#honestly it could be either of them about the other

[hxney-lemcn]

Mine, Only Mine — Mr. Crawling, Gap, Silvair, Chopped, Hugeface, and Scarletella x gn! reader

summery: how jealous do some of the Homicipher boys get?

tw: unhealthy relationships (Mr. Hugeface & Scarletella)

wc: 1.2k

Master List

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Crawling

❥I know people have written about how he gets jealous…but I don’t really think he does? Or at least not terribly. The scene with Mr. Chopped and the cat ears show that Mr. Crawling won’t pout or get sad at you showing affection to others, just that he wants to gain the same attention (the ear scene…). So jealousy with Mr. Crawling isn’t too bad, just be prepared to shower him with more affection than the person you originally did. 

❥On the other hand, I do think his jealousy may increase if you ignore him. Say you give more attention to Mr. Scarletella, Mr. Crawling would get a bit sad and pouty, thinking you don’t like him anymore. If this happens, give him lots and lots of attention and reassurance, he’ll be super grateful. I mean he loves your affection anyways, so might as well give him some extra headpats and kisses. Even better if you only show certain signs of affection with him, it makes him feel special. 

❥Overall, not the most jealous, but not completely unaffected either. Make sure he gets his daily dose of attention/quality time and he’ll be as right as rain.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Gap

❥Uh, he gets more jealous than you’d think. Like…his whole thing is he wants to be special to you…in his own strange way. Doesn’t like the thought of someone taking his place as a jokester to you. Also why he brings you things he’d think you like from time to time, just to make sure you still have that special place in your heart for him <3

❥Hates hate hates when you call him bad or not good. He’s good! He swears! Remember how he’s helped you before! Gets all frowny when you call him not good and then call someone else good. He’s good too! Guess he has to prove it, AGAIN. It’s honestly kind of endearing how he has no clue how he actually kind of does like you? But not exactly in a romantic way? It’s honestly hard to label his feelings towards you, so why should I?

❥I’d say he’s the second most jealous in this list of characters, watching on angrily as you praise someone that isn’t him. Be prepared for magazines and books galore when he’s in this mood, trying to prove his worth to you. Kind of strange for someone to try so hard when they claim to not like you…

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Silvair

❥Definitely the chillest one here. Doesn’t really get jealous at all :/ If anything, he finds it entertaining when you’re affectionate with others. Gives him more insight to his lab rats. Yes, he sees everyone as a lab rat. Idk, I can’t really see him get jealous.

❥Maybe…MAYBE if someone else tries doing research on you, or if Ms. Nurse treats you instead he’ll feel a bit off. Like…you’re his test subject, he knows you from the inside out…literally and not in the fun sense. Why would you go to someone who doesn’t know as much about you and how this world affects you? It’s very hard to spot his jealousy, doesn’t even notice it/recognize it himself. He just doesn’t want anyone to mess up his data…that’s all…totally.

❥In conclusion, not really jealous. Doesn’t feel like he needs to be. You’re ‘friends’, doctor and patient, mad scientist and lab rat not many others threaten that balance between you. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Chopped

❥Honestly…Mr. Chopped I’m kinda mixed on how he’d be. Like on one hand, I could totally see him getting jealous if you call others cute or pay too much attention to them. On the other…he could probably care less. He loves himself, you love him, why does he need to get jealous? It’s clear how much you like him with the way you pamper him. I mean we get so many examples where you’re affectionate to Mr. Crawling in front of Mr. Chopped and he doesn’t really bat an eye. 

❥Now, I can see if he gets a bit insecure he might get more jealous. Whether it be because Mr. Crawling pats your head or tucks you into bed, Mr. Chopped feels a bit sad. He’d like to tuck you in, you look so comfy. Might be just a bit pouty, eyeing you like a dissatisfied cat. Easily rectified with head pats or even cuddles. Gets side tracked from his jealousy as soon as you give him a sliver of attention honestly.

❥Mr. Chopped is fifty fifty when it comes to jealousy, but it’s never too bad. He’s pretty comfortable with what you both have and doesn’t really feel threatened by others. After all, you did call him cute.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Hugeface

❥I wouldn’t say he gets jealous? More possessive than anything. Like that scene when Mr. Machete stumbles into his little makeshift dollhouse that he made for you and gets all angry that he’s there. It’s more of a ‘you’re not supposed to be here, this is our playtime’ more than actual jealousy. Throws a little fit whenever someone messes up your playtime. Very accusatory lmao.

❥Does not like when you try to escape. Was he not providing enough for you? Were you unhappy? You’re not allowed to leave! You’re his cute human! He can’t just find another one y’know. Mr. Hugeface may be lenient if he sees you happier, you need enrichment after all. Feels extra happy if you come back on your own violation. 

❥The most childish out of all the characters on this list. Isn’t afraid to throw tantrums, will also punish you by putting you in a solid concrete cube if he’s really upset. Yeah…not the most healthy of relationships to have…BUT! I do think you could convince him to be a bit better…? Maybe? Only if you put enough work in communicating with him though. Maybe punish him in your own way like leaving for longer if he threatens to trap you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Scarletella

❥Uhhhhhhhhhhh. Top of the list when it comes to jealousy. Watches your every move with curiosity and spite. Why are you doing that to Mr. Crawling? Do it to him instead. Why do you look so happy braiding Mr. Chopped’s hair? Style his hair instead. Why are you looking so fondly amused at Mr. Gap? Don’t you find him amusing? You do like him, right? He likes you. He likes you a lot, and he thought he was enough…was he not?

❥Will stare through your skull. It is so intimidating. His smile? Strained, it makes your skin crawl. You have to make sure he doesn’t hurt your friends, he’s so close to snapping, but he knows that would upset you and that’s not his goal. So instead he stands ominously in the background, body staticing in and out while his hand clenches the handle of his umbrella. 

❥Not that easily mended. Likes to monopolize all your time and affection. Needs constant reassurance as well, he’s quite needy. If you like constant validation and no social life go for it, just don’t get too upset if he threatens your other monster friends…he can’t stand that you could like someone that wasn’t him.

[bookwormbynight]

Fucking phenomenal idea please write it

I think a really good way to combat the whole "reality-breaking parents are alive" thing would be just having them both believe with their whole hearts that their current truest desire wouldn't be possible if those things hadn't happened. Aka Clark knows he never would have met Bruce (and Ma and Pa, and his job, and Lois, etc) if his parents hadn't chucked him off to Earth bc Krypton was dying, and Bruce would have never become Batman and met all his loved ones and done everything he's proud of if he hadn't seen his parents die right in front of him. (That is kind of touched on in the BTAS episode where the mad hatter sticks Bruce in a dreamscape where his parents are alive - he gets excited about seeing his parents and then he asks Alfred where Dick is and Alfred is like "who?" and it sends Bruce on a spiral of 'what the fuck what the fuucckkk' if I remember correctly.)

Clark didn't actually see his bio parents die though, so honestly it could be perfectly plausible that they just kind of show up like "hey we didn't actually die and we were trying to find you! :D". Bruce can't really get his parents back in a non-drastic way though. Tough break considering that's literally his main Trauma™ 😭

Ah fuck I don't think Jason could have lived either because Tim :( damn Bruce always gets the shortest fucking straws lmao

OH SHIT WHEN BRUCE WAKES UP ANY HEALING DONE WITH JASON IN THE DREAM WOULDNT HAVE BEEN REAL EITHER WOULD IT JESUS C H R I S T

(I mean also Clark could wake up and not-breakup aside his parents are dead again and he's gotta deal with that 😭)

I have so many fucking thoughts about this help help help

All of the little habits they would have formed with each other - they know each other's favorites, they have routines they automatically step into that they really Shouldn't Have, Bruce has never met Martha in his life but he knows her secret pie recipe because he had to recite it to Alfred, Bruce's kids don't treat Clark like another parent but Clark can't help but think of them as His Kids, I--

How long would it take them to realize. (Literal eons, they're both idiots.) How long would it take other people to realize.

Fic idea: A world where Clark and Bruce both get put under Black Mercy’s spell and see their alternate “ideal” dream realities. These realities are identical, though they don’t realize that — a world where they finally give into the pining and realize the other cares about them just as much.

They get married, raise kids, and build the League. Years pass in domestic bliss.

Cut to them waking up. Both are devastated that their marriage/lives weren’t real and resign themselves to a miserable world with a partner who doesn’t remember them.

They both think the other saw something else — Clark mumbles something about Lois and Bruce lies that he saw his parents alive again (they were in his dream, but that wasn’t the focus? hmm)

But. As they try moving on from the years-in-a-second bliss they shared, odd moments keep cropping up.

Bruce says something Clark only ever heard in the dream world. They know things about each other they shouldn’t. Clark slips up and reaches for Bruce’s body in a way that’s too achingly familiar. They’re both choked with denial and grief.

Cue the most aggravating dual pining ever.

[hibiscus02]

I could make a serious Wicked review and talk about the vocals and the choreography and the costumes and the sets, which are all great, but this is tumblr, and I know that all of these aspects will not matter nearly as much as me reviewing the movie by how much gay subtext they put into it, so that's exactly what I'm gonna do.

Elphaba and Glinda are either holding hands or have their arms linked for about 70% of this movie. Literally, after they officially become friends these girls are attached at the hip.

'What Is This Feeling?' remains about as gay as it usually is, but I will highlight that they lie awake at night thinking about each other which. I know what you are etc etc

The scene where they dance together is. I have no words. That was beautiful. Both actresses put so much emotion into the sequence. And there's a moment where Glinda puts her hand on Elphaba's face, almost like she's brushing away the tears there, and that shit made me cry as well.

'Popular' is insanely homosexual. There's a scene where they're laying down on the bed looking into each other's eyes, and Glinda shifts to basically be on top of Elphaba. My jaw was on the floor. Just lots of touching and Looks all throughout.

When they go to see the Wizard all that casual touching I mentioned previously is multiplied by tenfold, and there are several moments where Elphaba looks at Glinda for reassurance, which was very sweet.

'Defying Gravity' made me just as emotional as I knew it would. I do wish they had hugged but honestly with all the handholding and the staring into each other's eyes, and Glinda wrapping the cloak around Elphaba, they gave us plenty. Once again the acting caught me by surprise (specially from Ariana), both of them communicate so much with just looks.

Anyway my overall thoughts are, these bitches gay, good for them. They did not tone down the subtext at all (like I know some people were worried would happen), and while they didn't make anything explicit either (which I never expected them to*), I'm confident that both Cynthia and Ariana understood the assignment in regards to the kind of relationship Glinda and Elphaba have in canon, and that was enough for me.

*I will admit that a secret corner of my little lesbian heart hoped beyond hope that they would include the scene from the book where Elphaba canonically kisses Glinda (iirc it's supposed to be during Defying Gravity), but like, I always knew they wouldn't.

[thenickgirl]

TAKE IT OUT ON ME

bf!nick x male!reader

summary: in which Nick takes his frustrations out on reader

type: fic ✩ genre: smut ✩ pov: reader’s ✩ word count: 2.1K

warnings: use of y/n, use of 👀…the d word, swearing, oral and anal sex, degradation, hair pulling, rimming, fingering, spitting, edging if you squint, choking, slapping (DNI if you’re uncomfortable), top!nick x bottom!reader

a/n: good evening, whores (affectionate)! saurrr if you know me, then you know that i’m a bottom nick stan for life. the simple thought of him riding a nice big dick is what brings me joy every day lmao. that being said, top nick is so foreign to me, but i wanted to take a risk for all my nick boys that i love so much. i have to give a huge shoutout to queen ki, @nickssidewitch, she knows why 😉. y’all this fr had me clenching my thighs so tight, god men are so fucking lucky ffs. i’m so nervous about this, i really hope you all enjoy it. i’ll be having a very cold shower now, byeeee 👋🏾. happy reading! ✩

‘Sometimes I don’t mind you

havin’ the worst day’

“Fucking BITCH!” You hear Nick yell from upstairs as you enter your home, along with things being slammed on the floor. You sigh, leaving your shoes by the door, before coming up the steps. You place your bag down on the couch as you make your way to the bedroom. You stood by the door, leaning your shoulder against the frame, watching him.

Nick was swearing under his breath, picking up the items he’d thrown across the room, not even noticing your presence. You take in his appearance; his shirt almost cropped from how small it was, his hair completely disheveled from tugging at it in frustration, the way his tattooed arms flexed as he clenched his fists, all while his blue fresh love sweats hung dangerously low on his hips. You bit your lip, the sight of him turning you on so much, you could feel yourself growing harder by the second as your eyes continue to scan his body.

“What are you looking at?” he gripes, snapping you out of your apparent trance. His piercing blue eyes lock with yours, eyebrows furrowing, and suddenly you feel a warmth in your cheeks.

“H-Huh?” you stutter in defeat, unable to form a full sentence at that moment.

“Are you deaf?” he replies sternly, stepping closer to you.

“Bad day, huh?” you ask nervously, biting the inside of your cheek, not really wanting to set him off more than he already is.

“Something like that,” he starts, rubbing his eyes before pacing the floor in front of me.

“There’s no fucking audio on the video, and we have nothing else to post for tomorrow. I have to decide on the new flavors for the next drop, but I don't like any of them, and I can’t think of any new ones for the life of me. I can’t find either of my fucking glasses, and you know I can’t see for shit. I’m so frustrated, I don’t know what to do” he lets out a sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

You honestly felt bad for the brunette man in front of you, he’s overworked and certainly under appreciated. Yet, you couldn’t help finding him so god damn sexy in this disgruntled state. You open your mouth to speak before closing it, biting on your lip as you think of what you’re about to say next. You wanted nothing more than to be supportive, but all you could think about right now was being under him.

“I’m so sorry, baby, that sounds like an awful day,” you pout, pulling him closer by the waistband of his sweats.

“Why don’t you let out some of that frustration on me, hm?” you grin, looking up at him with lust in your eyes.

Nick licks his lips as his eyes darken at your proposition, “Oh yeah, gonna let me take it out on you, pretty boy? Be my little fucktoy tonight?” he smirks, grabbing you by the waist, your bodies flushed against each other, and you gasp. You can feel how hard he’s getting already.

“Use me however you want,” you offer, a submissive smile playing on your lips.

“Such an eager little slut for me, I think I'll take you up on that offer,” his voice dripped with lust.

He leans down, the warmth of his breath tickling your ear as he whispers, “On your knees. Now.” He commands, and you drop to your knees without hesitation.

“So pretty, but…” he trails off, running his thumb across your bottom lip, and you wrap your lips around it, sucking gently, “You’ll look even better when you’re gagging on this dick,” he continues, smirking.

He pulls his thumb away with a pop, before hooking his fingers inside the waistband of his sweats, pulling them and his underwear off in one swift motion. His hard cock springs free, and you let out a stifled moan, your mouth watering at the sight of it. It was so big, you became lost in thought, you could hardly wait to have it buried inside you.

“It’s not polite to stare, you know,” he says, before grabbing a fistful of your hair, pushing your face towards his length.

“Suck it, and don’t even fucking think about teasing, or you’ll regret it” he threatens, as you reach to grab his cock in your hand, but it gets smacked away.

“No hands,” he demands, and you nod, looking up at him before taking him in your mouth.

He groans at the warm feeling of your mouth around him. You began moving your head back and forth, sucking hard on his shaft. “Shit,” he moans, biting hard on his bottom lip, and your eyes locked with his. The way he was reacting to you made your cock twitch. He pushes your head down further, and you relax your throat. He bucks his hips, his fist still tangled in your hair as he fucks your throat.

“God, I love your fucking mouth,” Nick moans, as he continues. You start to gag around him, and his body trembles at the sound. He can feel his release starting to build.

“Not yet,” he says, as he pulls you off of him. You gasp, inhaling deeply, as you finally catch your breath.

He helps you up, grabbing you by the waist before crashing his lips against yours. He grabs the hem of your shirt, lifting it up, and you break the kiss to help him pull it off. He removes his own shirt quickly, and before you knew it, your back was being pressed against the mattress, as his broad frame hovered over you. He starts kissing your neck, sucking, and biting at your skin. His tongue smoothing over each mark he creates, and you whine.

“Nick…” you moan softly, squirming beneath him.

“So fucking needy,” he chuckles. He kisses along your chest, his warm tongue flicking one of your nipples as he rolls the other in between his fingers. You moan, your back arching into his touch. His lips trail down to your abdomen, leaving wet kisses until he reaches the waistband of your pants. He palms you through your jeans, before undoing them, pulling them down along with your boxers. You lift your hips to help him take them off, and your cock springs free.

“This all for me?” Nick teases.

He flips you over onto your stomach, grabbing you by the hips, and lifting you up onto your knees so you’re bent over in front of him, and he lets out a low groan. He smacks your ass, then squeezes it, and you let out a soft moan.

“Please…” you whimper, pushing your ass against him.

“Begging will get you everywhere, darling,” Nick says smirking, as his large hands spread your cheeks. He leans down, licking a strip from your balls to your hole, and you gasp at feeling. His tongue laps at your entrance, his hands rubbing, and massaging your ass cheeks.

“Mmph fuck,” you moan, biting hard on your lip. His tongue draws circles around your hole, before sliding in. “Ohh my god,” you moan out, your back arching even more as you bury your face in the sheets. He continues to eat you out, licking and sucking at your hole, his tongue darting in and out rapidly.

He pulls back after a few minutes, smacking your ass once more before reaching over towards the nightstand to grab a bottle of lube. He squeezes some out on his fingers, then applies it. He slides one finger inside you, pumping in and out slowly. His aching cock throbs at the squelching sound. He slides in another, this time pumping faster, and you moan, pushing back against his hand.

“You’re so fucking pathetic,” He teases, smacking your ass again before sliding in a third finger. He pumps his digits in and out, spreading them every so often, stretching you, as you moan over and over.

“I need you so bad, daddy, please…” you whine desperately, sending chills down his spine, and he groans. He pulls his fingers from you, before lining himself at your entrance. Before you can even say another word, he slams his length into you. Not even giving you time to adjust, his hips snap against you at a steady pace.

“So tight,” he whispers, both hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as he thrusts into you. Your moans fill the room as your fingers tangle in the sheets. He starts fucking you harder, grabbing you by your hair, pulling it as he pounds into you over and over.

“God, y/n, you feel fucking amazing,” he moans, as he continues to drill into you. The head of his cock repeatedly hits your prostate, and your body shudders. You reach down, taking your length in your hand, stroking it. The pleasure intensifies as you teeter closer to the edge.

“Ohh fuck, I’m so close,” you pant, feeling that familiar knot in your stomach, and suddenly he pulls out. You open your mouth to protest, until you’re being flipped onto your back once again, and you gasp at the sudden change in position.

“I wanna see your face when you cum for me,” he says, before slamming into you again. Taking one of your legs, and placing it over his shoulder, giving him deeper access. You moan, as he gains a steady rhythm. His fingers play with your nipples, the immense pleasure making your back arch into his touch.

“Nick Nick Nick,” you moan his name over and over, as he fucks you senseless.

“That’s it, baby,” he smirks, “You’re taking me so well, like a good little slut,” he praises, degradingly. He trails one of his hands to your throat, squeezing lightly as he deepens his strokes.

“Nghhh fuck, it feels so good,” you gasp, your hands gripping the sheets once again.

“You love it when I get angry, don’t you? It turns you on to see me so frustrated? ‘Cause you know you’ll get fucked like this?” Nick asks, his hand still wrapped around your throat, as he’s balls deep inside you. You whimper in response, his length hitting your sweet spot so perfectly, making your brain foggy.

“Aw, so drunk on my cock he can’t speak,” he starts, “Answer me.” He demands, as the palm of his hand connects with your cheek, and you let out a small gasp, biting hard on your lip from how aroused it made you.

“Y-yes, it turns me on s-so much, daddy. Love when you f-fuck me like this,” you whimper, looking at him, your eyes locking with his. You open your mouth, your tongue sticking out, and he spits in it. You moan, swallowing it down, and a lustful growl escapes his lips.

“Fuck, you drive me insane,” he groans, taking your leg down from his shoulder before he leans in, kissing you hungrily. You moan in between the kiss, and he slides his tongue into your mouth. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down to your neck, sucking at your skin, as hips continue to snap against you, each thrust deeper than the last.

“Mm fuck, don’t stop. Please don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you let out a desperate whimper, your eyes rolling back, as he continues his movements, picking up his pace. You feel your release start to build again, your body trembling.

“You’re shaking, baby. You gonna cum for me?” Nick whispered in your ear, before biting it.

“Y-Yes, I’m so close,” you moan, the knot in your stomach seconds from coming undone.

“I don’t remember you asking,” he teases, slowing down his pace, and you whine, your hips bucking up trying to gain more friction.

“I need to cum so bad, please. Please, I wanna cum for you,” you plead, rolling your hips against him. He takes his hand, and wraps it around your throbbing cock, stroking slowly.

“Make a mess, baby,” he encourages, his hand moving rapidly on your cock, as he starts to thrust into you again.

“Ohh, oh fuck,” you let out a stifled moan, as you cum all over your abdomen. Nick continues to fuck you through your orgasm, as he chases his own.

“Shit y/n,” he moans your name, his body stuttering as he cums inside you.

He collapses on top of you, panting, and you chuckle, running your fingers through his now damp hair. He pecks at your shoulder softly, before pulling out, and rolling off of you. Instinctively, he pulls you to his side, and you rest your head on his chest.

“Thank you, baby, for ‘helping’ me out,” he jokes, his fingers doing air quotes, before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m always happy to help. Especially, if it’s gonna turn out that good,” you tease, and you both laugh.

“Come on, let’s get cleaned up,” he suggests, before sitting up, and getting out of bed.

“And can you pleaseee help find my glasses?” he asks, helping you out of bed, and you chuckle, shaking your head.

“Babe, they’re on the living room table,” you say, giggling.

Nick’s eyes widened, “WHAT?!”

—

✎ signed,

𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁 ✩

a/n: ahhhh! i hope you enjoyed this. it was such a challenge for me, i’d been working on it for literal months, not kidding. saurrr, it’ll probably be a minute before top!nick makes another appearance, hope this helps! ��

dividers by: @/cafekitsune @/adornedwithlight

[cookingwithroxy]

You know I've been mostly staying out of this because I'm getting too much radfem stupidity on my dash as it is but at this point it really does need to be pointed out that 'impact play' is not beatings, it's being struck. And generally, NOT BY FISTS.

The things mainly used for Impact Play are things like floggers, paddles and crops, things that either create large impacted areas or small impact lines. Not generally on the face either, or even arms. The targeted areas are back and buttocks, large surface area spots. All of this is because what is desired is a lot of stimulation for a minimal amount of actual damage. Note I said: 'Stimulation'. Because if you really wanted to hurt someone just for the joy of hurting them, you could stub their little toe and get a lot of that easily.

In addition, other things that can leave marks are restraints and bondage, in that if it's tight enough to PROPERLY restrain you, then you'll end up pulling against it during play. And that in turn will leave welts and marks that can take quite a while to recover from, even when properly hydrated, because the indented flesh needs time to rise back up, and abrasion marks don't just heal in seconds.

Honestly, I wanted to stay otu of this mainly because anyone who refers to people as 'degenerates' generally doesn't actually comprehend human beings at all, they just have some messed up fictionalized version of a person in their head and as such react hideously to the fact that normal people don't match the metaphorical shadow in the slightly less metaphorical empty cave that is their skull.

Meanwhile, in reality, there is very VERY little actual 'sadism' in the bdsm community, because the kind of people who enjoy causing pain for the sake of causing pain don't fit in well amongst dominants, who tend to care quite a bit about their submissives. Those kinds of people have quite a few other communities where they are more readily accepted, like political activism.

[bunji-enthusiast]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝.

☀︎︎ || With a long awaited reunion, Jayce finally gathers the courage to do something he should’ve done a long time ago.

C/W || nothing nsfw honestly, just lots of fluff, Reader’s gender isn’t implied here, appearance isn’t descriptive, Jayce is just awkward with feelings.

Word Count || 3,433

Note || I feel I should clarify that my whole driving force behind this was inspired by all the jayvik scenes (however you view them lmao), and the song ‘young and beautiful’. Some other things inspired this but mainly these things.

This is also a first I’m posting a fic about a character from Arcane, or arcane at all honestly so some honest criticism for my writing would be appreciated.

That scream repeated over and over in his mind, again and of course – again. Jayce was becoming tired, worn down. His heart began dulling out the environment around him, causing him to look forward, no baggage weighing in on the astral shoulders of his that bore a weight so greatly, for the reality of the supposed great arcane. He was trapped in it for so long. 

Red, all he saw was red painting the calluses of his hands. His hands grabbing desperately onto yours, feeling the warmth, the sensation of that beloved warmth leaving your body. 

(All he could do was choke out a cry. Silent in the loudness of the world crashing down around the being of you both.)

Another fabric of time, which would have also been his reality. In which you were enemies, Jayce, he wasn’t sure what side to be on. All he knew was to destroy what was necessary, you otherwise wanted to destroy him. Jayce tried to converse with you, yet his growls fell on deaf ears. He was trying to end things, he really was. His want clashed with yours, the need to end things. Jayce just wanted you to not be in pain anymore, and that look in your eyes, the tense stance, pained breathing punishing sharply in the cavity of your chest – that confirmed it for him. 

But what was he becoming this time? (Man, or beast?) 

He couldn’t tell. 

A remaining constant rang true for him each and every time he was chained down in each memory, stone marble cracking in the face of your memory, he was almost beginning to forget what your face looked like. But that scream, it never left him. Your scream was the constant variable of which he experienced each and every time, and you almost always looked at him in fear.

Jayce hated that, he really hated that so much. Looked upon in unease, the sweat on your palms accumulating, and the trepidation rapidly beating in the confines of your ribcage; that heart of yours about ready to jump out, easily because of him. 

On that cobblestone floor, cracked by death and echoes of explosion. 

He couldn’t tell if you loved him–maybe as a friend–yet either way it was, once. He probably missed it, only looking past you right at others, Viktor, Mel, or even the face of the Hextech Gemstone. The way you were always so kind to greet him even if he didn’t remain a figure of importance in certain situations, you had always made an effort to include not only him, everyone else as well. You brought people together in a way he seldom noticed. But now that he was trapped in the belly of the beast, he thought about it more often. 

Jayce truly realized that you had. (But did he ever deserve it? He was beastly toward you often.) 

One step after the other, and he realized harshly–being brought back to the now. Something, or someone was far ahead of him. In this void of darkness, and even the occasion of the beautifully loud rainbow swarms, he had never come across someone real. So he began to rush forward, keeping a vice grip on his hammer. 

He choked out a shout, feeling his esophagus sore and weak. His body creaked, bones clicking against each other softly, and every which way he twisted himself — he could hear it. Jayce could clearly feel the way his joints had sanded, slowly creaking under the weight of herculean effort to press forward. 

The dull ache pressed in his chest, but he couldn't help the youth that springed him forward for a momentary transition in time.

A voice echoes, so strikingly similar to someone he holds dear. And he wonders if that was really the real deal, but he was easily proven wrong once the being speaks; “You must not fail, Jayce.”

Not Fail.

Must, not fail. The accursed organism had repeatedly told him that same mantra over and over again. He was pushed through the time lapse, and forced to relive the gruesome experience of being a human. The poor decisions made, the hope (and the false).

It was easily his driving force as he made it through the dark glowering of magicks that cursed his downfall, and the others around him. Jayce tried not to open his eyes as the sharp pains followed his limbs, intakes of breathing that punished him with every step he took. Yet it was sudden as he felt a ghostly touch impressed into his upper back, causing him to twitch, swerving his head nearly off the hinges as he looked to see whom the cause of the touch was. The crinkles beneath his eyes expressed clear frustration, as he was tricked once again. Jayce cursed himself mentally as he trudged forward, the onslaught of surprises resuming once again when the light gleamed – jarring as can be for a low fluorescent tone. He recapitulated his position, standing firmly into whatever ground there was irrespective of the pain. Jayce’s hands were worn with exhaustion, each and every ache screaming at him to fall down, rest. 

Imaginably he could, but he dared not too. (He couldn’t rest, not again.)

This was his last resort, he was not capable of letting it happen again. He needed to make sure nobody died, he needed to make sure it wasn’t out of bleeding, feeling cold. He knew it far too well, and he was going to make sure he was doing everything in his power to–

Oh wow. 

It was painful–painless–for a few moments, leaving him disoriented as he grunted, trying to accumulate to his new surroundings. He wondered where he was now, what would it show him next?

He blinks for a few moments, struggling to stand up as he supports his weight on the hammer. Inevitably cracking his neck, easing himself of the sore pains that riddled his neck and even the rest of his body. His leg was where it had really hurt for the matter, but no reason to worry, he was ready for whatever was gonna come next. 

“Jayce?” A gasp escapes his throat, ebbing it raw, his eyes blurring into clearness for the first time. He furrows his brow, attempting to get a clearer look at the source. The man was worn from battle–he tenses, fully rising to his height. 

(He heard a voice, and it was yours. Not an illusion, not a past memory. It was really that same cadence that not even the arcane could replicate.)

His throat bobs, churning with a burn that reminds him that he really is here. Where he had first disappeared in the first place, the accursed base of the HexGate facility. Jayce really, really had begun to hate HexTech. His eyes briefly scorn the intricate designs, almost weaved like the stories in tapestries. The stories were wrong, they always had been wrong. He should’ve listened to Heimerdinger, he should've listened to the professor. 

What was he doing?

Oh god.

“Is that you?” His eyes flicker back over to the one other person in the room, right in front of him. Jayce attempted—couldn’t—to look you in the eye, it was a difficult thing to do. His brows furrowed, a headache came to the forefront of his pain, and he closed his eyes. He heaved a heavy sigh–he was ashamed. 

Killing came so easy to him now, so why is this now any different?

Deciding to test the waters he quietly muttered your name, followed by a gentle greeting; “Hey.” Jayce murmurs, his bottom lip quivered for a moment.

You could see how cracked his lips were, and it made you almost worry for him. Of course, you should be. But you didn’t want to rush him, the way he had carried himself, you could see he was still far too tense and on edge. Both of you were thinking the same, worried about the other, still wanting to embrace each other–even so used to the touches of danger. It was in consideration, that made it all too painfully slow in this reunion. You nodded your head, taking a step forward. 

“You’ve been gone quite awhile,” You verbalized with a tilt of your head, gesturing about the length of his absence. “I was… worried.” He gave pause to your comment, a slight widening of his eyes as he lifted his gaze, albeit shortly enough to reach your torso. You looked different from what he remembered, just right there was enough to make him realize the passage of time. 

“How–I, how long have I been gone?” He internally winced at the way his voice sounded, his throat felt so sore. Jayce wasn’t sure himself, he felt it best to ask you. He understood that time had passed extensively, not how much for the matter, he felt it passing entirely differently during his time within the core of the arcane–whatever its physical being is. Something entirely reminiscent of a curse. He despised it so much for leaving you and the others without warning. But yet again, he hadn’t taken a step back to think about his words and actions, and how easily he could hurt others. Jayce knew better than that now, atleast. 

He could almost feel the hesitation radiating off of you, as if answering would be the end of all things. Jayce heaved a mournful breath, letting his eyes close. 

(Maybe it would, he wasn’t sure. Jayce didn’t want you to be afraid of him, is all.)

The room was cold, cold as the winter storm of the day he crossed paths with the arcane, he had almost forgotten that. Yet it was useless when he felt the warmth of something inexplicable touching his cheek, leathery he must feel. Jayce felt the way his skin hardened, the way his body tenses when he’s touched. But–that wasn’t the case here, no. 

A small gentle pad of the thumb swiped over the area, leaving him to open his eyes – inextricably locking gazes. Jayce was left surprised, almost recoiling for a split-moment. You kept a firm hold, your gaze all but gentle. Which was the last thing he expected, he searched any inch of your expression, and not once did your eyes falter in that interval of time. Jayce was tempted to stray away from your touch, every nerve in his being telling him to do so. However, it was something else that let him stay in the same position. That same stance, and he was unable to run away from it. 

Jayce grimaced, holding his head. Another episode, what he’s seen. Far too much of it, you concluded. 

He could see flashes of something unholy, far too close to the sun, or perhaps far too close to the moon. Jayce could see the debilitating deflections of creatures, something supernatural, the coarseness of rainbows. It was the way his lungs squeezed upon itself, twisting in a macabre manner of gestations that left him breathless for a meager few moments. You simply held him through it, and gently murmured, drawing his attention to you once more. Whatever he saw, it was the countless hours of death, it was inescapable. Blurry had it appeared to be once over, as he never wanted to recall the things he experienced. The last thing that had never been blocked out were those memories of you, dying over and over again, especially by his hands. It was in repetition that he blacked out so many times over, constantly finding himself in new arenas. Having to raise his hammer against someone else, seeing their blood splatter against the coldstone of the ground. Jayce wasn’t sure how he hadn’t–broken. 

It always felt far too real to him, he was sure it had. The heavy heart that corones his emotions, the way he acts. Probably in that alone that he had caused the deaths of so many innocents so many times, even for a different fabric in the space-fold of time, it still happened. Jayce didn’t want that to happen to you–not again–to anyone else. 

With the impossible decisions, and the road he had walked so far. There was nothing short of a future, or a dream for him anymore. He had to fight, even if that meant physically. Jayce knew there was something different in this life of his, he just wished this wasn’t the truth of it. He grieved it even, but he couldn’t truly be given time to process that. Life does not slow down for anyone, not even you, and not even him. One is only human after all, and you sure as hell make the most of it, the best you can, even if people may hate you for the smallest thing. It is innately the most human thing that truly makes each and every person kind, despite their supposed repugnant nature that makes mankind so infamous. 

“Jayce,” You murmured, a tone so soft, he didn’t deserve it. “Can you please look at me?” Almost to your whims, he felt so commanded. A rarity in such matters, that he didn’t mind it. Such a simple action, and it seemed so difficult though. But he tried, and succeeded. 

For the second time now, he locked eyes with you. His gaze was colored by bashfulness, leaving you to laugh. A tender touch, revering the inches of encroaching warmth that crawled back into his skin bit by bit. You breathed a puff of air, noting the cold atmosphere. 

‘He must’ve been cold before he came back out.’ You scrutinized the details for a moment, and considered how much time he spent. How long he went without proper warmth, the lack of temperature. Whatever or whomever it may have been that was his captor, you were glad he was finally freed for good, hopefully. You just were relieved that you could finally just see him, and know that he’s truly there (instead of just a delusion). Even if he appeared differently, he was still here. 

“I really did miss you.” You mentioned, seeing the flicker of surprise, surmising the life that brought back the color in his eyes. Less dull now, and far more colorful within the beautiful amber–almost had you wishing you could stay trapped in it forever. Not forever maybe, that would mean you’d never be face to face with him directly, like now, where you stood stronger than ever. As you were more than willing to be a pillar of support for the broken man, who you guess appeared to see so much, it nearly broke his mind. For the brief moment of pause, you could see his jaw tighten, as if he was contemplating something, but wary to air out the thought. 

He held the expectation that you would’ve been more fearful of him. Or at the very least angry, god knows he fully deserves that. 

Your brows tighten, almost wincing at the knot in your forehead. You’ve done that especially way too much lately, even since Jayce’s sudden disappearance. It was a question of your own, nothing short of anger, all it really was confusion. 

Jayce seemed to notice this, drawing you out of your short-lived predicament; “You… alright?” He muttered, somewhat hesitant to draw his hand over yours. He didn’t see himself deserving enough for that yet, not until he knew that it was by all rights okay with you. Only then you nodded to reassure him, biting the inside of your cheek as the moment passed. 

Finally garnering the courage to the breadth of your chest, “How… or why have you been gone so long?” Jayce simply looks at you with a half-unreadable expression, as if he had expected this question. One way or another, he was always going to be faced with such a question. After all, he had been trapped inside the palace of the arcane, a presumably long life-time of experiences; enough to age him noticeably. 

“I'll explain it,” He paused, a waver in his tone. “In time.” Jayce’s reluctance was more than easy to notice, so you nodded, not fully satisfied with the answer. But you had to wait for answers another time, there were reasonably far more important things to deal with right now. Whatever that may be considered. 

So you opted for a hug (entirely and completely out of the blue).

The affectionate gesture, which could mean many things, surprised him. He didn’t count for this happening—it made his knees buckle, the weight hounding you to fall with him. Even with the vice grip he previously held on the handle. He let go of his hammer, wanting and using both arms to just utterly hug you back with the whole of his heart, and he was fulfilled. Nose buried in the crook of your neck, it was filled with your scent. Your own hold on him didn’t vacillate at all–which in retrospect–it gave way to a level of solace he never felt before. 

He tightened his hold on you, a silent way of giving thanks, if nothing else. You were glad, happy even that he accepted your inhibited sudden gesture. 

You leaned back, slowly but surely, just to check that Jayce wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a failure however [as good as you were at reading expressions], there was naught a hint of it at all. You tilted your head, eliciting a soft laugh from the man. 

‘Mission successful!’ 

His soft laughter elicited a pavlovian response from you, leaving you to move your hands, cradling his face with both hands once again. Anything and everything seemed to fall short around you, for the long while you began to realize, lord you were far from attached to the thought however. His brows furrowed with a small grin, still finding it somewhat amusing with your subtle acts of nature. In spite of what preceded, the decedent time of passing made him begin to freeze. 

Color began creeping up against the patches of his skin that crawled from the beginning of his mandible, nape of the neck, and now up to the cheek bones. Expression faltering. (“Hey, uh…”) He tried to muster, but despite that, it fell on deaf ears. Your gaze made him hot, and he was always on the fence on whether or not how he should react. Jayce wasn’t sure how to handle it really, cause you look at him as if he was all that was there in the room. The spark of motivation behind your learning, or even the nights and transitions of time where you listen to him talk about what makes him so inspired. Of course, he always made the effort to do the same, but it had made him wonder if you felt so similarly. 

Yet, when he allowed his overthinking to fester, never bringing it up, he was afraid and just simply decided to not ask about it at all. Jayce was always a bit afraid about these things, but with what he's been through, he fears this may be the first and last time he’s allowed to see you. 

With that being his driving force, how his heart raced, it gave him a burst of confidence. Jayce lowered his left hand to your hip, the other to holding your face. His eyes were soft, brows raised as if he were asking. It was first and foremost, but his heart continued to beat right up against the cavity of his chest. 

There was a flicker of astonishment gleaming in your eyes, but it slowly disappeared, as if you ascertained what he was wanting, and frankly you found it sweet that he had asked for your permission. Nonetheless, you were more than delighted to oblige with his request. 

Warmth blossomed exuberant in his chest, as if fireworks were being set off. The sensation it ignited in him was soulful. A first tentative brush, then a second time, more sure than ever now. Jayce’s breathing almost labored when he pulled back, and he could figure the same for you. In a way, it was as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders by such a simple act of love. Even with the moments passing, the two of you leaned against one another, relishing in the feeling that heightened your tension. 

Though it did wear off quickly enough. 

Jayce watched with patience of a thousand men as you leaned back, re-adjusting yourself as you spoke. And wasn’t it ever the truth. 

“If you’ve done that earlier, then i probably wouldn’t even be here right now.” You remarked, causing him to laugh quietly. 

(No shit.)

He should’ve done this sooner.

[icarusredwings]

A date with Death.

Slightly nsfw.

The moon is out. The only thing about this specific moon is that it's a full moon. The Blood moon to be specific.

They came every march. And every march you could count on Wade Wilson to be busy that night.

Currently, he was sitting at the top of a sky scraper, kicking his feet over the edge with earbuds in.

Next to him was a sweet little spread, an expensive wine, two glasses, a couple of sodas, a bag of burger and fries, and a box with a small heart-shaped cake inside it, strawberries lining the top.

In his hands was a large bouquet of dark colored roses, burgandy, black, and reds (of course). He knew the moment he gave them to their recipient, they would die instantly, but he knew so would he. And he was okay with that.

Starting to hum, he pulled up the sleeve of his jacket, glancing at his hello kitty watch. 5 til 3.

Any moment now, he thought, glancing at the things next to him, moving the glasses over to be closer to the cake, wanting it to look perfect.

Look, if anything, he was a lover. A lover who just happened to love fighting and love kiling. But that didn't make him any less of a hopeless romantic, especially for dark harked ladies that thought he was funny.

Sure, Wade had a lot of lovers. Never being able to pin himself to just one. He spent more time with some than others, but it didn't mean he loved them any less. Even if it was only a couple of minutes a week or, in this case, an hour a year. A singular, annual date.

No, it wasn't merely enough for him, not enough for her either, but he enjoyed their little time together. How she held him and replied to his quips with further jokes that turned him into a puppy, head over heels.

It's not his fault his heart was so big. Honestly. But he knew that even if everyone left him, she would still come each March to see him.

"Welp.." He whispers, wrapping up his Ipod, laying it neatly next to the sodas as he stood up.

Turning on the heel of his good shoes (cheap half off dressage from the thrift, slightly tight, but perfect for dancing) he held the roses near his chest, like a corpse he leaned back, letting himslef fall.

This had to be one of his favorite parts. The cool wind on his back, the freshly ironed jeans and button-up flapping in the wind, the soft sherpa lined denim feeling like laying in a bed of sheep.

"Oh my darling.. Must you always take a swan dive off a 50 story building?"

He smiles, opening his eyes to see that he was back up on that roof, the dark robbed woman rubbing her hand on his arm.

"How else am I supposed to get your attention, sugar?"

She giggles, glancing over the side with an inquisitive hum. "Hhm.. always such a lovely color of red for me."

"Of course. Anything for my boney muffin." He takes her hand, kissing it softly.

"Wade Wilson, you flirt."

"My middle name. How was your trip, pumpkin?"

"Mmh... decent. Such a tease you are. You know that?"

"Obviously. Oh! These are for you. Put them on my grave when I finally get one, willya?" He coes.

She accepts the flowers, barley getting a hold on them before they wilted, drying up. Dying.

"They're beautiful.. but.. erm.. Who's that?" She questions, glancing behind them to a dark figure practically clinging to the roof top exist door.

"Oh, that's just Wolvie. He's fine, got him a number 5 meal and a soda. He's scared of heights." Wade grins, giving him a lazy wave but Logan didn't take his claws out of the metal door to wave back, the other hand holding a burger but he did tip his head. "Ma'am."

"Yeah, he should be at the end of your book somewhere. Slipepry one. Just like me."

"Mmh.. Logan Howlett...Wait I thought I've already taken him?"

"You did! He's a different one. The best one." He smiles towards the man, putting his head agisnt her shoulder.

"The man with many names.... Yes, he should be."

"Huh?"

"He should be scared of heights. I've been trying to catch him since the early 1900s. Slippery indeed...Finally caught him a few years back." She doesn't bat another.. well... dosn't move her skull away from him.

Becoming a bit nervous, Wade intertwined their hands. "Y-yeah he uh... he was curious. So.. you dont have to worry about him, though. Oh! Look! The ambulance finally showed up. Sheesh, tough break, fellas. You're too late!" He shouts at them.

"I see.." she turns back to Wade, grinning. "Don't worry.. I won't take him from you just yet.. he IS the one you were talking about last time, Yes?"

Now, Wade wasn't blind. Death was a jealous woman. Possesive of what was hers. Though Wade wasn't hers. Not quite yet. Not for.. awhile.

It's why she was so intrigued with him. So infatuated. She's never met a human that has wanted to die so much in all these centuries. So badly wishing he could crawl into her arms and let her pet his head for thousands of years as eternity went by.

He nods, blushing a bit. "Y-yeah.."

"Mmh.. quite a looker is he not?"

"Oh he so is. And he acts all tough but really hes a bit softy."

"I bet he's not soft everywhere-" She says, cassually, making Wade cough out a chuckle.

"Oh- my- god! My lady's a freak!" He laughs, still kicking his feet some as he grunts. "Not wrong tho.."

"I bet not." He watches as she looks over the small moonlight picnic he laid out for them. "Wade.. what is all this?"

"It's for our date! I made a cake and everything- well actually Wolvie helped me make it but I cut up the strawberries!"

"You did? Aww, you must be tired from such hard work. But my love..you know I can't eat." She says, frowning, not wanting to rain on his small parade.

"Oh I thought about that already. So I can eat it and then you can taste it. Fun right?"

Her black heart swells, running her hand up to behind his ear, holding his jaw. "You're too sweet."

Wade closes his eyes, leaning into hold, her thumb running over his cheek.

"Hopefully, his icing is as sweet as the cake." She whispers as he gasps, genuienly becoming giggling. "Sttaapph! You're so bad!"

"The baddest?"

Somehow, Wade knew she was giving him those eyes. The kind that suggested something.

"Oooh, the baddest. You know it, babe. Good thing I love me a bad bitch huh? Actually, It's a good thing you like funny losers. Guess in the lucky one."

"Wade.." She says, "you're not that funny."

"Ouch!!" He exclaims, hand drimatically going over his heart, shifting to fall into her lap. "You've wounded me!!" He whined, sticking out his tongue, pretending to be dead.

She laughs through her nose, holding his head in her thighs, petting over his head as she grabs his hand, rubbing over his bumpy skin.

"You're pretty hot tho.." she mutters, bringing the hand to her breast with a teasing smile.

Opening his eyes, he looks up to her with a big shit eating grin. "Oh, you flatter me! And apology accepted." Sitting up he brings the hand to her neck, starting to kiss up her jaw, little pecks.

"You really mean that? Me being pretty hot? And which is it? Am I pretty or am I hot? Cause I think you're gorgeous-"

"Wade."

"I mean, truly, deeply the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And I don't just mean your killer rack either-"

"Wade."

"Did you do your hair for me? Goddess, forgive me for saying this, but damn, How are you so fine? Half of you is literally bone and Id still fuck ya until your hip needs replaced, What do you think? Right here on the roof? Hm?"

Pushing the food over, he starts to run his fingers down her side, getting to the point where her waist used to be. "Fuck, babe how are you so tiny down here? You know what, We'll fix that. Lemme pump a baby in ya-"

"Wade!" This time, It came from about 30 feet away, behind them.

"Wha!?"

"Let her speak! Damn!"

"oh..." Honestly, he had forgotten entirely that Logan was even here. He was so quiet..

"I tried to warn you, darling.."

"Well, I'm not sorry! He knew what he was getting into when he came here.. I can't believe I even let him come.. cockblocked on my own date.." he mutters, obviously frustrated as he agressivly popped open the wine bottle, starting to pour.

Seeing how upset he got only made her smile, pulling his waist closer, her hand dipping to 'accidently' brush up against him.

"Why would I thought that was a good-" for a second he stopped talking, leaning his head back into her boobs with a big smirk. "Oh but IM the tease?"

"Shh. Your cock dosn't seem very blocked to me."

A small squeal came from him as he handed a glass to her after swirling it a couple of times.

"A nosotros mi carino." He says, rolling his r all fancy like, leaning on her still with such comfortably.

The smiles, smirking lovingly. "A la esperanza de que te rompas el cuello mi amor~" She coes back, raising her glass to his until it made a CLNK noise, dumping it into her mouth.

Wade does the same, chugging the glass only to sit up, crawling to the edge as he coughs, spitting it out. "Oh, that's HORRIBLE! Jesus! White woman drink that shit? Why? I mean- I get it- after having to watch 5 hours of a pathetic excuse for a soccor game, I'd drink that too."

Death giggles, watching Wade refill their glasses.

[wheneverfeasible]

Wiggly Wednesday?

The brain worms are here again.

I honestly hate Christmas and avoid doing too much for it. However, an idea came to me suddenly and I can’t stop thinking about…

Secret Santa Steddie AU.

In one of Steve’s high school classes senior year, they’re assigned a Secret Santa project. They all put their names in a Santa hat and have to draw one out (returning it for another if it’s their own) and that’s the person they have to secretly give a gift to, either homemade or purchased, but there’s a cap of like…whatever the equivalent of $20 today is back then. Idk.

This is supposed to be a team building type of exercise, something to foster camaraderie, after say maybe a huge argument/fight broke out between Tommy and his group and the Freak, Eddie Munson, as well as some other nerds. Steve is exhausted and doesn’t care for Tommy’s bullshittery anymore, so he didn’t really get involved, though Eddie did throw a few digs his way. Which was hurtful but probably deserved.

Anyways, Steve draws out Eddie’s name.

For the next week or so the last fifteen minutes of class are devoted to questionnaires and such where the students answer questions about themselves directly or they fill in answers to widely asked questions, all used to let the Secret Santas learn about their recipients. Some people take it more seriously than others.

Steve gets to know more about Eddie, who is more blasé about it all, obviously not expecting anyone to give him something good (if they give him anything at all) since he has no friends in the class and most people don’t like him. So Steve, who has never paid Eddie any amount of attention before in the past but has been now and finds himself intrigued, starts observing Eddie outside of class.

Steve knows he could buy Eddie something music related. An easy cop-out gift. But the more he observes Eddie, the more he gets to see the tiny cracks in the Freak persona whenever he spies on him, sees the nerdy but also kind person beneath the leather jacket. And…okay…maybe he starts to develop a sort of crush without realizing that’s what happens.

Maybe he bribes other nerds about Hellfire Club and Eddie and makes certain they don’t squeal about him asking (he doesn’t realize he comes off as threatening, he just thinks he’s being urging), maybe he hears Eddie mention things and then he goes and asks Dustin what they mean, learning it’s from a book series about midgets and some jewelry or whatever, and so an idea forms.

While shuttling the kids about after school, Steve asks Will if he’d be willing to draw something for him, which Steve would pay him for. Will, obviously excited because it’s his first commission job and Steve pays him fairly, agrees.

(Steve may also purchase a patch at the record store they stop at—Will’s request as he wants to buy something for Jonathan—because it reminds him of Eddie, but that doesn’t matter.)

Yadda yadda ya, it’s time to exchange gifts. The teacher has allowed them to drop them off leading up to the Friday before winter vacation to keep the mystery alive.

When Eddie gets his, he’s expecting something more like a prank gift. Instead, he’s gifted a colored drawing (sadly not enough time for a painting) of Eddie dressed as someone named something like Spider or Arrow Gone or whatever, Steve doesn’t really know, but it’s him fighting off a horde of monster things with a flaming eyeball in the background and further back is an erupting volcano.

Steve doesn’t know what the hell is going on, not really able to absorb the massive info dump Dustin gave him, but Will assured Steve that the dude was cool and the battle depicted was awesome and important when he dropped off his old yearbook for model reference. Will’s opinion was enough for Steve of course. He just hoped Eddie liked it, and the patch that he rolled up with the picture.

Eddie is, of course, gobsmacked and trying his hardest not to show it. He scans the classroom to try to figure out who could have given him such an amazing gift, but no one even looks at him. There’s no way he would ever suspect the truth.

Steve ended up getting a can of Farrah Fawcett spray, which everyone laughed at and assumed was a joke gift for a jock, but Steve noticed a small twitch of a smile on Tommy’s face, the only one besides Dustin now who knows his secret.

Later, Eddie’s battle vest is adorned with the patch he received in his gift, a red and black Leviathan cross, but Steve doesn’t know what happened to the drawing. He hopes it didn’t get trashed.

It’s not until later, after everything with Vecna and recovering what was salvageable from the trailer, that he found the picture safely secured behind a glass frame hidden in Eddie’s room. It’s only then that Steve realizes that he might have been a little bit in love with Eddie “the Freak” Munson all this time.

~

Aaaaaaaah sorry this is a little bit of a nebulous ending here. Does this story follow canon and Eddie is dead, never knowing who his Secret Santa is? Or is Eddie recovering from his injuries, fated to recognize Will’s art style and thus learning the truth behind one of his most prized possessions? Who’s to say 🤷

I’m just gonna tag my perma list because I’m lazy. Anyone can be happy to consider this a tag for their own future brain worms tho!

Hostage Hotties:

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife

@everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes

[vidavalor]

Love reading your thoughts, @masnadies! Have some in return on the shop metaphor and why I think Aziraphale does attempt sleep at times, if you or anyone else is interested. No pressure. 😊

Cute excuse, too, for one of my favorites of @mimisempai's correctly "incorrect" gifs 😊

<<If we can be bookshops (and honestly, I can't think of much I'd rather be), then all the mementos are memories, and all the books are what? knowledge? also memories? ideas? Intriguing, in any case, as the bookshop is full of clutter and rare, valuable books, none of that cheap stuff but it's everywhere all mixed up and nobody can figure it out. All of that is lovely for metaphor of Aziraphale.>>

I can't think of anything I'd rather be than a bookshop, either. 😊 i think Aziraphale is the bookshop on two, different-but-interconnected levels, I think. One is the metaphorical one we're talking about here; the other is the characters' sexually euphemistic one, which I think exists in the dialogue, in part, to help us see the metaphorical use of the bookshop for Aziraphale. It makes it more interesting, though, because Aziraphale using the bookshop as a stand-in for himself in innuendo means that he and Crowley are self-aware of the metaphor, which allows the characters themselves to be seen playing with it as metaphor and not just as innuendo as well.

So, we have the innuendo-laden things like "Just as that bookshop, technically, is my shop, but we both get plenty of use out of it, don't we?" and the "you like waiting inside" and the "get thee behind me, foul fiend-- after you!"... but we also have Crowley and Aziraphale aware that what is, technically, each their own, is also one another's, because they are a couple. So, The Bentley is Aziraphale's and the bookshop is Crowley's, and that means that it's "Fells' Bookshop" and "no more old bookshops" and "you can't leave this bookshop", etc..

I think that there is a slight difference in understanding between the main characters on this. Not when it comes to the innuendo-- they both get that. It's actually more in how Crowley uses it sometimes and it comes down to how they each see Aziraphale. Aziraphale sees the bookshop like how he sees himself-- not good enough, a compromise when Crowley deserves more-- while Crowley sees the bookshop as clever and safe and home. The same thing that Aziraphale sees as the best he could offer Crowley when he wants to give him more is something that Crowley sees as the most romantic of gestures and evocative of their love for each other and the life they're trying to make together. Aziraphale has still not fully seen this, I don't think. It's the root of the confusion of "you can't leave this bookshop" in 2.06. I think we can all see that Crowley means that Aziraphale can't leave him and their life together but, ironically, Aziraphale had spent the whole season low key trying to figure out how to get them the fuck out of the damn bookshop lol.

Crowley had been struggling to feel safe in there since the fire and why even run it anymore when Heaven hadn't shown up in years and Aziraphale never wanted to run a bookshop? I think he was struggling to figure out whether or not he had an obligation to keep the embassy open or if he could just pack it in and tell Crowley about the cottage and just go live like normal people. He didn't know how to handle that with threats of Heaven and Hell and Armageddon still looming-- The Finale'll solve the rest of that-- but he was circling asking Crowley to go with him to the South Downs. So, when Crowley is all "you can't leave this bookshop" and means him and their life, he thinks Aziraphale was breaking up with him when Aziraphale replies with that (brutal lol) "oh, Crowley, nothing lasts forever." Because Aziraphale thinks they're talking about the actual bookshop because, like The Baby Swap was in S1, The Final 15 is a series of miscommunications based around how no one can understand each other because they're all too in their own heads when it comes to what they're thinking/worrying about to fully recognize what the other person is saying.

I think that all of the Whickber Street Shopkeepers & Traders represent different things in the story based on their personalities and on what kind of businesses they run but, running under all of that, is the fact that Aziraphale actually has two businesses on Whickber Street. He's also a landlord. He owns the land and many of the buildings on and in which the people on Whickber Street are working/living, which means that, metaphorically-speaking? They're all Aziraphale's businesses, too. Aziraphale and Crowley's because they're both the bookshop and Whickber Street. The shopkeepers and traders exist in their own rights but they also exist to highlight stuff about Crowley and Aziraphale and their story.

The two angels who come into the shop in S2-- Gabriel and Muriel-- help further define the books metaphor, imho. Muriel, established to be really lonely, asks Crowley at the end if they can "take a book" with them because "books are like people, only portable." Gabriel spends the season trying to rearrange the books in what winds up being metaphorical for how he sees people. He doesn't need categories or labels or genres and he doesn't judge by their covers-- it's just open up the book, read what it's saying, and group it alongside others by its words. Yes, it gets you some wild bookshelves and possibly the inability to ever find any book ever again lol but, if we're talking about people? It's a great idea. Gabriel and Muriel see books as people because that's who wrote them-- they're the ideas of other living beings and represent their lives. Aziraphale being an avid collector of books and protective of them and careful in preserving their history is, to me, reflecting how much he loves humanity and his ongoing quest to understand life-- pretty much in the same way that us humans love books.

Agreed on the clutter and the million desks and everything in the shop being symbolic of Aziraphale's inner state. I'd also say that it's actually also symbolic of Crowley's, too-- more than it might appear at first to be. He was never really safe in his Hell-owned flat in S1. The bookshop is his home, too--and also, I'd wager, why he never got another flat after Shax took his old one. He could have just gotten another flat or we could have seen him living in a hotel or something in S2. Instead, he's fooling Hell into thinking that he's living entirely in his car while he's really only there for a couple of hours in the morning because it also serves to make it look like he's saying "look at poor me here in my car! I'm definitely not living with the angel!" 😂 I think it's also why Aziraphale never notices that Crowley lost his flat. Why would he when Crowley just basically lives in the shop most nights, all Romeo sneaking out of Juliet's bed before dawn (one of the things which "no nightingales" references being that bit of Shakespeare's play, likely really written by one of them, probably Aziraphale)?

Crowley stays most of the night and goes out the side door before the sun comes up to avoid them getting caught. Those are basically "the rules" of their relationship that Aziraphale refers to in Lockdown, I think. If we go back up to the pictures of the bookshop that the OP was kind enough to provide, we can see that side door on the right-- built in as part of Aziraphale's design in the part of the shop that opens into the alleyway, not on Whickber Street. The bookshop was likely built on an angle just for that purpose. The bookshop's side door is directly opposite Mrs. Sandwich's building and that's probably how she and Crowley became friendly-- they ran into each other in the alley at night. It's a bit of sleight-of-hand from our no-stranger-to-the-art-of-prestidigitation magician. Anyone watching Aziraphale would be looking at the front door of the bookshop and be far less likely to notice Crowley slip out the side door in the dark. No Bentley parked in front of the shop when Crowley's staying past business hours, as well, as what else could scream "totally fucking" more than Crowley's ridiculously recognizable car on the curb in front of the shop at 3am?

Also why/how Crowley was in his car on a side street a fast two minute drive away from the bookshop first thing in the morning in 2.01. The way these two just want to wake up together and have breakfast in peace... 😢

<<It also works with the fire and the reconstitution of the bookshop going with the discorporation and re-constitution via Adam of Aziraphale and the book shop (and the Bentley, that is interesting as Crowley did not die, hmm, further thought perhaps there for me)>>

Yes! That's what I think, too. The Bentley burning is interesting because Crowley's kind of going through a paralleling kind of thing but maybe not quite the same thing. The Bentley goes on fire because Crowley drives it through the ring of fire around the M-25, right? As he's about to, we flashback and see that Crowley influenced the building of the M-25--so, the highway is symbolic of Crowley having made his own mess and him having to get himself out of it. If he didn't, it would have eventually consumed him because he was literally trapped inside it. He's breaking free of his own stuff versus Aziraphale getting kind of accidentally caught in his own web a bit.

The bookshop is Aziraphale's M-25-- it's the "same daily round" that he's stuck in, like the horoscope God read. I'm sure he didn't want it to burn entirely. It is his home and he loves his books and all of his things and wouldn't have wanted to have lost all of them but you know that scene for which they made that concept art but then cut out of the end of 2.02? The one where the bookshop is the only thing that's survived an apocalypse and was supposed to be someone's dream?

Yeah, I bet that was going to be Aziraphale's dream. His nightmare, really. He's seen so many horrors in the whole history of Earth and remained past so much death and his nightmare would be having to see Earth destroyed so the bookshop kind of representing him there in the dream in that way, maybe? But also a nightmare in the sense that Aziraphale feels like he cannot get the hell out of the bookshop. He feels trapped in it because of how it represents how he tries to balance all the different facets of his life. His whole breakdown comes about as a result of basically just being like fuck this, I can't take it anymore-- everyone come on in at once, we're having a party! and then promptly, understandably, having an anxiety attack over exactly that. It's the angel who is going too fast in S2, not the demon.

<<but I also like to believe he doesn't sleep, in my opinion due to trauma, and I can't quite figure that bit out yet. Is it lazy writing or did he exaggerate or have pyjamas for show?>>

I'll agree with you that I don't think that Aziraphale sleeps well a lot of the time. I can definitely see that and for the same trauma-related reasons you mentioned. He has problems sleeping at times-- nightmares, etc.. Like a lot of people, he also likely doesn't sleep or sleep very well when in one of his fasting (actually: depression) periods.

I believe the main thing that causes people to believe that Aziraphale doesn't sleep at all is the bit from the book where he's talking about how he and Crowley don't "need sleep" but... just read it again below and look at how Crowley phrases the last line of his reply:

Aziraphale didn’t rise to it. “What are we going to do now?”

“Try and get some sleep.”

“You don’t need sleep. I don’t need sleep. Evil never sleeps, and Virtue is ever-vigilant.”

“Evil in general, maybe. This specific part of it has got into the habit of getting its head down occasionally.”

I can practically hear Aziraphale's flirty/teasing tone here and the idea that that is what's happening is reinforced by the last line of Crowley's reply above. It's more common in most places, even if it sometimes happens in Britain, to say "laying your head down" to refer to sleep, as opposed to saying "getting [your] head down." If you lay your head down, you're going to sleep. If you get your head down, you're simply moving your head down to a lower position... do you see where I'm going with this? 😂

Now, add into it that he also uses in the sentence the word habit, which isn't just something one does consistently but the head covering of a nun... and now take a little trip around things like how we say that people who are lovers are "sleeping together" and sleep being phrased as to "rest your head" while still also the head being not just the place where the brain is stored but the tip of the penis and getting that "down" would be to satisfy an erection and "to get/give head" being slang for oral sex and we're circling what the sleep paragraph in the book is really more about than just actual sleep.

Crowley does sleep but he's referring more to the fact that he's "gotten in the habit" of "getting his head down"-- aka going down on Aziraphale. That's the kind of rest he's suggesting they have, beyond some actual shut-eye-- probably a bit of both.

Crowley also uses the word occasionally here-- a word that comes from the Latin cadere, which means... to fall. If you were a pair of wordplay-happy supernatural entities who ushered in the so-called Fall of Man together-- and one of you is a fallen angel and the other is called Mr. Fell and you both fell in love with one another a long time ago-- you'd absolutely love flirting using words that link to the verb meaning to fall as euphemistic for making love, particularly for falling/going down on one another.

As such, when Crowley uses occasionally in this part of the book, it doesn't mean 'every once in a while' so much as it means 'as the occasion calls for it' and there's plenty of reason to assume that it there are plenty of occasions...

This word is also in the series. It's in Aziraphale's innuendo-laden, verbally italicized use of "special occasions" in 1.01:

Around the 14th and 15th centuries, special actually meant a person's lover or romantic partner. It's really only sort-of survived into today in use of the phrase "special someone" and that is slightly different than calling someone your "special", the way it was apparently done in those earlier centuries. A "special occasion", in Ineffable Husbands Speak, would definitely be a reason to celebrate outside of the usual ones, yes, but it also appears to be going down on your sweetheart, which is what Aziraphale is expressing interesting in doing in that 1.01 scene.

Here's where we can just say now after S2 that the above "special occasions" scene is even funnier because Aziraphale isn't telling Crowley anything about the wine that he doesn't already know, as he and Aziraphale were drinking from that stash of Chateauneuf-de-Pape back in 1941, Part 2. Aziraphale was likely bringing it up in that 1.01 moment, in part, so he can say the words around it. How many cases did Aziraphale pick up for his "occasions" with his special? A "sleep"-relevant number: a dozen. 😂 That joke has apparently grown on him since when Crowley made it in 1601...

This also all gets even funnier when you add in the other, descriptive passage about Crowley and sleep from the book, which has lines like: Crowley likes sleep, it was one of the pleasures of the world. True of both sleep and sex and the rest of the paragraph talks about sleep but using sentences the word choice for which makes them alternately appear to be about sleep and sex or worded in such a way as to be applicable both at once, all reinforcing the idea of sleep having an euphemistic layer to it.

Aziraphale's response to Crowley's suggestion that they "try to get some sleep" in the book is often taken really literally, I think, when the tone is actually kind of light and flirty. It's basically the same tone as this, similar scene from the series:

In the book, it's more clever use of puns. Virtue-- Aziraphale, here-- is a word that just originally a human man and "manliness" and then came to mean good moral character. Virtue, says Aziraphale with tongue-in-cheek, is "ever-vigilant." Vigilant means-- literally-- to be awake. Virtue is a word used in religious circles with a nod towards chastity and "purity"-- the opposite of "sin", like that of Adam and Eve-- so Aziraphale seems to be dryly saying that, as an angel, he's supposed to be Virtue itself-- the epitome of virtuosity-- but he's more of the word's original definition of a human man... one who might supposed to be "ever-vigilant"-- always awake, so, euphemistically, never getting any wink wink sleep-- but they both know that's not true because, as we've learned, Crowley's gotten in the habit of getting his head down on frequent occasions.

Adding to the Adam and Eve/Fall of Man & "occasionally" meaning to fall theme is that they're prompted by Aziraphale using the idiom "evil never sleeps" as a joke about Crowley-- referencing Eve in there. Evil sounding phonetically like "Eve-il". Another, similar joke in which they are paralleling themselves to Adam & Eve is them going off to have lunch (and "lunch") at the end of 1.06, with Crowley referring to them going to have food and sex together by saying: "Time to leave The Garden. Let me tempt you to a spot of lunch?"

So, anyway, the bit of the book that people use to justify the idea that Aziraphale doesn't sleep isn't really saying that he doesn't, imho, and there's nothing in the tv series that suggests that, either. Sleep-- and I'm just talking about sleep now here lol-- is obviously restorative and it can be peaceful. Technically, Aziraphale is correct that they don't "need" it. They could, theoretically, probably survive for all of eternity without ever sleeping a wink, etc.... but that's what they'd be doing-- just surviving. There's a big difference between living and just not dying. Being able to subsist without having something is not the same thing as not needing it.

What I think Crowley and Aziraphale have discovered in living on Earth for all this time is that their their human bodies like and need what other a lot of human bodies like and/or need. Even if they can, technically, survive without these things, they also realize that doing so is not actually healthy or pleasurable or really living. If they didn't have the capacity to need and enjoy living like humans, they wouldn't have human bodies. The things that exist for the humans and are necessary for them exist for them, too. Their bodies work better and they feel better when they breathe and eat and sleep and talk with one another. They need nature and art and companionship the same way that the humans do. Like some humans do, they both enjoy sex and feel romantic love. They could, technically, remain alive without all of these things but being alive is not the same thing as living.

Aziraphale knows that he needs to eat to feel healthy-- that food can affect how his mind and body feel and perform-- as much as he just enjoys eating. I think sleep might be the same thing for him. He struggles with it a lot in ways similar to any person who has been through traumatic events and has related mental health issues but I think he does try to sleep. I honestly cannot imagine being completely awake for over six millennia without a break from the world. Aziraphale is also an introvert so I think he might find the idea of taking a rest from people for awhile extra-appealing, even if he might have felt guilty about wanting to sometimes. I think he probably didn't sleep for the first couple of thousand years, though-- if he hadn't tried food until 2500 B.C., it's probably likely that he hadn't allowed himself to try to sleep prior to that either. He might have needed Crowley to show him how or at least help him give himself permission to try it at some point.

Aziraphale also likes to eat and drink and fuck and there's a certain threshold of those activities that, when crossed, requires at least a nap lol. There's also maybe just Crowley's sleeping habits as a potential suggestion of Aziraphale's. When Aziraphale comes back from Edinburgh in S2, Crowley tells him that he didn't sleep at all the prior night while Aziraphale was gone.

This is suggestive of what other things, like Lockdown, suggest, which is that Crowley has a human sleep routine, more or less. He can survive without a night's sleep probably better than any of us can but he does feel the effects of it if he doesn't sleep. So, this being who technically doesn't need sleep--or has been told to think such a thing is true, anyway-- knows he really does and goes to bed at night most nights the same way that we do. It's also healthy for him to at least try to do so. He has PTSD and an anxiety disorder-- he needs sleep to manage that, even if sleep is often the first thing to be disturbed by it, which is basically what Crowley says happened while Aziraphale was in Edinburgh. (How much of the reason why Crowley couldn't sleep was Gabriel-related anxiety and how much was Crowley having trouble sleeping without Aziraphale is debatable...)

So, if we go with the idea that Crowley basically lives in the bookshop at night until before dawn and that he has been doing that most nights for awhile now and if we add in that he also canonically sleeps for a bit at night each night, then Crowley goes to bed like a human at some point each night in the bookshop. It seems likely that Aziraphale goes to bed with him. They both would inevitably sleep better with one another nearby.

Aziraphale staying in that bed after Crowley leaves in the early morning, though, is probably another story. I tend to think that he struggles with the bed if Crowley's not there and will get up after he's gone and have tea or go to Give Me Coffee or do basically anything to try to distract himself from the misery of his Crowley-free mornings.

I'm sure what had him reject Crowley hunkering down during the lockdowns was just that he didn't think he could handle having Crowley there in the mornings, only to have to go back to him leaving after the lockdowns were over. I'm still not totally sure that they didn't actually wind up maybe doing that anyway-- at minimum, I think Crowley apparated over after the phone call, but I don't know that he stayed-- but, either way, this is why they just need to get to the South Downs Cottage, dammit.

Speaking of the bookshop, theories on what could be upstairs?

ooooo the BIG QUESTION.

so we can see a bit of the second floor in all these pics:

basically all we know for sure is there are A LOT MORE BOOKS, both stacked around the railing and on the circle of shelves. neil has decided not to comment on what else might be there (YET 👀) but he’s confirmed that much.

apart from that, we can see from the outside that there are six windows on the second floor:

i’m going to assume they’re part of the shop because they’re Very On Fire when the rest of the shop is on fire. SO. taking all that into account, you end up with something like this:

where the thin grey circle is the railing and the brown one is the bookshelves (as you can see in the first pic, it doesn’t circle all the way around!)

the rest is a complete mystery. i mean i’m sure the actual set was empty because they didn’t need to fill it, but in theory there’s room for some interesting stuff! with the first floor for scale i can imagine a whole flat built around that circle of shelves — a bed aziraphale never sleeps in, comfy chairs, every other angel knick-knack he’s encountered in his life. in my personal headcanon it’s all books and hoarded items covered in dust, which he leaves for authenticity.

thank you for asking!! i’d love to hear other people’s thoughts if they want to share :)

[postoctobrist]

When me and my friends were young (but not that young) our small hometown town somehow got the money to build a 1000ft long pedestrian suspension bridge. We were bored and found that if we grabbed the suspension cable at its lowest point and pushed and pulled it at the right frequency we could slowly build up oscillations in the bridge. You could feel the walkway swaying underneath us and see the movement in the main suspension cable. We would do this with several people with one person counting out the beat until the oscillations got so large that the suspenders attaching the walk way to the main cable started to slam into the hand rail and make a horrible clanging noise. Then we would all be scared, and no longer bored so we would stop.

While doing this I was aware of the differential equations describing first and second order resonance in elastic structures with and without dampening. I had studied several engineering disasters where cyclic loading close to some multiple of the resonance frequency lead to collapse of buildings and bridges. It is a small town and I was bored.

I am bad at transitions, and I would like to ask for advice/articulate something. Mostly to force myself to articulate thoughts I have never spoken about, and you do not have to read all this. Because it is very long and large parts of it are honestly pretty horrible. I have for some time been making a very conscious effort to not think about "my gender". Because I felt that there would be no use in thinking about myself through that lens. Telling myself that I can do whatever I want regardless of gender. This seemed to work for me except I find myself paralyzed. I cannot imagine myself in a romantic or sexual relationship. Romantic or sexual attention I receive feels like it is intended for somebody else. Even in situations that should be simple where attraction is mutual I feel confused and conflicted. As I write this I am wearing clothes somebody gave to me almost a decade ago, they have holes in them and I never really considered what they look like to other people. A couple times a year when I make budget or apply for a job etc I thin about the future but only ever a year or two ahead. This future blindness gets so bad I often can't even make plans for the weekend. I find myself looking at my reflection as if trying to find something wrong with my appearance but I couldn't put my finger on any specific flaw. I look like an attractive man, what else could I ask for.

I have recently allowed myself to think about this and I am not sure that it is helping. I realize now that being a man can be an exhausting constant effort for me, and that certain things that I have been doing can alleviate this pressure. When I wear my long hair down, I do not imagine that I have become a women, but the act of wearing my long hair down and shaving my entire face is not something I would do to look like the manliest man. This almost symbolic rejection of my internal drive to act as a man has a profound effect on me. Especially when I am alone I find this very calming, my mind is a little quieter, my breathing is a little deeper.

However in public this is often over shadowed by a new discomfort. My already ever present sense of danger in public is heightened. Around many men I feel physically unsafe, as if a threat of violence lies just under the surface of every interaction. Around women my discomfort around men and with myself seem to combine and I cannot shake the feeling that I will make them feel unsafe. Making women feel unsafe makes me unsafe and so on. All this is worse the more feminine I am.

My small symbolic gestures of femininity in private would seem to have no real downside. Their benefits seem to come into effect as soon as stop trying to look masculine. However in the perception of others I feel a pressure to appear either completely man or women. I now find myself trying to appear feminine and this might be worse. Outside perception of me feels completely beyond my control. Which is a good excuse for me to repress any thoughts or feelings about it. I want to accept that this is outside my control, and also that I desperately want to control it.

Some of things I believe about this view of me from the outside are not things I would ever want to put on anyone else. I have never seen a person that would look worse with some musculature, and have always found strong people aesthetically pleasing and attractive. I enjoy being strong, it practical utility, the sense of security it provides me, and as an accomplishment I am proud of. Yet at the same time I sometimes find myself revolted by my muscles. My size, my veins, my bones, nothing about them is wrong except that they are there.

I feel I need to juxtapose any feminine attributes against my masculine ones (one earring is allowed but with short hair. Long hair is allowed in a bun but with stubble). To appear as a feminine man and not a failed attempt at manliness. Is this my reaction to a societal pressure or my own misandry against weak men? I have no way of knowing. Similarly I feel that the only way to be extremely feminine or a woman would be to subject myself to sexual objectification, and infantilization ("femboys" are only feminine as long as they are somebodies fetish and because they are boys and not adults). Again I cannot say if this is my reaction to a societal trend or my own judgement on other people. Either way I cannot help but feel that this pedophilic degrading view of femininity and women is a moral sin I have committed. Yet what possible use could there be in applying a moral judgement on my own thoughts? I don't choose to feel or think these things. I don't want to wear booty shorts, or dress up like a princess. Do I think less of those who do? If don't subject myself to this degradation in exchange for femininity will it be because I have the self respect of a man? Or is it just cowardice.

I don't want to look like a trans women. I want what my grandma has. She is a matriarch. The varicose veins on her arms, her short hair, a raspy laugh, a double mastectomy, these things are just the type of women she is. She is a mother of mothers. She might not be asked to pray over the meal, but her wisdom is an open secret among those that are really looking for ruthlessly honest advice. She must enjoy wearing jewelry (or she wouldn't bother) but never seems to take it too seriously. When telling a story about how she fought a bear off her daughters or cracking a joke about how she will die any day now her womanhood is so effortless, so inconsequential, so in the background that it almost seems almost useless.

oh my fucking god lady just take the fucking estrogen

[remiivu]

Ghostly Companion- Extra 1 [Mr. Gachapon]

Masterlist

[Ao3]

Tysm for waiting! Chapter 3 is coming out in a few hours^^

Honestly, a part of your brain regrets ever having shown Mr. Crawling the collections of capsule machines that appear outside of high-traffic buildings. 

It took quite a while to be able to understand his insistent, constant begs of “∎∎∎∎! Me want ∎∎∎∎!” But, after many charades, you’ve come to learn that it was… something like object. The word’s meaning itself was vague, as you’ve heard him use it on nearly every item in your household, but the particular tone he used as he pointed and jabbed a long, gray finger at your matching keychains was something you began to think was whining.

That was strange. You’ve always viewed your ghost as an obedient, mild type of person who seemed happy enough to just follow you around, but maybe the dragging, repetitive actions that came with daily mortal life had its way of making even the undead want a change in pace. 

Which… yeah. That honestly makes sense. While the other world had a definite amount of hallways, there was probably always something to break the boredom– like maybe a new person falling into the world just as you did, or a fight, or just generally fearing for your life as you navigated where the dangerous ghosts were.

Yeah, ok. You could feel the guilt already creeping up on you.

“Ok, ok, you want keychain?” You sigh, bent down to be at eye level with Mr. Crawling.

Mr. Crawling brightened up, grin stretched from ear to ear. “Yes! Me want object!”

Well, that was that.

The trip was done at dawn, similar to the first simply because of how empty the streets were. You’ve had some sort of confirmation that he’s either unsee-able for most people or hard to notice in general (with the exception of young kids that bawl the second their eyes catch a glimpse of the two of you.) Thankfully, they were kids, and adults rarely took supernatural claims from them seriously.

And if they did…

Well, you weren’t quite sure what you would do. Something unusual itches in your chest at the thought, and the one thing you’re certain about is the fact that you treasure your new companion far more than a stranger or their child.

You absolutely will not lose him by some sort of random exorcism performed by someone who had no right of getting near you or your home.

Mr. Crawling, oblivious to your inner monologue, was somewhat giddy as he personally led the way towards the familiar capsule machines you two had passed a few days ago. He checked back, pausing and twisting his neck to ensure you were following, but you were always there, 2 steps behind with a pleasant smile.

As you got closer, you saw that your suspicions from earlier were confirmed. You weren’t aware of the strength Mr. Crawling had, but the original food-themed capsule machine was broken, blocked off with some tape and a paper explaining its current state.

Mr. Crawling paused at the sight, peeling and picking as the tape.

“Object… damaged,” You say, pointing at the sign. “Broken. It’s broken.”

Mr. Crawling’s smile dropped into a frown. “Damaged? ∎∎∎?”

You shrug, not wanting to dampen his mood by saying it was him who broke it. You noticed that he’s rather… paranoid of harming things in this world. Your plates, chopsticks, spoons– even the sturdier objects like your floor table or sink (which, now that you’re thinking about it, having a broken sink is definitely a possibility judging by the state of the capsule machine’s handle) are treated with a sense of fragility you hadn’t noticed he ever used in his own world. 

Well, apart from yourself. You were top of the list, and you’re certainly glad about that. You’re not as easily fixable nor replaceable, and you better be further up on his list of importance than any household objects he had taken a liking to.

You watched as he peered at the other options, going through each of the machines before he looked up to you like some sort of lost puppy.

You didn’t even need to understand his next words to know that he wanted your opinion.

You crouch down, examining each one yourself before your eyes settle on one themed after cats. You pointed at it and said, “Cute,” knowing that this single word was enough to sway him.

He bounced up, looking at it with a smile. “Me can ∎∎∎?” 

You nod, fishing out your freshly filled coin pouch, already prepared for this scenario. You hand him a decent amount of coins, watching as he inserted the coins and twisted the nobs much more gently, far more used to using less strength in this world compared to a few days ago.

One by one, you watch him drain the coins and pop open capsules, not looking entirely content with each cat chain he pulls out.

What in the world was he doing?

White, calico, black, tuxedo– he was getting nearly every color, even some duplicates, steadily supplied with coins from your uncertain hand and trembling coin pouch.

You had withdrawn 2,000 yen worth of coins so that he could either grab a decent selection or find some new machines to save for the next trip– not for his brand new and… not well received new cat chain collection. 

“Mr. Crawling, why– you.. Ugh, how do I say ‘why’ in your language…” You muttered, watching him nearly empty the capsule machine, arms filled with empty capsules.

Eventually, though, his smile pops back to life as he cracked open a container and pulled out the rarer, limited edition chain of a sparkly siamese cat. He holds it up, grinning, “Cute! Cute much!”

Your jaw drops. What the– did you accidentally invoke some sort of gambling of collecting addiction in him? He was so happy the last time with just getting whatever!

“You– you..” You say, unsure of how to express whatever cluster-fuck of emotions you were currently feeling.

“Me give object you!” He cheered, pressing the -now very expensive- chain into a spare finger that wasn’t holding on to empty capsules.

“I–...” You stuttered, gripping onto it the best you could before it could fall. “Why?!” You ask, hoping that the way that you gawked or had your mouth open, flabbergasted, would convey the meaning to him effectively.

And, the smart, smart Mr. Crawling that he is did end up understanding, saying with glee “You speak cute! This object cute!”

Did you?! You most certainly did not– you had simply…

Oh.

You watched him poke at the machine, right over the limited edition cat, and presumably right where you had pointed your finger at before you declared it to be cute. 

Shit. This was your fault.

Mr. Crawling looked as sweet as ever, collecting his mini pile of cat chains and packing them all into his mouth, one by one.

You sighed, dumping all the empty capsules and plastic wraps into the recycling bin right next to the machines as you waited for him to finish stuffing his cheeks like some sort of chipmunk or squirrel. 

You were about to offer to carry it for him but…

Yeah, no. Not anymore. He has it covered now.

You kept your own chain out, wrapping and twirling it around your fingers until he looked ready to go, and began your hike back to your apartment, briefly wondering if ghosts showed up on cameras or if the flashing light would scare him into either breaking, dropping, or swallowing his brand new collection.

With how light your coin pouch felt, you decided it wasn’t worth it. 

______________________________

Once home, you quickly gave the new chains a wash in the sink, laying them all out on the towel before presenting it back to Mr. Crawling, who took much enjoyment in the next hours arranging them in various, close to the ground nooks and crannies, making sure each was visible from the open.

When you walk out from the shower, freshened up and back to normal brain-function, you blankly stared at the 20-something chains in your field of vision, cluttering shoe racks and bottom shelves, and Mr. Crawling looking proud as he chirped “Hello!” and swiftly crawled over to wrap your glittering chain around your wrist, holding it in place. 

… Well, it was a good thing you never invited your friends over.

Masterlist

[Ao3]

Thank again everyone! Hoped you enjoyed (and saw the slight twist in moods^^)!

[in-uthenera-we-wait]

It's been a few days since I completed the Veilguard and I am going feral about the dynamics between Mythal, Solas and Lavellan...

It's just a bittersweet kind of pain when I think of them and I want to get my thoughts out before I am overwhelmed by them. Also, this post took way longer than expected to write!

Detailed deep-dive under the cut (to avoid spoilers)

Colour-coded because my brain is weird like that!

Also this is a loooooong post... you have been warned!

On Mythal:

It is clear right from the start (of when we discover the memories of the Dread Wolf) that Mythal is an integral part of who Solas was... Or should I say, who Fen'Harel was/is.

Solas, as a spirit had no desire to take a body and took one for the love of Mythal.

And when I say love, I do not see it as something purely romantic... It goes above and beyond that and not always in the right way.

She sought to mould him into someone she could use. She saw it as Benevolence (the attribute that her spirit is supposed to represent), but I think her purpose had been corrupted even then, even before Solas gets his body at her behest.

The reason I believe it's so is because, true Benevolence doesn't discriminate and denotes a desire to do good for others. Compassion is that desire enacted.

Mythal's benevolence was conditional. Her benevolence came at the cost of suffering for the Titans. So, there was a sliver of selfishness to her purpose. This isn't necessarily bad but this means that she is no longer truly what her Spirit was supposed to depict, not completely. And this sliver of selfishness is what permeates the entire relationship she has with Solas.

We, as the player, have only ever seen Mythal either through the very rosy lens of the Elvhen who worshipped her very much like the way Solas does, or through Flemeth. The latter is no longer the Mythal that Solas knew. She is a fragment of the original who has gained the wisdom and experience of millennia through the hosts she inhabited.

The truest depiction of what Mythal must really have been like is the fragment we encounter in the Crossroads. She honestly, isn't as likeable as Flemeth/Morrigan was/is.

She is openly haughty, expecting her petitioners to convince her of the dangers to the world outside, and sounds almost bitter that her most ardent devotee hasn't visited her once since she was killed and the remnant of her essence was extracted from the dagger to reside in the Crossroads. She faults Solas to an extent for her fate, and clearly doesn't hold him as beholden as he does her.

So, it felt weird to me that she would be so willing to release him from her service, even more so if you had to fight her for the fragment (as I had to).

The only way I can see her being moved to help convince Solas (especially if we fought her in her dragon form) is that she was observing the world outside the crossroads when she is in Rook's possession, the way Rook interacted with Solas, and even more so the way the Inquisitor speaks of her friend/vhenan.

On Solas:

Solas... the man, the myth, the legend! Where do I even begin to unravel the mess that he is!

Originally, a spirit of Wisdom, tied to Mythal in a way that has him put through the thumbscrews of War and Strife, so much so that I see his transformation into Pride as something like a callus that forms over skin that has been rubbed a few times too many.

His love for Mythal was the start of his doom, and right there, his purpose was changed from Wisdom. Because, wisdom would have remained a Spirit.

Now, the nature of that love is up for debate. Again, I don't see it as something that is purely romantic. Though, I think the way he feels for her is different from the way Mythal feels about him. There is more devotion on his side. He says that he will follow wherever she goes and takes on a physical form for her.

And then, slowly, one step after another, he strays away from the path of wisdom - crafting the Lyrium dagger, making the Titans tranquil, allowing the other Evanuris to claim godhood, letting Mythal persuade him to each of these steps, his regrets have her face.

Remember the following dialog he has with the Inquisitor after they drink from the Well of Sorrows? When he asks them how they will ensure the Inquisition doesn't fail, and when the following dialogue ensues...

Let me present you with evidence on how much he was hurt by that.

INQUISITOR: I trust my friends.

SOLAS: I know that mistake well enough to carve the angles of her face from memory.

We had already posited that the 'her' in the dialogue above was about Mythal. But back then, we had assumed it was because of the trust Mythal had in the evanuris that caused her death. What if it wasn't so? What if he was speaking of the trust HE had in HER?! He trusted Mythal to stand by him as he had stood by her. And she had failed him.

It could be that this is after her death, but something tells me this was before. Because Felassan's response to Mythal not joining them would be different if it was because she was dead.

So, we've established just how hung up he is about Mythal, because he has this vision of hers that might not even be true. He views her through the lens of adoration and worship that ends up putting her on a pedestal rather than view her as the flawed person she is. He could never be truly free unless he sets aside these feelings he has for her.

I also found it interesting that he has refused to visit the fragment of Mythal that was stuck to the dagger when she was killed. That fragment is the truest version of his friend as she was when she died. He refuses to acknowlege Flemeth and even Morrigan as Mythal.

Even in the end, it is this fragment of Mythal that he knows and remembers that releases him from her service. Because he wouldn't accept it from anyone else!

And with that established, let's move to the final part of this triptych.

The Inquisitor is a tricky one to analyse because they can be so many different things depending on the player. But for this essay, I will be focussing on Lavellan who romanced Solas and sought to change his heart.

On the Inquisitor:

She is everything that Solas believes is wrong with the veiled world his actions resulted in. A shadow of his people, tranquils with no connection to the Fade (especially true if Lavellan is not a mage). He also begins to believe that the anchor is what makes her who she is. That has to be the case, because any other explanation would make his future plans questionable!

But then, she walks into his life, curious and bright, kind and caring, asking him questions with an open heart! The first thing she does is assure him she would protect him from prosecution. She changes everything!

He tries to justify his feelings for her by assuming that the anchor has changed her. But nope! She shoots that down as well. She is truly herself, with or without the anchor. A rare and marvelous spirit.

Lavellan sees him for who he truly yearns to be seen as. Wisdom. She seeks to understand him and asks nothing in return. She is ready to help him whenever he asks for it, and even when he doesn't. She tells him he does not need to mourn alone, when his spirit friend passes!

His one true fear: Dying Alone... and she allays it by promising to be with him, no questions asked.

He almost decides to give it all up and stay with her... as just Solas. To be with the one true person who truly saw him beyond the cool and collected mask he wears. But he doesn't... In another world perhaps but not this one.

And so, he leaves her in the end, because his regrets are too much to be set aside so easily. He also sees bringing down the veil as an act of self-sacrifice, now more necessary than ever because this would mean She would live on happily in a world where his mistakes don't exist anymore. Also, he doesn't want her to see what he would become.

But she perseveres. Every time he pulls away, she reaches out. The parallels between the Solas/Mythal and Lavellan/Solas relationship is just *Chef's kiss*!

She represents Hope for me. And I'd say, she is true to her purpose that way. Even when things don't go the way she wishes it did, she still hopes. Her Hope springs eternal. And that is what saves her, Solas and the entirety of Thedas!

So, towards the end, her Hope burns bright against his Regret. But he is unable to see it until he sets his own regrets aside. And for that to happen, he needed Mythal to release him.

Mythal was his past. But Lavellan is his eternal future. It was up to him to move from one to the other.

Once he was free from that bondage, he could look towards Hope.

Only then could he truly see it... that she had seen him as he truly was, and she loved him... that she loves him still.

In the end, her love did endure, and how!

'Var lath vir Suledin' indeed!

[hugemilkshake]

I got an idea...based off something I read off tumblr in the cookie run x reader thing. A fic about y/n being taken into the kingdom as their ruler and pure vanilla helped them with the difficult part of ruling and stuff...a crazy idea if ya want a kingdom of yanderes:

Y/n was taken into the kingdom and was crowned ruler...but they don't ACTUALLY RULE! From the outside the kingdom, it looks like y/n is making the rules and making the decisions and stuff...

But th truth? The cookies are the ones making up the rules and y/n's job is to just sit there with that cute crown on their head while the cookies spoil y/n with attention, affection, anything they desire...but won't let y/n leave the kingdom for their safety and the cookie's obsession. Reason they crowned y/n as a ruler? An excuse to keep em in the castle so others don't ask questions.

Enjoy the milkshake! I’m putting some characters that we don’t see that often since I miss them

A false ruler

-platonic-

This is a little longer than what I usually write

You ran as fast as your legs could take you. You don’t remember what brought you to this moment but you couldn’t look back. There are cake monsters chasing after you, and you have no way to defend yourself.

The more you ran, the more you began to tire out. You didn’t think you were going to see another day when you heard… something..

Music

Music meant potential help. And potential help was what you needed at this moment, so you made a dash for the music.

You broke through the foliage only to see a group of cookies, the one sitting on a tree stump abruptly stopping his music. Now you would great them and tell them what’s wrong but your vision began to blur a while ago and your world had finally gone to black.

—————————————

Clover Cookie was a bit stunned at seeing a cookie collapse in front of him, so was Purple Yam and Milk Cookie. But the snarling of cake monsters gave some, but very little clarity.

And as suddenly as you fell, Purple Yam Cookie sprinted through into the foliage, the sounds of commotion could be heard, indicating that he started a fight.

On the other hand, Milk Cookie was helping this mystery cookie out of the foliage and away from Purple Yams unchecked wrath.

“Are.. they okay?” Clover Cookie took a cautious step forward as Milk Cookie assessed the passed out cookie. “They should be, they seemed to have exhausted themselves. The just need some rest”

Clover Cookie took a sigh of relief, he was glad that they weren’t dead, something about them was… intriguing.

—————————————

You woke up and winced at the brightness of the sun. You heard a calm voiced cookie saying something around the lines of “they’re awake!” And another voice- in a more aggressive tone saying some sort of snarky comment.

Once your eyes adjusted to the light you saw a cookie with curly white hair looming above you. This made you jump and sit up quickly, only for pain to ripple through out your dough.

The curly haired cookie immediately jumped back, either shocked or panicked that you were able to sit up so quickly. Despite the pain in your dough you backed away until you hit another cookie.

“HEY!” The cookie barked, he was broad with purple dough and was honestly quite intimidating… especially with the icing and jam he was wiping off his face and mace…

This caused you yelp and stand up and stumbled backwards. You tripped over a log, injuring yourself more.

The cookie in white tried to step towards you but was to focused on trying to prevent the purple guy from attacking you.

You soon felt a cookie kneel next to you and speak to you in a calm, melody like voice. “Hey… take a deep breath, we’re not going to hurt you”

You felt your heart rate slow down and your anxiety lessen, you were still injured and what happened. You wanted to speak but you couldn’t form any words, the cookie next to you softy smiled understanding what your trying to do

“I’m Clover Cookie, over there is Purple Yam and Milk Cookie. You stumbled upon us with some cake monsters chasing you.” The cookie, who you learned is named Clover Cookie spoke in a gentle tone

You told them that your name was Y/N Cookie. You soon tried to stand but you winced. Milk Cookie walked over and kneeled next to you.

“Try not to move, you’re exhausted. Moving will only worsen your condition” Milk Cookie said in a concerned tone, kinda in a tone that one would use when they are worried about their friend

Purple Yam soon spoke up in quite the annoyed tone “Can we go now?! They can get healed back at the kingdom!” This seemed to snap Milk Cookie and Clover Cookie out of their concerned minds.

“Yes.. we should find them proper care.” Clover Cookie picked up his lute and looked over at Milk Cookie. “I agree, Y/N Cookie is it okay if I carry you back to our kingdom?”

You told Milk Cookie you were fine with being carried, but you didn’t expect to seem like you weighed nothing to Milk Cookie. The four of you started your way back to this allusive kingdom, but at some point you fell asleep. Unknowingly changing your life for better.. or for worse…

—————————————

Weeks had gone by, you still talked to Clover, Milk and Purple Yam from time to time but this had changed, a lot.

When you were more recovered, you had been brought to the castle in order of “The king” aka a child named Custard Cookie the lll. It was cute to see a kid so happy to be “king” but that wouldn’t be the case for long since the founding cookies of this kingdom are KIDS!

The fact that they could run a kingdom with some help from like 3 adults was SHOCKING.

You eventually started to stay in the castle, you’d suggest stuff and try to help out but it seemed like no one took you seriously… until.. you heard someone referring to you as “the ruler of the cookie kingdom”

You were quite happy to have others think of you as royalty but you were still recovering from some injuries since you did end up having a minor break in your leg so you couldn’t leave the castle.

Little did you know… this was planned out.

[vickythefamiliar]

The (chaos) Coven

This is me, a tarantula on the "Witches Road"

At first I wanna say I did not understand why the hell Rio played along with Agatha... It was soooo exhausting omg.

But nvm, I spend way too much time with these witches so here is my opinion on each one of them:

Jennifer

Jennifer? Oh, she’s something else. The ‘all-business, no-nonsense’ vibe is impressive, I’ll give her that.

She’s sharp, like she’s always three steps ahead of everyone, and her wardrobe? Immaculate. I’m convinced she could outdress the apocalypse. She’s got this energy that either makes you want to follow her into battle or stay ten feet away at all times.

I don’t dislike her, but let’s just say she’s not the first person I’d share my cookies with.

Lilia

When I first met Lilia, I thought: Finally, a grandma! She probably bakes nonstop and has a secret stash of cookies somewhere. Wrong. So wrong.

She’s feisty, unpredictable, and somehow always ten steps ahead. Honestly, it’s unsettling.

That said, I’ve gotta admit, her vibe is kind of iconic. The hair? A masterpiece. The whole ‘hippie meets mystical grandma meets chaotic freak’ aesthetic? Approved.

But seriously, Lilia, if you do have cookies, stop holding out on me. Sharing is caring.

Alice

Alice... Where do I start? She’s got this whole ‘the world is against me’ thing going on. Honestly, it’s a little exhausting.

Like, girl, maybe your mom wrote that ballad for a reason other than just to mess with you. Ever think of that? No? Didn’t think so.

But underneath all the eye rolls and melodrama, there’s something real there. She just hasn’t figured herself out yet. She’s a work in progress, I guess.

Cookies for her? Maybe once she chills out. Maybe.

Billy/ Teen/ Wiccan (whatever)

Ah, the prodigy with an attitude. Kid’s got power, no doubt about it, but he’s also got that ‘I know better than everyone else’ vibe. Which, honestly, is kind of funny coming from someone who can barely handle his own magic.

But I’ll give him this—he’s determined. He’s like a little storm in the making, and you can’t help but want to see where it’ll go.

Would I share my cookies with him? Maybe, if he asks nicely.

Agatha... (I call her "the ex-wife I didn’t sign up for")

Agatha? Don’t even get me started. She’s powerful, no doubt, but it’s like she’s always trying to out-drama everyone in the room. She’s got this weird mix of arrogance and insecurity, and honestly, it’s exhausting.

Like, she’ll act like she’s got everything under control, but then, boom, she's throwing a tantrum because Rio didn’t call her back.

But hey, gotta admit, she’s got style—witchy, eccentric, a little unhinged. Honestly though, I'm just here for the chaos.

On the other hand she broke my mistresses heart more than once so I said it before and I say it again: If you're Agatha Harkness - LEAVE.

No cookies for her.

That's it. That's the post!

-🕷💚

[sugusoneandonly]

IKIGAI - stsg x reader (1)

CURSE !! Geto x Satoru Gojo x Reader

cw :: pure fluff ; angst ?? semi-canon compliant // does not follow logic tm. imagined as fem!reader but gender neutral pronouns. swearing. infidelity (everyone ends up loving each other). ass writing. poly. inspired by various artists works and comics revolving curse!sorcerers and reformed geto!! i will try and hunt the main sources down when i find time :)

Gojo stares at the entity before him, unsure how to react anymore. His ex-…ex-….best friend, love? The lines of their relationship were blurred but, what was clear as day was the burning passion between him and Suguru Geto. He’d witnessed his soul shine, dim, deflect, and even die twice by his own hands. Now, he reappears before him, distorted in all the dark and twisted ways that he could be, yet still so beautiful.

His inky black hair, now a void of any warmth or love., spills like a broken pen. His skin…while most curses had a tattered, greened, molded, whatever physical manifestations of hurt could exist, tinge to them, Suguru didn’t. No, Suguru’s skin was ghastly pale, like porcelain so fragile like it could shatter with even the slightest breath. Similar to how he was once, and shatter he did.

The eyes of Geto are concealed by a blindfold just like Gojo’s, his mouth tinged like the blood dripping from his head during his final moments and somehow… normal compared to most curses. As if humanity been spared to him some.

Gojo parted his mouth, still wondering what to say, and if Geto would even understand it if he did. But Geto cut him to the chase.

A garbled “Satoru” had escaped the curses makeshift mouth. Gojo stumbled back, the strongest set back by the simple strangled utter of his name. Geto hovered closer, to him. “Suguru…you..” Gojo still rendered speechless. Gojo tried to walk away, testing his limits. To most sorcerers guesses, Suguru simply followed, growling at the tree branch poking out and barely grazing Gojo.

Gojo’s head was spinning, running at the speed of light, flashes of ifs and whats gripping onto him one after another. Somehow, a year after the defeat of Sukuna, and 2 after Kenjaku’s, Gojo had found the closest thing to peace he could. He had gotten married, to you. Sweet you with the warm eyes and shining smile. Sweet you who had held the weight of the strongest when he no longer could. Sweet you who….he somehow felt the brighter side of Suguru in. But now, Suguru’s back…one way or another, however one saw it, suguru was back. Perhaps not Suguru Geto the sorcerer, or Suguru Geto the “traitor”, but Suguru Geto his best friend and worldlessly more.

You only ever caught rare glimpses of Suguru at first, back in your high-school days. you were year below the trio. You’d admired him, maybe even found him pretty. But he didn’t know you. Until a few months in when you’d grown close to Shoko, getting occasional head pats and a soft smile from him. His warm hand resting a little longer than ones normally would, gliding down the round of your head and smoothing the stray hairs down and simultaneously doing the same to your heart. But, he’d never know that, and honestly, stupid you hardly did either.

After his defection, you and Gojo grew close with the common ground of broken hearts, the torn strings of them bonding together with the others.

Gojo didn’t know what to do. For the first time, he didn’t know what to do. For the first time, he could choose what to do without telling anyone yet. No elders to order him, no Yaga to lecture him.

You weren’t supposed to be home yet, for the next hour or so which gave him barely enough time to try and figure out what to do. But, when he opened the door to your shared house, a whiff of cozy aromatic scents smacked him in the face. You were home.

Hearing the door click, you skipped over to Gojo with a grin on your face, still unaware to the entity looming behind him. Just as you were about to jump into his arms, you were forced back with a repulsing shove followed by a garbled hiss.

From your sat position on the floor, you look up dazed. You see him, the new version of Geto. Your mouth parts, fear, shock, and curiosity conjuring in your eyes. Gojo could only shakily bend down to lift you up.

© sugusoneandonly 2024

header off pinterest

a/n :: trying and failing; will edit ☺️

[atangledfate]

Honestly? Listening to Surge's plan it wasn't as awful as she made it out to be. her intent was to give herself up no matter what right? So if that was the plan, one last hurrah wasn't awful if he was being pragmatic. Did he like it? No, of course not! He hated the idea of her giving up her freedom to anyone! But she was pretty set on it and if it allowed them plausible deniability then it was a way forward. Even if he was sure it was also an excuse for her to have one last shot at him. She was as eager to throw hands with him as he was to throw hands with her... weird how that worked wasnt it? As for the soldiers they weren't sure what to think. Most of them didn't look ready for a real fight with GUN.

" You are right i don't like it, but... If we had no choice i guess it's a good plan. I just don't know if GUN will buy it or worse try and take us both out... "

He sighed and gripped his wrist rubbing it as if it was sore

" I still think this is a whacked out idea, you giving yourself up and all... Belle will agree with me i'm sure! Giving yourself up to GUN no matter the good intentions is bound to be bad for you... i know you are dead set on this--- but i wanna say it one last time! there has to be a better way..."

Surge wouldn't even get a chance to respond before Lanolin came over the intercom. Calling Sonic, and the others back to the Command center. Which had sonic looking up at a nearby speaker. This was either Lanolin having a killer idea, or bad news for everyone. Sonic was leaning toward bad news... he just felt it in his gut.

" Looks like we might not get a say either way... you need a lift Belle? i bet she'd want you there to..."

He'd hold his hand out to Belle offering to take her to the command center with him. Either way it seemed like this was the end game, either they pulled out victory or GUN Won and restoration came crashing down.

===============================================

Miles tried to ignore how displeased Kit was with calling him his friend. That said he didn't intend to stop calling him that, he wanted to be Kit's friend. But seemed like no matter what he did they'd always be enemies. Chaos was he pulling a Sonic on this one? He didn't want to think about it. But Kit was right about seeing through the holograms but the idea was just to buy them time to form a counter offensive.

" You aren't wrong a sharp eye can see through them, but its meant more to just make the enemy pause. This is a deterrent after all not a means of attack. "

He tapped his chin and slowly looked up to the roof

" As for water... if things do get dicey we can set off the sprinklers. That should flood the room with water and give you enough offense to push back any attack. Heh you ever thought about hydroscopic water filtration for your pack? is always water in the air, you could probably pull water in that way, slowly refilling your pack over time. "

The head Nurse only smiled at the two seeing the tension and fidgeting with her Wispeon. She let the two speak before placing a hand on her hip and speaking up with a cheerful tone!

" Why holograms? I can alwaos duplicate more of myself! i can do around 200 at max... though that's stressing myself a bit. The more i create the less intelligent the copies become. but if you just need me to stand around and look intimidating... we can do that! Though i'd prefer not getting myself killed as it were--- i kind of remember when that happens... its not pleasant. "

She squeaked as if remembering several moments her copies died, and she had to deal with the consequences. Miles figured anything the copy experienced she also experienced. So they were probably a sort of hive mind, the more copies there were, the more connections she made the more of her was spread out among the copies. So this was how Altiss kept his base safe--- his nurse was a real power house when you thought about it from a numbers game. Though clearly she was acting brave, and probably not a good fighter.

" Neat... i gotta say that's a killer gift... but let's not put you in more danger then your in. Plus, you have patients to care for to... let's just stick to holograms... unless we need the extra firepower. "

Miles stopped as the intercom went live, and Lanolins message went out calling all of them to the command center. He gave Kit a glance wondering what changed but, guessed they should grab the belle bot and head to the command center. though he hoped Dawn and the others would be ok till they returned.

" Guess Lanolin is up to something... might as well put our plans on hold for now... "

"They can have all their fucking plans all they want, though it don't mean shit if I can speed blitz all there ass with my Speed of Lightning. If that happens you can play hero and 'stop' me, though that's only if we they start shit. I know you'll complain, though wouldn't hurt to put you in GUNs good graces while also hurting the numbers they got here, right?" Surge seemed to be actually thinking this out for once.

"Hey, don't go doing anything dumb either. I mean, at this point you've displayed a lot of your powers already, and who's to say they don't have counter measures. I know you have some sort of secret ability, though that's not certain to work." Belle had limited data on Surge, though hoped she could at least talk them out of doing anything dangerous.

"I ain't going to kill anyone, or even hurt them that bad. Mainly fuck up all their weapons and shit. This is a chance to play mind game with these fuckers right back, and who better than someone who's already a criminal. They think they have everything figured out, I'll prove them fucking wrong." Despite saying this Surge was sure Sonic would throw a fit and refuse.

"What do you lot think?" Surge asked, turning to all the soldiers. "I know you don't really like me, and there are reasons for that, though I saw we use it to put pressure on GUN. It'd look even fucking worse if they arrest Sonic after he saved their own soldiers, right? Maybe even win a few over." A low blow trying to turn the soldiers one her side.

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"Then the only draw back to using holograms is a tech specialist with a trained eye seeing through it as I doubt either of use could make a picture perfect hologram. We'll have to hope we have luck on our side and they aren't able to see through them." Kitsunami himself could see through a hologram rather easily so couldn't doubt an agency like GUN wouldn't have someone on that level as well.

"I'm NOT his friend." Kitsunami didn't seem too pleased about Miles calling him his friend, though wasn't going to gripe about it. The fennec was fine with letting the vulpine handle the talking while he observed all the defense's mentioned and begin to think of a plan to execute the false defenses. Already he had one.

"Then the most logical course of action is make hologram of the turrets seeing as the nurse's are real and armed. Make them think we have more firepower than we actually do. If they do attack also barricading the blast doors as well will add even more defense." Kitsunami was sure with all that then this would be one of the safer places in The Restoration.

"That said, I only have a limited supply of water in my hydro pack so I'd have to worry about conservation. If anyone is available I could do with people starting to gather as much water as possible and bring it here. This way I can be far more effective in battle and do wider rangers of attack and damage." Kitsunami wouldn't be surprised if they went on the attack they'd come in with heavy force.