#ive watched drive with almost every single person i know

[vthetease]

my favorite things

it's me birthday

so just incase anyone wanted to know some stuff about V

heres some random info about my life as well as some of my favorite things

i am a libra sun, aquarius moon, capricorn rising

i like dark chocolate more than any other; i have since i first got my period. i like gummy candy and starbursts but my favorite are the little cola bottle candies. i like tea and coffee sweet, but flavorful. i like energy drinks and slushees and wanted my first tattoo to be a cola-mtn dew slushee but it wasnt. i like waffles more than pancakes but would prefer a toaster strudel or muffin. i like apples and lemons and cinnamon and garlic and truffle and black cherries but not maraschino. i dont like onions or cilantro or swiss cheese. i dont like chili because something about the consistency of wet, tomato-ee hamburger makes me ill. i also can't drink hard liquor.

i like smells like thick cologne that lingers and juniper and spearmint and old houses and honeysuckle and the smells of the earth when it stops raining in the summer. i like the smell of other peoples laundry soap and coffee more than my own. i like eucalyptus and aloe and teakwood and dragons blood incense.

i like classic rock from my dad and 80s pop ballads from my mom and afi and lincoln park from my older sibling and 4*TOWN for my younger sibling. one of my earliest loves in music was Paramore, and hayley is an inspiration of mine. i like pop punk and the band ive seen the most is sleeping with sirens, 4 times now. i like hip hop and rnb and acapella and piano. i like music that makes me feel alive. anything from violin to screaming, i just like passion. i'm a very passionate person and always have been despite myself.

i sing and like singing in the car, while i shower, and cook. i am very loud but sometimes can do cool things. i like how singing makes me happy and helps me relate to other people and also my predecessors. i like how i feel connected to those before me through my voice. my first time singing in public was my 4th grade talent show. I sang The Only Exception by Paramore because my parents thought Almost Lover was too dramatic and adult for a 12 year old

i like old movies and i used to fall asleep to them at my grandparents and wake up to them at weekends at my dads apartment. i like musicals like ride the cyclone and drama like the fault in our stars and action like john wick and will always be down for a horror movie. i like get out and candyman and hereditary and black swan and blair witch and creep. i like the twilight zone and rod serling has a special place in my heart. i also like alex trebek from jeopardy, matthew grey gubler, penn badgely, andrew scott, evan peters, and my biggest current celeb crush is matt rife.

i like being alone in busy places. i like to talk to people but i also like to disappear to the other room during the party. im the girl you find sitting outside sometimes smoking, or on the balcony. i enjoy walking back into a concert midsong and seeing all the happy little people being happy. i like stepping away from chaos to appreciate it. i like driving on highways at night when its empty and im high. i like watching airplanes land. i like sleep and i sleep in a tank top and underwear but never socks. my dreams always take me back to this very similiar place every single night doing different tasks with different people. i might start calling it the twilight zone. i like to paint my emotions in my makeup and artwork. i have always felt very deeply and openly.

i like the moon and the stars and it is so fascinating to learn about the same beautiful big rock my ancestors saw. i feel drawn to white butterflies and birds and bumblebees and skinks ( they r tiny lizards). i like history and culture, but im really bad at math.

thats all i can come up with for now. if you have any questions let me know

thanks for reading about me, lmk if youre in love yet

valentine, 22 today <3

[morphogenetic]

i recognize this might be a bat to a hornets nest but curious about more in-depth ndvr3 opinions

hi anon im sorry this took one million years to answer properly (bc i never got an answer back about how long you wanted this to be) but im answering it now. spoilers for v3 and very concentrated dislike of dr as a series (and especially v3 lol) below the cut

as a whole, dr does a very poor job at making its characters feel fleshed out. this is, i know, kind of the point - they're all supposed to essentially be very exaggerated versions of some specific tropes common in jp media, i.e gundham being an extreme chuuni. after the first game though, which feels like more of a proof of concept than an actually well-designed game, the extreme flatness (ironically shown very well by the pop-up-book art style lol) just gets worse and worse and the characters in v3 in particular are even less fleshed out than before. i realize that for v3 this is somewhat a consequence of them trying to drive home the 'these are characters written by someone else' point, but like.......even if you're trying to make the point that someone wrote the characters to be like that, you can still write the characters well if you're trying to pull off genuinely emotional moments w them. e.g. every time they tried to make kaito's illness sad i could not give LESS of a shit about it because he just has the one-note personality.

dr has always had the problem where characters - outside of komaeda and hinata in sdr2, who are IMO the best developed characters in the whole series, especially komaeda - are only as well developed as the amount of time you spend doing their social links (or occasionally the particular trial that focuses on them, if that applies). of course, it's literally impossible to complete everyone's social events during the main mode of the game - unlike, for example, p4 or p5, where you can at least get close if you dont finish the whole social link. as such, it is extremely difficult to form an attachment to more than 1 or 2 characters before they kill/are killed. this is especially true when it's immediately obvious who has less of a personality than everyone else - or has more of a trope of a personality - and it's intensely predictable who is going to die early. for example, in v3, it was almost immediately obvious to me that tennis guy, maid girl, and angie and tenko were not going to make it to the end of the game, and were all early deaths, because of how paper-thin their personalities are. of course, this meant that i didn't bother doing their social events at all, so i had no attachment to them when they did inevitably die. this is a problem w every single dr game but its especially bad with this one.

(don't even get me started on how ive been able to figure out the majority of the solution to each case before the trial even starts or gets farther than like 30 minutes in. or how the issues that the students raise are often incredibly stupid and take WAY too much time and energy to shoot down when its so obvious that they're completely wrong. it's just. filler for in so many of the trials and it is incredibly annoying. the amount of filler before seesaw effect made me insane.)

now for my main v3 specific complaint: the fucking ending.

i actually like meta endings, you must understand that about me before reading the rest of this. meta in video games in general is something i love as long as it's well executed. i adore how uchikoshi handles it in [GAME REDACTED TO AVOID SPOILERS], for example, even though a lot of people seemed to have missed the point with it entirely.

the key word there is "well-exectued." v3 is not.

first of all: if you're trying to make this a meta case where v3 is part of the ongoing DR series....why are you trying to say that the video game you're playing is part of a TV show???? it feels as natural to say that a TV show you're watching is secretly a book someone else is reading. it's not a natural jump between mediums in the slightest, and what makes it even more annoying is that dr as a series is a primarily-video-game series!!!!!!!!! what on EARTH are you doing trying to be meta about your video game secretly being a TV show. it makes no fucking sense. if they tried to say that it was a mixed-medium franchise, that I would accept, because DR IS a mixed-media franchise. but it feels incredibly stupid to retroactively say that 'these two video games we wrote in the past are actually tv shows.' what? no. that's not how mediums work.

secondly: the meta does not work effectively in a series like dr to begin with when it already is constantly breaking the 4th wall for comedy - which i don't actually have any significant problems with. i personally think it's a lazy way of trying to be funny when it's the primary way you try to make your game funny, but i can accept that it works with the general character trope adherence of the series as a whole. however, because of how meta is often used as a joke in the series, when they suddenly try to make the meta serious, while also still keeping elements of the meta comedy at the same exact time that you're revealing that the meta Is Dead Serious Stuff, the complete tonal dissonance really works against you.

lastly: it does not really feel like the writers wrote v3 as a whole to be meta, if that makes sense. [redacted uchi game] feels like it was always meant to be that way, and so it feels completely natural that it leans into fourth-wall breaking all the time. however, the way that the meta ending comes across in v3 is just that they didn't have any other better ideas on how to end the game/were running against a time deadline and just threw in the 'ehhhhhhhhh we're already meta all the time for comedy let's do that for the ending but serious this time' towel. as i said earlier, i like meta in games when it's well-exectued, but poorly executed/written metanarrative always sticks out, and in the case of v3 it is especially bad because it doesn't even seem like they wrote the first case AFTER the last case....which you need to do in order to successfully pull off the meta in a case like v3. and is also wild considering the very beginning of the game makes it clear that they did actually go back and try to drop foreshadowing earlier without editing much of the rest of the game to accommodate for that.

tldr the writing around the metanarrative ending is just so intensely bad that it's kind of unbelievable to me that people think it's a good ending.

sorry if you like dr but tldr its a mediocre series and its baffling to me how it got popular, but also people saying v3 is better at being meta than [redacted uchikoshi game] is an opinion ive seen more than once that just makes me fucking laugh.

[princehoseok]

@cosmicdreamgrl tagged me 💜

who is your favourite k-pop group?

those 7 bald heads now, bts people call them

which member sparked your interest first?

ngl i cant really tell... couldve been jimin or namjoon, it was the on mv and i was obsessed with the whole thing so i started watching all their mv and yeah... definitely jimin and namjoon

who was your first bias?

after almost a year of overthinking it i decided namjoon was the one :)

what makes them your current bias?

ok heres the thing, i have a bias line, and that is the rap line so, here it goes:

namjoon: i have no idea how he does it but he says and does exactly what i need, i cannot express what i felt the first time i listened to indigo, how mono treats me... doesnt matter if i dont even know what im going through its like he knows and suddenly he's there to remind me that i am okay and everything will be okay, he's my OG, he understands me and listens to me without even trying ! its incredible, his vision... i cant, i cant understand how this works, but he makes it make sense, every single time.

yoongi: yoongi became part of my bias line last year after his tour, he wasnt even a bias wrecker, im not the army that goes through all the content, i still have so much to watch and learn, but that last day, the last concert i was coming home very late and i saw that the concert was just starting and i thought "im just gonna watch until namjoon and then im going to sleep" but i couldnt lol, i watched the whole thing, cried, and then kept crying a couple more hours because the last two years havent been the best in my personal life and i swear, the moment the concert ended and the "future's gonna be ok" screen came up it shocked me to my very core, i loved the album SO much, and i wanted to go to a concert (i couldnt but oh well), and like .. i listened and read that phrase for months and until that moment i didnt get it, that future's gonna be okay destroyed me in the best way possible and i am so thankful for min yoongi, im just very very thankful

hobi: my prince, mi amor, my everything! he makes me so happy, the way he manages his existance in this fucked up world is mind blowing, he's always taking pictures (idk why thats so special to me) and smiling, and ugh, my sister doesnt know their names very well so hoseok is "the one who laughs a lot", but then the way he takes his work so serious, he is so profesional, i loved hope world and when jitb happened i was shocked bc what is my sunshine doing with this dark eyeliner?? who made him emo? and boom that album is a motherfucking masterpiece!!!!!!! what if, arson and stop are just 😚 in general terms of music, hoseok's more my type of music, i mean more like my everyday music, (not that i dont like the others') but his style is just so cool.. he is so cool, his hype, his energy, he is my coolest boyfriend, the way a new ray of sunshine was born within him when he came to this world, i admire him so fucking much, every talented fiber of his body is precious and you want me to talk about his dancing? i cant bc this is long enough, im a sucker for dancers lets just say that... im well fed. i need him, i dont mean this in a delulu kinda way, i mean i need him and his energy, he makes me happy so i need him to be happy and gets everything he deserves because he deserves all the good things in this world!

*cough* so.. rapline because they give me life, next question..

who is your bias wrecker?

used to be taehyung but then yoongi stepped on him to be part of the bias line directly and taehyung disappeared, so at the moment jimin and jungkook drive me crazy... mostly jimin bc jk being the youngest makes me feel weird, i friendzoned him so hard from the start lmao

which members are you currently obsessing over that aren't your bias/bias wrecker?

seokjin, maybe its because he's coming back and i cant wait, that day ill cry and im so happy i miss him so much, and ive been reading seokjin fanfiction, his always makes me believe in love again idk, i love him i miss him, his voice ,.. omg im crying, give him back already

when did you first discover this group?

i believe it was the ama's performance in 2017?, i was watching the show and they performed and i didnt know them but i was so hyped lol, i was literally going WOOOOOOOOOOHOOO!!!!!!!!! at my house, and after that i think i saw a fake love performance? im not sure really, but for a couple of years the only songs i listened to were fake love and dna bc that was all i knew lol, THEN in 2020 i clicked on the ON mv bc i had a new tv and i was watching yt and it was there and i said ok lets see, it had been a couple of weeks since the video came out and yeah,.. there was no looking back no more, i believe it was the dancing for me, im a sucker for choreography and... theyre pretty good 🤠

have you ever been to one of their concerts?

no, dont remind me, i became army when the pandemic started and i didnt even tried for the ptd concerts bc the closest i had was LA and it was gonna be just impossible to get tickets so i kinda made up my mind around it, however i was destroyed when i couldnt get d day tickets... i dont want to talk about it lol, were ok ♥

what are some of your favorite songs by the group?

oh this is hard so this is ot7 only; black swan, lights, just one day, 21st century girl, pied piper, airplane pt 2 and dionysus .. that's some yeah

ok i made this too long im sorry,

whoever wants to play pls tag me, ily

[anonymouslymadebydesign]

Ive been having a bit of writers block, too many ideas but none of em good. In the mean time, i was thinking about

Wally and Frank gaining sentience

I still like to think that Wally would be the first of the puppets to gain sentience, whether of his own accord or outside sources - and then Frank being the second following up

But imagine this for me, if you will :

Wally gaining sentience and then not long after, Frank does as well. They take solace in one another, as they know their neighbors are blissfully unaware, unburdened with this retched knowledge.

But good things can’t last forever, can they ? Wally begins acting strange, differently than before, and not the familiar strange Frank knows. No, this peculiarity is backed by malice. A strange possession of his once dear neighbor.

Before Frank knows it, Wally is somehow dictating his every movement, he’s everywhere, all around. He’s everything all at once and nothing nowhere. It drives him up a wall, to the point where he becomes deeply paranoid and his already short temper becomes shorter. Frank can no longer tell if his once trusty neighbors, his best friends like Julie, are talking to him of their own free will. He can’t tell if they’re being genuine with him anymore. After an intense outburst, and the absolute pure terror that decorated his friends faces, Frank decided it was best to shut himself in, and hide away.

Sally’s invites to plays are flatout ignored , a small pile of handmade cards crammed into the letter-slot of Franks front door. He crammed his soft fists against his head when Sally came to pound his door down, her pleas and cries muffled as he wondered if this was a trick of Wally’s to catch him, to crucify him on stage for everyone to see.

What if they’re being nice is just a facade, a trick of Wally’s to make him slip up, so Wally can reprimand him ? Punish him and make him act like he used to be. Show him that the empathy and sympathy his friends have are nothing more that script.

He cringes internally, accidentally making a face of disgust, when Poppy asks if he’d like a homemade pastry to make him feel better.

It crushes her but in the back of his mind he wonders “what if it’s poisoned? what if he’s making her do this?” He knows he’s being paranoid and out of character but for the love of god you have to believe him, you gotta !

When Howdy had stopped by to ask where he’d been, if he had been eating, he had left behind a care-crate , Howdys signature logo branded on the side with a note peaking through the various items it contained. Day after day he would stop by to see if Frank had somehow snatched all the things slowly but surely collecting on his front porch. And every single day, Howdy would be more and more crushed watching the produce begin to rot. Occasionally, when he could, he’d replace the perishables and knock once, announcing : “There’s fresh food, if you ever decide you want it..”

Even the one who knew almost everything about him, the very person he thought about telling, even if he didn’t believe him, took notice to his change. Eddie had persisted on delivering his mail , even though the other refused to pick it up. Eddie would stick around longer than others, updating him about life in the Neighborhood, how everyone was still so worried about him, how people had kept busy without him. “Julie misses you the most, I think…” he had said once. “I miss you too, so I suppose I’m a close second in that, huh?”

He can’t even tell Wally anything anymore, the one person he trusted most in the Neighborhood, seems to be possessed by an evil entity. He sounded looney even thinking it, but he knows he’s right. Wally wouldn’t turn on a dime like that, would he?

[fatiguing-thoughts]

"Victoria's Game IV" - Embry Call x Reader

Summary: Part four to "Victoria's Game." Read Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four here Final Installment babes

T/W: mentions of blood

I jerked awake, dripping in sweat as my phone vibrated on my nightstand.

I felt Embry's weight on me and listened to the complete and utter silence surrounding us. I let out a sigh of relief before looking at my phone screen.

Alice.

I began to panic as I saw her name light up the screen, knowing her call would not be with good news. I swallowed hard before picking the device up and placing it up to my ear as my hand shook.

"(Y/N), (Y/N)! We're on the way. Call Sam and tell everyone to get there. She's coming and she won't be coming alone. Who's with you now?" Her frantic voice pierced my ears.

All the air escaped my lungs as full panic set in. Was my nightmare as much of a premonition as I was suddenly fearing?

"Embry!" I sobbed, shaking him awake.

He quickly jumped up, a worried look on his face.

"What? What's wrong?" His eyes were almost bulging out of his skull as he waited for me to answer.

"They're coming, Alice called. They'll be here any minute to help but you have to help Jake and Quil." My voice was shaky as the uncertainty took over my mind.

Was I sending him to his death?

Would I be the cause of everyone's death?

Wouldn't it just make more sense to just lose me than everyone else?

Embry didn't say much, he just looked deep into my eyes before pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

"I love you." He whispered before jumping out the window.

The nightmare flashed through my memories yet again, the panic setting in further.

But then I remembered the Third Wife.

I quickly ran downstairs into the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the drawer.

I began to hear the thumps of large paws, snarling, and barking coming from outside. I knew they were approaching and that my time was limited.

So I waited by the back door, where I knew the guys waited. I watched through the glass as they began looking around, hoping to see the blood-sucking demons arrive.

A minute in, I saw blurry movement in the treeline before Jacob and Quil took one down. Embry handled another. But then, another six arrived, the boys were outnumbered.

"Shit." I mutter to myself. "Where are the Cullens?"

I bit my lip as I saw two of them jumping on Quil. A whimper escaped his lips as he was trying to buck them off his back. He was beginning to struggle as Jacob and Embry were busy trying to destroy the leeches charging them.

Quil grew louder and I knew I had to act before it was too late. I quickly slid open the back door as I dragged the blade across my skin.

A drop of blood hit the ground, causing every single vampire to focus their attention on me, giving the guys the time to get themselves together; giving them time to destroy some of these leeches.

I winced as I felt the warm liquid drip down my arm, a burning sensation where the blade once was.

I watched as Embry ripped the head off of the one who was closest to the door, Quil and Jacob each getting another. They were finally even, furthering the fight into their favor.

One almost made their way to me before Emmett appeared from the treeline, disposing of them accordingly. Rosalie and Alice following suit.

Sam and Jared showed up, Leah and Seth trailing not too far behind. I watched as the fight unfolded before me, in shock as there were more vampires that showed up than I had realized.

But where was Victoria?

I looked all around, trying to spot the fiery red hair. I became painfully aware of my bleeding arm, causing me to hold the wound in an effort to stop the bleeding. I backed up further into my house, realizing how far out I had come. I then tripped over a rock, falling on my ass.

I winced in pain as I became painfully aware of my surroundings once again. My eyes squeezed shut as I tried to pick myself up, but something kicked me back down.

"Hello." Her silky voice taunted, a sick smile on her face as she loomed above me.

I was at a loss for words, it had felt as if my chest caved in on itself. My legs became jelly and I couldn't move. My eyes couldn't bring themselves to tear away from her burning gaze. Those blood red eyes that have been haunting me for what felt like years, but was a mere few weeks.

"What's wrong, cat got your tongue?" She cocked her head to the side, her smile softening as her ice cold hand grabbed my ankle.

"I-I" I couldn't get the words out.

"I'll make this quick." She promises, before she squeezed my ankle.

I felt a sharp pain as I felt it crack. I found myself screaming in pain.

But as soon as it happened, she had let go of me. Rosalie had grabbed her off of me, throwing her into the air. Adrenaline was helping with the pain.

I watched as I was writhing on the ground. I watched as Embry caught her midair, wrapping his jaws around her.

As they fell to the ground with a thud, Jake pinned her down as Embry ripped off her head. The sight before me wasn't one I had ever seen in person, only one I had imagined in my nightmares.

I had never seen the pack or the Cullens actually fight. I had only listened to them talk about it, imagined it for myself. But it was something Embry said he never wanted me to see, he would always get mad at Quil for telling me about them. He wanted me separate from this world.

He did his best.

Carlisle's touch brought me out of my thoughts, even startling me a bit.

"I'll fix this up for you. You'll be okay." He promised with kind eyes.

I noticed as Emmett, Rosalie, and Alice piled up the remains before Emmett threw his zippo on it. Instant flames soared, engulfing the pile into absolute nothingness.

The pack had phased back, running over to me from the treeline where clothes were stashed.

"(Y/N)..." Embry whispered, his eyes filled with worry and guilt as he crouched down to my level.

"Em, I'm fine." I insisted as I met his gaze.

We all stood there in silence as the pain in my ankle grew once again, causing me to wince.

"Embry, bring her to my home. I'll work on her ankle there." Carlisle broke the silence.

Embry only nodded before scooping me up into his arms.

Everyone else silently decided it was best to give space, but I sent a thankful glance and smile as best as I could as I grit my teeth from pain before they could leave.

Embry made his way over to my car, surely ready to drive me to the Cullens.

"Embry." I murmured.

No answer from him. He simply placed me in the car and put my seatbelt on for me with a pained look on his face. I winced in pain as my foot hit the side of the door and he almost looked as if he was going to throw up.

"Embry, please." I begged. "Please don't ignore me. I'm safe, you kept me safe."

"Your ankle is purple and the size of a grapefruit. I did not keep you safe." He says before shutting my car door and making his way to the driver's side.

"I think we both know a broken ankle is a happy ending for what this could have been." I reach over, rubbing the back of his hand with my thumb.

"I know, I just wish it wasn't. I'm glad a broken ankle is the worst of it, but what if... what if it wasn't? How was I supposed to live with myself after that? I couldn't. I- I thought I was going to lose it when I saw her by you." He chokes. "I almost thought I was going to lose you."

"You'll never lose me, Em." I whispered, leaning my head on his shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head.

"Thank you for saving me." I gave his arm a slight squeeze. "But I'm in a lot of pain and if you could start driving to Carlisle's I would greatly appreciate that." I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Shit, sorry. Yeah, let's go get you checked out." He worriedly chuckled as he began driving down the dark road. _____________________________________ Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

[ellitx]

Chapter 13: Fidelity

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

previous || next

art belongs to _suucrose

word count: 2.9k

           In sun and clouds, the church spire reached into that every stretching blue. It was as if it spoke of the love of the community towards their god, that it too lasted in any weather and called on them to join and put their faith in him.

           When Aether and Paimon walked along the nave, the church choir was different compared to the other choirs that didn’t sing hymns. Their voice was almost like angels, high notes soaring over the clouds, graceful notes dancing on the staves, and they sang for the Anemo Archon only.

           The two waited to finish their practice before looking for a certain deaconess that might help them gather more information they needed. It wasn’t long before Barbara noticed them and approached the two with a welcoming smile.

           “Hello, Honorary Knight. What brings you here today?” 

           Paimon flew over her and leaned closer for a much better closeness to ask. 

           “We would like to ask you something about Barbatos!” She exclaimed fervently whilst she placed her small arms in front of her chest. A bright smile was then donned on the deaconess’s face, her blue eyes sparkling in delight at her words.

           “Oh! Are you two perhaps interested in serving Mondstadt’s very own Anemo archon as well?” Her tone had an obvious enthusiasm in it. Aether already felt bad that’s not what they were here for, and be that as it may, he still has to prioritize in searching for his lost sibling.

           “That’s not the case. We wanted to ask if by any chance the Anemo archon has a lover.”

           Barbara’s small pink lips parted trying to utter a single word however a short chuckle was what came from her mouth. It surprised them and was confused if they said something odd. Her delicate hands were now placed on her mouth to stifle her laughs, apologizing in between them, as small tears form from the corner of her eyes.

           “Sorry for suddenly laughing. I wasn’t expecting that’ll be your question. But to answer that, there are no stories or mentions if Barbatos had a lover or not in the past. If he did, it would’ve already been written in the books and be sung by the bards everywhere. You celebrated the Windblume Festival, right?" 

        The two gestured their heads as a yes. "Since you already know it's a festival about love and freedom, wouldn't the Windblume Festival be celebrated for both of them instead of Barbatos only? But just as I have said before, there were no tales about the God of Freedom having a lover.”

           Something clicked inside his head though it didn’t last for long as it suddenly fades away like a speckle of dust. 

           “That’s true…” He turned to look at Paimon who was all troubled and disturbed.

           He continued to listen further if there’ll be more clues but it seems like that’s the only information he’ll get for now. His companion looked at him then held her aching head to alleviate the small ringing echoing in her ears.

           “Paimon’s running out of brain juice and my head is hurting the more Paimon thinks about this…” The throbbing in her head told her it was time to rest someplace quiet, to ride out the pile of confusion within her brain.

           Aether nodded and massaged his forehead in hopes to ease the pain. Why does he suddenly feel so lightheaded? He shook his head and pushed himself forward to carry out his plan on giving the pendant back to you. Words of gratitude were what Barbara received from the blonde and she waved them a goodbye to continue her choir practice with the other members of the Favonius Church.

           “Are we going back to the lair?” Paimon asked. Aether hummed in affirmation as they stepped outside of the parish. The harsh sunlight caused him to squint his eyes and cover his face with his arm. Was it always this hot for this season? The sudden change of the climate made him so lightheaded than ever. 

           Paimon detected how pale he looks as if he’d been painted with white-wash— even his lips were barely there. It was as if his heart had suddenly stopped beating and all the blood had run down into his boots. He swayed just for a moment, then with one step backward, he crumpled like a puppet suddenly released of their strings.

—

  Birds trill, sweetly high, the chorus as playful as the birds themselves. With closed eyes, Venti imagined their music to color, painting stairs in the same way grapevines grow - this way and that, in a beautiful harmony that isn't quite random. 

           Along with your soft humming, it made the ambiance much more relaxing and calm for him. In the calm of the day, his heartbeat is the steady drum to your melody and he seeps into the moment, allowing himself to drown in your beautiful voice.

           You rubbed the petals of the red flower between your fingers, watching your skin take on the sunny hue. Venti had spent the entire afternoon lying down on your lap and listening to your canorous tunes that made him forget about everything— as if you two were the only ones in this world with no one to intervene in such a peaceful moment he has with you.

           You watched the petal rotate and awed in admiration as a flower’s petal is able to spin like wind wheels. 

           “Hey, Venti,” You called out to him and peered down to peek at his sleeping face. Your lover hummed in drowsiness before opening one of his eyes to look at you. Dragging the flower close to him, he shifted to get a proper look at what you’re holding.

           “What flower is this?”

           You’ve always been a curious one. Even before you were in a coma. It’s like you have a passion in you to know every single thing about this world. From small creatures to rare species of beings in the wildlife, anything that catches your interest and you're eager to know more about it.

           Your drive to find answers is one of your unique traits he’s grown to love the more he’s with you. You create yourself in that fire of ongoing need that focuses everything that you are. And you do it because it feels as if the finding of the answer is your personal mission, your reason for being, your way of belonging and giving.

           It came to him if your curiosity will cross the line. Will it come to you that he’s been hiding his identity from you? Or will you still continue to live life with him in pure denseness? Either way, if you managed to find out he’ll find a way to have you forget what you witness. 

           For now, he has to be cautious and prevent you from exploring the outside world. Especially if that traveler is around in his land. It’s no good if you meet him. With the help of the humming winds to let him know what’s happening, it occurred to him that he has to just patiently wait and prevent you and Aether from crossing paths.

           Venti held your soft hands in his palms and took the flower from you. A small and gentle smile appeared on his face as he leaned forward and pressed his temple against yours, placing the plant close to your chest.

           “It’s Windwheel Asters.” He answered and observed how your eyes sparkled in joy when you watched the petals continue to spin.

           “I haven’t seen these before.” 

           Venti lightly chuckled and placed the flower between your hands as he returned to resting himself against you, but this time his head was now on your shoulder. “Windwheel Asters cannot grow in places with no wind nor plagued by strong storms, only where the wind is gentle and nourishing.” 

           “Really?” You laid your head against his and fiddled with the stem. If these floras are really unable to grow in harsh winds, then it means Old Mondstadt’s storms have truly vanished without any traces left. 

           Peace and harmony at last. 

           Freedom is finally with you.

           You lifted your hand up against the sunlight and marvel at how simple it is. It may not look as fancy as the cecilias nor does it resemble feathered wings of a dandelion when blown away, but you found yourself liking this more than what Venti had given you.

           It’s not like you don’t appreciate his efforts for collecting every cecilias and dandelions in this region to create a wonderful garden for your eyes to fancy with, you still are grateful for it though you do wonder why did he not include these asters in the collection?

           “I kind of like this. It reminds me of you.”

           Now that made him fully awake.

           “Me?”

           The color-infused cheeks dimpled with the blossoming smile, your eyes shone in a way that only deep happiness can bring. It was the blush of roses, that peek of champagne pink. Nodding your head to him, you brought the flower close to your face to cover your flushing features.

           “You were always fighting for freedom. If it weren’t for you, we won’t be able to see the skies and birds you’ve always wished for. I really admire your perseverance and passion to fight against my father to have the city liberated from his hands. Thank you. Thank you for revolting against him. Thank you for giving everyone freedom they’ve longed for.”

           You suddenly felt your throat tightened and your breath hitching every now and then. With your shoulders shaking and chin trembling, you fear he might see you in such a vulnerable state. You lowered your head even more and let your hair cover your face. Even if you hide it from him, Venti can still see small drops of liquid falling from you until it turns into a small puddle on the back of your hand.

           “[Name]…?”

           “Even though I’m Decarabian’s daughter, you never looked or treated me differently. Even after the war has ended, you never leave me. And now father, mother, and the knight… they’re all gone and y-you survived. You still stayed with me until I woke up…  I… I was so scared that once I awoke, I won’t be able to see you.”

           You were wiping your cheeks every few seconds and gulping down the lump sitting on your throat. Sniffling quietly, the tears still threatened to spill from your eyes. Your lover gently clutched your hand and used his other hand to lift your chin up to look at him.

           Your eyes were red and swollen. It shatters his heart seeing you like this as your tears split over and flowed down your face like a river escaping a dam. Using his finger to dry your damp face, he brushed his lips on your temple and laced your fingers together.

           “I should be the one thanking you.” He muttered and brought your intertwined fingers up to his lips to kiss the back of your hand. “Without your support, I don’t know how things would end up. If he— if I hadn’t saved you back then, you’d be locked up in that tower. Things would go differently, wouldn’t they? I can’t bring myself the idea of leaving you there when they were chasing after you.”

           He pushed you until your back was leaning against the rough trunk of the tree. His other arm was propped beside your face before he rested his head on your shoulder and nuzzled closely.

           “Thank you. Thank you for always being here with me.” Even though his voice was muffled, you can hear him loud and clear through your teary state. A shaky smile came from you as you caressed his hair lovingly before leaning forward and wrapping your arms around him.

           “I love you. I love you so much, Venti.”

           He has lived long enough to know that what you share he can’t replicate it with another. This love, this feeling, is just you and him. He could travel the world and the seven regions to create new ballads; he’d still come right back at you if he wanted true love. 

           He has protected you for years, he’s your confidant, a true friend, and even a lover. The trust he gave you, you gave him, is what keeps both of you safe in this world, in this life. So whether his heart beats another day or another hundred years— it’s always yours.

           Meeting Venti was more of a coincidence than a fate. Yet it was the first time in your life you felt like you could be yourself around him. Memories of meeting him have become the same as the dream you play time and time again. You felt good with him in a way you haven’t been before or since.

           Hearing those three eternal words from you is surreal for him. His heart would beat madly and his stomach churn in such a way excitement and happiness is filling his entire system. He wants to hear from you again.

           Just once more so he can finally have you all to himself.

           His chest was burning hot and so was his heart that rapidly beats in great euphoria. He can sense your emotions when you cry but this feeling… it’s much more different than he had felt before. A burning desire. He’s so smitten of your entire existence. All words coming from you were all his, he grasps each phrase and corresponds with his own loving and affectionate words.

           He was brought out from his trance when he felt how warm his palm is, and it’s when he became aware his hand was now placed on your cheek just like how he brings your hand to cup his face. 

           Venti felt his face heat up at such a simple gesture and when you give a short and quick chaste kiss on his lips, he recognized the first brightest and sweet smile for this day was painted on your graceful visage.

           “I love you.”

           His wish was heard when you repeated your confession at him. Is it finally working? Were his efforts finally paid off? Before Ludi Harpastum was the Windblume, a festival where they offer windblumes to their loved ones and to the Anemo Archon. Every year, every time Mondstadt celebrates Windblume, his first priority is to give you cecilias.

           He collected them for you every year. He tends them very well until they bloom— until your eyes opened. For him, windblumes are the cecilias. A symbol of elegance, purity, and just as ethereal as your gentle heart. It may be different from what that really means as interpreted by the people of Mond, but for Venti, he feels freedom when he’s with you, he feels loved when he’s with you and it’s the reason why he gathered so many flowers for you while you were asleep.

           The arrangement given to him by the former Dendro Archon— she proposed the idea to him to gather flowers for you every time they feast Windblume. He can still clearly remember her words, her voice echoing in his head saying that even she may part from this world. 

           Her predictions for her own life were accurate. As if she already expected this to happen to her and that’s why she’s planning ahead to list all the preconditions to him to keep you safe and harmless. Barbatos can’t keep relying on her on everything and that is why he put a lot of effort into maintaining the garden.

           Yesterday night was the time of the ceremony. Venti prepped everything to make it perfect, he wanted it to be successful. A mimic of a dance he once saw when he and you were together ages ago, it was a secret you both hid but he knows this. Barbatos knows what happened during that time and pretended as if he weren't there.

           But now that he was able to dance it with you, one would call him shameless for stealing you from him. The heavy weight on his shoulder was now lifted away, finally free from the guilt he’s been feeling for centuries. His inner battle with himself is fully resolved, inner conflicts vanished, a conflict between his love and longing for you.

           Your words eased Venti and made him assured you love him back as well. If you haven’t said a single word about your own feelings, he’d be living in an illusory fantasy that you were only shy to tell him you love him very much. But ever since the bond has been created, all he hears is I love you’s from you for his ears to delight in.

           “I love you,”

           You repeated once, a faint brush of your lips against his made him shudder. Soft, gentle, and shy just like your personality. Twice when you parted away, grasping how he tastes like apples before meekly leaning on him once more for a kiss but with more vigor. Your hand clutched the front of his shirt when you felt him hold you the small of your waist to pull you against him.

           “I love you.”

           Thrice was words of tenderness and desire from you to him. At that moment, you felt your body flushed warm. This was a person you wanted to be with than you’d ever felt before. 

           Venti has always been the one you could love forever.

@trust-the-oxygen​

[firewoodfigs]

Hi!! Could you do "It was a hospital bed, and A slipped in carefully to lie beside B all night" for a Royai fic from that prompt list? Thank you!! ❤️❤️

hello anon!! thanks for the prompt aaaah I had a lot of fun toying with it in between work and the other shenanigans that have been cropping up this week <3 I hope you don't mind the somewhat unusual ending ahaha I dimly recall writing a few other fics indirectly responding to this prompt (here and here!) so I wanted to try something slightly different from my usual fare 👉🏻👈🏻 part of this was also originally from a two-shot I'm working on, tweaked to fit the prompt hehe. I hope you enjoy!!! 🥰

                                       +++++

Riza can think of a million reasons why hospitals are awful.

First, the food. She’s not sure if it’s as nutritious as they make it out to be; there are times when she wonders if it’s even edible. She’s had worse, of course - hospital food isn’t as bad as ration bars - but she’s quickly getting tired of eating plain yoghurt and bland porridge every day, for every single meal.

Second, the stench. Riza hates that every inch of the place smells like a victim of obsessive cleanliness; she has to resist the urge to upchuck every time the door opens and the smell of chemicals and antiseptic filters in like an unwanted guest.

Third, the fact that she’s sharing a room with a man who, at this point, is behaving more like a cat on hot bricks than a disciplined soldier is quickly driving her insane. She’d readily agreed to be his caretaker, of course; Riza doubts there’s anyone else capable of dealing with his antics and ever-growing anxiety. But after hearing him sigh and toss and turn in his bed for the fifty-eighth time that night (she’d counted, because she was bored out of her wits, and there was nothing else she could do other than sleep or stare at the ceiling, per doctor’s orders), Riza decides she’s just about had enough.

She looks at him from her bed. He’s presently engaged with twiddling his thumbs, thinking out loud.

Riza sighs and rises from her bed quietly. She brings the IV stand along with her - an unnecessary inconvenience - and carefully slips into his bed once she’s made sure that the tubes and wires connected to them are tangle-free.

“I never pegged you as an opportunist, Lieutenant,” he murmurs, despite her best efforts to be discreet. “Sleeping with your commanding officer while he’s blind?”

“You could always court martial me later, sir,” Riza deadpans. “Now scoot over.”

Luckily, he obliges without much retort. 

“Your wish is my command.”

Riza huffs. She adjusts the thin, scraggly piece of linen that the hospital justifies as a blanket - another downside of this shitty place - and makes sure he’s probably covered, warm.

“Three words,” she mutters.

“Eight letters?”

“Twelve, actually.”

Roy raises a brow. “What could it be?”

“Would you like to wager a guess, sir?”

“Not really.”

“You’re an idiot,” she says. Roy laughs, and it’s a tiny little sound that is so discordant with his current mood, but it’s at least genuine. “Now go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright.”

He stops fidgeting, for a while. Riza closes her eyes and attempts to fall asleep - and she actually does, for a while - at least until she hears the sheets rustling again, the movement and tension coming from beside her. She groans softly.

“You should sleep, sir.”

She feels him stiffen. Roy smiles sheepishly, looking right through her like she’s not there. It still unnerves her how this is probably going to be their new normal: him without his sight. Her as his eyes.

“Sorry.”

Riza frowns. An apology is not the answer she wants. What she wants is for him - or them both, actually - to sleep and rest and properly recuperate so that they can have a speedy recovery, so that they can get out of here as soon as possible.

“Bad dreams?” she asks, because it’s the exact same thing that’s been haunting her. (She’s lucky her throat makes it impossible for her to scream or kick up a fuss; she’d hate for Roy to stumble blindly through the room in what he probably thinks is an act of chivalry and/or heroism.)

He shrugs.

“Then and now,” he offers. His smile fades, and he lapses into an unexpected moment of vulnerability. “Hard to differentiate between day and night nowadays, too.”

And because Riza doesn’t know what to say, she simply brushes her knuckles against his.

Roy returns the gesture, drawing indiscernible patterns on the back of her hand with his bandaged one.

“Well, it’s almost midnight now, sir.”

He lets out a small laugh, but it’s painfully hollow.

Riza shifts slightly. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze - hospital beds are clearly not meant for two persons (or anything inappropriate) - but it doesn’t bother her all that much. She just wishes there’s more she can do, to comfort him. Make him feel a little less gloomy.

“It feels like I’ve been sleeping for years.”

“If it helps reduce the incidents of you falling asleep during office hours, then you should get more sleep now, while you can.”

Roy turns, like he’s searching for her, even though there’s not much closer she can be at this point. He exhales shakily. She feels his hand trembling against hers, and responds with a gentle caress. (She knows he’s still feeling guilty, probably berating himself internally about their predicament, about what transpired beforehand. And to be fair, there’s a part of her that’s still angry about all that's happened underground. They’ll probably have to talk about it, at some point, but probably not now — not when they’re both still drugged up and only half-lucid.)

“Humour me, Lieutenant.”

“What?”

“I can’t sleep,” he confesses. Dimly, Riza notes that his voice has taken on a somewhat petulant edge — like a child complaining about their bedtime, but she doesn’t comment on it. Being nearly bedridden for a week is enough to drive her nuts, too. “I’ve tried counting sheep and all that shit, and it’s just — it’s not working.”

Riza sighs. She’s tired, yes, but she’s also aware that she’s probably not going to get any sleep at this rate. She tries to think of ways to stave off his restlessness. Reading is one — she can probably bore him into sleep with a Xingese recitation (she’s gotten pretty good at that lately), but she’s technically not supposed to be talking much. Alcohol is another, but neither of them are supposed to be drinking (and besides, the only form of alcohol available in hospitals isn’t meant for human consumption). Maybe chess, then. She’s not particularly keen on playing a game of chess, now (because she just wants to sleep), but she thinks it’ll help exhaust some of his boundless energy.

“We could play a game of chess, if you want. Breda was kind enough to drop a vinyl board here in the afternoon.”

“I can’t see —“

“I’ll tell you where I move my pieces.”

He frowns, clearly not liking the idea. “You’re not supposed to be talking much, Lieutenant.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, turning to pour a cup of water for herself before continuing. “I won’t have to speak much — unless you’re being a nuisance or a cheat or a fraud.”

He laughs. “I’ll be none of those things, Lieutenant.”

“Good.”

She sets up the board on his bed and helps him sit up. Riza lets him play white.

“It’s your move, sir.”

“You’ve made yours?”

“No. You’re playing white.”

“Tough. It’ll be more embarrassing if I end up losing.”

Riza smiles. “Well, we don’t know that yet, sir.”

He opens with pawn to e4. She helps him move his pieces and parrots her movements back to him. Pawn to e4, too. Pawn to d4. Same here. A closed game, not quite like his usual aggressive style of playing.

Riza watches as he frowns with intensity. It’s probably more a test of memory than strategy for him at this point. She wonders if there’s a way he can adapt to chess, to the military’s utilitarian (and frankly unsympathetic) demands now that his sight’s impaired.

(Life is so unlike chess, Riza thinks, in spite of Roy’s silly metaphors that postulate otherwise. The rules are never fixed, and the universe is always rife with uncertainty. It’s not like chess, where you can predict your opponents’ moves if you get good enough. Neither of them had expected that he’d be here right now, losing sleep and contemplating life over a chessboard while blind.)

He clucks his tongue, reciting a series of movements from memory. The Blackmar-Diemer. Riza smiles indulgently.

Still as aggressive as ever, sir.

Of course.

The game quickly becomes a round of blitz, and though he manages to open his lines and mount a rather decent attack, it’s clear that he has trouble recalling after the eighteenth move. It's still an impressive feat, though. Better than the average layperson.

“Check,” Riza announces, conversationally. Technically, she’d had the advantage, both on the board (and in real life). It shouldn’t really count, and besides, checkmate isn’t her objective — it’s to get her commanding office to sleep.

“Well-played,” Roy hums. He’s strangely still in his bed as he closes his eyes, rubbing at his temples — presumably to ease off an oncoming migraine. It happens a lot, when he’s in deep thought, when he’s over thinking. Thinking too much for his own good. “I need to work on my recall, I think.”

“I think so too, sir.”

He laughs, but the sound is again empty, foreign. It is so at odds with his usual smirks and unbridled laughter (when he’s laughing at someone else, or a joke made at somebody’s expense), like there’s an ache beneath the surface that she cannot reach.

Roy turns slightly, bumping into his dethroned king as he adjusts himself on the bed.

She blames the sudden, uncharacteristic urge to cry on her drugged-up system.

(Riza doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to how uncommunicative his eyes are. He’s always regarded each and every one of his subordinates with respect and meaning and gratitude, but he’d simply looked over the unit as if taking inventory when they had come by earlier.

But she’ll make do, Riza thinks. She has to. She’s always known him in a way nobody else has, in a deeply intimate way, like a book she’s memorised by heart.)

They fall silent for a few minutes. His lips part a little - she knows  he’s about to say something - but it snaps shut again, like he can’t bring himself to say the words.

Riza simply waits for him, like she always has; holding onto his held breath like it's the last thread of hope. She leans into his touch a little closer than necessary.

I’m right here, even if you can’t see me.

Roy smiles.

“I hope I won’t forget your face, Riza.”

[one-boring-person]

Hey!!!how are you?

Can i have some Rambo Headcanons??

Maybe the old rambo moving nextdoor to a young(24), farmer? (They/them pls), and maybe eventually him developing a crush or Wanting to protect them since they’re always so nice and caring towards him?

Thank you!!(these are for my birthday lmao, im a complete and total rambo simp. And i feel old rambo would really enjoy calming down and helping around with someone who loves him)

You have no idea how badly I've been wanting to write these as soon as I read the request! It's so wholesome, so I hope I've done it justice! And happy birthday! I hope you like these 😊(also I'm good, thanks for asking!)

John Rambo (Rambo IV/V) x younger!reader headcannons.

Warnings: mention of PTSD, vague injury detail.

A/n: I'm sorry if this is not as expected, I'm still getting to grips with writing headcannons 😅

Masterlist

The ranch had been in a state of disrepair when John first got there, walls thinning, paint peeling, buildings empty and soulless. He hadn't expected things to be as they were when he left, all those years ago, but the evident lack of care surprised him.

The house had been empty, which he eventually figured out was die to the fact his father had passed a good few years prior, and hadn't left anyone in charge of the ranch.

This meant that everything was as it was when he left, photographs hanging awkwardly on the walls, dusty furniture shoved out of the way.

Naturally, the rest of the ranch was also in pretty poor condition: the stables were practically overrun with weeds and foul smelling hay, one lone horse still nosing weakly at the empty water bucket on the floor. Taking pity on the animal, and feeling a need to help it, John took it out onto the field, which is where he first saw them.

Across from his father's ranch was another, smaller one, where horses and cattle grazed in the fields, a single car parked up beside the main house, which was in a much better condition than his own newfound home. In one of the fields, running around with a young foal, was who he assumed to be a ranchhand.

For a moment or so, he had stood and watched as the figure ran in circles with the youthful horse in tow, admiring their seemingly high spirits - he hadn't felt high-spirited in years.

After he'd helped the old horse from the stables out (cleaning out a stall, feeding it with feed he found in a storeroom), John had gone back to the house, almost forgetting the figure across the field, intending to head to sleep.

A couple of days passed after that, before he saw them again, though this time, they also saw him.

He'd started work on the house, having collected what he needed from a nearby town, and was sat on the roof of the main building as the sun glared down at him. Taking a brief pause from his work, he'd looked up and seen them in the field again, this time astride a larger horse.

They were racing around again, until the rider noticed they were being watched, at which point they slowed to a halt and looked around, quickly spotting John on the roof. From that distance, he couldn't tell what their expression was, but they raised a hand after a moment or so, waving up at him. Hesitantly, he had waved back.

Later that day, when he'd been sat on his father's old rocking chair on the veranda, taking another break, John had noticed someone coming up the road towards him. Standing out of instinct, John soon realised it was someone astride a horse, the rider carefully trotting up the drive, their face becoming clearer the nearer they came.

Still cautious of people, John had acted somewhat guarded as the person rode up to him, a broad smile on their work-weathered youthful face. In their hand, they carried a small box, which they cradled awkwardly on their thighs.

Approaching him, they'd tipped their hat, a battered Stetson, and greeted him, introducing themself as (Y/n), the owner of the ranch next to his. They'd spoken cheerfully, as if unaffected by the hardships of life, which they may well be. That's what John thought anyway, until they openly and happily told him about the passing of their parents, four years ago. The ranch had been left to them, leaving them in charge of the business.

Their first encounter had been somewhat awkward, but it didn't seem to bother (Y/n), and they left after ten minutes or so with a genial smile at him, stating that they'd be happy to help if he ever needed it. They also left behind the box, which John soon discovered was filled to the brim with cookies, a food he hadn't eaten for decades. Trying one, he soon rediscovered a love for them he didn't remember he had.

In the following weeks, John managed to fix up the house, getting it ready to live in properly, with some very brief help from his neighbour. They'd been round earlier in one week, dropping off another box of cookies, and had offered him access to their tools, which they brought round soon after.

After this, John felt it was only right that he invited them round for drinks as thanks, something that still made him somewhat uneasy. Somehow, he did feel reassured when they happily agreed and turned up the following Sunday, the two of them sitting in comfortable quiet on the veranda, sometimes talking, other times staying silent.

This became a regular occurrence.

Every week, (Y/n) would go to John's, or vice-versa, the latter soon learning to trust them and enjoy their company, finding himself in a better mood than he had been in in a long time. Their openness to talk or listen (even if he said very little) comforted him, allowing him to forget the nightmarish things going through his head near-daily.

After three months, (Y/n) had started coming round much more often, many times just appearing in the middle of the day to help out with whatever task needed doing, unafraid of doing dirty work. They later told him it was because they enjoyed his company far too much, and often actively sought it out: they made it clear that his quiet, brooding nature was an attractive quality about him that reassured them.

It didn't take long for them to become close, the two seemingly working at a different wavelength to the rest of the world, one that only existed between their small ranches.

They helped John procure his first horses, lending him one of their own to help build up the numbers. The differences between each ranch soon became blurred, the fence running through the middle of their respective fields eventually disappearing as they merged their ranches together, continuing with business individually with the help of the other's land.

John had long since accepted, within himself, that he would not find someone to spend the rest of his life with, not after Sarah. It was a sad truth, but one he had to live with.

That all changed when he suddenly realised he had fallen for his neighbour, the one person he now trusted and cared for more than anyone in the world.

He'd realised this when their face first started appearing in his nightmares, after a close accident that nearly resulted in catastrophe. (Y/n) had fallen from the roof of the stables, thankfully landing on a stack of stray hay which softened the impact, leaving them in severe amounts of pain for two days. Their face became part of the repertoire in his head, nightmares about their death soon plaguing him even further, as he finally acknowledged the newfound love he felt for them.

Because that's what it was: love.

It couldn't be anything less, he was too damaged to have heedless fancies, and his emotions were far too strong towards them. Since he'd moved in, (Y/n) had always been there, acting as a friend he never had, steadily working their way into his life, bettering it in ways he never would've thought another person could, supporting him through the episodes of flashbacks he was now prone to having. They had showed him love and care he hadnt experienced from anyone else. He valued them highly, prioritising them over himself, and he knew he was heavily attracted to them, but he told himself "no", don't ruin the friendship.

They didn't make it easy to repress the urges. No, they only managed to win him over more and more with their caring, loving attitude, though their youth managed to awaken some form of paternal instinct John never knew he had. He felt the need to protect them at all times, and he would do his best to uphold this, but he knew his feelings were getting too strong.

Somehow, he managed to miss all the loving glances, and little tells (Y/n) inadvertently laid down before him, the rancher have g developed similar feelings for him, though they'd never admit it to John, knowing how human interaction like that could be upsetting for him.

Eventually, it had taken a beautiful evening, with the sun spilling its last bloody rays on the dry landscape as the two sipped beer from bottles on the veranda, for them to finally admit to each other how they felt.

It just happened: one minute, they were leaning in to replace their bottles on the table, the next, their lips are just touching, breaths mingling as they struggle to do rain themselves. (Y/n) had finally leaned in, pressing their lips against his, pulling back almost as quickly as they moved in, a horrified, embarrassed expression on their face.

They'd apologised instantly, terrified that they'd screwed up their relationship, rambling and cursing until John had recovered and kissed them again, cupping their face in his hand as he pulled them closer. It had been too long for him, and the touch was just incredible, goosebumps rising along his spine as he poured all of his love and care into the kiss, pressing as close as possible.

Somehow, (Y/n) had ended up in his lap, head on his chest as he cradled them, relishing in the feeling of having a solid, supple body against his own after so long, and one that means him no harm, too. They knew where they both stood, and it kickstarted a close relationship.

(Y/n) moved in with him after their second foaling season together, where he'd seen their parental instincts kick in, particularly when they'd then worked to socialise the foals by playing with them. The memory would always stick with John: something about the carefree youth in their face as they ran around with the frolicking horses reminded him of the good in his life.

Life was good, everything was going mostly well.

Naturally, there were some days when he'd relapse, having particularly bad episodes that would be harrowing on both him and (Y/n), though they were always there to help him through it. Their soft words of love and worry would easily permeate the cloud of despair, and had break down in their arms, enjoying the sensation of being held.

They often held each other. Even if it was just a quick hug, or an embrace from behind as one pressed up against the other's back, touch became a large factor in their relationship - John relished it after the more callous touch he had grown used to.

Kisses, too, became a large way of showing their affection. Little ones here and there between jobs, deep passionate kisses up against the wall of the house, or sloppy making out on the shared seat on the veranda, it all counted for their love, and they thoroughly enjoyed partaking in them.

(Y/n) was always there, even when Gabrielle and Maria joined them. They were there when Gabrielle died, and they were there to avenge her death, choosing to go out with the man they loved.

Both of them liked to cook, even if John's meals were a little...plain...so they often spent hours in the kitchen with each other, fooling around with whatever they could, John's face alight with more smiles and grins than he thinks it's ever been.

They went riding together, finding solace in each other's company on their many trails through their land, the horses often coming home tired after so long of being out.

Sometimes, John got self-conscious about his age in comparison with their's, thinking he is too old for them. Everytime this happened, (Y/n) would reassure him that they love him for who he is and doesn't care if he's not as young as he used to be, it never would matter.

Marriage was never really a thing they considered. John never had much time for the state anymore, so why get them involved in their relationship?

They considered themselves married, and wore rings to show it, but it was never a legal affair. Nevertheless, the union had always been a happy one, and John could honestly say that he had been wrong about himself: he had found love.

[otonymous]

A Bolt From The Blue (MLQC Shaw - NSFW) - Part IV (End): Courage, My Love

Description: The final chapter.  The Big Bang 😉  Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language & mature themes — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: physically aggressive behaviour, ex-boyfriends, angst, size kink, profanity, vaginal fingering and intercourse Word Count: 4237 words (~21 mins of thrills, real talk, fluff and smut) Author’s Notes: To all the lovelies who have been patiently following this story: you’ve made it! 🥳  Welcome to the final chapter in this Shaw saga, where we aim to go out with a massive bang (pun intended 😆).  Once again, thank you all for every like, reblog, and comment I’ve received on this story.  You are all amazing, and I appreciate your support! 💕

As always, tagging the lovely @op-peccatori​ — I hope you enjoyed this story!  I certainly had lots of fun writing this!  Please note the potential trigger warnings listed above, dear readers, and happy reading! 

Jump to Chapter(s): One | Two | Three

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

The quiet is back.

But there is no peace, no relief in the monotony that follows after the man known as Shaw burst into your life like a bolt from the blue, stirring up long forgotten feelings like dead leaves animated by a carefree wind — here one minute, gone the next.

And with each passing day, hope erodes.

Little by little, your heart learns not to race as the clock above the magazine rack approaches 1:30.

It becomes harder to remember the sound purple sneakers made walking through the store.

You stop hoping, wishing, to see a head of lavender hair; that the next person to approach the register would place a cup of Pepsi mixed with Coke on the counter, amber-eyed gaze speaking volumes without uttering a single word.

Days become weeks, and then eventually…

…you stop counting them altogether.

* * *

“You’re looking good.  I see you’re doing well for yourself.”

He reaches for the jade pendant hanging around your neck, eyes flashing with amusement when you hit his hand away with an audible smack.

“What the hell do you want?  Haven’t you already done enough?” You say through grit teeth, steps quickening as you head for the better lit part of the street, trying to outpace the man and silently cursing the fact that returning to the convenience store was no longer an option at this point.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that.  It took a lot of effort to track you down and I waited a very long time for you to get off work.  It’s cold, dark and lonely out here.  Is that any way to treat your boyfriend?  Or friend, at least?”

“ ‘Ex-boyfriend,’ asshole, and you’re no friend of mine, especially not after the way you took my life’s savings and ran.”

“Baby, it wasn’t like that—”

“Oh yeah?!  Did you try telling that to the loan sharks too before they came and trashed my place?  I had to move, Leto, because it wasn’t safe for me anymore, not with the way they kept harassing me and the neighbours asking about your whereabouts.  They even came to my office.  I lost my fucking job.  So don’t come around here and tell me that I’m doing well for myself.”

Breaking into a sprint, your mind races as you try to think of a way to lose your ex, anger and anxiety prickling every nerve in equal measure.  He had ruined your life, singlehandedly taken away everything you had.  And though you had known him once, desperation has a way of making monsters out of men.

And right now, for all you knew, he was desperate and dangerous.

“Please, I just want to talk.  I don’t need much this time, just a little bit to get me through this rough patch.  I’ll pay you back, I swear, just…just STOP FOR A MOMENT!—”

You shriek to feel Leto wrap his hand about your wrist, but before he could tighten his grip, another arm is thrown around your shoulder, pulling you back until you’re pressed up against a hard, muscular chest, staring at a close up of Snoopy riding a skateboard.

“You got business with my girl?”

That voice.  Dangerous and cocksure, yet comforting like nothing else as the muffled words reverberate through the tiny bones of your ear, a prelude to the soothing ba-bump of his heart, rhythm steady and concrete as the ground upon which you stood.

Shaw.

He’s really here.

“Hehe.  Your girl?”  The derision in Leto’s voice makes you sick to your stomach; you can’t help but hold your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop as he looks Shaw up and down, zeroing in on his old t-shirt.  “Tsk, tsk.  So, not only do you enjoy wearing second hand clothing, you also have the habit of picking up sloppy seconds?”

BOOM!

Deafening thunder rolls moments after a bolt of lightning rends the night sky in two, throwing a jagged spotlight on the fury written on Shaw’s face when he moves just as fast to grab a fistful of Leto’s collar.  The muscles of his forearm bulge as he holds up the entirety of Leto’s bodyweight in one hand, the sky opening in a sudden downpour as your ex struggles in midair, rain dripping almost comically from dangling feet.

And when Shaw brings Leto’s terrified face up close, the ferocity in those amber eyes sends a chill up your spine.

“This is the last time you’ll ever talk to her, see her, even think about her.  Or else I’ll find you and take my sweet time making you wish you were never born, do you understand me?”

Head bobbing in vigorous nods, drops of water fly off the tips of Leto’s rain-slicked hair.  Seemingly satisfied, Shaw tosses him onto the ground at your feet, voice low yet audible as it cuts through the din of the storm when he says, “Beg for her forgiveness.”

The fear in his expression almost palpable, Leto looks between you and Shaw — cowardice etched onto features you had once found so pleasing a lifetime ago.  He prostrates himself onto the wet pavement, voice cracking in between sobs as he yells over the sound of the rain:

“P-please…please forgive me!  I’m a piece of shit!  I’m nothing, I’m garbage!  I…I deserve to go to Hell for what I did to you!  I-I’m so sorry!  Please forgive me!”

Leto reaches out a shaky hand towards your soaked shoes before he remembers Shaw’s warning, but it is too late.  Black combat boots hit the concrete hard within an inch of Leto’s face as Shaw stoops, yanking back a fistful of hair and pulling until your ex is looking up at you like a pitiful supplicant begging for mercy.

“Satisfied?”  Shaw looks to you as if he were asking about something as mundane as the weather.  You nod, suddenly too tired to even speak.  You wanted to wash your hands of Leto, wanted nothing to do with all that had happened since you finished your shift at the convenience store.  All you could do was watch as Leto scrambled away on all fours the moment Shaw loosened his hold, running until he was nothing more than a speck of darkness merging with the night.

The rain is cold, wetness driving against your body to leech even the final bits of warmth from bone.  Your clothes are drenched, heavy as they cling uncomfortably to skin.  But you are too drained to care, lacking the energy to even notice when the dim light of the streetlamp above is blotted out — Shaw holding his leather jacket over your head in the place of an umbrella.

All you are aware of before your vision goes dark is the anxiety in his voice when he calls your name over and over again, how weightless it felt to be carried in the cradle of his arms.  

How much you missed the scent you thought you had learned to forget.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Finally awake, Sleeping Beauty?”

You opened your eyes to gaze into irises of warm amber, the situation similar to one you experienced before except for the fact that this time, you were the one lying in bed, staring at a man who sat on its edge, brows knit with concern beneath soft lavender strands.

“If you slept for any longer, I would’ve had to knock on your neighbour’s door.” Shaw chuckles but the sound is hollow, mirthlessness obvious like the blanched knuckles of his tightly clenched fists.

“What…how did we…” You begin, voice raspy as it dies, a sudden sharp pain in your throat making you wince.

And immediately, Shaw is on his feet, rummaging through cupboards in your kitchen until he finds a glass.  You watch him run the tap, fill it to the brim.  Feel the strength of his arm around your back as he holds you up, touch lingering even as you down the water in gulps to chase the discomfort away.

“You passed out not long after your douchebag of an ex ran off with his tail between his legs.  I found your keys in your purse, so I let myself into your apartment — hope you don’t mind.  Although, to be fair, I was also carrying you at the time, so it’s not really breaking and entering.”

Head feeling like it would explode as the events of the evening come rushing back, you turn towards him…slowly…slowly, afraid Shaw might disappear before your eyes should any movement prove too sudden.

Thank him.  Now.  Before he goes away again.

He is close, so close that you can count those long, beautiful lashes; almost feel the minuscule shifts in the air between you every time he blinks — those pupils encroaching onto gold as they expand and pulling you into their depths as they do.

“Why are you doing this?”

He doesn’t flinch at your question, and you can’t bring yourself to be shocked by the discrepancy between what you meant to say and the words actually spilling from your lips.  And as the grey memory of days spent counting the hours of his absence settles like lead in the pit of your stomach, the only thing you knew was that your heart couldn’t survive latching onto this sliver of hope only to have it ripped away again.

All you wanted…was the truth.

“Because I can’t stand to see you sad anymore.”

There is no smirk to stretch across that handsome face, only pain that hurts your heart to see it.  Resignation heavy in his voice, Shaw takes a deep breath before he continues.

“Turns out I’m weak when it comes to you.  Selfish.  I know I’m no good for you; there’s no future with me.  I can’t give you anything, can’t even promise you tomorrow, but…I just can’t stop thinking about you.  Wondering how you are.  Whether you’re eating well, sleeping well.  If you’re safe…happy.

“Tonight wasn’t supposed to happen.  I just wanted to make sure you got home okay, that some asshole wasn’t going to hassle you at work.  But then your ex showed up and when he tried to get fresh with you, well…I couldn’t let that slide.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s wrong with me but…I’m sorry, if I ever made you sad, if I scared you.  I’m sorry for everything.”

His gaze drops to the rip in his jeans, the drip, drip of the leaky faucet the only sound in the ensuing silence of his confession.  That is, until you say,

“I’m sorry too…that you’re such an idiot.”

His head whips up, brows furrowed and mouth slack as if caught in a rare moment of speechlessness.  The shock makes him seem years younger, lending him an air of innocence that you couldn’t help but smile at.

“In case it wasn’t obvious, I’m a grown woman, capable of making my own decisions.  I’m not so naïve that I don’t know what I would be getting into by being with you.  You say you can’t promise me tomorrow, but tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone.  All we can ask for — hope for — is the here and now.  

“Love takes courage, as does life.  But a life without love…it’s not much of a life, is it?  So I’m willing to be brave if that’s what it’ll take for us to be together.”

As quickly as they came, the words are gone, leaving you cotton-mouthed and faint as your heart pounds to send the blood rushing to your ears.  That could’ve been the only explanation as to why Shaw’s “I knew there was a reason why I loved you” sounded so muffled you had to ask him to repeat himself.

“Too bad, I only say things once.”

And there it is again: the spark in his eyes, smirk on those lips — igniting the fire you only allowed yourself to feel in dreams of his body on yours, skin to skin like kindling to flame.

“Are you that single-minded about everything?”  You ask, the smile on your face mirroring his as it approaches closer…

“Only when it comes to not letting go of the one I care about.”

…closer…

“Tell me one thing.”  Your voice is barely above a whisper.

…and closer still.

Lips now a hair’s breadth apart, the gentle rhythm of his exhalation blows soft upon your cupid’s bow; a shy request.  Your vision is filled with him, wonderfully awash with colour — lavender, amber, the soft pink of his mouth — and you wished you were the very clothes upon his body; saturated in his intensity, dyed in his hues.

His eyes fixate on your tongue when you wet your lips before asking, “That night, when you were hurt so badly you passed out in my store…why did you still insist on coming in?”

Shaw’s breath catches, hitching in his throat.  You know because you can feel it, the way the warmth stops short on your skin.  And when he speaks, the eyes that hold yours tell you this is no lie.

“Because if it was going to be the last night of my life, I didn’t want to go without seeing your face one more time.”

Love is a funny thing.  Formless, senseless, yet the strongest thing that could bind two strangers.  You hadn’t known Shaw for long, could count the days you spent together on one hand.  And still, entirely without reason, he bled into each and every hour, crept into the darkest corners of your mind to fill your weary heart with a desperation that made it very clear that love was far from done with you.

That right or wrong, the only place you wanted to be was here — held in the arms that wrapped around your body: hot, tight, safe…

…Shaw.

His lips are softer than you ever imagined when he brings his face to yours, plush silk gliding corner to corner to cover your mouth in reverent kisses — one for each night he came into your store, watched over you from afar.  

Your stalwart protector.

You tasted it now, the remnants of cinnamon on his tongue from the gum he was so fond of chewing, intensified by the memory of all the times you wondered about its flavour: pink bubbles popping in his mouth as he coolly dealt with the robber, the night you emptied his pockets as your neighbour stitched him up on your bed.

Shaw tasted sweet.  Far sweeter than you ever imagined.

And when his tongue slides against yours — slow and sure as it explores your mouth with increasing fervour before drawing back just as you clenched around emptiness, yearning for more, the beast within you refuses to abide.

You like the shock that passes over his face when you move, sudden and forceful, to push him onto the mattress beneath you; the artless way Shaw sinks teeth into his bottom lip in response.  You like how he watches as you straddle his hips — gaze earnest and body honest, hardening as you grind undulating circles upon his groin.

But, perhaps most of all, you liked the spark of something wild in those amber eyes, an unpredictability warning that if you weren’t careful, you’d be the one to find yourself pinned to the bed.

Because wasn’t that ultimately the push-and-pull that characterized so much between you and him?  Maddening at times, but always, always binding you to Shaw like some red string of fate.

So you nod when he whispers “May I?”, unable to suppress a moan to finally feel his hands on you: tracing along your jaw, cradling your face…resting the pad of his finger on your lip before pushing past to stroke your tongue.

Every sound he makes pleases; the soft hiss preceding the bob of his Adam’s apple to feel your lips pucker around his finger to suck, pink tongue enticing as it swirls along the length of that digit, drawing it deeper into the hot wetness of your mouth.

You never saw yourself as seductive before, but Shaw made you feel sexy.  Perhaps the impulse stemmed from some primitive desire, an instinctive call to please the man you felt so profoundly for that shame was the farthest thing from your mind when you pulled his hand from your lips to guide it to your breast, only partially aware of how wet you were becoming from his gaze alone — half-lidded and heavy with lust.

The heat of his touch permeates your blouse, white and transparent still in patches from the rain.  You watch his hands as they play: cupping your breasts in a gentle squeeze, thumbs and forefingers catching your nipples to pinch and roll until they stood stiff against the drape of your clothing, the flush of your flesh bold through fabric.

“You’re so beautiful that there are times I think you can’t possibly be real.”

His voice is low, husky.  You let it wash over you, almost frightened by how stupidly happy you become, willing the magic to linger even as his words dissipate amongst the sounds of the night: neon buzzing and the faraway screams of sirens in the distance.

A world apart.

Your hands find the broad expanse of his chest, tracing along muscle before circling the nipples that stood erect against his damp t-shirt.  Each twitch is endearing, every erratic breath he draws to feel your touch making you fall harder.  And when he tries to focus on unbuttoning your blouse while fighting the impulse to tear it clean off your body, the stirring between your legs grows in intensity until he finally pulls the silken panels aside, a quiet gasp escaping his lips to see his necklace nestled between your breasts.

“It really does belong on you.”  

The admiration in his tone is laced with a hint of possessiveness that makes you throb.  Shaw pushes himself to sitting, gathering you onto his lap in one smooth motion as he buries his face in your chest, inhaling deep.  You gasp to feel gentle teeth sink into the flesh of your breasts, Shaw following the chain of precious metal with his lips until it leads to the pendant.  And when his tongue slips out to draw the piece of jade into his mouth, he brings your nipple along with it.

“Oh!…”

The sensation is unlike any you’ve known before, the soft wetness of his pliant tongue a searing contrast with the cool, smooth stone rubbing against the sensitive tip of your breast in equal measure.  You feel his smile on your skin when you fist your hands into lavender hair, spine curving as your legs begin to tremble.

And he had yet to touch you below the waist.

“Your body responds so well to me.  I knew you were a good girl.”  He looks up at you, teasing shamelessly even as he continues to lavish attention on your breasts.

“Just your girl, if you’ll have me,” you say without second thought, long past the point of caring to keep your cards close to your chest.

Something breaks in that expression, the final walls crumbling like dust when Shaw blinks once…twice, revealing eyes that shine with emotion when he replies, “For the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.”

* * *

“Hmm!—”

Your moan is muffled, swallowed by Shaw’s greedy lips like he does with every sound of ecstasy that leaks like you do around his cock, buried impossibly deep in your body as it rocks back and forth, back and forth on his muscular thighs…

…doing your best to adjust to his ample size.

He had barely suppressed a chuckle when you first slipped your hand into his jeans, a subtle mix of pride and amusement on his face to see your eyes widen when you couldn’t quite wrap palm and fingers around the entirety of his girth.

And foreplay had only just begun.

“Still doing okay?” Shaw asks, touch tender as he brushes loose strands of hair from your eyes, lips smoothing along the apple of your cheek to feel its pink heat.  “We can go as slow as you want, there’s no rush.  If it’s too much, we can stop—”

“No!  No…I’m okay.  More than okay, I’m great.  Please…please don’t stop…don’t stop…”

Struggling to string words together, your breath comes in disjointed pants as Shaw begin to thrust up — the look on his face effortlessly sensual when he bites his lip to feel you spasm around him, tight wetness yielding in increments to accommodate his body as it broke new ground.

For you had never taken a man of that size, the litheness of Shaw’s muscular body belying the impressive package he’d been hiding in those jeans.  Your jaw ached just to look upon the length of that thick cock, mouth watering as a fresh wave of arousal made you press your thighs tighter together.  The movement didn’t go unnoticed.  Shaw had drawn you to him then — deft fingers dipping low to trace the outline of your swollen folds through moist panties, lavender head bending to kiss its lacy trim.

He took his time preparing you, licking his fingers before he eased them into your pussy — first one, then two…curling deep until the slippery sounds of arousal told him the time was ripe to introduce the third, leaving you blooming for him even as he whispered, “Think you’re ready for me to make you my girl for real?”

It borders on overwhelming, this sensation of fullness — between your legs, within your heart.  And as skin stretched to capacity to accommodate the sweet friction of his slide, you wished there was a way for the euphoria of this connection to last forever:

To the one you could never forget, no matter how hard you tried.

To this man you loved like no other.

“Shaw.”

His name is faint on your breath when he falls back onto the bed, taking you with him.  And as you found yourself straddling his hips once more, the altered angles of your bodies gave him the leverage to make you gasp when he begins to thrust in earnest.  The eroticism of his face, lost in lust, drives all thoughts from your mind as you drop a hand to your clit, fingers drawing tight circles before his hungry eyes.

The violence of your climax takes you by surprise, having no time to consider neighbours and thin walls as the lewdest sounds escape your lips at high volume.  Intense convulsions wracking your body in waves, you clench in time around your lover.  The sensation proves too much to bear, drawing out Shaw’s own release as he pulls out to spill onto the folds of your pussy — swollen and pink and trembling still beneath the coat of his pearlescent seed.

* * *

“I love you.”  

Morning light trickles across your walls like the slow crawl of spidery legs.  Shaw’s words hang in the air between you, a final, sacred moment shared between lovers before the rest of the world wakes.

You loved the hoarseness in his voice; a testament to the hours of noisy lovemaking you had shared in lieu of sleep.

You loved the weight of his hand, stroking softly at the crown of your head.

You loved the rhythm of his heart, echoing just below your ear to confirm his existence.

“I love you too.”

You look up into those amber eyes, trying to discern whether those four little words were sufficient in conveying that fact that you adored every fibre of the man before you.

The smile that graces his face in return is tender, honest…more brilliant than the day breaking in the East.

Your hands find his body, bare beneath the sheets.  And as a curious finger traces along the ridge of the scar that runs in a broad stroke across his sculpted abdomen, your gaze falls on his t-shirt, draped over the back of a chair.

“You should probably throw that Snoopy shirt away, especially after what happened last night.”

Shaw follows your line of sight, chest rising and falling in a deep sigh.  “Shitty as its previous owner was, I could never bring myself to hate something that reminds me of you.  Aside from saving my ass, this was the first gift you ever gave me.  And I never throw away gifts from my girl.”

His girl.

The mystery of life is that filled with unknowns though it is, we continue to live, brave in the face of the uncertainty that comes with every passing day.  You had no idea what fate had in store for you or Shaw, had no way of knowing if your relationship existed on borrowed time.  

The only thing you were certain of was that your feelings for each other were real, that try as you might, neither of you were very good at forgetting the other.  That in this moment, here and now, the only thing that mattered was this love that hit you…

…like a bolt from the blue.

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

Thanks so much for reading!  I hope you all enjoyed this Shaw saga! 💖 

Check out more of my work here! 📚 (Please do not repost/copy/alter my work.  Reblogs, on the other hand, are perfectly fine and much appreciated! 💖👍🏼)

Jump to Chapter(s): One | Two | Three

[urie]

there are parts of philly i literally cannot walk through without experiencing either intense sadness or stomach flips, like if i walk through where the homeless encampment used to be i always feel like crying. that was my home! i lived there for almost 2 months! i walk by where i had my tent and i feel like its hallowed ground. its not nostalgia as much as it is just, a deep sadness

we worked so hard last summer/fall and i look around at what it accomplished and i cant see it. center city philadelphia was on fire, and now its like nothing happened. we built an entire autonomous community at Camp JTD and its just gone. there are bits and pieces of it that remain, like bits of spraypaint they werent able to rub off, etc, people have etched “JTD” into parts of the pavement, and it just sucks, it feels like a ghost town, it feels like it was some weird dream

i get called an accelerationist a lot which is an accusation that i dont really mind, so i was disappointed when things wound down, in some sick inexplicable way i wanted to get tear gassed again, i welcomed the violence and invited it upon myself and i got what i was asking for many times. because it felt like we were changing things. every bit of violence felt meaningful, it felt sincere, it made me think that things were really going to shift and i was fiercely proud to be a part of that 

but its like... nothing. i watched unmarked white vans plow through the barricades at the homeless camp. i watched them swerve to try to run over my friends. i still want to hide and cover my face when i hear helicopters or walk by the police. i cant be in a car driving past the 22nd st exit on the 676 without feeling nauseous. i cant look at the fence we climbed over without feeling a faint version the heart-seizing terror i felt when we were cornered. doesnt help that its kind of dead in the middle of my bike path many days lol

but i watched and experienced these things and i felt like i was doing good and i wanted things to fundamentally and systematically change and then nothing

and i dont just mean the george floyd protests although obviously thats where it started, but its the marconi plaza protests, the walter wallace riots, the homeless encampment, everything i was a part of

i just dont see what we got out of it. other than potentially radicalizing thousands of people lol. and i guess i should just look at that itself as a huge victory, because it is one, it mobilized people, but it also scared people, it traumatized people

i dont know im kind of rambling because ive been thinking about this a lot today/recently and i dont have a cohesive succinct thought right now

i just wanted things to change and i was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen. literally whatever it took. when i was hooked up to the IV in the hospital last year and i told them i was living at the camp and they basically said my body was so exhausted it was shutting down, i remember just thinking “im alive though” and as soon as i was discharged i hopped right on the bus and went back to the camp. curled up in my tent

in a weird and frustrating way, i felt safer in that tent on the parkway than ive felt in my own bed at home at times

i dont know dude

i just really wanted things to be better for the most vulnerable people in my community and in the world and i thought i could be a part of what would make that happen and in the moment it felt like that

but i look around center city and i see no reminders of what happened there. the only thing that looks different is not seeing the frank rizzo statue in front of the municipal building anymore. everything is the same as it was but i will forever look at it differently, i will forever remember everything up in flames

but it doesnt matter, like idfk, nothing changed

every single homeless person from Camp JTD is still homeless. and chauvin is going to rot in prison for the rest of his life but at this point it almost feels like last year just didnt happen. like it was a collective fever dream sometimes. because i dont see what changed in philly. i thought everything was changing and then, nothing

and its weird! i’ll never see my city the same way again but it feels like i am the only one in the world who feels that way. and i feel fucking crazy lol

[acatpersonapparently]

Jemtoria Angel AU: Part 2

i.

Jemima’s earliest memory is of the sun. The way it creeps though the kitchen windows of their small ramshackle home and sprawls across the floor like a lazy cat. The sun plays peek-a-boo with the clouds as Jemima bites back another scream. Her mother is tearing fistfuls of feathers from her back again. Fighting against their incessant growing in, like weeds eating at the good garden plants.

When the ground is littered an inch thick in holy white then (and only then) does her mother turn her around to face her. Cupping her cheeks and pressing kisses to her eyelid, her mother fills the room with wet whispers of love.

Darling child of mine

My sweet girl

My precious gift from God

ii.

Jemima received two names when she was born. One was lovingly placed on her skin with her mother's gentle touch. The other was the one given the first time the world bore witness to her. Monster they whisper, like the sin she was born from is contagious. A Thing That is Less Than Things. (The worst part is Jemima knows they're not wrong. She knows every time her feathers come in like stubble and her mother keeps her inside because today she is literally glowing.)

My darling girl, my sweet thing, Her mother whispers, rubbing ash into her fiery red hair and brushing powder on her skin. Anything to stop the poison gas leak of light.

Monster, sin, wicked thing, sin, Everyone else whispers. Jemima is too young to understand the Psalms that come stabbing out their mouths when she passes. She doesn't recognize the objects they hold at her. The wooden sticks, the glass bottles. All she can do is hold onto her mother as they're turned away from another door.

iii.

Jemima doesn’t think about her father most days. Demeter shelters her from that pain too. It’s not like she doesn’t know. After all, she’s nine years old and her baby teeth are almost all gone. Now, when the townspeople whisper when they pass, she bares her sharp incisors. Sometimes, on particularly bad days, her tongue twists into a language she swears to her mom she never learned until she is shouting through air thick with locusts.

She climbs trees to yell at the sky. Asking her father where he has gone, when will he return. they’re waiting, after all, they haven’t moved an inch. She wonders if he despises her too, thinks her to be a twisted creature all the way down. Does he hate her bloody knees? The soft skin of her neck? Is it the bits of humanity that has spoiled her rotten?

(She hates him so much some days for abandoning them that she thinks she’s a volcano, heading towards natural disaster, heat pooling in clenched fists. But, her mother is crying again, so she unfolds her fingers and places her warm hands on her. She won’t leave her mother, not like him. She may be a wretched thing but she's a good person)

iv.

Her mother hits her once, when she’s fifteen and all her limbs feel awkward and new. The tips of her wings graze the ground now and feather still comes in like stubble down her arms.

The melody had started itself inside of her. She didn’t mean to sing really, she swears. The singing felt like a relief from the loneliness, like there was an entire choir waiting for her to harmonize them. So she indulged herself a little. The hymn had burbled out of the gulley of her throat but it hadn't felt wrong. (not the way shoes feel wrong or the way her wings feel wrong)

Never again. Her mother hisses as Jemima holds the side of her face. Promise me, never again. Your singing will lure men in and seize their hearts, drive women to out of their minds, even nature will be pulled in. Never again will you sing. Swear it.

Jemima swears, upon her favourite book, on her father, on God and his heavenly hosts she half belongs to. If it weren't for the fear in her mother's pleading eyes, she would've hated her for it.

v.

When she turns eighteen, she runs away. Her mother is too old to be cleaning the smashed eggs and spray paint from their doorway. Her hands ache to massage the weight out of her mother’s bowed shoulders. (even though she is perfectly aware that she’s the burden that’s slowly crushing her to death)

So, she leaves.

It’s not just the wings she shares with her father, she supposes.

Jemima gets on the greyhound bus to nowhere without looking back. Her trench coat brushes the floor and she doesn’t make eye contact with anyone armed with even the sweetest creeping idle talk. Jemima is perfectly aware of the poison of strangers. She folds her soft-palmed hands and bows her head for the ride, hoping the facsimile of prayer will keep them from encroaching on her sacred space.

The desert is as good of a place as any to call home. It’s not like anyone here knows that she’s a walking monument to sin. She wanders through town, pouring over a book. She takes stock of the men that pass her, a woman on their arm. She watches the boys run up and down the small town’s main street. They look at her and then past her, practically right through. She is so wonderfully a non-entity.

vi.

She passes a garden, flush with spiraling vines and the scent of spring vegetables. Something beckons her inside with a sickly tweet tweet. Naturally, she jumps the fence without a moment's hesitation. There’s a trembling beam of white crying under the roses. She scoops up the bird in her world weary palms and extracts it from under a rosebush. Cooing, she notes the birds limp and unmoving wings.

Me too, little buddy. She whispers consolation, petting him with a single hesitant finger. She understands being a thing that could fly. The blue front door of this garden's house seems inviting enough and she doesn’t know what else to do with her little friend.

She knocks. The door opens.

Your bird, I think it’s hurt. Jemima begins but her words dry up under the heat of the stranger’s gaze. It’s almost open repulsion on the woman’s beautiful face. Her hands feel frozen around the little heartbeat. The disgust slips away from the stranger’s expression as she holds her hand out to Jemima. Jemima opens her cupped hands to her.

That’s not my bird. The stranger’s voice crackles dryly. That’s a dove.

Oh

The stranger looks her over with such scrutiny Jemima might as well be naked on the stoop. She decides to leave before the humming in her spine makes her do something strange.

Wait, I didn’t say I wouldn’t take her in. The stranger calls out, flinging the sky-blue door open wider, stepping aside. Jemima looks around, checking to make sure there isn’t somebody else this is for because the gentleness in the invitation is enough to make her weep. The stranger looks between the bird in her hands and her face, sweet enough as to take pity for the monster on her doorstep

You poor little thing, someone needs to be kind to you.

[krisdreaming]

A/N: Today is a special day because it’s Em’s birthday, @imaginethathaikyuu​!!! Em is such an amazing writer and a warm & caring person, and I’m so glad that I’ve had the chance to get to know her. This is my humble birthday offering, I hope you enjoy!

This is a college AU!

Here’s the 4+1 masterlist

Four times Keiji thinks he loves you, and the one time he finally says it out loud

i.

When Keiji gets to your dorm, you immediately pull him inside, closing the door quickly behind him. “I’m sorry,” You’re already apologizing, “I didn’t know who else to call.” You lead him to your bed, and there, in a shoe box laying on top of a folded towel, is a tiny kitten. It’s laying eerily still, and he can hear a slight wheezing sound every time it’s small chest rises and falls. 

“I found him on my way back from class, he was laying all curled up by the sidewalk. I couldn’t just leave him there. He needs help.” You reach into the box and ever so gently caress the top of the kitten’s head with your fingertip. 

He’s silent for a few moments, looking into the box and turning the situation over in his head. “I’m pretty sure there’s an emergency vet in town,” He says finally, “I can drive us there.”

You look at him, and there’s a relieved smile breaking across your face. “Really?” You breathe, “Keiji, thank you! You don’t have to do this,” You add quickly, looking back to the frail kitten. If he’s not mistaken, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I want to,” He says firmly. You’re bustling around your dorm to grab a jacket and an extra blanket to swaddle the kitten, wondering aloud if your parents will let you keep the kitten at home if he recovers, but he’s completely still, just watching you.

It’s not the first time he’s caught a glimpse of your big heart. He knows how much you care, it’s part of what drew him to you in the first place. It’s just that now, especially, something is swelling up inside his chest, and it feels an awful lot like I love you. It’s the first time he’s felt it so clearly, and he can’t help the small smile that finds its way onto his face.

ii.

Keiji rests his head on his arms and closes his eyes, just for the few minutes until class starts. He’s lucky if he got three hours of sleep last night, and he hopes he’d studied enough. This midterm is a huge part of his grade, and despite the hours he’d spent in the past week preparing for it, he still doesn’t feel too confident.

He feels a gentle touch on his arm. “Keiji,” at the sound of your voice he looks up, surprised to see you standing by his desk. You aren’t supposed to be here - you have your own class starting in about five minutes. “I thought you might need this,” You laugh softly, and he finally notices the cup in your hand when you set it down on the corner of his desk. It looks like the largest cup of coffee the campus has to offer. He’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Thank you,” He wraps his fingers around it, pulling it closer to himself, but he doesn’t take a sip yet. He’s still looking at you. “This is perfect,” He smiles.

“Good,” You smile back, even bigger. “Good luck today, Keiji. You’ll do great.” You lean in and press the quickest peck to his cheek. The feeling of your lips lingers even after you pull away. 

“Thank you,” He says again, because he isn’t quite sure what else to say. “You should get to class too, right? I’ll see you after.”

“Yup! You’ve got this!” You grin before you lift your hand in a quick wave and duck out of the classroom. He watches the door even after you disappear from view, his hand resting absently on his cheek at the spot where you’d placed your kiss. 

he muses that it’s probably a good thing you hadn’t stuck around any longer. Something like the words I love you might have slipped out past his sleep-deprived brain.

iii.

Keiji glances from his spot on the court to the place he knows you’ll be in the stands. When you see him looking your way, you immediately lift both both hands above your head in an exaggerated wave. He waves back at you, quickly, before the next volley starts.

Even though he’s only on the intramural team and the stands are rarely packed, you still show up at every single one of his matches. Even though this is nothing like the Black Jackals match he took you to once, no roaring crowd or big, bright stadium lights or fancy official uniforms with sponsor patches, you’re always telling him how exciting it is to watch him play. You mean it, too. He can tell.

“You don’t have to come every time, you know,” He says, afterwards, as he walks you back to your dorm. “It’s nothing special, so I don’t expect you to always be there.”

“I want to be there, silly.” You shove your shoulder against his, and he uses it as an excuse to reach for your hand, sliding his fingers between yours. “You love volleyball, and I love watching you play. If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me.” You’re important to me. I love you. He thinks it, but somehow he can’t make himself say it out loud. Instead, he gives your hand a squeeze and tugs you a little closer.

“Thanks,” He says, stopping just for a moment to press a quick kiss to your lips.

You giggle softly. “What was that for?”

He shakes his head, a small smile playing across his lips. “Nothing in particular.”

iv.

Keiji is trying very hard not to move. The train is jostling enough as it is, and you had fallen asleep on his shoulder almost as soon as the train had started moving. He can’t blame you. It had been a long day, and you’d done a lot of walking. 

He can just make out your face in the reflection on the train window. It looks so soft and peaceful. Your lips are slightly parted, and you let out the softest sigh. Something washes over him, then - an overwhelming desire to protect you, to keep you safe, to stay by your side for as long as you’ll have him. He’s not sure where it came from.

While he’s still lost in thought, your stop comes up. Gently, he nudges you awake, and you blink at him blearily, confusion on your face for a few moments before you remember where you are.

“Oh, sorry,” You murmur, “Didn’t mean to fall asleep. You could’ve woken me.” You rub some sleep from your eyes, and he gives your cheek the softest pinch. You scrunch your nose at that, standing to exit the train.

“Nah, you looked so peaceful. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” He rests his hand at the small of your back for a fraction of a second as you step off the train, and when you’re on the platform, you turn to him and grin.

“Oh?” You ask cheekily, a teasing glint in your eyes.

He nods, then quickly changes the subject. “Okay, let’s go. We need to get you to bed.”

v.

This day is definitely not turning out the way Keiji had envisioned it. When he woke up to the patter of rain hitting the windowpanes, his heart sank. He’s been planning this romantic little picnic for a few weeks now, as a way of celebrating your six month anniversary and, as a bonus, the perfect time to finally, finally tell you what he’s been feeling for so long. And now it’s raining. Even if it stops raining, the cute little park near campus is going to be soaked. 

“We can do it some other time,” You say over the phone, and he sighs. Who knows when ‘some other time’ could end up being? The end of the semester is getting closer, and he’d been lucky this weekend had worked out for both of your schedules. He lets the gears turn in his head for a few moments before responding.

“No. Come to my dorm. We can still hang out.” He looks around the room, already figuring out what he’ll do to make the place look even a little bit nicer. All he’ll have to do is make sure his roommate keeps himself scarce, and it could work.

“Okay,” You say, and he can hear the smile in your voice, “I’ll be over around noon?”

“Perfect,” He agrees. It gives him just a little more than two hours to make some preparations.

When you get to his dorm, he watches the way your expression changes when you walk into the room. You look from the blanket and pillows spread out on the ground, to the candles he’d lit (and paid his roommate 2,000 yen not to tell anyone about), and to the big bouquet of flowers. Your lips form a small, surprised O, and he pats the spot on the blanket next to him, inviting you to join him.

“Keiji,” You breathe as you sink down, still taking everything in, “This is beautiful. Honestly.”

“For a dorm room,” He chuckles, handing you a bottle of your favorite drink. “Would’ve been better in the park, but...” He shrugs and gestures to the window, where you can see the rain outside still falling.

“This is so cozy, though!” You murmur happily, scooting in a little closer so you’re just leaning against him. He shifts so that the arm bracing him up is also resting against your back. “All this, just for six months.” You laugh softly.

“Of course,” He says, his nose just brushing your cheek when he turns to see your face better, “These last six months have been wonderful. Truly. I’m really glad that I could spend them with you.” 

“Keiji,” Your voice is almost a squeak, “So am I. It’s been perfect.”

“Yeah,” He agrees, turning so you’re practically face to face and reaching for your hand, holding it loosely and brushing his thumb across the back of it. Your smile drops off and you study his face, then, almost as though you’re waiting for something. He’s been waiting too.

“Y/N,” His voice drops lower and softer, “You’re incredible. I’m amazed by you, every day. Sometimes I don’t know why you’d want to be with me,” He chuckles softly at the frown that puckers your brow at that, “But I’m glad you do. And... I love you, Y/N. So much. And I will keep on loving you for as long as you’ll let me.” For a few moments, the only sound is the rain falling outside as his words sink in. Then, all at once, you close the distance between you and throw your arms around his neck.

“Keiji,” Your words are muffled against the skin of his neck, “I love you too. Oh my god, I love you so much.” You pull back, then, and with the way you’re looking at him, like he’s the only person in the world, he can’t help himself. He cups your face in his hands and kisses you like he means it, because he does. More than anything.

4+1 taglist (let me know if you want to be added!):

@luna-barnes14​, @herow1n​, @disgruntled-gay​

[kookicat]

When You've Walked My Road

None of the others have been to this safe house, and if he has his way, it'll stay like that, because it's less safe house and more medic station, with cupboards packed with every supply that they might need. There's a sturdy wooden table that he keeps scrubbed, and five camp beds, because if they ever have to retreat to the place, he's making sure the whole team is there and locking the place down.

He pulls out the big medical bag and dumps it on the table, flipping it open to inspect what's left inside. It's still almost full, missing just a few bandages and dressing packs from their last job, but they're going up against Damien Moreau -Damien fucking Moreau- and while Nate seems blissfully unconcerned about the potential for danger, Eliot can't let himself fall under such illusions. He knows intimately just how dangerous the other man is, and if he can't stop Nate running them up against him, at least he can make sure they're as ready as they can be. Mitigate some of the damage when things go bad, because he honestly can't see how this ends without bloodshed. God, I hope I can keep them all safe, he thinks, and rubs the back of his neck, feeling the tension there. Let me be the one bloody, if it comes to that.

The thought brings him neatly back to the medical supplies and he grabs an empty tub, pulling everything out before he wipes the inside of the bag with sanitiser spray and spools up his mental checklist of what needs to be inside. Dressings, band aids and bandages are a simple staple, along with tape, and he adds in two more packs than he hopes they'll ever need, following them with wound cream and wipes, because it's an easy first step in avoiding an infection. He pauses, then tucks another tube in, because between him and the minor injuries Parker gets, they go through the stuff with frightening speed sometimes. He drops in a couple of slings and splints, rubbing his wrist in reflex, because he'd picked up a nasty sprain a few jobs ago and a splint would have made the drive home a lot more comfortable.

He knows it surprises people that he knows how to heal as well as how to bust heads, a dichotomy they can't quite reckon, but it makes perfect sense to him. His whole unit had learned basic medical skills, because if the guy next to you is shot in the gut, you don't have time to wait for help. And anyway, in his line of work, knowing how to patch yourself up can be the difference between life and death, because bullet holes and stab wounds tend to attract the wrong kind of attention at an ER.

He flips open the trauma shears, checking they still work and tucks them in, next to a smaller kit that includes single use scalpels and suture packs. On a whim, he adds a couple of disposable tweezers, because Parker had got a nasty metal splinter climbing through a duct on their last job and Sophie's still moaning about them using her expensive tweezers to get it out three months later. It makes him smile, just for a second, before the tension in his gut takes over again. Some jobs just feel wrong, and this is one of them, doubly so because of Moreau's involvement. Eliot's no coward, but you don't take down a guy like Moreau; you either put a bullet in his skull, preferably from a distance, or you keep the fuck out of his way.

He pokes his mental checklist and digs through the tub, pulling out a handful of hemostatic dressings and elastic bandages. The items are on the list of things he carries but hopes never to have to use, because uncontrollable bleeding isn't something he can fix in the field and anyway, the damn stuff burns like fuck. There's a neat round scar on his bicep to attest to the fact, and he can still remember the terror of watching his blood pour out of him like water from a tap. He tucks the items in the bag, because if his life had taught him anything, it's that it's better to be over prepared than under prepared.

Rain lashes against the windows, and the sky is filled with dark and looming clouds that match Eliot's mood perfectly. He adds a bag of IV supplies, the plastic catheters incongruously cheerful in the dim light. He's pretty sure his arms are still bruised from teaching Sophie and Parker how to place them, but it'll be worth it, if this goes down how he thinks it will. Three bags each of normal saline and Lactated Ringers solution go in next, along with a couple of banana bags. If they need more fluids, they're in hospital territory, and the thought sends a weird little shiver through him. It's not exactly a premonition, but it still reinforces just how bad an idea this job is.

Maybe I can get Nate to listen, he thinks as he packs the drug case back in the medical bag, adding Zofran as an afterthought, because he knows he'll puke his guts up with a bad enough concussion and going through that once was awful enough that he never wants to do it again. There's a couple of types of broad spectrum antibiotics in there, just in case, too. He knows Nate, knows that now he's got the scent, nothing will stop him, but Nate isn't the only stubborn one on the team and maybe, for once, they can get him to listen to reason. The rest of them have the choice of going along for the ride or getting out of the way, but the thought of leaving Nate to handle Moreau alone makes well hidden anxiety worm through his gut. He's committed and that means being prepared, so he heaves a sigh and tucks a couple of tourniquets under the webbing on the outside of the bag, where they're easy to get at quickly. If they have any luck left, they won't need them, but anything involving Moreau feels like a curse.

Just the sound of his name makes Eliot's hands feel sticky, coated in drying blood, because God knows he'd shed enough of the stuff in the man's employment. He flips the bag back open and adds in a box of gloves, then walks around the table to drop heavily on the seat there, exhaustion hitting him suddenly. It's well down in the AM and he's been awake this best part of twenty four hours. It's not the longest he's ever been awake, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel the drag of tired muscles, the dull throb of a headache that's been with him since Nate announced the plan. The safe house is chilly, because he hasn't bothered to kick the furnace one, and he shivers, forcing himself to his feet because the job's not done yet and he wants the bag finished before he sleeps.

Silver foil emergency blankets go in next, along with heat and cold packs. He runs warm, but Parker and Hardison both tend to get cold easily and that's bad if they're also nursing an injury. Shock is no joke and he's run that gauntlet enough times to respect it. He adds burn gel and dressings, just in case, because Parker has no fear of climbing through steam vents that any sane person would avoid. The bag is bulging and he runs through his checklist one more time, satisfied that he's got everything he might need.

A quick glance at his watch tells him that he has three hours to grab some sleep and he heads to the ratty but comfortable couch in the small living area, dropping down onto it with a sigh and bending to unfastened his boots before he swings his jean clad legs up and tugs the ugly knitted throw down over himself. He blinks, yawning, and knows if he wants to function properly in the morning, he needs to sleep, but his mind is buzzing with what if's that he just can't shake. He forces a breath out through his nose and shifts a little, getting more comfortable. Every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is his team, broken and battered and bloody on the floor. After what seems like an eternity, he gives in and reaches under the table next to the couch for the bottle there, lip curling in self disgust as he downs a good mouthful. It's a crutch, and a crude one at that but any port in a storm and he's facing a big one. The booze takes the sharpness off everything and he settles back down, eyes closing, and finally lets himself rest.

[letteredlettered]

hi! ive been following your writing for a few years now and i drop by periodically to check if you have anything new posted, and im really surprised that you seem to be enjoying the untamed? im curious what you think about the show - its story and characters, the acting, the production, etc. idk if you know, but the untamed is the most successful example of a current trend in chinese entertainment, where popular online novels centered around a gay romance is adapted into a 'safe' drama.

continued:

due to the many explicit and implicit restrictions imposed on creative media in china, many crucial plot points have to be changed (often badly) or removed, including the nature of the relationship between the main characters. the untamed is considered the most loyal adaptation so far, but like all other works in the genre, it received criticism for weak acting and queerbaiting. that's why im really curious about what you think of the show as it is, as itself, free from its context.

if you're interested, you could also check out guardian! it features much better performance and chemistry by the leads imo, but the story was heavily botched bc the original incorporates and reinvents a lot of classic chinese folklore beautifully and stuff like that is considered disrespectful and not-pc. i think it's really sad how so many great pieces of writing with complex world-building and plotlines are simplified into... idek what to call them, but just, less than what they are.

im sorry this turned into a rant. as a mainland chinese person with oh so many frustrations about our current society, it's hard to comprehensively describe my feelings about the untamed's popularity. it's the first mainland chinese show/movie to gain this much organic interest abroad so i should be glad? but, but. anyway, yes, im sorry.

There’s no need to apologize for ranting, but I admit to some confusion as to whether you want your question addressed or the rant. Because I’m me and tend to be thorough, I’ll address everything, in reverse order.

First of all, I’m sorry that this show is sad to you. I’m sorry that the popularity of it is difficult. I’m also deeply sympathetic to your frustrations about your society, as I too am deeply frustrated by my own.

Secondly, yes, I’m aware of the context of The Untamed. I’m aware that the book it’s based on is a BL novel, and that, in order to align with Chinese politics, overt queerness was erased from the adaptation. I’m aware of the censure laws of gay media in China. I’m also aware that some aspects of necromancy and morality were adjusted to make the show more palatable for general audiences, but I’m fuzzier on those details. Lastly, I’m aware that the popularity of the show calls attention to certain things, such as fanfic, and that attention results in more censorship,

The fact of this erasure and this censure provokes a lot of questions: by consuming this product, which contains erasure and censure, do we engage in the erasure and censure? By posting gifs and writing fanfic and talking about this product, do we increase its popularity, thereby encouraging additional erasure and censure? By increasing the popularity of this product, do we diminish the popularity of the original gay morally gray canon, thereby decreasing representation? Do we discourage other authors in China from writing explicitly gay morally gray material? In short, are we allowed to enjoy this media?

I don’t know the answer to these questions. However, I do know that boycott is a very effective tool when it can inflict economic pain on the producer, or when it can exert pressure on an entity to change. That said, I feel like a lot of the calls to boycott certain media these days are a lot like telling people to stop driving their cars to stop climate change: it’s suggesting that individuals can solve the problem, which presupposes individuals are the problem, and therefore fails to address the scope of the problem, or present the possibility of a real solution. Not watching The Untamed isn’t going to change laws about portrayals of homosexuality onscreen in China, partly because the laws in China are a much bigger problem.

The other part of it is that The Untamed is coded queer, so if you run a successful boycott against it, you end up with . . . less queer TV. I know a whole lot less about China than I do about the Hays Code, but if you had told gay people during the Golden Age of Hollywood that they couldn’t enjoy movies that were coded queer because they weren’t explicitly queer, they’d have said you were crazy. In fact, many people will tell you that media that was coded queer was a big reason we got more explicit queer stuff later. And as I’m sure you’re aware, the US is still fighting that battle . . . partly because it wants to sell movies to China.

So then there’s a question about whether me, an American in the US, liking something coded queer from China but not explicitly queer--does that encourage Chinese censorship? Should I only support texts that are explicitly queer? But the answer is the same--it’s not addressing the scope of the problem, and by supporting texts that are coded queer, you could be paving the way in the future for something brighter.

But you weren’t talking about boycott! You were talking about your discomfort with the popularity with this show, which I accept. I understand feeling uncomfortable. I can only hope it makes you a bit more comfortable to know that plenty of fans are deeply aware of the context and do wrestle with the question of what liking this show means in the context of a society that would never allow aspects of the original to be portrayed onscreen.

Thirdly, I’m not against trying Guardian at some point, but by comparing the acting and chemistry of the leads to The Untamed, I feel like you prove our tastes are very different in these regards. I love the acting of the leads in The Untamed; I found their chemistry off the charts. It’s okay you don’t feel the same.

Lastly, you asked my opinion of The Untamed: its story and characters, the acting, the production, sans context of the canon upon which its based and censorship laws in China.

a. I love the overall story, but the plot has deep plot holes. Quite a few segments do not actually make sense to me, because the plot is so haywire. However, I’ve never cared that much about plot, except when it gets in the way of characters and themes, and for the most part, this plot serves its characters and themes, except when the parts they leave out are so confusing that I cannot follow the story. As for the story, it feels like it’s built for me, because ultimately it’s about moral decisions and how to make them; it’s about guilt and paying for mistakes; it’s about learning, changing your mind, and remaking yourself. Really, I’m not sure there are many stories I love more--except they killed my favorite character, and I almost quit. So, that certainly put a damper on things.

b. I love the characters most of all, although the villains are really two-dimensional. However, large parts of the plot are not Hero vs Villain, they’re Hero vs Society, and then some Hero vs Himself in a way that suggests the Hero is no longer a hero. I could talk about the characters forever, but suffice it to say I think they’re really strong. Also, the relationships are really exquisite, particularly when it comes to family dynamics. Unfortunately, they killed my favorite character off. Also unfortunately, there are six women in this show, only two of them are main characters, and every single one of them dies. It disgusts me.

c. I think the two leads are exceptional, in particular Xiao Zhan . . . when he’s not being too broad, which he is quite a bit. However, I do wonder how much of this is direction and production style, because in many instances, he’s quite subtle, and the choices he makes are astounding. Then there are times where it’s like they needed more footage, or wanted to drive home a point, and he turns on the extra, and it’s awful. It could just be him, but I actually feel it’s the case with most of the actors, which does make me think it’s a directing issue. Meng Ziyi never really has that problem though, because she is the most perfect of all. But then take He Peng, who I actually thought could be incredible, but every scene was just SO BROAD that I began to feel sorry for the poor dude having to act that part. But there is nothing to be said for Wang Zhuo Cheng, who really is just terrible, which is sad, because it’s a great part.

d. Production-wise, it’s really hit and miss. So much of the locations are truly beautiful. A lot of the costumes are too, unless the shot is too close. I actually don’t mind the wigs; I love the long hair. The CGI is terrible. And then while a lot of the shots are beautiful, some of them are awkward, and the pacing is really difficult, imo. It really seems like they wanted to drag it out, and there are so, so many scenes where I’m sort of embarrassed that we’re in the same scene or that we’re still looking at someone’s face, or that everyone is just standing there waiting for the shot to finally end.

I will say that film is a language that does differ from culture to culture. It could be that both the broadness of the acting and the awkwardness of the editing are my cultural lens based on American and a lot of western film. When I watched older Hollywood films, the acting is a lot more broad and maybe a little less “true” feeling, but I understand that it’s not the case everyone in the past was a bad actor. It was just a different style, so I’m not sure I’m equipped with the cultural knowledge of Chinese acting, cinematography, and editing to be able to really judge the value of these things.

I do know how I feel, which is that the editing is the biggest hurdle for me while watching the show. However, I feel that the beauty of it makes up for a lot, and the strength of the characters and themes really carries it.

I hope I addressed your points adequately, and I wish you well.

[scottymcgeesterwrites]

Final Fantasy VII Review

 Year: 1997

Original Platform: PlayStation One

Also available on: PC, PlayStation Store

Version I Played: PlayStation One

Synopsis:

The Shinra Electric Power Company rules over the city of Midgar, and the eco-terrorists AVALANCHE stop at nothing to try and prevent the life essence of the planet from being used as energy. Barrett, leader of AVALANCHE, hires a mercenary named Cloud Strife for their bombing mission on a Shinra Mako Reactor. Cloud doesn’t care much for the greater cause and only wants his pay. But then, after a mission goes awry, he meets Aerith, a flower girl who is the descendant of the Ancients. He quickly finds himself wrapped up in the greater conflict against Shinra.

 Gameplay:

Final Fanatasy VII utilizes magic spells via Materia – little orbs that come in a variety of colors pertaining to the natural elements. You can mix and match them on your weapons and equipment, which gives you access to different spells and stats. All your equipment varies with the number of slots for how many Materia orbs you can put in. Leveling up not only upgrades the character but the equipped Materia as well.

 Final Fantasy VII also uses an ATB system but is known for introducing Limit Breaks – finishing moves that build up after the character gets hit over time. Final Fantasy VI had a prototype called Desperation Attack – but it was very rare as it only appeared when your character had 1/8 of their total HP, and there was a 1 in 6 chance of performing the Desperation Attack after selecting Attack. I actually had no idea that was a thing until long after I finished the game, and never experienced it when I played Final Fantasy VI.

Graphics:

Out of all the Final Fantasy games, I have to say that this one has not aged well. It has the worst graphics of the entire series. The battle and cinematic graphics are passable.

(Most of the graphics power seemed to be put in Tifa’s, uh, bosom.)

But the characters in towns, the overworld, and in-game cutscenes are incredibly blocky. PC versions are supposedly sharper, but the PlayStation One version makes it nigh impossible to see any facial expressions. 

The graphics are definitely a product of its time. I always say that the beginning of 3D gaming was essentially like puberty – awkward and full of zits. It wasn’t yet at that stage where it could be aesthetically pleasing. We marveled about it when it was first released, yes, but then we cringed in retrospect.

The environment backdrops however are probably the strongest points, where they capture the industrial nature of Midgar, the reactors and other such buildings.

Story:

Final Fantasy VII became legendary the minute Square released it. Every aspect was memorable. Part of it could be due to the fact that it was the first Final Fantasy game to enter the 3D realm. Another part was Tetsuya Nomura’s character designs, which hit the cool meter to the point of sub-zero.

 The cinematics blew our minds. The opening action scene with Cloud, Barrett, and the rest of AVALANCHE attacking Shinra’s mako reactor is the most memorable opening to a Final Fantasy game. Period. Final Fantasy games really do know how to start at the right spot, no matter how good or bad the overall game is. The opening is always the best part.

Then there was the motorcycle chase. Cid’s airship. The gun fights. Battles with Sephiroth. The extra stuff to find, like summons and extra bosses. So much was jam-packed into the game.

 But the story was the primary factor in making VII famous. It’s definitely one of the better ones. Man, the story became so famous that even gamers who haven’t touched a Final Fantasy game knew the major spoilers. It is the equivalent to knowing Darth Vader’s line, “I am your father” without having actually watched Star Wars.

Aerith (Aeris in the English releases) Gainsborough – the innocent flower girl who holds the secrets of the Ancients – develops a romance with Cloud and fucking dies at the end of Disc 1 by the main villain – Sephiroth. The scene shocked everyone and practically made headlines. Everybody has seen the horrible image in one way or another.

It seems to me that since Final Fantasy V, the stories have gotten more and more used to main character deaths, ultimately transforming into a heavy-hitting TV series rather than simply a video game series. In other words – it matured. Looking back, Final Fantasy IV appears to be child’s play and a prototype of later dramatic storylines with fully realized worlds.

 Final Fantasy VII was also the first Final Fantasy game to create a world much like ours – one with cars and trains and airplanes and machine guns and even cellphones. The main city of Midgar reflects industrialization at its worst, with miles of slums and claustrophobic cities. Shinra Electric Power Company is a reflection of capitalism at its worst - a single entity in charge of so much that it’s pretty much the government. For the first time in a Final Fantasy game, you play as characters who dance between the morally ambiguous line of terrorism and activism. Funny enough, the theme of neglecting the planet resonates with us now more than ever. This game ended up being rather prophetic about the uncontrollable growth of corporations.

While the story is memorable with many intriguing elements, the plot itself is a tangled web. In my opinion, they really hashed in so many things that it’s easy to forget crucial details. It’s not straightforward, but at the same time everything does connect by the end. While Shinra is the driving force as a whole as the villain, Sephiroth takes over, then you learn about his backstory and then with the evil scientist Hojo and the extra-terrestrial Jenova and then “Weapon” and then the planet’s history and this and that and the other thing.

If I were to put Final Fantasy VI and Final Fantasy VII together and contrast them, as many gamers do, I would find that Final Fantasy VII is the summer blockbuster and Final Fantasy VI is the Oscar winner. Final Fantasy VII started introducing the sappy romance subplot to the series. A love triangle forms among Aerith, Cloud, and Cloud’s childhood friend Tifa. While there’s nothing inherently wrong with having a love triangle, the writing is like watching middle schoolers trying to express their feelings. Final Fantasy VI and Final Fantasy IV treated any romance with dignity and realism.

But maybe I’m being a bit harsh. After all, Cloud Strife did go through some suffering as an adolescent. His backstory clearly drives his antisocial behavior, so that becomes a good arc. 

The goofiest but memorable part of the story deals with Don Corneo and Wall Market and running around store to store doing tasks in order to free Tifa from Don Corneo. It ends with Cloud needing to cross-dress as a woman to get inside Don’s mansion. Because, you know, it’s not like Cloud can just break in with his sword and Aerith’s magic or anything like that. But whatever. It’s anime.

The recent Final Fantasy VII Remake for the PS4 seems to streamline the story, and actually enhances the emotions they were trying to deliver in the original. I will be talking about the remake in a separate post altogether since I’m almost done with it at the time of this writing. But there’s a lot that I want to say about comparing and contrasting the remake and the original.

The latter half of the plot takes a couple weird turns. At one point, Cloud became catatonic and confined to a wheelchair.

That part of the game became the sluggish part for me. Sephiroth also tries to confuse Cloud, which confused me. Cloud apparently suffers from some alternate subconscious mumbo-jumbo and like. . .ungh. I get an aneurysm thinking about it sometimes.

Complicated plotlines like Final Fantasy VII start showing up from here on out in the Final Fantasy series. The trend of bishonen characters also begin here, bishonen being the Japanese term for “beautiful boy.” Cloud and Sephiroth have that look. The series starts hashing in sappier romances and much more of an anime feel.

Final Fantasy VII ultimately marked the start of a new era for the series – introducing both cool and overused tropes.

Music:

Hands down the best Final Fantasy soundtrack of all.

The entire soundtrack of this game is memorable. The opening tune, with its light twinkle when the stars show up, is enough to make any gamer know exactly what that’s from.

With a story set in a more modern world, we have music that is more modern. After Final Fantasy VI had a more serious and operatic score, Uematsu displayed his love of progressive rock here. The motorcycle chase incorporates a lot of synth, which was fitting for zipping through the streets of Midgar. However, Final Fantasy VII is the first Final Fantasy game without that familiar starting bassline for the battle them. The battle theme is instantly recognizable but also radically different from its predecessors. It’s dramatic and displays danger.

Meanwhile, the boss theme is one of the best boss themes in the series, or any video game really. It’s an electrifying progressive rock piece, and it’s my personal favorite boss theme.

 The more instrumental pieces are somber, given the dreary atmosphere of the planet. The world map music is very different from its predecessors. It’s romantic one moment, soaring the next, and then dips into foreboding terror. I guess that sums up the story of Final Fantasy VII.

And we cannot leave out One-Winged Angel, which I will talk about below.

Notable Theme:

Without a doubt, One-Winged Angel – played during the terrifying final battle against Sephiroth – is the most memorable piece of music in Final Fantasy VII.

It may very well be the most popular song of the entire series. Nobuo Uematsu was inspired by Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring. It’s a whopping 30 something minute classical piece. If you look it up on YouTube and browse through it, you can definitely note the similarities. However, Uematsu didn’t want some boring classical introduction to the piece. He wanted to add the destructive impact of rock. The theme has a very distinct stamping-your-foot-down quality to it.

I had noticed a certain piece-by-piece feel of the song and that’s exactly how Uematsu composed it. This is the only song that Uematsu has composed where he created several tunes in his head and then rearranged them to make a single comprehensive song.

If you want to get technical, One-Winged Angel is the first Final Fantasy song with lyrics. The chorus sings in Latin about Sephiroth’s burning anger, with some lyrics actually taken from the medieval poem Carmina Burana. It sounds fantastic when fully orchestrated.

In Advent Children, the animated sequel to Final Fantasy VII, the music is accompanied by hardcore metal. This new rendition really illustrates the destructive power of Sephiroth. Uematsu changed the lyrics for Advent Children. They are more original now. I specifically noticed the lyrics “Veni, veni, mi fili”, which translates to “Come, come, my son.” Sephiroth is inviting you so he can kill you.

 Uematsu has stated that the original orchestration didn’t sit well with him. As I suspected, Advent Children’s hardcore metal version is the one he preferred, the one he would have composed had he the technology at the time of Final Fantasy VII.

Verdict:

Another must-play for any RPG fan, even if you think it’s overrated. It’s a must-play because of its popularity, in the same way that people are wide-eyed when you say you haven’t seen Star Wars or such-and-such other popular movie. It’s a whole lot of fun, especially in the scenes that involve other forms of gameplay, such as the motorcycle chase and even a battlefield strategy game in protecting Fort Condor. 

Direct Sequel?

Yes – first there was the CGI movie Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children.

I actually watched Advent Children before playing Final Fantasy VII. I had already known most of what happened in the game and Advent Children became a monumental craze when it first came out. Everybody was talking about it. Watching the sequel before playing the game skewers your interpretation of things. My first impression of Cloud was that he was always whiny and angsty, and meanwhile Tifa kept nagging him to move on. I felt really bad for Cloud losing Aerith.

Then when I actually played Final Fantasy VII, I saw that Cloud starts as this badass mercenary. Tifa is spunky and clearly is the better choice (IMO) but Cloud is enamored by Aerith after only meeting her briefly. WHAT? Cloud. Bro. Make a move on Tifa, you nitwit. Tifa is AMAZING.

 Square Enix then continued the story with Dirge of Cerberus – Final Fantasy VII. This video game sequel focuses on Vincent Valentine, a fan favorite of the original game.

Let me remind you about something – the original game revealed Shinra’s inner deep secret experiments, namely with Sephiroth and Jenova. Dirge of Cerberus introduces an even deeper research team within Shinra called Deepground. I don’t know about you, but it already sounds like the start of a terribly redundant string of sequels, like how the Jason Bourne movies keep revealing an even deeper level of conspiracy theories. Vincent’s mysterious background is now fully revealed. He is defined by – guess what? – another angsty lost lover story, this time with a woman named Lucrecia. Now, okay, look, maybe I’m just being a dick about these types of love stories. But when it keeps popping up within the same series in the same manner, I start asking if you have anything else to offer on your menu.

Lastly, there is the prequel for the PSP – Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII. Of all the games in the Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core has received the most positive reception. If anything, play that after playing Final Fantasy VII before bothering with anything else.

 Oh, and of course there is the Final Fantasy VII Remake, which we thought wasn’t going to happen for the longest time but they finally released it in April 2020. More on that later after I finish it, and after I post my entire series of Final Fantasy reviews!

[bean-pole-art]

Ed’s Borderlands Fics Masterpost

well finally

here is the masterpost of all of my Borderlands fics posted. most of them are Rhysothy focused to various AUs. I’m gonna update it as I post more but here it is, along with some of my commentary

right from the start big big BIG shoutout to @spoks-illogical-art​, my partner in crime, my biggest inspo, without them honestly most of these fics wouldn’t exist, please check out their amazing art <3

(latest edit - 21/02/2021)

Atlas AU - our main timeline, follows events of Moxxi’s Heist. lots of different concepts and ideas but the core really is Tim moving to Promethea to get help from Rhys. gonna sort em here with posting date, check the ao3 series for the “timeline”

Hypothetically - 2240 words summary: Rhys talks a lot, but usually thinks about it too little.

coffee, cats & monographs - 2880 words summary: “Hey hey, easy. You don’t want to repeat the accident from last week, do you?” Rhys cooed towards the cat and picked her up, just as Timothy instructed him to. Hearing these words, Felicity meowed. “Oh, don’t say that. This is my office and I have the power here,” he answered, carrying her back to his personal space.

Or Timothy's cat pays a visit to Rhys' office in the morning. note: I am a stupid mofo and at this point Tim would also have Loader Bot fkjbfd just imagine hes not mentioned cause hes wandering off, typical LB

Have Faith - 1470 words summary: During the 7 year lockdown at the Handsome Jackpot, Timothy couldn't really have any hope for himself. But maybe on Promethea it could be different. note: sudden feelings while watching JoltzDude139′s stream

Warm Cheeks, Cold Hands - 1170 words summary: Rhys comes home early and wants to say hi to his husband. With no ulterior motive. None at all. note: first fic Ive ever posted where characters are married, actually. fuck it, Rhysothy Real, his name is Rhys Lawrence

the battle (and the aftermath) of the ages - 2970 words summary: In a situation like this everything was possible, they could pull any punches they could think of. Four beasts playing against each other, every single one of them thinking of striking the winning blow.

Or Promethea Squad plays UNO. And then watches a movie. note: I love Promethea Squad with my whole heart

okurimono (贈り物) - 4/4, 17170 words summary: “Not a bomb. Just a device with a message for Rhys. Trust me on that,” this time an emoji of both winking and showing off a tongue [;P] appeared on the surface of Zer0’s helmet. Ah. So they were definitely trying to mess him up. In a way. Unfortunately, he really didn’t have any other options. Almost with a defeat, Timothy took the ECHOrecorder right from their hands and looked around it again. Or Zer0 gives Timothy a peculiar mission. note: my first ever multichapter fic. took me legit abt 8 months to finish but I am absolutely satisfied with this. also the bonus ending. yes

(there is) something I see in you - 8690 words summary: How one Rhys Strongfork met one Timothy Lawrence and how they fell for each other. More or less. note: best to go into this one blind, I swear. dumbest fic Ive ever written and please take this as a recommendation

this world is gonna pull through - 14380 words summary: Timothy really hoped it wasn’t anything important. He had that tendency to forget things easily, even if he tried to fight it. But Rhys kept on smiling and went by his side. So it couldn’t have been that bad. Still dumbfounded, he felt Rhys leaving a kiss right on his cheek.“November 11th? 

That- That seriously doesn’t ring any bells?” Rhys continued, brushing his hands against his shoulders. Or how Timothy spent one of his birthdays. note: also a love letter for Tim but a nicer one I guess kdjfnb dont ask how old is he i have no gdamn idea man

Strawberry Sweet - 3560 words summary: Rhys surprises Timothy with a gift for their date night in.

Happy Mercenary Day, Mr. Lawrence - 4670 words summary: How Timothy spent his first Mercenary Day on Promethea. note: I swear this is the best writer night Ive ever had. Ive written this whole thing in one night on Christmas day, solely on the inspo of that song I linked

Don’t Go Wasting Your Emotion - 4/4, 17080 words summary:  Afterwards, he went around with his usual duties. Getting a quick roundabout from his PA, checking several sectors himself and looking through the thousands of messages already sent to him via ECHOs. Rhys was ready to finally take on the day, yet when he made his way to the office, he saw the unusual envelope right by the edge of his desk. “For Rhys” was written on it. Straightforward enough. Or Rhys gets a letter from a secret admirer. note: another multichapter fic!! this one also took some time and well. its inspired by ABBA songs. cause only I would write a Rhysothy fic inspired by ABBA

Ratchet Effect - 7130 words summary: Knowing just how much overworked Rhys has been, Timothy wants to let them have a nice getaway in Lazy River Land. There's only one problem to overcome - ratch infestation. note: first fic of 2021!! Ive been playing a lot of bl3 suring the writing of it so it has a lot of stuff I had observed both on Promethea and on Jackpot

Reflections - 2250 words summary: Sometimes, Timothy needs a reminder.

Tales AU - second most important timeline. it’s Tales but Tim is a part of the group. sorted chronologically

A Story For Another Day - ongoing, for now -  2/25, 15280 words Tales AU main fic. it’s gonna be a big one

Connection Interrupted - 3240 words summary: With his driving shift finished, Timothy checks up on Rhys and Vaughn's plans.

Completely Hopeless - 1040 words summary: In which Fiona notices that Rhys behaves differently in front of a certain doppelganger.

infinity times infinity times infinity - 3460 words summary: Rhys and Timothy share some dreams and secrets underneath the stars. note: the beautiful combination of Sleeping At Last and Minecraft parodies. I promise it makes sense

reality can be whatever I want - 11420 words summary: “Hey, Tim?” Timothy didn’t even spare him a look, “Are we alone, or is he there with you?” Oh, this definitely won’t be pretty.

After the confession of Handsome Jack's AI in his head and his plan to infiltrate Helios, Rhys needs to set things right with Timothy. Somehow. note: thanosdancing.gif to Backstreet Boys’ “I Want It That Way” 80′s remix and a guest appearance from Ferocity but I cant legally say her name here

still here - 2820 words summary: It all had to go down, after Helios crashed. note: I have...a love/hate relationship with this one kjdfbfg I like it but it’s honestly an alternate ending and doesnt fit within our usual bad ending, so take it with a grain of salt. i ten jebany błąd językowy w summary, kiedy ja go poprawię

together at last - 5590 words summary: It all struck him down in an instant, in this one minute. They were all safe. And they were all alive. Nothing was threatening neither him, nor Timothy, nor Fiona. He could finally breathe out.

They all found each other again. note: I am multitasking most time of my life but I dont relate any other fic to multitasking more than this one. I was honestly doing 10 things at once while writing this dfkjbndf

David AU - this one is a sub AU to Tales AU and the plot is kind of complicated dfjkbfb please check the fic for further explanation

building in curved lines - 22490 words summary: “To be fair, you look terrible. You’re barely standing in one piece and none of your coffees will hold you together for that long,” Lilith paused, seemingly weighing the correct words in her head. “You haven’t really been holding on since… We rescued The Double.” Rhys sighed heavily. Why did she have to be so right about everything. Or how Rhys and Timothy adjust to the reality after the Handsome Jack AI. note: bday gift for Spok, EASILY one of my absolute faves and the longest fic Ive written thus far

outside of AUs - some concepts I play with that are honestly outside any of our concrete timelines/concepts + fics not focused on Rhysothy

Real - 770 words summary: Reconciling with your past is a little easier, when you have someone you love right in your arms. note: first blands fic I’ve ever written. the characterization isn’t really there yet but as a first shot at the game and my kind of “introduction”, I am still satisfied of it

(Un)Familiar Faces - 9620 words summary: Timothy pursed his lips and leaned over the wall a little. He’s had enough of this solitude of closed doppelganger cabinet. Today wasn’t the day for another self-loathing session. Today, he should go off on Helios and do something for himself.

Or Timothy spends the night at a Helios bar. But not as Handsome Jack. And not as Timothy Lawrence either. note: personal favorite of mine, tough love letter to Timothy Lawrence. I have so many fond memories of writing this, including getting drunk out of my mind just like Tim and Rhys here

basics of survival - 2010 words summary: Athena taught Timothy everything he needed to know about survival. Now, it was time to put these skills into use. note: wrote this right before rona outbreak on last day in my dorms. thats all