#intellect trio

[mai-mai-lim]

oooo interesting, a hypothetical intellect... quartet? Yeah, Intellect Quartet. How about it?

Ashley knew her words well, if anything she can help convince people about what the intellect gang are up, for the best reason...

inb4 30 mins later she quitted after she saw what they are doing.

@00lari00 (tagging ya cause i drew pollo again yipee)

ANYWAY, I LOVE THE DOODLES YOU DID! <3 <3 <3

A gift for @smoresthehalloweenqueen thanks to this post!

I thought this was funny lol

Ashley belongs to @mai-mai-lim

Cam belongs to @rarestdoge

Brutus belongs to @smoresthehalloweenqueen

And my baby picoletto belongs to @00lari00 ♥️

[fiapple]

i'm getting towards the end of the skypeia arc, & i'd like to say just how much i adore the way the female strawhats have been treated.

just... every aspect of how the way their characters have been previously contextualized influences the story-line is treated with a masterful amount of consideration. we're given so many layers to both of them that enrich not only their characters specifically, but the arc, and the one piece world as a whole. without nami & robin having their specific skills, and their specific values, without those being built upon, the story would have come to a halt.

you could not have skypeia without nami & robin being who they are as individuals. not just because they never would've gotten there without nami, but also because the way these women think is itself foundational to the machinations of the arc as a whole.

to be totally upfront, if you think any other strawhats were more central to the skypeia arc than nami & robin were you are full-on fucking lying to yourself.

[00lari00]

Some memes I made just because yes

I saw a video almost like this and I wanted to make a meme about it with my ocs and my friends' ocs XDDD ENJOY??

Danny belongs to @capturecharlesau

Crusher belongs to @jaytoons7

Violin and accordion belongs to @bluetorchsky

Brutus belongs to @smoresthehalloweenqueen

Camaron belongs to @rarestdoge

[magnecalliope]

This gave me a sudden blast to the past when I spent a lot of time on TV Tropes, and I ended up taking a peak at the Power Trio page which has some interesting archetypes these three could potentially fit into:

The Freudian Trio is the first one I ended up on, from the Red Oni, Blue Oni page. The Id, or Red Oni, is the one representing emotion, passion, wildness, defiance. The Superego, or Blue Oni, is the more reserved and intellectual of the two. The Ego is the one who balances the two.

Physical, Mystical, and Technological is another, though perhaps not as suiting because Mystical does not quite describe Ros as well as Physical and Technological describes Clown and Sneeg, plus Clown has his hands in a fair share of Mysticism with the prestiged enchanting skill.

Masculine, Feminine, Androgyne Trio is the next which feels pretty self explanatory. Clown's cubito doesn't represent any specific gender like Sneeg and Ros do, making him the androgynous of the three.

Knight, Knave, and Squire is the last trio archetype that I looked at. The Knight is the idealistic fighter, I would say someone who values chivalry and fairness in battle, which is Clown. The Knave is the pragmatic and cynical one, which sounds like Sneeg with his two shot Gun attack. The Squire, of course being Ros, is the inexperienced or noncombatant member of the trio. Interestingly, it appears the Knight is more associated with the Superego than with the Id, while the Knave can be either the Id or the Superego. The actual human people behind these characters are obviously going to be more complex than the limitations of a trope can handle, so it makes sense that Clown would both care about the rules of engagement for battle as well as be driven by a passion for bloodshed.

A really fun coincidence with LOSA is that even their colors match up. Clown is red, Sneeg is blue and Ros is the purple that brings them together.

Do you see my vision? (Ignore the fact that Sneeg's current skin has no blue. His branding is entirely blue)

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you please do one where the reader is Stan and ford’s childhood friend? I’d imagine that they would both be SUPER protective, and later in adulthood they move in with does to help with his research. Stanley and ford secretly developed a crush on them over time but neither have admitted their feelings 🤭🤭

I made this one too fucking long as well the to might need to make a part two as not to overwhelming people.

You probably threw sand in some bullies eyes when they didn’t leave poor Ford alone/ and or comforted Ford alongside Stan afterwards bc confrontation wasn’t your thing. Either way it didn’t take long for you, Stan and Ford to become a well known trio in the town of New Jersey, one was never seen without the other two trailing behind.

You three were inseparable.

Ford was the brains and intellect

Stan was the protective fighter

And you were the mediator, the confidant, the person who’d encourage the twins to keep moving forward for that was the only way to go.

The mystery trio you called yourselves as you’d spend countless hours on the beech, searching for the abnormal and mysterious with nothing but your flashlights and determination to make a name for yourselves.

You didn’t give a shit about Ford’s six fingers, you thought they were cool and told him often that you were jealous.

‘Why?’ He’d ask.

‘It’s cooler to be different than it is to fit in the norm.’ You’d tell him as you’d both sit somewhere overlooking the beach, hearing the cries of seagulls and the crashing of the waves against the sandy beaches. ‘One day everyone is going to try and find something abnormal about themselves to fit in, as though they weren’t the same people who’d shun people for being a little different. They’ll never admit that they’re the bad guy and all they want is attention and will throw a tantrum when they don’t get it.’

You then placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘So don’t listen to them Stanford, you’ll make a name of yourself one day and they’ll all flock to you like moths to a flame. High six?’ You raised your hand.

‘High six.’ Ford replied as you high-fived/ high-sixed each other.

Their dad didn’t like you but you didn’t give a shit because you didn’t like him all that much either with how he treated Stanley in comparison to Ford and would often refuse to go to their house when you knew he was there.

Shermie pines however adored you for keeping her boys in line and being their friend and practically adopted you into the family as she would then move her attention to her sons.

‘So which one of you is going to fall for them first?’ She would ask as Stan and Ford look at her with flustered cheeks.

‘They’re just a friend!’

‘Yeah a friend!’ The twins defective words would overlap which didn’t help their matching blushes that looked like cherry tomatoes by now.

Shermie would then throw her arms over the boys’ shoulders and said. ‘That’s what they all say until it becomes harder to ignore what you truly feel for them. Now it might be platonic but what about later on in the future where you look at them and suddenly think about planning a future with them.’

Now at this point neither Ford nor Stan truly understand what they felt for you at the time, they only thought they were being your protective friends who’d glare at whoever from behind your back if they caught them looking at you weird. They thought they were looking out for you much like you did for them as they stood on either side of you like two towering towers.

After all they didn’t have that many friends besides each other form such a young and so having you in their corner made you all the more special to the brothers.

You and Stan would playfully rough house, doddle in the margins of a notebook or write in code that you’ve only just made up on the spot to one, another and just do dumb goofy stuff in your spare time.

You and Ford would read, come up with theories about the things in New Jersey to make them more interesting than they were, go on a ‘monster chase of the week’ type of adventures when you were bored and in need of thrills.

Stan and Ford were your boys and you would have their backs no matter what as they always had yours in return. Much how like you made Cathy’s life hell after she threw punch at Ford, thinking that standing in solidarity with him as you and Stan both threw punch at each other and making a right ass of yourselves in order to make Ford feel better.

You and Stan then tp’d the bitches house and probably caused property damage but if they couldn’t see the person who did it, then did it actually happened in the first place? (Stans logical explanation to why tp someone’s house in the dead of night was a great guise.)

Or the time you had gotten stood up on a date and Stan threatened the beat the little shit up while Ford - equally as upset at the coward who stood you up- was more focused on comforting you and reminding you of your self worth and how it should be dictated by you alone and not some temporary crush.

You thought that it would be you, Ford and Stanley against everyone, that you’d get to live with them until you were old and grey but life ultimately took you and Ford in different directions from Stanley, who at this point had resorted to conning people for a living after being kicked out of the house by his cunt of a father.

The rift between the brothers that you though wouldn’t split from another for more then five minutes was larger then you’d like to admit, and it broke your heart to see them stand across from one another rather then beside each other.

Your parents refused to take him in afterwards despite your begging and pleading that you’ll do better in school if they house Stanley for a while. Needless to say you were gutted about not having your friend in your life that you didn’t take to your parents for a good while.

You did fairly well in school and ended up in Backupsmore university with Ford, who found a new friend in fiddleford and spent countless days and nights in the library doing extensive studies on the abnormal and the mysterious. You and Ford didn’t have as much time for each other as you use to as kids, that and you couldn’t contact Stanley who was god knows where, god knows what and getting into a fuckton of trouble. You missed it when days were a hell of a lot more simpler but that’s not how life worked and you were being told this constantly.

Ford was excelling at everything while you were average at best and while Ford tried to help, he could tell your heart wasn’t in to listening what he had to say and he knew the reason why.

‘You miss Stan.’ He says one day when you came to his dorm for help.

‘And you don’t seem to miss him one bit.’ You replied as you doodled a cartoon version of yourself, Stan and Ford celebrating a well earned victory over some weird lake monster that had a comedically large bump on it head.

‘He ruined his own life y/n why can’t you accept that.’ He reminds you but it was obvious that you weren’t so willing to hear him out as you use to be. ‘I could’ve helped him Ford, I could’ve!’ You cried.

‘But he didn’t want your help, he was on the path of self destruction and he didn’t want you getting caught in the aftermath of it all.’ Ford said as he placed his hand on your shoulder, much like you did to him when you were younger. ‘Stan is stubborn but wouldn’t avoid you for no reason.’ Ford adds as you look at him.

‘And how would you know that?’ You asked, brow raised.

‘Because I wouldn’t avoid you for no reason either.’ Ford admitted and you swore your saw a blush cut across his face. This conversation never gets brought up again by Ford as no matter how often you reminded him of it, he’s try to change the subject to something else entirely with a nervous laugh and shifty eyes.

You knew something was up and hated being left in the dark but you knew Ford was equally as stubborn as his brother, whether that’s something he’d like to admit or not. However life moved on and so did you as soon you found yourself becoming Ford’s assistant and moving to Gravity Falls, a small town not on any map but had a reputation for being a little odd much like its residence.

[xichilie]

Phainon x (fem)reader (5)

Part1 Part2 Part3 Part4 Part5

The trio followed the riverside, the water shimmering faintly with an otherworldly glow. Despite the beauty of their surroundings, the dynamic between them remained as lively—and chaotic—as ever.

“Would you look at that?” Y/N said, stopping to admire the bioluminescent moss creeping along the rocks near the riverbank. She crouched down, running her fingers gently over the glowing surface. “It’s so soft! And warm, too. This place is incredible.”

“Right?” Phainon said, crouching beside her, his face lighting up just as much as the moss. “Do you think it’s, like, magical? Or maybe it’s alive! Oh, what if it’s some kind of ancient ecosystem—”

“Or what if we keep moving,” Mydei interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he stomped past them. “You know, like we’re supposed to? In case you forgot, we’re tracking thieves, not auditioning for a nature documentary.”

“Oh, come on, Mydei,” Y/N said, standing up with a grin. “You can’t tell me this place isn’t a little amazing. Look at it! It’s like something out of a dream.”

Mydei cast a bored glance at the glowing moss, the glistening water, and the towering ruins around them. “Wow. A glowy rock. Truly groundbreaking.”

“You’re hopeless,” Y/N said, shaking her head.

“Hey,” Phainon chimed in, walking backward beside her as they resumed their trek. “Don’t be too hard on him, Y/N. Mydei’s just jealous he doesn’t appreciate the finer things in life. Like moss. And friendship.”

“Friendship?” Mydei echoed, shooting him a flat look. “I’m this close to leaving you in this ruin.”

Y/N laughed, glancing at Phainon. “Careful, Phainon. You might push him over the edge.”

“Good,” Mydei muttered. “At least then I’d have some peace.”

As they continued along the riverbank, Phainon suddenly stopped and pointed ahead. “Wait! Look there—on the ground! Are those… traces?”

Y/N immediately moved to inspect the muddy ground, her eyes narrowing as she studied the faint traces. “They’re fresh,” she confirmed, brushing her fingers over the marks. “ The thieves must’ve come this way.”

“Finally, some progress,” Mydei said, his tone more relieved than annoyed for once. “Let’s move before we lose the trail again.”

Phainon peered down at the prints, his expression thoughtful. “You know… this probably means we’re catching up to them.”

“Brilliant deduction, Phainon,” Mydei said dryly, already walking ahead. “I’m sure that’s why you’re here. For your razor-sharp intellect.”

“Hey!” Phainon called after him, putting his hands on his hips. “I’ll have you know I’m very smart! Y/N thinks so—don’t you, Y/N?”

Y/N looked up from the traces, her lips twitching in amusement. “Sure, Phainon. You’re the brains of the operation.”

“See?” Phainon said triumphantly, gesturing toward Y/N. “She gets it.”

“Yeah,” Mydei muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the river. “Because you’re so subtle about wanting her approval.”

Phainon blinked, his cheeks tinting pink. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he stammered, glancing nervously at Y/N, who was thankfully too focused on the trail to notice.

“Of course you don’t,” Mydei said, smirking as he continued walking. “It’s not like you’ve been trailing her like a lovesick puppy since we got here.”

“I—!” Phainon spluttered, his face growing redder. “I’m not a puppy! And I’m definitely not lovesick!”

“Sure,” Mydei said, his smirk widening. “Whatever you say.”

Y/N, oblivious to their exchange, stood up and dusted off her hands. “The trail leads toward the ruins up ahead. Let’s pick up the pace.”

Phainon immediately straightened, his usual grin snapping back into place. “Right! Let’s go. Lead the way, fearless leader!”

Mydei groaned audibly. “Oh, for the love of… Just try not to trip over anything this time, Phainon.”

“I don’t trip!” Phainon shot back, puffing out his chest.

“You trip constantly,” Mydei said flatly.

“Name one time!”

“The vine,” Mydei said immediately.

“That doesn’t count!”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head as the three of them continued down the trail, the sound of their voices echoing through the ruins. The chase was on, but the chaos was far from over.

The group walked further along the winding riverside, the ruins growing more intricate with every step. Stone pillars lined the path, their carvings faded but still awe-inspiring. Y/N and Phainon, however, seemed more interested in entertaining themselves than marveling at the architecture—or staying serious about their mission.

“Okay, but hear me out,” Phainon said, barely able to contain his laughter. “If you had to name this moss, what would you call it?”

Y/N tilted her head, pretending to consider the glowing moss clinging to the nearby stones. “Hmm… probably something dramatic. Like… Radiant Glowmoss.”

Phainon gasped, his eyes wide with mock admiration. “Radiant Glowmoss?! That’s perfect! It’s so regal—just like you!”

“Aw, Phainon,” Y/N said with a grin. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Ugh, please stop,” Mydei groaned from up ahead, dragging a hand down his face. “We’re in the middle of a literal chase, and you’re naming moss. I can’t believe this is my life.”

Phainon leaned closer to Y/N, whispering loud enough for Mydei to hear, “He’s just mad he didn’t think of Radiant Glowmoss first.”

“Obviously,” Y/N whispered back with an exaggerated nod.

“I heard that,” Mydei deadpanned, not bothering to look back.

Phainon straightened up and grinned. “Good! Maybe you’ll finally admit you’re jealous of our superior creativity.”

“Oh, I’m jealous, all right,” Mydei said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Jealous of the brain cells you two clearly left behind when we entered these ruins.”

“Don’t listen to him, Phainon,” Y/N said, patting Phainon’s shoulder. “We’re visionaries. He just doesn’t get it.”

“Exactly!” Phainon said, puffing out his chest like he’d just been knighted.

Mydei stopped walking and turned to face them, his expression one of pure, unfiltered exasperation. “Visionaries? Really? You’re laughing about moss and whispering like schoolchildren, and I’m supposed to take you seriously?” He pointed at them accusingly. “Do you even remember why we’re here?”

Y/N and Phainon exchanged a look, barely able to contain their laughter.

“To… catch thieves?” Y/N said, her voice laced with playful innocence.

“Obviously,” Phainon added, raising his hands like that should’ve been clear all along.

“Then act like it!” Mydei snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re tracking dangerous criminals, not wandering through a garden on a field trip!”

Phainon tilted his head, his grin widening. “But wouldn’t this make an amazing field trip, though? Just imagine it—‘Welcome to the Glowing Ruins of Radiant Glowmoss!’” He gestured dramatically, like a tour guide presenting an exhibit.

Y/N burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “Stop, you’re going to make me fall over.”

“I might fall over, too!” Phainon said, joining in her laughter.

Mydei stared at them for a long moment, his expression blank as if his soul had officially left his body. Then, with a sigh so heavy it might have cracked the stone ruins, he turned on his heel and kept walking.

“Fine,” he muttered. “When the thieves ambush us, I’ll just let them take you both. See if they enjoy your comedy routine.”

“You wouldn’t!” Phainon called after him, still grinning.

“Try me,” Mydei shot back without turning around.

“Aw, come on, Mydei!” Y/N said, jogging to catch up with him, her laughter still fading. “You know you’d miss us.”

“I’d miss the silence,” Mydei muttered, though his lips twitched like he was holding back a smirk.

Phainon ran up beside Y/N, still chuckling. “Admit it, Mydei—you love us.”

“If it’ll shut you up, sure,” Mydei said flatly, shaking his head.

As the group moved deeper into the ruins, their footsteps echoed alongside the sound of Phainon’s cheerful banter, Y/N’s occasional giggles, and Mydei’s exasperated sighs.

__________

Tribbie darted through the ruins, her small frame weaving around broken columns and overgrown vines. The sound of her hurried footsteps echoed in the silence, but she didn’t slow down—not when her friends needed her.

She finally spotted Dan Heng and Trailblazer in the distance, standing near an ancient stone archway. Dan Heng was examining some faded carvings on the wall, his expression calm but focused, while Trailblazer leaned casually against the arch, arms crossed, watching him.

“Hey!” Tribbie called out, her voice carrying through the ruins.

Both of them turned at the sound of her voice. Dan Heng lowered his hand from the carvings, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly in concern. Trailblazer straightened up, their casual stance shifting into readiness.

“Tribbie?” Trailblazer asked as she approached, slightly out of breath. “What’s going on?”

Tribbie stopped a few feet in front of them, placing her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “It’s Y/N. She… she fell into a pit.”

Dan Heng’s brows furrowed immediately. “What?”

“A pit?” Trailblazer repeated, their voice laced with alarm.

Tribbie nodded, her blue eyes wide. “Yeah, we were following those weird traces, and she was examining something. The ground gave way, and she just—” Tribbie mimed falling with her hands, her face serious. “—went straight down. Mydei and Phainon tried to stop her, but it all happened too fast.”

Dan Heng’s jaw tightened. “How deep?”

“Really deep,” Tribbie said grimly. “I couldn’t see the bottom. Mydei and Phainon stayed behind—they were trying to figure out how to get to her. But I thought it’d be faster if I came to find you.”

Trailblazer exchanged a glance with Dan Heng. “And you don’t know if she’s okay?”

Tribbie shook her head. “No idea. But Mydei and Phainon seemed sure she’d be fine......., so that’s something, right?”

Dan Heng gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. “You did the right thing coming to us. We’ll need to move quickly.”

Tribbie straightened up, determination written all over her face. “I figured you’d say that. Let’s go!”

Trailblazer placed a hand on Tribbie’s shoulder as they began walking. “You’re sure they stayed at the pit?”

“They did,” Tribbie confirmed. “Phainon was already trying to come up with some grand plan when I left. And Mydei… well, he was trying to keep Phainon from doing anything too reckless.”

Dan Heng sighed softly. “That sounds about right.”

Tribbie gave a small smile. “Yeah. But still, I think they’ve got it under control—for now. We just need to get there as fast as possible.”

Trailblazer nodded, quickening their pace. “Then let’s not waste any time.”

As they made their way through the ruins, Tribbie kept quiet, her usual cheerful demeanor tempered by the seriousness of the situation. But deep down, she felt confident. They’d find Y/N, and everything would be fine. It had to be.

Tribbie led Dan Heng and Trailblazer into the temple-like room, her steps quick and anxious. The moment they entered, the atmosphere shifted. The air felt heavier, damp with an earthy smell, and faint streams of light filtered in through cracks in the stone ceiling. Their gazes were immediately drawn to the massive pit in the center of the room—its jagged edges proof of where Y/N had fallen earlier.

But something else stood out, or rather, the absence of something.

“They’re not here,” Dan Heng said sharply, scanning the room.

Tribbie blinked, turning in a quick circle. “What?!” She rushed toward the pit, her blue eyes darting to the empty edges where Phainon and Mydei were supposed to have been waiting. “No, no, they have to be here! I told them to stay behind!”

Trailblazer frowned, stepping closer to the pit as well. “Maybe they went after her,” they offered, their voice calm but tinged with worry.

Tribbie gritted her teeth. “But why would they just leave without saying anything? They knew I was bringing help!”

Dan Heng was already analyzing the room, his sharp gaze moving from the pit to the surrounding walls, looking for any signs of movement. “They might not have left on their own,” he said quietly. “But let’s confirm something first.”

Trailblazer knelt near the edge of the pit, peering into the darkness below. “You can’t see anything down there,” they murmured, picking up a loose rock from the ground. “Let’s find out how deep it is.”

Before anyone could stop them, Trailblazer lobbed the rock into the pit. They leaned forward, ears straining as it fell. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, the sound of the rock vanishing into the void. Then, after a long pause, the faint splash of water echoed back to them.

Tribbie’s breath hitched. “Water?”

“It’s a long fall,” Trailblazer muttered, standing up and brushing their hands off. “There’s definitely water down there. They must’ve fallen into it.”

“Or they jumped in,” Dan Heng added, his arms crossed. His sharp gaze fixed on Trailblazer, who had already started unfastening their coat.

“What are you doing?” Dan Heng asked, his tone even but firm.

“I’m jumping down to check,” Trailblazer said simply, shrugging off their coat.

Dan Heng stepped forward and grabbed the back of their shirt before they could move. “You’re not jumping in,” he said flatly.

Trailblazer turned to glare at him. “Why not? There’s water at the bottom. I’ll be fine.”

Dan Heng narrowed his eyes. “Because if you jump in, how do you plan to get back out? Or bring anyone else up? If all of us end up down there, we’ll be stuck with no way out.”

Tribbie raised a hesitant hand. “He… uh, he has a point,” she offered.

Trailblazer sighed in frustration but didn’t try to break free from Dan Heng’s grip. “So, what’s the plan, then? Just leave them down there?”

Dan Heng shook his head. “No. We’ll figure out a way to get everyone back up later. But for now, we should focus on finding a way to help them when we’re better prepared. We can’t act recklessly.”

Tribbie nodded quickly. “Right. And if Phainon and Mydei aren’t here, they probably went down after Y/N. We can assume they’re all together. They’re resourceful; they’ll figure something out until we can get to them.”

Trailblazer huffed but relented, folding their arms. “Fine. But we need to move fast.”

Dan Heng glanced around the room, his expression calculating. “If this pit is connected to other parts of the ruins, there’s a chance we can find another way down. We just need to follow the traces left behind.”

Tribbie frowned, scanning the floor. “Traces? What traces? It’s not like Phainon and Mydei left a trail of breadcrumbs or something.”

Dan Heng gestured to faint scuff marks near the edge of the pit. “Look closer. Someone was here. These marks suggest movement—possibly when they entered the pit. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

“So they did jump in,” Trailblazer muttered, glancing back at the dark hole.

“Likely,” Dan Heng replied. “But if they were able to survive, so can we—if we approach this carefully.”

Tribbie let out a deep breath, her fists clenched at her sides. “Alright. Let’s find another way to them. I don’t care if it takes all day. We’re getting them back.”

Dan Heng nodded in agreement, and the trio turned their focus back to the room, searching for an alternative route to reach their companions below.

_______________________________________

That's them btw:

[birdsandbeetlesandmoths]

So. Sonic 3. That was. certainly. hoo boy *collapses to the sound of a metal pipe falling*

Spoilers and thoughts under cut (LONG POST)

Well, my pre-movie post was SO WRONG. I think most stobotnik fans were, thinking that Stone would be the one dying. I- truly wasn’t expecting it.

I’ll get back to that in a second, let me get all of my silly things out of the way/the things i was hype about/had to crush my partner and friend’s hands about while witnessing.

The antics between Gerald and Ivo were expected but oh my GOD JIM CARREY. you are a national treasure, have fun in retirement. we will miss you greatly, but this being your final movie (probably) is a great thing to culminate your absolutely stunning career.

Anyway, their dance sequence was fucking insane, and as much as I was cringing, I was grinning through it too. The fight on the Eclipse cannon was also questionable BUT HOLY FUCK NOW I GET THE PRAYING MANTIS/FLY REFERENCE. (Thank god it wasn’t directly about stone and robotnik but i’m already cooking how i can connect them). Spanking? Also in my Sonic movie. But yeah.

Gerald and Ivo could never be more alike in intellect, but different in morals. Evident through Gerald’s fixation on avenging his daughter with no remorse or thought for whoever will get in the way, throwing away Ivo and the whole of the world as a result). He’s willing to kill himself, but as Shadow says and believes, that isn’t what Maria would have wanted.

I used to not like the Wachowskis. I was already a little unsettled when the first movie released by the fact that characters unrelated to previous Sonic media were being utilized as major plot elements, but during the second and third movies, I began to absolutely love them.

This third movie cemented that love. The father-son relationship between Tom and Sonic specifically. My heart was aching in the first scene at their little campsite, Happy BEarthday, and their heart-to-heart in Sonic’s old cave, talking about Choice (an analysis incoming) and that you always have a choice, and that your lungs (heart) will help you find the right one.

I think this movie might’ve done. One of the best jobs of displaying found family. The sibling relationship between Tails, Knuckles, and Sonic was the most heartrendingly beautiful and achingly real thing I’ve seen in a while. And it really hits you, the fact that they’re kids.

And the amount of silly little jokes, Tails having his gadgetry and Knuckles with his blunt personality, Sonic tying them all together with his wit and charm, it all became slightly surreal to see. To see something so happy, so delicately real.

Oh my god, on the trio, Knuckles saving both Sonic and Tails from falling to Earth. I was gasping that whole time, truly being sent into the moment. Movies and media rarely do that to me in the emotional sense.

AND AS FOR SHADOW AND MARIA

Holy fuck at least I was right about that part in my pre-movie wishes. I thought it was interesting how they adapted it, and it definitely made for it to be slightly more believable and less complicated.

But oh my gosh them. Skating around the lab, messing around together, introducing Shadow to that great 70s music and dancing, watching movies together and just being kids!! And don’t even get me started on the rooftop scene. Shadow was so vulnerable and self-conscious, and Maria comforted him in a way that touched me. Understands him in a way that no one else ever has, as everyone else only saw him as the experiment and the subject, while she saw him as his own person, with thoughts and emotions and curiosities.

It paralleled Sonic and Tom in the cinematography too, and the sentiment was all the same. That Shadow can choose who he wants to be. (I Am All I Am and Choice. Trust, it’s coming soon)

Maria and Shadow made me unbearably happy. It was all I could’ve ever asked for and more.

Shadow and Sonic were an absolutely crazy duo this show. Dude, in their fight versus each other? Both going Super and absolutely going at it, and Shadow having the absolute gall to accuse Sonic of not caring about his friends, that he was clearly here alone because he abandoned them, and mention Tom, which caused Sonic to go completely over the edge, and actually punch him straight into space and lose his Super.

Sonic and Shadow reconciling over their shared feeling of grief, Sonic sharing his pain, emphasizing the love that will be able to help them heal, Shadow reciprocating, and then Shadow remembering Maria after looking up at the stars, realizing, from Sonic’s words, that this truly wasn’t what Maria wanted, just that whole moon scene between them is living in my head rent free and I need to see it over and over again.

HOLYYY SHIT THEY PLAYED LIVE AND LEARN WHEN SUPER SONIC AND SUPER SHADOW TEAMED UP AND BEAT THE EVER LIVING FUCK OUT OF THOSE ROBOTS. Me and my friends were going so fucking insane in that theater.

Shadow remembering Maria (possibly for the last time) as he sacrifices himself to push the Eclipse cannon away from the place that Maria loved. Remembering all of the good moments, the love between them, that is all he wanted if he was going to leave the world for good. (Well, I mean, he’s still alive, but the amnesia route is still optional)

Sonic actually going slightly insane this movie was also very interesting to watch. His absolute- like, his vision went RED when Shadow mentioned Tom. That was what set him OFFFF. His abuse of the Master Emerald and even threatening his own best friends/siblings over this— god the emphasis of choice in this film I want to sob.

Also, yall already KNOW I WAS BALLING ABOUT THE AKIRA SLIDE, SNAPCUBE REFERENCES, AND EVERY TIME SHADOW BREATHED OR MOVED. Literally could not contain myself from absolutely sob-cry-screaming at Shadow and (Keanu did a great job btw) his entire story, his joy with Maria and his pain all after. (His Super form looked fuck beautiful, a new colorful hue every time I saw it)

All in all, Robotniks were hilarious, Maria and Shadow were beautifully tragic and just generally so so SO adorable and loving. I’m so glad that Tails and Knuckles got more serious appreciation and screen time this movie as well, because as much as Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles were sidelined in this movie (to put forth Robotniks and Shadow, understandably so), it still felt more fulfilling and real than in the second movie. Super forms continue to be beautiful onscreen, I would like to collapse and die from hearing ONE OK ROCK and Live and Learn.

AHEM. Now, clearly, I will be making a separate post solely about Stobotnik. Along with the multiple Stone-centric fics burning a hole in my brain and the choice and grief analyses awaiting my attention. Bear with me as I have SO MANY THOUGHTS.

We won. . . but at what cost.

My friends, my partner, you already know. We died and were promptly revived together in that theater.

[feroluce]

HOW DID RAPPA AND BOOTHILL END UP BEING SO SWEET???

Before 2.6 even dropped, they were being cute! In Rappa's Keeping Up With Star Rail, Boothill describes Rappa's creations as "high-tech ninjutsu" rather than equipment, or machines, or anything else that someone would have normally defaulted to. This is something Rappa is very proud of and insistent about in her work, and he respects that!

Even with those party join lines, he refers to her not as a Galaxy Ranger, but by her chosen title!

Rappa seems to get a lot of shit for how she talks, too, with people throughout the patch accusing her of playing around or not taking anything seriously. Boothill though is swift to correct that, that even if it sounds like nonsense, Rappa is someone to be respected and a force to be reckoned with. He seems to really admire her resolve, and especially her intellect! He has nothing but praise for her, it's so so sweet.

And the way she talks about him, too! Like there are. A lot of things you can say about a man like Boothill fjkdlsajk but she always speaks so admirably of him?

There's also the difference in nicknames- Rappa refers to every other person as "Ninja." And most of them are descriptions that you can pick up at a glance, or without knowing a person too deeply. Singer for Robin is obvious, everyone knows who she is. Gama for Reca means "toad," which is a reference to the assistant director he always has with him. Baseball Bat for the trailblazer is also obvious. Ruri for March 7th means "lapis lazuli" which is probably a reference to her Six Phase Ice, or even her appearance since she looks like if a Stellar Jade became human. Hiryu for Dan Heng is actually "flying dragon" but it's also a famous video game reference so I'm only willing to put so much stock into that one fjkdsjakd and besides, she could have easily heard about March 7th and Dan Heng from Boothill, since he talks about the dango trio to Rappa, too.

But Boothill! Rappa refers to Boothill as "Silvergun Shura," with Shura being a reference to Asura, a demigod of war. It's a name used to describe someone fighting a relentless, inhumane war and desperately seeking victory. It also refers to a level of hell, governed by anger and pain. Both interpretations suit him strongly. It's not really a title you could give just looking at someone. It's something you'd have to know them at least a little more deeply for.

Boothill also very distinctly lacks the common ninja title- instead, in the EN translation, Rappa calls him Lord. It's a highly respectable title even in the original Chinese, apparently akin to addressing reigning royalty.

She just. Seems to respect and admire him so much? It's so so sweet?

And despite how often it's stated that Galaxy Rangers tend to work and travel alone, it seems these two are at least fairly familiar with each other, which makes me really happy! In an instance of beautiful timing, just today Hoyo released a new text convo, and! When she wants someone to hang out with, Boothill was one of the first people Rappa thought of!

Rappa knew Dan Heng because Boothill talked about him. She knew about Clockwork. Boothill has spoken with her often enough and long enough to know how deeply her hatred ran, and to be upset for her when Primon got away.

They both speak so positively of each other, even when one is out of of earshot. They openly show a ton of respect and admiration for one another, and the way they talk about each other is more than just two people who happen to be part of the same faction. They know each other more closely than that. Boothill is only in Penacony at all because of Rappa, and Rappa trusted Boothill enough to seek him out for this.

My favorite, though? The part I considered the cutest?

Rappa literally went all the way to the Luofu just to watch Boothill fight in the Luminary Wardance.

[aventurineswife]

A working out date with Veritas and Kaveh (and other characters you see fit since it's a very open scenario). Bonus points if reader started flirting with them like a gym creep and asking for their numbers (as a joke, obviously, since they're already in an established relationship).

Sweat, Smiles, and Surprises

Summary: You, Kaveh, and Dr. Ratio share a gym date filled with banter and flirtation. When you jokingly flirt with both of them, asking for their numbers, the two respond with teasing and charm, all while showcasing their distinct personalities. As the workout progresses, the chemistry between the trio grows, blending Kaveh’s passion and Ratio’s intellect, leading to a perfect moment of connection and camaraderie.

Tags: Kaveh x Reader x Ratio, Fluff, Humor, Lighthearted Banter, Gym Workout Established Relationship, Playful Flirting.

Warnings: Mild teasing and playful flirtation

The gym was bustling with energy, the sound of weights clanking and people motivating each other filling the air. Kaveh, who had long since gotten over his initial hesitation about working out, was using the time as a way to clear his mind from the burdens of his architecture projects. His sharp eyes focused intently on his workout, his toned arms flexing with each movement, his elegant cape tucked to the side to avoid any interference.

You were there too, stretching nearby and trying to get in a quick warm-up before your workout. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at Kaveh, his elegance and strength making him stand out even in a gym. You’d been in a committed relationship with both him and Ratio for a while now, and each day with them felt like an adventure of its own.

Today, though, was different. Today, you were feeling particularly bold.

"Hey, Kaveh," you called over, letting your voice drop to a playful tone. "You’ve got such great form. Mind if I get your number?"

Kaveh stopped mid-rep, looking at you with a slightly furrowed brow before breaking into an amused smirk. "You’re already in a relationship with me," he teased, shaking his head. "I’m not sure you need to flirt to get my number."

You laughed, your voice light. "Well, it’s just a joke, Kaveh. But, you know… maybe I want to make sure you’re always on speed dial, in case I need some architectural advice."

At the same time, you noticed Ratio, clad in his signature black vest and striking arm braces, walking toward you both. His hair gleamed in the light, and his confident, sharp stride exuded intellect. His eyes locked on you, and for a moment, you could see a flash of curiosity behind his usual assured demeanor.

"Well, well," Ratio said, his voice smooth and self-assured. "It seems like I’ve walked in at just the right moment. I see Kaveh’s clearly doing fine with his workout. But, I must say, I find myself intrigued by your flirtation, [Name]. Would you perhaps be interested in my number as well?"

You grinned, tossing the playful banter right back at him. "Of course, Ratio. I’m just here to make sure all the smart, handsome men are well-equipped for their workouts. Maybe you could give me some pointers on how to properly engage my brain while I work out. After all, a good mind can really elevate a workout, don’t you think?"

Kaveh laughed, rolling his eyes. "You two are impossible."

But there was no mistaking the playful warmth in his voice. Despite his occasional teasing, Kaveh enjoyed moments like these—small, carefree exchanges that made him forget the weight of the world he often carried on his shoulders.

Ratio, on the other hand, chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the interaction. "It’s all in good fun, Kaveh. But I do think [Name] has a point. A sharp mind is important in any endeavor, including physical strength." He crossed his arms, leaning slightly to one side, as if trying to strike a pose. "Perhaps you could benefit from a few of my mental exercises while working out. They can help optimize your focus."

You raised an eyebrow. "Mental exercises while working out? Sounds like an interesting challenge. But let’s be clear: I’m not actually flirting for real. I’m just enjoying the attention of two charming geniuses," you added, glancing between Kaveh and Ratio.

Kaveh’s face softened at that, the playful teasing making way for the affection he felt for you. "Well, if you wanted attention, I’d say you’ve gotten it in spades," he said, offering a wink. "But let’s see if we can turn that attention into a solid workout."

Ratio, too, relaxed slightly, a rare smile curling on his lips. "I must admit, you’ve piqued my interest with your challenge. Fine, let’s turn this into a proper session then. I will show you both how true intellect can enhance even the simplest of exercises." His voice was laced with amusement, but there was no mistaking the challenge in his tone.

The three of you moved to a nearby set of weights, with Ratio giving pointers on posture and breathing while Kaveh eagerly jumped in, showing off his impressive form. You couldn’t help but laugh at how different yet complementary they were—Kaveh’s passion and energy contrasting sharply with Ratio’s quiet, focused intensity. But despite these differences, the way they worked together was almost seamless, their personalities harmonizing in an unexpectedly beautiful way.

As the workout wore on, you felt your muscles burn and your heart race. But more than that, you felt something even deeper—a sense of peace, a sense of belonging, as if all the parts of your life, both chaotic and calm, had come together in the most perfect way.

By the end of the session, the three of you were seated on a nearby bench, catching your breath, sweat glistening on your skin. Ratio wiped his forehead with a towel, his hair sticking slightly to his face. Kaveh leaned back with a content sigh, his arms behind his head.

"So," you began, still catching your breath, "we’re not really exchanging numbers, right?"

Kaveh chuckled softly. "You’ll always have mine, no need for a gym joke to get it."

Ratio gave a small smirk. "And you’ll always have mine as well, though I must say, I’m more partial to intellectual conversations than flirtations. But for you, [Name], I’ll make an exception." He looked at you with a slight gleam in his eye.

"Are you both always this charming?" you teased, leaning back into the bench.

Kaveh gave a lazy grin. "Only when we’re together."

The warmth between the three of you was undeniable, and though the gym session was over, the sense of connection lingered. Even if you were just joking about the numbers, it was clear that, in your little trio, there was something far stronger than any flirtation: trust, understanding, and a bond that could withstand anything.

As the gym began to empty out, the three of you stayed for a few more minutes, enjoying the peaceful moment of camaraderie before the world outside called you back to reality. It was, in every sense, the perfect workout date.

[capturecharlesau]

A lil gift for my sweet Picoletto <)

HERE ARE OUR BOOOYYYSSSSS :DDDDDDD Pollo Miller belongs to @00lari00

It’s ok to be nerdy when your with them :)

[cosmicalls]

if you like dead poets society, you may like these!

just for fun: a little list of movies, shows, and books i like that i feel have something in common with dps. hopefully you'll find something you'd like, too!

not in any particular order. just the order that i thought of them in really

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A Separate Peace

by John Knowles - published 1959

a coming-of-age novel set at an all-boys new england boarding school. follows two boys, Gene and Finny, and their experiences during the summer and winter sessions of 1942. talks a bit about WWII and what role the boys may have to play in that, but it stays pretty focused on the school and the emotions involved during this time in one's life. all the growth and transformation and oddly homoerotic, perhaps very codependent, friendship of a bildungsroman that we love to look for.

one of my personal favorite books, even considering that it was assigned reading. i truly believe many of you would like it and i know for a fact some of you can vouch for me

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The Perks of Being a Wallflower

by Stephen Chbosky - published 1999 movie adaptation: dir. Stephen Chbosky - released 2012

follows Charlie and his general struggles of high school and with being, well, a wallflower. from goodreads: "Caught between trying to live his life and trying to run from it puts him on a strange course through uncharted territory. The world of first dates and mixed tapes, family dramas and new friends. The world of sex, drugs, and The Rocky Horror Picture Show, when all one requires is that the perfect song on that perfect drive to feel infinite."

very emotional. that's all! i preferred the movie, but i liked the format of the book being completely in letters that Charlie was writing. they're both good! (if you watch the movie, the english teacher's name is Mr. Anderson. so do with that information what you will...!)

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Matilda

by Roald Dahl - published 1988 movie adaptation: dir. Danny DeVito - released 1996 musical adaptation: dir. Matthew Warchus - released 2022

a young girl with an aptitude for reading discovers she has telekinetic abilities at the same time she begins attending school. unfortunately, the principal is an extremely harsh woman, and none of the students seem to enjoy it there. Matilda uses her courage and newfound powers to change her environment for the better, both at school and in her abrasive home.

such a good movie, a childhood favorite. the musical has a great soundtrack too!

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Good Will Hunting

dir. Gus Van Sant - released 1997

a janitor is recognized as a mathematical genius by an MIT professor, and he goes on an emotional journey to embrace his intellect. starring Robin Williams, our dearly beloved inspiration, as the therapist Will goes to see for much of the film.

i only saw it once and my description is lacking but ooh it hurt...... just trust me on this one

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A Series of Unfortunate Events

by Lemony Snicket - published 1999-2006 tv series adaptation: aired 2017-2019

JUST HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE okay. it's about a trio of siblings, orphaned, who are shuttled from one parental unit to another while being followed by a man after their immense wealth. they quickly discover they are in the midst of an intellectual conflict in a secret organization. they must rely on only each other, seeing as all the adults around them are wildly incompetent and/or unhelpful. and it is filled to the brim with literary references!!

both versions have really fun and witty narration, and the tv adaptation is extremely faithful. i don't know how else to describe it without going overboard so i'll settle for not descriptive enough! just trust me. yes it is a kids' series and yes it is one of my favorites ever. it's the vibes of it all

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If We Were Villains

by M.L. Rio - published 2017

about a group of Shakespeare theater students at a very pretentious arts school who find themselves in a very high-tension dynamic following a disaster that occurs after their halloween performance of Macbeth. lots and lots of Shakespeare, lots of dramatics, and the book itself is divided into five acts.

i finished this in about two nights and it was extremely creatively inspiring. it was a bit predictable, but that's not a bad thing. it still had me clutching my pearls and dropping my jaw

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"The Artist of the Beautiful"

by Nathaniel Hawthorne - published 1844

a romantic era short story about a man who feels utterly trapped by his occupation. he would rather concern himself with the delicate beauty of nature, and he attempts to realize this in his passion project - much to the disdain of the people around him.

a bit of a sneak sorry. i just think it's just in line with neil's whole thing you know. it's a lot of long and flowery sentences but it works really well i promise

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The Breakfast Club

dir. John Hughes - released 1985

the letterboxd synopsis really says it all: "They only met once, but it changed their lives forever. | Five high school students from different walks of life endure a Saturday detention under a power-hungry principal. The disparate group includes rebel John, princess Claire, outcast Allison, brainy Brian and Andrew, the jock. Each has a chance to tell his or her story, making the others see them a little differently – and when the day ends, they question whether school will ever be the same."

i don't have much to add and to be honest! kind of a stretch for this list! but i have faith

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obviously there are other shows and movies with the dead poets society leads, but i wanted to sort of branch out a bit for the bulk of this list. i will still list the ones i had in mind though

House M.D. (2004-2012) - tv series about genius diagnostician Dr. Gregory House and his team at a hospital in new jersey. Robert Sean Leonard stars as House's best friend and head of oncology Dr. James Wilson. very comedic but also very heartwrenching.

Tape (2001) - three friends meet at a motel room and dredge up and argue over unpleasant events of the past. starring Ethan Hawke and Robert Sean Leonard.

Before Sunrise (1995) - from letterboxd: "A young man and woman meet on a train in Europe, and wind up spending one evening together in Vienna. Unfortunately, both know that this will probably be their only night together." Ethan Hawke plays one half of the lead duo.

and yeah there's a LOT more but those are the ones i've seen and sincerely recommend. not to say others aren't good but this is a (very) curated list you see.

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phew that's not as many as i thought i had in my back pocket but it's still pretty good. plus, there's some things i havent read/watched yet that perhaps would have made it but alas! such is life

absolutely add to the list if you'd like!! let's all share our favorite stories

[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: Cyno and Tighnari Sharing an S/O

Cyno and Tighnari have very different personalities, which creates a unique dynamic when sharing an S/O. Cyno is more stoic, serious, and dedicated to his duties as General Mahamatra, while Tighnari is practical, witty, and highly knowledgeable as a forest ranger. Their S/O loves how they balance each other—Cyno’s calm and strength with Tighnari’s intellect and humor.

Tighnari is often the one to tease both Cyno and their S/O. He’s quick-witted and enjoys playfully pointing out the odd quirks both of them have. He might casually tease Cyno about his terrible jokes, saying things like, “You really don’t need to subject *both* of us to these puns,” but secretly, he finds it endearing that Cyno tries so hard to amuse their S/O.

Cyno, on the other hand, is incredibly protective of both Tighnari and their S/O. He may not be as vocal about it as Tighnari, but his quiet, intense loyalty is always felt. He’s the type to stand guard while Tighnari and their S/O work in the forest, ensuring their safety. When the three of them are together, Cyno is constantly aware of their surroundings, watching over the people he cares about most.

Despite Cyno’s seriousness and Tighnari’s focus on practicality, the three of them often find peace in simple moments, like sitting together under the stars after a long day or sharing a quiet meal in the forest. Their S/O brings a sense of calm and warmth to both Cyno and Tighnari, allowing them to relax and enjoy the time spent together.

Cyno and Tighnari have a playful, friendly rivalry when it comes to winning over their S/O’s attention. Cyno, though not as vocal, might use his competitive side to try and one-up Tighnari during their conversations or in card games like Genius Invokation TCG. Tighnari, meanwhile, knows how to charm their S/O with his vast knowledge of plants, animals, and the environment, making Cyno roll his eyes but smile fondly all the same.

Cyno isn’t great with showing affection openly, but his S/O and Tighnari have learned to read between the lines. His small gestures, like offering his cloak when it’s cold or silently standing closer during dangerous situations, speak volumes. Tighnari might even joke about it, saying, “Cyno’s version of saying ‘I love you’ is standing like a silent bodyguard,” but it only makes their S/O appreciate Cyno’s subtle ways of caring even more.

In contrast, Tighnari is more forward with his affection. He loves to gently tease their S/O and Cyno, brushing his hand against theirs when talking or casually wrapping his arm around their shoulders. He’s also the one most likely to break the silence with a witty remark or joke, lightening the mood whenever things get too serious.

With their S/O, the trio finds a way to share responsibilities and maintain harmony. Cyno’s leadership and strategic mind, paired with Tighnari’s practicality and deep knowledge of nature, create a strong team. Their S/O loves how they can rely on both of them in different ways, whether it’s Cyno’s calm assurance in dangerous situations or Tighnari’s advice on practical matters.

Both Cyno and Tighnari have their own ways of showing care for their S/O. Tighnari, as a forest ranger and healer, is naturally more attentive to their physical well-being, always making sure they’re well-fed, hydrated, and healthy. Cyno, though quieter, is always there with a steady hand, offering a reassuring presence and making sure they feel safe, no matter the circumstances.

Sometimes, Cyno and Tighnari get into playful disagreements over how to best care for their S/O. Tighnari might insist that their S/O needs rest, while Cyno believes they’re ready for more action. Their S/O often laughs at the two, appreciating how much they care, knowing they’ll always have two very different but equally supportive people by their side.

In the end, the balance of Cyno’s protectiveness and Tighnari’s humor and care creates a fulfilling, dynamic relationship. Their S/O is the anchor that brings them together, making their trio stronger than the sum of its parts.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[inkedbydave]

sometimes i still think about kit, ty and livvy and i start to cry, naturally.

so here's ty the genius detective, livvy the heart of the operation, and kit the sarcastic stray they adopt along the way. held together by love and a shared talent for breaking rules.

they were too powerful, too balanced, too perfect a unit - cassie clare had to nerf them for plot reasons because no villain, faerie war, or cohort nonsense could stand a chance against the combined force of their dynamic. kit with his sharp instincts and street smarts, ty with his genius-level deduction skills, and livvy with her unwavering love and determination to hold them all together. they each filled the gaps in each other's lives in a way no one else could.

livvy and ty had this gentle, nurturing dynamic, with livvy always supporting ty’s complexities, helping him feel safe enough to open up, while ty’s quiet brilliance balanced out her fiery spirit. livvy brought the warmth and emotional steadiness that helped keep ty grounded, preventing his brilliance from spiraling into obsession or burnout. she could always pull him back when he got lost in his own mind, and she gave him a safe space to feel things, even if it was just her presence. on the flip side, ty was livvy’s protector - his calm, calculated nature was exactly what she needed in moments of chaos, and he would’ve done anything to keep her safe, physically and emotionally. together, they balanced each other out in ways no one else could - livvy’s heart and ty’s mind were the perfect counterweights. kit and livvy were a perfect blend of teasing and deep emotional connection - livvy pulled kit into the blackthorn family, offering him a sense of belonging, while kit gave her a dry sense of humor and a bit of edge. kit’s dry humor and livvy’s endless empathy were a combo that could’ve balanced each other perfectly, he would’ve been the one to pull her out of a bad mood with some sarcastic remark, and she would've been there to remind him that his feelings mattered. as for ty and kit, it was this unspoken, sometimes awkward understanding - kit was the first person who made ty feel less alone, grounding him when his mind raced, while ty gave kit a kind of clarity and direction he never knew he needed. they all had a way of completing each other without even trying. the epitome of two lonely souls finding solace in each other. ty’s alienation, his feeling of being disconnected from the world around him, and kit’s fear of abandonment, of never truly fitting in - together, they were each other’s anchor in the storm. it’s like they were mirrors to each other’s pain and fear, but instead of reflecting it back in a way that made it worse, they somehow made each other feel seen in ways no one else could.

kit, ty, and livvy were the ultimate trio of heart, brain, and instinct. livvy brought the heart - her unwavering love and warmth, always holding the group together, reminding them of the importance of feeling and connection. ty, with his brilliant mind, was the strategist, always calculating and analyzing, keeping the group grounded in logic. and kit was the instinct - the one who acted when necessary, trusting his gut and doing what felt right, even when it didn’t always make sense. together, they covered all the bases. their dynamic was a perfect balance of emotion, intellect, and action, and it was that mix that made them so incredibly powerful. it’s honestly hard to imagine a better trio than them - each one completing the others in the most seamless, beautiful way.

they were too powerful. cassie saw them and went "no, this is too good, time to traumatize everyone."

i will never ever stop thinking about them. they were so precious.

PETITION FOR LIVVY TO COME BACK!!!

[stxrsniolo]

word count: 6.829, because i'm aegan, and i friggin' can 😝

a/n: i made sure to use structural repetition as a narrative device, repeating key phrases and ideas in this setting, so if you found repetition of some phrases, you're not going crazy babe. that was me and it was intentional. warnings: gritty. teen drama. graphic violence. gore. blood. murder. horror. psychological tension. obsession. explicit language. angst. violence. death

Chapter : 01

we sat hunched in the dim glow of the ginger café, a squat little haunt where the air reeked of burnt coffee and stale sugar, our fingers curled around milkshakes; mine a strawberry sludge, thick and syrupy, clinging to the chipped glass like congealed blood.

the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting sickly yellow pools across the scratched formica table that pinned us in place.

"you hitting nate’s party?" olivia’s voice slithered out, sharp and jagged, laced with a thrill that teetered on the edge of something unhinged. her platinum blonde hair gleamed under the flickering bulbs, a beacon of vanity in this grimy hole.

she was one of my two anchors in this forsaken world, just the three of us sprawled across that table, a trio bound by the suffocating drudgery of high school, a trinity cursed to haunt each other’s lives in Asfil’s festering grip, forever and always.

"probably," i muttered, my lips brushing the cold rim of the glass as i sucked down a sluggish gulp of the shake. the sweetness clawed at my throat, too thick, too heavy, coating my tongue like a lie. "home’s been a goddamn crypt lately."

the round table felt like it was closing in, its edges worn smooth by years of restless hands. across from me, elise’s green eyes narrowed, her freckled face twisting into a scowl as if the very mention of the party was an affront to her existence.

she was the third piece of our fractured puzzle; after llivia’s shallow glitter and my aimless drift, there was elise: a wildfire of red hair spilling over her shoulders, freckles splattered across her pale skin like ash from some long-dead blaze, and those piercing eyes that cut through the haze with a mind too razor-sharp for this rotting town.

in asfil, beauty was a cheap coin, but elise wielded it alongside an intellect so brutal it felt like a weapon, a twisted, rare fusion that made her a glitch in olivia’s brittle universe, where you could be pretty or smart, but never both.

olivia’s world was a shallow grave of vanity: pick your poison—looks or brains. straddling the line was heresy.

"i’m not touching that party, and you two shouldn’t either," elise snarled, her voice low and venomous. she stabbed at her drink’s garish straw, a neon pink monstrosity, twisting it between her fingers like she was throttling something alive.

the ice clinked dully in her glass, a faint echo of her disgust. "word’s slithering through this cesspit that nate’s only throwing it to drag some poor soul into bed over a bet. it’s all over: whispers in the halls, graffiti on the bathroom stalls. you can practically smell the sleaze."

"now i have to go…" olivia purred, her lips curling into a smirk, mischief dripping from her like tar, slow, deliberate, and toxic. her blue eyes glinted with a hunger that made my stomach twist.

"are you out of your fucking mind?" elise’s words snapped like a whip, her brows knitting into a furious knot as she leaned forward, her gaze boring into olivia like she could peel back her skin and expose the rot beneath. "you need to lock it down, i’ve heard shit about you too; filthy little rumors buzzing like flies." she exhaled sharply through her nose, a harsh burst of air, but her stare didn’t waver, cold, unrelenting.

"who’re you fucking now? i get it, this place is a hormonal meat grinder, but you’ve got to chain up that ravenous cunt before it gets you killed."

elise had a way of swinging between prim, textbook terms and raw, gut-punching bluntness, sometimes it was the only thing keeping her voice from fading into the drone of this place.

"what shit?" i asked, my voice a low rasp, curiosity prickling at the edges of my skull like a dull blade.

olivia ducked her head, her slender fingers darting to her nape, scratching at the skin in a weak, twitching attempt to bury her shame. the gesture was a neon sign: whatever was festering in the rumor mill, it was bad. real bad.

she carried that stench, the kind that clung to you like damp rot.

if our friendship were a grotesque caricature, olivia would be the blonde bombshell, all curves and desperation, starving for every lustful stare she could wring out of this town, and she got them, oh, she got them.

elise would be the icy intellect, tolerating our mess for some masochistic reason i’d never unravel.

and me? i was the specter hovering between, not dull enough to vanish, not loud enough to echo, not clever enough to cut. just a shadow drifting through the mundane: hitting parties, eyeing boys, craving a pulse, but without olivia’s cursed magnetism or her talent for turning her brain to mush.

elise shoved her glass aside with a clatter, the ice sloshing against the rim, and leaned forward, her forearms slamming onto the table like a barricade. a cluster of high school boys lounged a few tables over, their laughter grating against the hum of the café, so she flicked her eyes left and right, a predator’s scan to ensure our filth stayed ours.

"they’re saying she fucked nate’s cousin and daniel at the same damn time," she whispered, her breath a hiss, the words curling out like smoke from a smoldering fire.

my gaze snapped to olivia, sharp and unblinking. she wouldn’t meet my eyes, just darted her stare around the room, a cornered animal dodging a trap.

"is that for real?" i asked, my voice climbing, eyebrows arching high as my pulse kicked up a notch. truth was, it didn’t even shock me, not fully.

"kind of, but…" olivia’s words stumbled out, her delicate face tightening like a spring wound too far. she licked her lips, nervous, her fingers clutching the edge of the table. "i wanted to try it, okay? you wouldn’t get it... how it feels to just… let go. ugh, it’s not some end-of-the-world shit!"

"yeah, threesomes are so fucking pedestrian," elise sneered, her voice laced with acid as she slumped back, shattering the fragile hush. her red hair spilled over her shoulders like spilled wine, stark against the café’s grime. "but when you climb into bed with the dumbest, loudest assholes in this school, pricks who’ll shout it from the rooftops like they’ve bagged a trophy, you’ve got a death wish, friend. something’s broken in you."

"they’re just boys," i said, my shoulders jerking up in a half-hearted shrug, fingers tightening around my glass till my knuckles paled. "it’s sex, nothing worth choking on."

to me, it wasn’t. it was a flicker in the void, barely worth the breath it took to say it, and they both knew that. olivia pulling some sloppy threesome, elise dissecting it with her sanctimonious razor, that was the bleak rhythm of us.

but the real jolt, the one that sank its teeth into my gut and twisted, came when the café door creaked open, slow and deliberate, the bell above it shrieking like a rusted blade scraping bone.

my eyes lifted, and there, framed in the doorway against the glare of the afternoon sun, stood the past, stepping out of memory’s grave.

matthew.

my dangerous mystery didn’t walk in; he slithered, a shadow spilling into a place he had no right to be. he never did.

the air thickened as he crossed the threshold, the faint hum of the café warping into a low, ominous drone.

i knew him in an instant, every wretched detail burned into me: thick brown hair, wild and unkempt, falling in heavy strands over a forehead so pale it glowed like death under the lights; eyes calm but sunken, lids drooping as if dragged down by exhaustion or a cold, festering contempt; that black leather jacket, worn and creased, swallowing him in darkness, paired with clothes so deep a gray they seemed to drink the light.

he moved with a predator’s grace, boots scuffing the chipped linoleum, each step a quiet threat.

it was him. right there, close enough to choke me with the weight of years unspoken.

he drifted past our table, his shadow brushing the edge of my vision, and didn’t spare me a flicker of notice. i was air to him, no, less than air. a void.

i swallowed hard, clamping my jaw tight, nails digging into my palms beneath the table.

"who the hell is that?" olivia’s voice sliced through, quick and ravenous, her head snapping toward him like a hound catching a scent.

she wasn’t alone, heads turned, slow and deliberate, eyes narrowing across the café. whispers coiled through the air like smoke, thick and acrid.

a stranger in ginger café was raw meat in a den of wolves; in a town where every face was etched into your skull, he was a spark igniting dry rot. but he wasn’t new, not to me. he’d been festering in asfil’s underbelly since the beginning, a ghost they’d all ignored.

i flicked a glance at olivia, then back to him.

he reached the counter, his broad shoulders hunching slightly as he leaned in, low words passing between him and the girl behind it, a waifish thing with brittle blonde hair and a vacant stare, her apron stained with coffee and grease.

my breath hitched. matthew. here, in the open, speaking, even if just to order? it was a fracture in the world i’d built around him, a crack letting something dark seep out.

"you’re not gonna tell me?" olivia pressed, her voice insistent, eyes darting between me and elise like a vulture circling carrion.

"he’s nobody," i spat, the words tumbling out too fast, bitter on my tongue.

"matthew," elise cut in at the same instant, her voice steady, deliberate, clashing with my lie like a hammer on glass.

i dropped my gaze to my coffee, the black surface rippling faintly under my uneven breaths. my mind churned, a storm of unease clawing up my spine, sinking its hooks into my ribs.

"matthew or nobody?" olivia teased, her lips stretching into a sly, feral grin, her signature when she smelled secrets ripe for the picking. she tossed her platinum hair back, a cascade of silk catching the light, a predator’s signal i’d memorized.

that hair flip meant she was on the hunt. i could’ve warned her that flirting with matthew was like screaming into a bottomless pit, words swallowed by nothing, but that’d only sharpen her claws.

"he new?" she asked, her gaze locked on him, unblinking, ravenous. "gotta be. that whole look, dark, broody, tumblr-hot, not the sad-sack kind. i'd have clocked him."

elise’s glare hardened, a flicker of disgust curling her lip. "he’s been here as long as us, what rock have you been under?"

"then why’s he not on my grid?" olivia’s eyes narrowed, suspicion glinting like a blade.

"maybe ‘cause he’s not panting after your ass," elise snapped, her words dripping venom, each syllable a barbed hook.

"no chance, i don’t miss faces," olivia insisted, her stare raking over matthew’s back as he stood at the counter, her fingers tapping the table in a restless rhythm. "that one’s not in my ledger."

"your ledger’s just a tally of dick sizes," elise fired back, her voice a low growl, slicing clean through olivia’s smirk.

the jab landed like a fist; olivia’s grin faltered, her eyes flashing with something raw before she smothered it.

"enough," she hissed, rolling her eyes so hard i half-expected them to stick. elise smirked, smug as a cat with a kill. "so, spill already?"

"matthew…" i began, the name heavy on my tongue as their stares pinned me like a specimen on a board. "he’s… different. keeps to shadows. takes some classes with us, you don’t see him because he’s a wraith, silent as the grave."

"ugh, one of those creeps?" olivia clutched her chest, her voice a mock whimper, fingers splaying dramatically over her heart.

elise’s hand shot out, smacking olivia’s forehead with a dull thwack, our ritual purge. "creep? you’re the one spreading for any pulse that stumbles by."

i choked on a laugh, the sound rough in my throat.

"matthew’s got perfect grades, straight A’s carved in blood, probably. he’s a diamond in this shitheap, too sharp to waste air on our kind."

"i’m not some lowlife, who doesn’t know me?" olivia scoffed, her chin tilting up, preening like a peacock in a slaughterhouse.

"matthew, clearly," elise said, her tone flat as a gravestone. i bit down another grin as olivia’s pout deepened, her lips pursing into a petulant knot. "let’s dissect it."

"every soul passing this table gawks at you," elise pressed, her voice methodical, a surgeon’s precision. "three tables over, those jocks are chewing your name like gristle." olivia peeked over her shoulder, tossing a flirty wave at the trio—broad shoulders, cocky grins, eyes glued to her like she was their next meal.

"same shit, different day, right? even on the streets," elise went on. "but seven minutes ago, matthew, king of the weird, slid past us, a foot away, and didn’t even twitch in your direction. one guy who doesn’t salivate at your feet. thoughts?"

elise capped it with that, her debate junkie’s flourish. now it was olivia pitted against matthew.

matthew.

the name pulsed in my skull, surreal and heavy. i might’ve let a scrap slip to elise once, but neither knew he’d been my childhood fixation, a riddle i’d gnawed at for years, a shadow i’d claimed as mine.

"can’t hook ‘em all," i said, my voice flat, cutting the tension. olivia stared into the void, her face blank. "most drool over you, take the win."

"fine, i don’t fuck with weirdos," she spat, her chin jerking up, defiance masking the sting.

they let it die, shifting back to nate’s party, matthew fading from their orbit. not mine though, i sat silent, my eyes tracking him, furtive glances slicing through the café’s haze.

there he was, slouched on a stool at the counter, his broad frame hunched over the edge like a lion perched on a kill.

waiting.

memories clawed up from the dark, me, a kid, crouched outside his house, peering through grimy windows, certain something vile pulsed inside, finding nothing but dust and silence. afternoons banging on his door, begging for a playmate, every knock unanswered, every hope crushed.

now here he was, trading quiet words with a waitress, a scrawny thing who didn’t know his name, wouldn’t care if she did, surrounded by the living he’d always shunned, blind to me, the only idiot who’d ever hunted him.

it burned, raw, unfair. that old, perilous spark flared, hotter, hungrier.

he paid, sliding coins across the counter with a faint clink, then drifted toward the door, his movements smooth as oil over water. my brain fired, synapses snapping: this was my window, my one jagged chance to hear his voice, to force him into my world.

i’d never caught it, not in class, drowned by chatter and noise, now i could make him see me, crack his shell.

"need to head home," i blurted, my voice rough as i yanked my schoolbag off the chair, the strap catching on a splintered edge before tearing free.

they froze, heads swiveling, confusion etching their faces.

"now? it’s barely three, what’s at home but a slow death?" olivia’s brow sank, her voice thick with disbelief.

"mom’s on my ass, forgot she told me to wash some shit. she’ll flay me if i don’t. i’ll text about the party, yeah? catch you."

i didn’t wait for olivia or elise to unravel my lie, the words still hung in the air, half-formed excuses about laundry and an irate mother, when i snatched my schoolbag from the chair, the strap snagged on a splintered edge, a brief tug-of-war with the wood before it tore free with a faint ripping sound, the frayed threads brushing my wrist like a whispered warning.

my soles thudded against the ginger café’s chipped linoleum as i bolted for the door, the bell overhead clanging, a shrill, jarring peal that ricocheted through the haze of coffee fumes and muted chatter.

i burst outside, and the heat slammed into me like a physical blow, a suffocating wall of dry, shimmering air that clawed at my lungs after the café’s artificial chill. the sidewalk radiated warmth through my soles, the cracked concrete pulsing with the day’s stored fury, each step a faint hiss as my sneakers grazed the scorching surface.

ahead, matthew’s silhouette loomed, a dark, wavering shape against the blinding glare of the afternoon sun, his broad shoulders cutting a stark line as he drifted past the shopfronts lining main street.

dusty windows flanked him, their glass dulled by years of neglect, plastered with peeling signs, faded reds and yellows bleeding into the haze, advertising half-priced trinkets and stale promises no one bothered to claim.

his black leather jacket gleamed faintly, the creases catching the light like veins of oil, his boots scuffing the pavement with a rhythm too steady, too deliberate, as if the world bent to his pace.

my breath hitched, a tight knot forming in my chest as i followed, my steps tentative at first, feigning a casual stride, hands shoved deep into my pockets, shoulders hunched like I wasn’t tracking prey. but my sneakers betrayed me, rubber soles squeaking faintly against the grit, dragging me back, slowing my pursuit with every sticky pull.

he was pulling away, his figure shrinking as the distance stretched, and my pulse quickened, a sharp, insistent thud against my ribs that drowned out the hum of distant traffic.

i sped up, my bag thumping rhythmically against my hip, the canvas slapping my thigh with each hurried step, a dull counterpoint to the blood roaring in my ears. sweat beaded at my temples, trickling down in thin, stinging trails as the heat pressed closer, wrapping me in its suffocating embrace.

he reached the crosswalk, his shadow spilling long and thin across the asphalt, a distorted specter stretching toward me like an invitation, or a taunt. i hung back, lingering at the curb, my chest rising and falling too fast, pretending I wasn’t tethered to his every move.

subtlety was a lie i told myself, but my eyes stayed locked on him, unblinking, as a wild, reckless urge surged, to sprint forward, seize his shoulder, rip the silence from his throat with my bare hands and demand the truth he’d buried all these years.

i couldn’t, though, not yet.

still, i pictured it: me charging across the street, breath ragged, grabbing that leather-clad arm and snarling, “hey, you bastard, i’ve pegged you as a freak since we were kids, why the hell are you a walking void? why don’t you speak? spill it, now!”

the image flashed vivid and absurd, my voice cracking the air like a gunshot, his face twisting into something, shock, disgust, disdain as he marked me unhinged, some feral girl clawing at shadows.

no. i’d choke on that humiliation before i let it loose.

the light flipped green, a harsh beep slicing through the stillness, and he crossed, his boots scuffing the faded stripes with that same eerie calm, each step a quiet drumbeat against the asphalt’s scarred skin.

i reached the curb just as it turned red, a snarl of cars roaring to life, engines growling, exhaust curling up in acrid plumes that stung my nose, metal glinting like bared teeth in the sun. they rolled past, a relentless barrier, and i stood there, trapped, my fingers twitching at my sides, nails digging crescents into my palms.

his dark hair bobbed above the hoods, a fleeting glimpse through the chaos, taunting me as he pulled further out of reach.

the seconds dragged, each one a slow bleed; sweat slid down my spine, pooling at the small of my back, my shirt clinging damply to my skin as the heat pressed harder, relentless.

my eyes darted to the signal, willing it to shift, my breath shallow and uneven, a restless rhythm that matched the jittering of my nerves.

green flared at last, a sudden burst of color, and i lunged, legs pumping, bag swinging wild as i wove through the stragglers clogging the crosswalk.

an old man with a cane muttered something as i brushed past, his voice a gravelly rasp lost in the wind, but i didn’t slow; my gaze locked on matthew’s retreating form as he rounded a corner, vanishing behind a wall of weathered brick.

i broke into a run, sneakers pounding the pavement, the sound echoing sharp and hollow off the buildings, a staccato beat that matched the frantic thudding in my chest. my lungs burned, each inhale a ragged pull of hot, dry air laced with the faint tang of gasoline and dust.

the alley swallowed me as I turned after him, its narrow jaws snapping shut behind me, walls of crumbling brick rising high on either side, streaked with damp rot and streaked graffiti, illegible scrawls bleeding into the shadows.

the air thickened, heavy with the stench of decay, rusted trash bins squatted in the gloom, their lids gaping open, spilling bags that oozed a rancid cocktail of spoiled meat, sour milk, and something sharper, metallic.

garish boxes littered the ground, their faded reds and blues torn open like disemboweled corpses, contents long scavenged or rotted away. my shoes splashed through a shallow puddle, the water dark and oily, rippling with a greasy sheen as it soaked into the rubber, a cold kiss against my toes.

i plunged deeper, my eyes darting through the half-light—searching, straining—but he was gone, swallowed by the alley’s throat. i skidded to a halt near a grate embedded in the wall, its rusted bars hissing steam in thin, ghostly tendrils that curled upward, mingling with the reek of tar and filth.

my chest heaved, lungs clawing for air as i sucked in the foulness, each breath a struggle against the weight of it, the damp rot coating my throat like a second skin.

my hands braced on my knees, fingers trembling as i bent forward, sweat dripping from my brow to splatter on the cracked concrete below. why this way? this wasn’t his route home, not the quiet suburban street with its tidy lawns and peeling paint. this was a detour, a descent, something deliberate.

i straightened, wiping my sleeve across my forehead, the fabric dragging rough against my slick skin as my pulse hammered a relentless tattoo in my ears.

my sneakers squelched as i took a step, the puddle’s edge lapping at my laces, and i crept forward, each movement deliberate, measured, my shadow stretching long and thin behind me, a warped twin flickering against the brick.

the alley twisted ahead, a claustrophobic vein threading through asfil’s underbelly, and i followed, driven by that gnawing, perilous itch I couldn’t shake.

matthew did this to me; lit a fire in my gut, a jagged current of curiosity that surged like a live wire, me a junkie trembling for the next hit, the next glimpse into his abyss.

the alley spat me out abruptly, its mouth widening into a ragged seam where pavement crumbled into dirt, giving way to the woods, a vast, brooding expanse of green and shadow that loomed like a living thing, its edges jagged with gnarled trees clawing at the sky.

asfil’s forests were its twisted pride, a labyrinth of pine and oak touted as some natural marvel, but everyone knew the truth: they hid secrets, swallowed them whole. the air shifted here, cooler but heavier, laced with the sharp bite of sap and the musk of decaying leaves.

my shoes sank into the soft earth, a faint crunch as the last scraps of concrete gave way to soil, and i paused, my breath clouding faintly in the sudden chill, eyes tracing the treeline where sunlight fractured through the canopy in thin, golden shards.

then i saw it: a path, narrow and trampled, snaking into the woods like a pale scar cut through the undergrowth. the grass lay flattened, crushed into submission by countless steps, its edges frayed and yellowed, a wound worn deep into the earth.

matthew’s?

my stomach tightened, a cold knot twisting as i stared down that shadowed trail, its mouth vanishing into the trees’ embrace.

why here? into the dark, untamed heart of the forest... what pulled him this way?

i stepped onto the path, the grass crackling under my weight, brittle blades snapping with each deliberate stride. the town fell away behind me, its hum fading to a distant murmur; car horns and barking dogs swallowed by the rustling leaves overhead, a susurrus that filled the silence like a living pulse.

my bag swung against my hip, a steady thump-thump as i moved deeper, the straps digging into my shoulder, canvas damp with sweat where it pressed against my shirt.

the air grew denser, thick with the scent of pine and wet earth, a primal perfume that clung to my skin, seeping into my pores. shadows danced across the path, cast by branches swaying in a breeze i barely felt, their gnarled fingers brushing the ground like claws testing the dirt.

my sneakers sank deeper with each step, the soil softening, clinging to the soles in dark, sticky clumps that weighed me down.

a twig snapped underfoot, the sound sharp and jarring, echoing through the stillness, a gunshot in a cathedral, and i flinched, my head whipping around, eyes darting to the trees.

nothing moved, save the faint tremble of leaves high above, but my pulse spiked, a frantic drumbeat thudding in my throat.

i pressed on, the path narrowing, its edges crowding in with brambles and ferns, their jagged leaves brushing my jeans with a whispery scrape that sent shivers up my legs.

the light dimmed, the canopy thickening overhead, weaving a roof of green and black that choked the sun into slivers, each beam a fleeting intruder, glinting off dew-slicked vines before vanishing into shadow.

five minutes bled into ten, or more, time warping in the forest’s grasp, as i wove through the maze of trunks, their bark rough and fissured, streaked with moss that glowed faintly in the gloom like veins of sickly light.

jagged rocks jutted from the earth, half-buried sentinels draped in lichen, their edges sharp enough to slice if i strayed too close. a white rabbit darted across the path, a blur of fur and panic, its eyes wide and glassy before it vanished into the underbrush. moments later, a brown one followed, slower, its ears twitching as it paused to stare, unblinking, unhurried before melting into the shadows.

their presence felt wrong, too fleeting, like omens i couldn’t read.

my breath came harder now, a ragged rhythm sawing through my chest as the air grew cooler, heavier, pressing against my lungs with a weight i couldn’t shake.

sweat trickled down my spine, cold and relentless, pooling at my waistband, my shirt sticking to my skin in damp, clammy patches.

the path twisted, dipping low into a hollow where the earth grew muddy, my sneakers sinking with a wet squelch, the suction tugging at my heels as i pulled free, each step a labor that dragged my energy into the mire.

a faint mist curled up from the ground, tendrils of gray weaving through the ferns, brushing my ankles like ghostly fingers, clammy, invasive, raising goosebumps along my calves.

i stopped, chest heaving, beneath the shadow of two massive branches arching overhead, their leaves trembling faintly in a breeze that barely stirred the air below.

my hands braced on my thighs, fingers digging into the denim as i bent forward, sweat dripping from my brow to splatter on the dirt in dark, glistening drops.

the forest loomed around me, a cathedral of shadow and silence, its depths stretching endless and unknowable, an entity watching, waiting.

my knees trembled, a faint ache blooming from the chase, and i exhaled, the sound harsh and jagged, a plume of vapor curling from my lips into the cool, damp air.

stupidity hit me then, a crushing wave that nearly buckled my legs: why was i here? maybe i’d hallucinated him turning into this alley, this forest, imagined his shape against the trees like i’d imagined so much as a kid: monsters lurking in his windows, secrets stitched into his silence.

maybe i’d been chasing a ghost all along, a phantom woven from my own restless mind.

the thought sank into me, heavy and sour, and i straightened, wiping my sleeve across my forehead, the fabric dragging rough against my slick skin, smearing the sweat into a gritty film.

i turned back, resolve hardening, vowing to bury this obsession once and for all, to let the forest reclaim it.

the air thickened with the scent of decay, a faint rot mingling with the pine, and i took a step, shoes crunching the grass as i retraced my path, slower now, the urgency bleeding out into a dull, simmering ache.

nate’s party flickered in my mind, a blur of booze and noise, a chance to drown this madness in something loud and mindless.

but then, a groan, low and guttural, tore through the stillness, a man’s voice twisted in agony, raw and visceral, spilling from the trees like blood from a wound.

i froze mid-step, one foot hovering above the dirt, my breath snagging in my throat as my heart slammed against my ribs with a force that rattled my bones.

the sound lingered, a sickly thread weaving through the rustling leaves, pulling my eyes wide and frantic across the shadowed expanse.

it came again, sharper, closer, a choked, desperate rasp that clawed at my nerves, urging me forward despite the ice flooding my veins.

i edged toward it, sneakers whispering over the grass, each step a slow, deliberate press into the soft earth, my bag swinging faintly against my hip, a muted pendulum ticking off the seconds.

the forest seemed to tighten, the trees leaning in, their branches creaking faintly overhead as if straining to listen, to watch.

ahead, through a gap in the pines, their needles glinting like dark, wet spines, i saw them: two figures locked in a vicious dance, meters away in a clearing ringed by looming trunks.

my breath hitched, a shallow gasp, and i ducked behind a tree, its bark rough and damp against my palms as i pressed my body flat, the wood’s chill seeping through my shirt.

i peered out more, eyes narrowing, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my sternum; yeah, two men, their shapes stark against the dappled light filtering through the canopy, locked in a struggle that reeked of death.

one stood tall, draped in a garish purple trench coat that shimmered faintly, the fabric catching the sun in brief, mocking flashes, a peacock strutting through this grim tableau, his posture rigid with predatory intent. the other was shorter, clad in a drab brown leather jacket, its surface scuffed and weathered, his stance taut with defiance, fists clenched at his sides.

their voices clashed, a low, guttural growl from purple, too faint to parse, but thick with venom, answered by a sharper snarl from leather, his words swallowed by the rustling trees.

the air crackled, electric and heavy, a storm about to break, and then it did.

purple lunged, his hands slamming into leather’s chest with a dull, meaty thud, driving him backward against a thick trunk.

the tree shuddered, its bark cracking faintly under the impact, needles raining down in a soft, whispering cascade that dusted the ground like ash.

purple pinned him there, a snarl twisting his lips into a grotesque slash, triumphant and feral, his forearm rammed against leather’s throat, crushing his windpipe with a slow, deliberate grind.

their faces hovered inches apart, spit flecking the air, eyes locked in a dance of raw, unfiltered hate, purple’s glinting with a manic glee, leather’s wide with rage and dawning fear.

my fingers dug into the bark, nails scraping off flakes that crumbled beneath my grip, my breath shallow and fast—too fast—as panic flickered at the edges of my mind. i wanted to scream, to charge in, to tear them apart with my bare hands, reason roared it, a primal instinct to act, but my feet stayed rooted, legs trembling beneath me, locked by dread.

then the world tilted, and my blood turned to ice.

purple’s hand darted into his coat, quick and fluid, emerging with a knife: long, thin, its blade a wicked crescent of polished steel that caught the sunlight in a blinding flash, sharp enough to slice the air itself.

he raised it high, the motion slow, theatrical, his arm trembling faintly with anticipation, savoring the weight of it, the power... then drove it down with a sickening crunch, plunging it straight into leather’s right eye.

no pause, no mercy.

into the socket.

flesh tore, bone splintered, a wet, visceral snap that punched through the forest and lodged in my skull like a spike.

blood sprayed, a geyser of red erupting from the wound, thick and glistening, streaking down leather’s face in heavy, clotting rivers; over his cheek, his jaw, pooling in the collar of his jacket, soaking the leather in a dark, spreading stain.

birds exploded from the trees above, a frantic chorus of wings beating the air, their cries swallowed by leather’s raw, animal scream, a sound so primal it ripped through me, clawing at my nerves as purple twisted the blade, grinding it deeper.

the steel scraped against bone, a grating whine beneath the wet squelch of torn tissue, blood gushing free in a torrent, splattering the dirt in fat, glistening drops that steamed faintly in the cool air.

purple’s grin widened, a grotesque slash of teeth flashing white against the crimson chaos, his eyes alight with a sick, unhinged joy as he carved through muscle and sinew, each twist a deliberate act of ruin.

i stumbled back, my spine slamming against the tree with a jolt that rattled my teeth, breath hitching in short, ragged gasps as my legs buckled beneath me.

my hands shook, useless and clawing at the bark, the rough edges biting into my skin as i stared transfixed, horrified, watching the blood spill, the screams sharpen, a symphony of agony echoing through the woods like a dying beast’s final roar.

leather thrashed beneath purple’s grip, his hands clawing at the air, nails raking uselessly against the trench coat’s slick fabric, legs kicking out in spasmodic jerks, heels gouging the earth, tearing up clumps of dirt and grass that scattered like shrapnel.

his screams frayed into a high, keening wail, raw and ragged, but he couldn’t break free, purple was a monolith, unyielding, his bulk a wall of muscle and malice.

blood streamed down leather’s face, a crimson mask pooling in the hollows of his throat, dripping onto the forest floor in thick, glistening ropes that soaked into the soil, turning it black.

i stood there, meters away, my breath a shallow rasp clawing at my lungs, every nerve alight with the certainty that i was next, that this predator’s blade would find me if i didn’t move.

panic erupted, a wildfire roaring through my chest, seizing my heart in a vise that squeezed until my ribs ached. my vision blurred, the edges warping, trees tilting, shadows stretching into long, skeletal fingers that seemed to claw at the air.

i pressed my trembling back flat against the tree, the bark’s jagged edges biting into my spine through my sweat-soaked shirt, a cold, damp chill seeping into my bones.

my hands shook violently, fingers curling into the wood, nails scraping off flakes that crumbled to dust beneath my grip, useless, frantic, as if i could anchor myself to this moment, this sliver of safety.

i had to run.

to the police.

to live.

i risked a glance, my head tilting just enough to peer around the trunk’s curve, purple yanked the blade free with a wet, sucking pop, blood arcing in a shimmering spray that caught the sunlight like rubies flung into the air.

leather’s body jolted, a puppet jerked by unseen strings, then purple plunged the knife again, slow, deliberately into his chest, the steel sinking deep with a soft, meaty thud.

blood welled around the hilt, bubbling up in dark, syrupy pulses, staining purple’s knuckles as he twisted the blade once more, relishing the grind of metal against bone.

leather’s scream choked off into a gurgling rasp, his head lolling forward, and purple let him fall limp, broken, a discarded husk crumpling to the dirt in a heap of blood and leather.

purple straightened, his broad shoulders rolling back, and turned, his head swiveling my way, eyes glinting beneath the shadow of his hood, sharp and searching.

i jerked back, my skull cracking against the tree with a dull thud that sent a spike of pain lancing through my head.

my heart slammed into my throat, a deafening roar pulsing in my ears, did he see me? my eyes squeezed shut, lids trembling, sweat stinging as it rolled into the corners, my breath hitching in short, panicked bursts that I couldn’t silence.

every muscle coiled, taut as wire, ready to snap. i was a witness, a loose thread in his grisly tapestry, and if he knew, that knife would carve me open next.

a crunch. leaves snapping underfoot, brittle and loud, ripped through the silence. i flinched, a full-body shudder, my breath catching as I braced for his shadow to loom over me, for the glint of that blade to flash in my peripheral vision, but the sound faded, steps retreating, growing softer, swallowed by the rustling trees.

i dared a look, peeling one eye open, then the other, my head tilting cautiously around the trunk.

the clearing was empty save for the corpse, sprawled in a grotesque sprawl, blood soaking the grass in a widening pool, his face a mangled ruin; one eye a gaping, crimson socket, the other staring blankly at the sky.

purple was gone, vanished into the forest’s maw.

but then i heard more crunching, sharper, closer, footsteps again, heavy and deliberate.

my stomach lurched, bile rising in my throat was it him circling back? a branch snapped, loud as a gunshot, splintering the air, and my mind blanked, fear swallowed me whole, a tidal wave crashing over reason.

i bolted, legs pumping, tearing away from the sound in a frantic, blind sprint; away from the clearing, away from the blood, away from death’s reaching grasp.

my sneakers slammed into the dirt, each step a jarring thud that rattled my bones, the forest blurring into a smear of green and shadow as i ran.

branches clawed at me, their gnarled fingers snagging my shirt, tearing at my arms, thin stinging welts blooming across my skin as leaves whipped past, slapping my face with wet, earthy smacks.

my bag swung wildly against my hip, the strap digging into my shoulder, canvas thumping my thigh in a chaotic rhythm that matched the frantic pounding of my heart. my lungs burned, each breath a ragged, searing pull of air, sharp with pine and damp rot, that scorched my throat, my chest heaving as if it might split open.

i fumbled for my phone, fingers slick with sweat, trembling as they plunged into my bag’s depths, searching, clawing past pens and crumpled papers, the zipper snagging on my sleeve in my haste.

but my foot caught on a rootthick, gnarled, jutting from the earth like a trap and i pitched forward, a yelp tearing from my throat as I crashed hard. my knees slammed into the dirt, pain exploding in twin bursts, sharp and white-hot, as rocks bit into my flesh through my clothes.

my hands shot out, palms scraping raw against the ground, dirt embedding under my nails as my bag spilled open, keys jangling, a pen rolling into the grass, a pack of gum tumbling into the mud.

i scrambled up, knees screaming, blood seeping warm and wet through the denim, sticking the fabric to my skin in a clammy grip, but i didn’t stop, i couldn’t stop.

i abandoned the bag, its contents a scattered offering to the forest, and ran again, legs pumping through the agony, breath sobbing out in desperate gasps.

the trees pressed closer, their trunks looming like sentinels, bark fissured and black, streaked with moss that glowed faintly in the dimming light; a sickly, phosphorescent sheen that cast eerie shadows across the path.

my sneakers slid on wet leaves, slick and treacherous, each slip a jolt that threatened to send me sprawling again, but i caught myself, arms flailing, nails clawing at the air for balance. 

the forest’s breath enveloped me, cool, damp, thick with the musk of decay and the sharp tang of sap clinging to my skin, seeping into my pores until i tasted it on my tongue, bitter and primal. 

a low mist curled up from the ground, gray tendrils weaving through the underbrush, brushing my ankles with a clammy, invasive chill that raised goosebumps along my calves, prickling up my spine.

i ran until my body rebelled, legs buckling beneath me, muscles screaming as lactic acid burned through my veins. 

i staggered to a stop, doubling over, hands braced on my thighs, fingers digging into the denim, knuckles whitening as i gasped for air, each inhale a wet, shuddering sob that tore at my raw throat. 

sweat plastered my hair to my forehead, cold and dripping, rivulets streaking down my cheeks to mingle with the dirt smudged there, a gritty film coating my skin. 

my hands trembled, shaking so hard i could barely feel them, my knees throbbing with a deep, pulsing ache, raw, bloody patches seeping through the torn fabric, stinging as the breeze sliced across them. 

the air was colder now, sharper, cutting through my damp shirt to sink into my bones, a shiver rattling my frame as my teeth chattered faintly, uncontrollably.

i straightened, slow and unsteady, my breath clouding in faint plumes that drifted upward, dissolving into the mist. my eyes darted around, wild and searching, trees stretched endless in every direction, their trunks twisted and black, branches clawing at the sky like skeletal hands frozen mid-reach. 

the canopy above was a tangled web, choking the sunlight into thin, fractured slivers that barely pierced the gloom; each beam swallowed by shadow before it could touch the ground. 

no path, no landmarks, just an unbroken sea of forest, vast and unknowable, its silence a heavy, oppressive weight pressing against my ears. 

i was lost, swallowed whole by asfil’s dark heart, the town a distant memory somewhere beyond this labyrinth of green and decay.

ahead, through the haze, a shape emerged: a ruin, jagged and broken, rising from the earth like the bones of some forgotten beast. i stumbled toward it, legs trembling, each step a labor as the dirt sucked at my sneakers, reluctant to let me go. it was a cabin—or what was left of one—its wooden walls sagging under the weight of time, devoured by rot and neglect. 

massive boulders flanked it, their surfaces slick with moss and streaked with grime, hemming the structure in like a natural prison, stone and wood fused in a grotesque embrace. the roof sagged, half-caved, exposing rusted beams that jutted upward like broken ribs, and the windows gaped; glass long shattered, their frames gaping like empty sockets staring blindly into the forest. 

vines snaked over the walls, thick and woody, their leaves a dull, sickly green that seemed to pulse faintly in the dim light, as if feeding off the decay.

i paused, chest heaving, my breath a harsh, wet rasp that echoed faintly in the stillness. no one could live here, the place reeked of abandonment, every splinter soaked in desolation. 

the air around it was heavier, stagnant, thick with the scent of mold and wet earth, a faint metallic tang lurking beneath it, blood or rust, i couldn’t tell, yet a flicker of hope, desperate and fraying, clung to me: a watchman, a hermit, someone—anyone—who could drag me back to asfil, to the police, to safety. 

my legs moved before my mind caught up, carrying me forward through the mist, the ground softening beneath me into a muddy slurry that sucked at my soles, each step a wet squelch that sent cold water seeping into my sneakers, chilling my toes.

i reached the door, wood warped and splintered, its surface streaked with black rot, the grain swollen and peeling from years of damp. my hand trembled as i raised it, knuckles hovering an inch from the surface, breath hitching as I braced for the knock. 

the forest held its breath, the rustling leaves falling silent, the mist curling tighter around my legs, an audience to my desperation. i struck the wood, once, twice, my knuckles splitting against the rough grain, pain flaring sharp and immediate as blood welled in thin, red lines across my skin. 

the door groaned, a low, mournful sound, and swung inward, unlatched, unresisting, its hinges creaking like a dying gasp, revealing a sliver of darkness beyond.

hope bled out, a cold, hollow ache settling in my gut, but i stepped forward, crossing the threshold with a slow, deliberate stride, my boots scuffing the threshold, dragging mud across the warped floorboards. 

the air inside hit me like a slap; thick with dust and mildew, a cloying stench that coated my throat, sticking to the roof of my mouth as i inhaled. light stabbed through the broken windows, jagged beams slicing the gloom in thin, dusty shafts that illuminated swirling motes, each one a tiny ghost dancing in the stillness. 

the roof gaped overhead, a jagged wound exposing the sky, rusted beams dangling like broken fangs, dripping with condensation that plinked softly onto the floor below. 

the walls peeled, their paper curling away in yellowed strips, streaked with black mold that spread like veins across the wood, pulsing faintly in the dimness.

the space was barren, a hollow shell, its floorboards warped and groaning under my weight, each step a creak that echoed through the emptiness. 

my eyes darted around, tracing the shadows: bare walls, no furniture, no sign of life, just a single door at the far end, a black maw carved into the gloom, its frame splintered and sagging, beckoning with a silent, sinister pull. 

the air grew colder here, a chill that sank into my bones, my breath clouding in faint wisps that lingered before dissolving into the dark.

no sane soul would stay, no drug, no madness could hold me here by choice... but then it came again: footsteps, heavy and deliberate, crunching through the underbrush outside. 

twigs snapped, sharp and brittle, a staccato rhythm growing louder—closer—until it was right beyond the walls, a predator circling its prey. 

my heart lurched, a frantic thud against my ribs, and fear surged anew, a tidal wave crashing over me, drowning reason in its icy grip. 

my eyes widened, darting to the windows, the broken panes offering fleeting glimpses of mist and shadow, something moving, a shape too vague to name.

i lunged for the back door, boots skidding on the dust-slick floor, a desperate slide that nearly sent me sprawling, my hand shot out, catching the wall, nails scraping the moldy wood as I steadied myself. my fingers closed around the rusted knob, cold and gritty against my palm, and i yanked—hard—the door screeching open on protesting hinges, a high-pitched wail that clawed at the silence. 

and suddenly, darkness poured out, thick and absolute, a void that swallowed the faint light behind me, its edges sharp and unrelenting.

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a/n: this piece is heavily based on damian, a work by alex mirez. tread carefully; the shadows you'll encounter here echo those from her dark narrative.

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[grandgtaman1a]

The Holy Trinity in love with the same girl [Headcanon]

Pairing: Michael De Santa x Reader, Trevor Phillips x Reader, Franklin Clinton x Reader Characters: Michael De Santa, Trevor Phillips, Franklin Clinton, Reader[Female or Gender Neutral] Summary: Where Michael Trevor and Franklin are in love with you![Anon Request]

AN: I also wrote how the three would know about the other liking the reader Feel free to reblog and let me know your thoughts Do not repost

You are the enigmatic crew member, a highly skilled hacker who plays a crucial role in their criminal endeavors. Lester was amazed by your work and took you under the wing where you met Michael Trevor and Franklin Your intelligence and proficiency in navigating the digital underworld make you an invaluable asset to the team.

Michael’s Perspective:

Michael is drawn to your hacking skills. He sees you as a way out of the criminal world, someone who can help him find redemption. He admires your intellect and dreams of a life beyond the chaos of crime with you.

Trevor’s Perspective:

Trevor is infatuated with your fearless nature, especially when you're hacking into secure systems. He's intrigued by your ability to match his brand of insanity, and he considers you a kindred spirit. His obsession with you both excites and terrifies him.

Franklin’s Perspective:

Franklin is captivated by your charm, wit, and cool-headed approach to hacking in dangerous situations. He envisions a more stable and secure life with you, far removed from the chaos of the criminal world

You, however, keep your emotions and true motivations closely guarded. You use your allure and hacking skills to manipulate the trio to serve your hidden agenda, the nature of which remains a well-guarded secret. This love triangle adds complexity and tension to their criminal activities, making their adventures even more unpredictable as they navigate the treacherous criminal underworld, both in the real world and the digital one.

When Michael, Trevor, and Franklin all come to realize they are in love with you, it would likely lead to a complex and emotionally charged situation. Here's how they might react:

Michael's Reaction:

Michael, the more rational and calculating of the three, would initially try to keep his feelings hidden. He might feel conflicted about pursuing a romantic relationship with you, as he is also driven by his desire to escape the criminal life. He could become withdrawn and contemplative, trying to find a way to balance his love for the reader with his longing for a peaceful life. As the situation unfolds, he might try to maintain a friendship with you while struggling with his own emotions.

Trevor's Reaction:

Trevor, the impulsive and erratic member of the group, would likely react explosively. Learning that both Michael and Franklin have feelings for you would send him into a fit of jealousy and rage. He may confront the other two, leading to confrontations and potentially dangerous situations. Trevor's obsession with you could intensify, making him unpredictable and potentially reckless.

Franklin's Reaction:

Franklin, the younger and more idealistic member of the group, might initially feel guilt and insecurity upon discovering that Michael and Trevor also love you. He may worry that he's not a suitable match for her compared to the older and more experienced Michael or the wild and unpredictable Trevor. However, he could also become more determined to prove himself and win your affection.

The love triangle would create tension and conflict within the group, possibly affecting their working dynamic and leading to emotional outbursts. The reader's feelings and choices would play a crucial role in how this situation unfolds, and her decision could have significant consequences for the group's relationships and criminal endeavors.

[saintsenara]

THE AUDIENCE CLAMOURS FOR YOUR VOLMIONE TAKE!!!!!!!!! In all seriousness the curiously is piqued tenfold by the fact that you go hard to bat for the other two voldemort/golden trio ships

i've definitely been putting this one off, anon, but it's hermione's birthday, and since the requests have kept coming...

maybe i have to grit my teeth and get through it.

i am, like my good pal @yorickofyore, broadly a tomione/volmione disliker - which is a spoiler for what follows. there are - obviously - huge numbers of people who are not, and they may sit happily in their ecosystem while i flop around photosynthesising in mine.

and the reason why i don't like tomione/volmione is right there in the last three screenshots: it relies - like several other hermione pairings, snamione and sirimione chief among them - on a portrayal of hermione's intellectual expression which bears absolutely no relation to how this is written in canon.

across all seven books in the series, hermione's intellect primarily manifests itself in a sincerely impressive ability to retain and repeat information [very usually verbatim from the source she got it from]. she is able to use this ability to retain information to understand the theoretical components of magic in a way neither harry nor ron ever manage, and she is then able to apply this retention - that is, to repeat the information she has acquired - of knowledge to the performance of magic which is [often considerably] ahead of her expected level both in terms of the hogwarts curriculum and in terms of what would be seen as the median ability of an adult witch or wizard.

but hermione is never shown - at any point in canon - to be a particularly radical, creative, or experimental thinker.

she places an enormous amount of intellectual trust in disciplinary authority - not only in the respect she has for following textbooks and teachers to the letter [hence why she won't attempt any of the modifications in the half-blood prince's textbook, she thinks it's offensive that they contradict the "official" peer-reviewed and sanctioned instructions] but also in her agreement with the gatekeeping imposed by the state and/or its authorities on academic inquiry.

[hence her disliking the invented spells in the half-blood prince's textbook because they're not ministry approved, or her easing her discomfort at having read the books from which voldemort learned to make a horcrux by insisting - undoubtedly correctly - that dumbledore wanted her to do it and she therefore has the permission of an intellectual authority].

she's immediately mistrustful of anything she can't find [something she regards as] an empirical source for - which is why harry's mental connection with voldemort frightens her so much, or why she thinks that harry's lost his mind when he begins to insist the deathly hallows are real and important, or, most famously, why she thinks divination is bullshit.

she's never shown to be able to synthesise her knowledge [she never answers questions in class in her own words, she always goes massively over word limits], or to use it in ways which are considerably removed from its typical application.

[the protean charm on the da coins, for example - the magic she's using is sophisticated, and is being applied in a way which wouldn't necessarily be classroom-sanctioned, since she's using it to defy umbridge, but the evidence of canon is that it's not magic which is being used in a way which is removed from the spell's original purpose. terry boot is impressed because he's looking at a flawless execution of newt-level magic by a sixteen-year-old, rather than because hermione is using that magic in an unusual way. the same is true of the polyjuice potion - it's impressive because she brews it flawlessly aged thirteen.]

this is a very logical, rational, and scientific approach to learning - and one which the series, which tends to take a dim view of anything which deviates too far from the status quo, views extremely positively - and it is intelligence. i know some people think that when i say this about hermione i'm saying that she isn't clever - or that i'm saying she's less clever than the characters [all of whom are male] that the series permits to be "brilliant" - but that's not the case. hermione is clearly extremely clever - and her logical, empirical, careful approach comes in clutch for the trio throughout the series, right from philosopher's stone. her intellectual expression just isn't the only way intelligence can manifest itself - and it isn't an intellectual expression which will automatically mesh with another very clever person's approach.

which is to say... lord voldemort, both as a teen and an adult, is - intellectually - the complete opposite of hermione.

he is someone - as he tells us - who thinks of magic as a creative force he has every right to shape as he sees fit, something whose boundaries he has the inherent right to smash through. he rejects disciplinary authority [his loathing of dumbledore - as an adult, at least - is because he thinks that dumbledore is a petty-minded gatekeeper who attempts to repress the dark arts - magic, snape tells us, which is inherently ever-changing, unfixed, mutating - because he's afraid of them and their refusal to be neatly contained in disciplinary boxes; his appeal to slughorn's authority is purely a manipulation technique]. he is an adaptor and inventor, and he uses magic in ways which radically deviate from its intended purpose.

and so the common "teen tom riddle and hermione are at school together" trope that they'd both get off on being academic rivals is, in my view, impossible to justify while keeping either of them remotely canon-coherent. she's going to think he's a cunt. he's going to think she's irrelevant.

indeed, i genuinely think the most likely scenario if the two are at school together is that the teen voldemort wouldn't be able to pick hermione out of a line-up - not least because she has very little to offer him when it comes to his plans for world domination.

when it comes to those he's "nice" to, the teenage tom riddle targets the socially prominent, rich, and influential, whom he can use parasitically to his own ends.

he's happy, undoubtedly, to have minions who are less useful to him from a social-advancement perspective, but who come in handy as pawns in his schemes - as dumbledore puts it, "the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty" - but this is the only thing he sees them as. hermione has a capacity for cruelty he would undoubtedly see potential in [even if he would probably be wary of her "run and tell teacher" vibe], but as someone who does his bidding only, rather than anyone for whom he's willing to fake [or, indeed, to actually feel] any degree of mutual affection.

and i do think this - in and of itself - is interesting. hermione is someone - as i've said elsewhere - who has a tendency towards blind loyalty, which often causes her to accept people she likes and/or respects treating her cruelly [something we see in canon particularly in how she reacts to snape's behaviour towards her]. she's also someone who is incredibly deferential to authority, fairly naive, convinced she's always right, convinced she's not irrational, superstitious, or emotionally-driven, and capable of pretty egregious cruelty in pursuit of being rational and correct.

or, in other words, she's very easy for a flesh-and-blood voldemort to manipulate.

[she's not at risk from a horcrux because she's possessed of the empirical fact that they can't hurt you if you don't let them get emotionally close to you, which impacts how she behaves around the locket.]

on the rare occasions when i've enjoyed fics with this pairing, then, they've tended to be ones which actually acknowledge this - and which have hermione completely destroyed by a voldemort [usually in adult form] who has never cared one iota about her, all because she was convinced she'd be far too clever to fall for his tricks.

[my rec: enigma by devdevlin.]

and this is the main way my view of tomione/volmione deviates from my view of tomarrymort or ronmort - i don't think there's any circumstance where it can ever work as something mutual, whereas the entire point of tomarrymort is that the relationship is something voldemort perceives as equal, and ronmort sees the dark lord running headfirst into ron's ability to disarm and confuse him by possessing a crumb of emotional intelligence. i don't think voldemort would hate hermione - or even be particularly irritated by her - but nor do i think he'd find anything about her interesting enough to make him want to keep her around for any longer than she was useful.

but - like so many hermione pairings - the default in tomione/volmione tends to be "omg, hermione is so hot, brilliant, and fascinating that [insert man here] becomes completely obsessed with her". whether the story leads to voldemort becoming a better person or hermione going over to the dark side, the way the pairing is written always assumes that hermione is someone voldemort would consider [often very quickly] important to him [even in circumstances where she is a prisoner]. only very rarely do fics ever explore the much more canon-justifiable - and, in my view, much more interesting - idea that voldemort is somebody hermione could and would consider important, while he wouldn't give a single fuck about her.

[neither of them give a shit about dead rabbits though. it's the only thing they have in common.]