-self is dead. You have to move on, HELL, I HAVE TO MOVE ON but I can’t. But I have to. So should you! You don’t have to live with the memories you don’t even have, but I HAVE by looking at you, the way you walk, the way you fight, the same way you stare with those fucking judgmental eyes, your fucking eyes…” and Rex look straight into those eyes.

And Deadshot couldn’t bear to look back. He lowered his head, watchings his own hands fidgeting furiously in his lap. The silence stretched, the lamp still flickered.

“I’m also aware that you fuck my ad.”

Deadshot nearly chocked on air, positioning himself into a more comfortable stance on the chair, and couldn’t help but let out a disbelieving laugh.

“What does Fives has to with this?” asked after he managed to spit out coherent words.

“Everything” stated Rex, more confidently than he was in the whole conversation. “If you choose to continue down this road instead of listening to me, I want you to leave Fives out of it.”

“Sir, maybe I shouldn’t be the one you lock up in the solitary” Deadshot grinned nastily. “Wherever I go, he’ll follow. Nothing I can do about it.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m talking about.

”Sir?” Deadshot suddenly felt sick, the nauseous feeling that the known world is suddenly crumbling around him piece by piece again made his stomach turned 180 degree with a violent slam. Endure.

“With that face of yours and death lingering around, you’ll never have a chance to get promoted. Not if we want to keep your identity safe. Not if I want to keep my men alive. Fives, he has bright future ahead. Has potential to become a leader one day, much better than I ever was. Don’t take this away from him.”

Endure. Endure. Endure.

“But, sir…” Deadshot’s voice rasped, almost like a whisper. “But you just said…”

“When the war’s over, I can reassign you to somewhere else. Soldiers always needed, especially away from the Core. You can live in peace, nobody would bother you, nobody would search for you, we can�� Cody knows a vod, he would just erase your whole existence from the database. This is… is the only thing I can offer to help you.”

If Rex told him anything after that, Deadshot couldn’t remember. Rex wanted to hide him. Away from his friends, his vode, his… FIVES, the very thought of being separated from Fives made him think swallowing a thermodetonator, this time, to finish the job the clankers couldn’t do last time but he also had to remind himself, that the clankers never shot him, the clankers never blown him up, it weren’t the clankers who gave him amnesia in the first place -endureENDUREENDURE-, but whatever, killing himself was a better option than living a solitary life away from his loved one!!! It’s not about the promotions, not about being treated specially, it…

He believed, he genuinly wanted to believe in Rex that maybe… maybe there was a future for him even without his memories, they were actually having a normal conversation for the first time and it turned out it was actually an elaborate “nice commander talk” to… to what…?

But despite all of this, Rex was right, Deadshot knew it deep in his gut. The fucking gut-feeling. It’s logical. Completely understandable concern. Fives is daddy’s little boy, even with all the mischief and fooling around, Fives still had a chance to become someone great, if not from his own, then he got protection, from Rex, from the General, from the Chancellor himself, this elaborate network of interest could make it happen for Fives to have a good life after the war while the same network could destroy everything, not just for Fives but for everyone if he didn’t stay put… and he… and he… He was supposed to be dead to begin with.

— x —

0500 standard, his inner clock was always punctual. Deadshot laid on bed, eyes open, stared at the bunk wall. He wanted to sleep but his thoughts already raced into his darkest part of the mind right after being conscious, felt empty yet so weary at the same time, he just couldn’t make himself move and get his gear to visit the shooting range. He just couldn’t. The others were still sleeping, Jesse’s sudden snorts and Tup little pup sounds while turning to his other side broke the silent darkness.

Someone moved eventually, fumbled with the blankets, then barefooted steps, a mild sway during walk… Fives, thought Deadshot. Steps became louder as Fives approached his bed. The mattress slumped under one knee and Deadshot’s felt his own blanket lifted and the sudden cold made him shiver, cowered himself more with his hands. But the cold feeling faded as Fives’ hot, naked upper body pressed onto his back, carefully cover them with the blanket to keep the remaining heat inside and comfortably snuggled to his lover’s nape. When Deadshot’s stiffened body loosened in his touch, Fives embraced him, fingers slowly entwining on the former’s chest.

“Hey” Fives whispered, not to wake up the others and breathed a little kiss on the neck. Deadshot didn’t answer.

“You are skipping the morning routine again” Fives pushed.

“I don’t feel like it now.”

“Four days in a row” and since Deadshot was nitpicky about what to answer, Fives continued. “And you’re avoiding me.”

Endure, Deadshot reminded himself. Endure. He felt a familiar, hot stinging in the corner of his eyes. Fingers between fingers, Fives drew calming lines into the calloused skin.

“Alright. I won’t push. I… I just miss you. And wanted to tell you” Fives lifted himself a bit, positioning himself to reach Shot’s ear. “I love you.”

Deadshot began to tremble, he needed all his willpower not to open his mouth and let his sobbing out like an explosion. He didn’t wanted to be heard, he didn’t want Fives hear him, and definitely didn’t want the others hear him. He felt Fives hand tightening, his head bored to his, whispering calming words.

“Hey, hey, cyare, what’s wrong? Shhh… it’s okay… it’s okay…”

It wasn’t okay, nothing was okay.

“I don’t deserve you” said Deadshot with weak whimper through gritted teeth. Fives gasped at this declaration in disbelief and concern, his calming touches stopped for a moment. Tried to take it heartlightedly, take is as Deadshot usual “crisis-thing”.

“Hey… what’s with that answer?” He chuckled. “You have to say it back.”

But Deadshot couldn’t. The trembling won’t stop, every sweet reassuring words were daggers pierced through his chest, his brain, his teary eyes. The same hands kept him safe for a moment but now he only felt numb inside the embrace. Deadshot’s soundless cry, stiffled sniffing made Fives heart ache for him.

“You know what?” Fives spoke again with the same patience. “I’m the only one who gets to decide if someone deserves me, and I can confidently say you are that someone who does.” Fives hoped maybe his lover become eased by the little joke, maybe saying back something snarky, unimpressed remark about he is able to compliment HIMSELF while compilenting others, but it didn’t happen.

The ARC trooper smalls repressed hiccups turned into miserable whimpering, and his grip on Fives’s hand became so strong, it started to hurt, but Fives didn’t pulled his hand away, this pain was so little what must had Deadshot felt right now, Fives knew in his guts. He decided maybe… maybe he would just stay here, a voiceless-support until Deadshot was ready to talk.

[halfagone]

I was talking to my mom about how DC didn't write Dick meeting newly-alive Jason early because he would've gone and hired Deathstroke to kill Joker instead of letting Jason pull off his needlessly complicated plan.

Then my little brother asked me what I was talking about, which led to discussing Under The Red Hood, and the Batarang Incident.

And when he asked me why would Bruce do that, I immediately knew the perfect answer. I thought of all the Sassy Danny Fenton moments in all the DP x DC fanfics I read, landed on "Lex Luthor's Ascent from Supervillainy to Fatherhood" and answered with a "because he's an emotionally constipated furry :)"

That had all of us dying of laughter, especially my mom, who absolutely lost it at that response 🤣

BAHAHAHA 🤣 I'm glad I could be your inspiration, and even more happy that they enjoyed the joke. I saw this in a bookmark once, and it's been stuck in my head ever since: Bruce needs some Miralax for his emotional conspitation. 🤣🤣

[writesfic]

lily of the valley; 山谷之莲

Jiang Wanyin wakes to the smell of petrichor on his nose. He turns his gaze to the slats of the windows, where autumn rain is falling just before the sunrise. Life is still; the Sect Grounds are dark.

He is restless; sleep does not return to him. He dresses hastily, bequeathed with a rare comfort of anonymity in the still hours of pingdan. The chill settling in reminds him to pile on an extra layer, and he opts for a nondescript layer of earth-coloured cloth, and a low brimmed hat to combat the autumn drizzle.

The lake is deserted. Even street vendors have not begun their preparation for sales, and carts are left closed up and locked on the side of the pier, the rocking of deserted boats in the calm sway of the water’s motion. The background bitterly reminds him of the rare excitement he’d possessed as a child, eager to go frolicking in the shallow waters of the pier. To taste the sweet lotus seed borne by the lake. 

He looks down at the boat, skinny like the sickle moon. The figures of shijie and Wuxian laughing, playing with water; Wuxian handing him rotten or empty lotus pods with a sly grin on his lips; shijie wringing out their robes whenever they’d fallen in due to excitement.

He dares not consume the buds anymore; even the heady scent of lotus root soups brings a dry anxiety to his mouth. The lake is tainted in bloody memory. With loss.

The two ghostly scenes overlap in his eyes, the hazy memory of that battle, the childhood joys; his own choked up feelings. Today, he stares out into the misty lake, the shadowy bumps of the lotus roots and flowers stagnant in the water.

Nothing has remained.

He clutches the metal curvature of zidian. He hasn’t brought Sandu out today, for fear of being recognized, but zidian is an inconspicuous object he can hide under his sleeves. He clutches it tightly, knuckles white in his search for comfort. It pulses hot in response to his alien core. A faint glow of purple overshadowed by rain-casted mist in response to something stolen. His other hand holds a burning oil lamp aloft, a lonely speck along the pier’s edge.

His chest aches something fierce, and he looks over the pier’s edge. Wonders how he’s doing.

Like those fifteen odd years he’d spent choked up in grief, Wuxian’s gone, yet again. A dandelion’s segments floating across the mountain valleys in the wind. No matter who it’d been, Wen Qing xiaojie, the Ghost General, Lan er-gongzi; they’d all amount to more. More than Wanyin, and that promise Wuxian had sworn by, that easy smile on his lips as if they were speaking the truth, the weight of the words heavy and tangible; all Wuxian had promised that day had burnt to ash on his tongue like bitter lies.

That day he had admitted to being the one at fault for breaking such a promise was nothing but a hollow victory. Wanyin’s words caught in his throat. He’d wanted to ask: why? Was I not enough to be your purpose of staying?

He now knows Wuxian had been caught up in something bigger than himself, that it had chewed him up, swallowed and spat him out in parts. Broken and ravaged. Yet, he’d chosen to bear that on his shoulders all alone, wall himself up and become an island. Wanyin couldn’t have done anything, except watch him self-destruct, hear his allies spread false lies and rumors of his estranged brother.

When the Ghost General tells him of the golden core transfer, the truth rattles his senses, down to his bones. He wants to scream, to demand: what right had he, to sacrifice such a thing for him? To keep it from him as he suffered?

He wants to cry, because his mother was right, that he had amounted to more than he ever would, despite all his efforts.

The Ghost General’s stare is unnerving; abyss-like scleras from deep sunken eyes stare unblinkingly into his. Wanyin’s grip on Suibian trembles.

Years, he’d spent in charge of the Jiang Sect, building a name for himself and staking his claim; yet it’s clear he’s been chasing after that man, ever since that day in the Burial Mounds where Wuxian had driven a stake in the shaky earth between them to wedge apart indelibly. 

The words in his throat like ash, choking him. Eyes watering with the painful memory of that private grave he had marked out for his brother, miles out of town, facing the water. The cups of Emperor’s Smile that he had poured into the earth; and at his worst, the ones he’d drank dry and filled again with tears for the brother he had loved and lost.

He truly wonders, if Wuxian would, could ever understand; the pain he had felt but could not express to his brother, who had escaped his grasp like the bobbing lotus flowers in the water, as they slid along the current to the sea.

He stays a stagnant figure as the morning rises, and the bustle of the activity sets into Yunmeng. Then, as the tips of sun rays light up the lake’s surface, that which he had adored unthinkingly during the greedy ignorance of his childhood, fingers tangled up in the stalks and mud as water brushed along his legs, he lifts the oil lamp, now burned down to the wicker, lowers his head, and returns home.

云深不知处被烧，蓝湛有魏无羡担忧，有兄长担起蓝家，而江澄面对火光冲天的莲花坞，泪是自己忍，江家大旗一人举起，无人伴，无人疼。

“With the burning of the Cloud Recesses, Lan Zhan had the worry of Wei Wuxian, had his Elder Brother’s support of the Lan Family; yet Jiang Cheng faces Lotus Pier skylit by firelight, tears reigned alone, the Jiang Family’s Flag held aloft by a set of solitary hands, without companion, without pity.”

—— 墨香铜臭，魔道祖师