#maybe we can be a just little less insensitive

[saph-yells-into-the-void]

not gonna lie, I get pissed off when I see comments under clips of the bllk anime finale saying shit like "if only the entire season has this level of animation."

it just feels so.. purposely ignorant? the reason why s2 turned out the way it did is because of the executives not giving enough time to the animators. they were rushed for deadlines and overworked to hell. of course, I also want the production committee and the studio to have treated their animators better so that they could have created something they're proud of. but what's done is done.

those amazing moments in season 2 were done in SPITE of the working conditions. they are moments of victory during this hellish production.

yet it feels like ppl are downplaying or undermining these amazing scenes just because of the quality of the rest of the season. as if it is still the animators fault that those other moments looked bad too. they did the best they could with these conditions, and it is better to accept that and praise the good that this season DID have. bc while those bad moments were 100% on the time constraints, those good moments come from the skills of the anime team.

fuck the executives still. maybe in another universe, we could have gotten a season 2 with consistent good animation and a good schedule for the animators.

but for right now, you're not gonna catch me dragging a season that, despite the hellish production, so clearly had love and effort poured into it by everyone that worked on it.

[querade]

i'm explaining this poorly i know, but still...

"shallan's humor makes me cringe" maybe...that's the point? it's not supposed to be funny, it's supposed to be a coping mechanism.

"shallan makes people treat her like a victim, even if they've been through worse" or, hear me out, that's the point. it's a survival instinct which arises from growing up in the unsafe Davar household. she is constantly making herself seem as physically nonthreatening as possible so people won't hurt her. In dangerous situations, she shrinks back into herself and grows quiet, or she overcompensates with a show of confidence she doesn't really have. Having this disregulation is a result of being forced to always sit down and shut her mouth as a kid...

Shallan is more selfish than kaladin. she has much less of a desire to help others, focusing on herself, and can be insensitive." erm actually her not knowing how to deal with other people's problems IS THE POINT. Kaladin is empathetic to a degree almost destructive to himself. she's a realistic mess, and has to fix herself first. and that is okay. she might hurt people who don't deserve it on her journey to healing, but that's just what happens. to a lot of characters.

"shallan acts like she's smart and always right and it's so annoying" yeah, okay. sanderson loves making his 'naturally gifted prodigy' characters (cough cough Vin) and readers are always a little jealous at how perfect re: unrealistic they are. It's a little annoying. But the intrigue isn't whether or not she's actually right, it's that she thinks it's all a facade, which causes a lot, and I mean a lot, of anxiety for her. She aspires to be as cool/collected/strong as jasnah...and of course shallan is faking it til she makes it...the best way to do that is to trick (delude) herself into thinking she's someone who is always right. Usually this is solved by just gaining a little confidence and seeing reality, but we all see how 'seeing reality' is a little hard for her...so it's an interesting struggle to witness.

"shallan only got interesting once her backstory/trauma was revealed. before, she was boring and spoiled" please... i saw it in way of kings...i clocked immediately how she avoids issues...clocked immediately how growing up in an unsafe home environment affected her...the humor to cope, the distractions from life, the dedication to science, the confusion of her faith and gender roles, the reversion to be seen as a child by the eyes of authority because that's how she feels safe, oscillation of her own capabilities leading to self-doubt, ravenous curiosity conflicting with the fear of venturing outside the safety of what she knows...it's all in way of kings. the fact that she was so traumatized, avoidant, and capable was not a surprise

"i hate shallan for x y z" huh! actually maybe she hates herself too for these things and that's what makes her interesting and flawed! now we get to see her grow!!

[solxamber]

Hello!! I absolutely adore your writing and have been reading a lot of it recently 🫶

I have a request, but may follow a more sensitive topic? I was wondering if you could write a fic with Idia, Cater, Rollo (twisted wonderland), or Welt, Ratio, Boothill (honkai star rail) comforting a recovering reader struggling with SH.

I can understand the denial of this request, as it can touch on a sensitive topic, but it would mean a lot to me if you considered it. I've been struggling with this for a while and it would be nice to have some comfort with recovery.

Again, I adore your work and I hope you can consider my request.

Idia, Rollo, Cater and Welt, Ratio, Boothill with a Recovering Reader

Warnings: Mentions of SH

i hope you're doing well now anon. i'm so so proud of you and i'm cheering you on in your recovery. if you wanted something different, please let me know!

it's a sensitive topic that i don't have first hand experience in, so i hope that nothing comes off as insensitive.

Idia Shroud

It had been one of those days. The weight of everything felt suffocating, and you couldn’t quite shake the heaviness that clung to your chest. The dorm felt too loud despite the silence, and yet somehow still too empty. You needed an escape—something to distract from the gnawing thoughts that tugged at the edges of your mind.

So, naturally, you found yourself at Ignihyde.

You didn’t say much when you got there. It wasn’t like you needed to. Idia was sitting at his usual setup, bathed in the glow of his multiple monitors, tapping away with his game controller. He didn’t glance up, but his fingers paused just for a second.

“You, uh, can sit over there if you want,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely to a cushion beside him. “No big deal, really. You can just… chill.”

You took the offer, sinking into the seat beside him. Idia never pressed for conversation, which you appreciated more than words could express. The quiet was comforting in a way that only he could provide. His presence wasn’t demanding, nor was it suffocating—it was just there, a steady companion when everything else felt too much.

After a few minutes of just the sounds of the game filling the air, Idia spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

“I’m not, like, great at pep talks or anything.” His eyes stayed glued to the screen, a blush dusting his cheeks. “But, like, if you ever… I dunno, need a distraction or something, you can always come by. We can game or… just sit. Whatever works.”

It was such a simple offer, but the sincerity in his voice cut through the haze of your thoughts. You knew Idia wasn’t one for big gestures or emotional outbursts, but his awkward, roundabout way of offering support warmed something deep inside you. He understood—maybe more than anyone else—the desire to escape, to disappear into a world where the problems of reality couldn’t touch you.

The next few times you visited, the routine was the same. Quiet, gaming, the occasional muttered commentary from Idia. But there was something so comforting in the routine, in knowing you didn’t have to explain yourself. That he didn’t expect anything from you, just your presence.

One evening, as the two of you sat in comfortable silence, Idia hesitated, fidgeting with his controller before finally speaking.

“You’re, uh… You’re important, you know that, right? Like, I don’t have many people I’d say that to, but you’re… one of them. Just… don’t disappear, okay?”

The vulnerability in his voice surprised you, and you found yourself blinking back the sting of tears. It was a simple statement, but it held the weight of his affection and worry, wrapped in the awkward delivery that was so uniquely him. You didn’t have to say anything; you knew he wasn’t expecting a response.

Instead, you just stayed. That night, in the warmth of his presence and the soft hum of the game, you felt a little less alone.

Cater Diamond

You hadn’t realized just how exhausted you were until you found yourself dragged into Cater’s latest selfie spree. He had a way of sneaking up on you with his usual grin and carefree energy, his arm slung casually around your shoulders as he pulled out his phone.

“Hey! How about we grab some quick pics? No filters this time, just the two of us being real.”

Normally, you’d groan, roll your eyes, and let Cater have his fun without thinking much of it. But today, the idea of being in front of a camera, of capturing yourself as you were now, felt… daunting. You hesitated, tugging at the sleeves of your shirt, your eyes downcast.

Cater, as perceptive as ever, didn’t let it slide.

He turned the camera away for a moment, his smile softening just slightly as he glanced at you. “Hey, no pressure, seriously. We don’t have to do the whole selfie thing if you’re not feeling it. I just thought… you know, we could capture some real moments.”

You glanced up at him, noticing the way his usual carefree demeanor had gentled. Cater might act like everything was all fun and games, but he was more in tune with people’s emotions than he let on. He wasn’t forcing you, wasn’t pushing—just offering a moment of distraction, of fun, if you wanted it.

After a long pause, you finally shrugged, offering a small smile. “Okay, one picture.”

Cater beamed, but it wasn’t his usual bright, showy grin. It was soft, genuine, like he understood what a big step this was for you.

The selfie session wasn’t as performative as you’d expected. Cater didn’t force you into poses or try to make you laugh when you weren’t in the mood. He just stood beside you, his arm slung around your shoulders, and snapped a couple of candid photos. There was something comforting in the simplicity of it, in the way he let you just be.

After a while, he pulled back and glanced at his phone, showing you one of the photos. It wasn’t perfect—your smile was a bit lopsided, your hair a little messy—but Cater grinned at it like it was the best picture he’d ever taken.

“See?” he said, his tone light. “No filters needed. You’re perfect just like this.”

The compliment caught you off guard, and you found yourself blinking back tears you hadn’t realized were there. Cater, ever perceptive, noticed immediately and nudged you gently with his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said softly. “You don’t have to be ‘camera-ready’ for me. I like you as you are, messy hair and all.”

Later that evening, when you checked your phone, you found the photos he’d sent you. Beneath one of them, he’d written: "Real friends don’t need filters. You’re more than enough, just as you are."

And for the first time in a while, you believed it.

Rollo Flamme

Rollo had always been the type to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. You admired his conviction, his sense of duty, but today, as you sat beside him in the quiet of the garden, it was hard to find comfort in his seriousness.

You had come to him seeking solace, though you weren’t sure if Rollo’s stoic demeanor would offer the comfort you needed. He wasn’t one for soft words or gentle encouragement, but something about the way he watched the world with such intensity made you feel like he saw through the chaos swirling inside you.

For a long while, the two of you sat in silence, the rustle of leaves the only sound breaking the stillness. You expected Rollo to stay silent, as he often did, but after a moment, he spoke, his voice low but steady.

“There’s a battle you’re fighting,” he said, not looking at you. “A battle within yourself. I understand.”

His words startled you, not because they were untrue, but because they were so unexpectedly... personal. You glanced at him, finding his gaze fixed on the horizon, his expression unreadable.

“I’ve fought similar battles,” he continued, his tone measured. “It’s easy to feel overwhelmed, to believe you’re fighting alone. But you’re not. You never have to be.”

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words, and for the first time, you realized just how much you had been carrying by yourself. Rollo’s offer of support was understated, as was his way, but the sincerity behind it was impossible to ignore.

He finally turned to look at you, his eyes softening just a fraction. “I won’t pretend to understand everything you’re going through. But I’m here. I’ll stand with you, as long as you need.”

The weight of his promise hit you harder than you expected, and without a word, you found yourself leaning into his steady presence. He didn’t flinch or pull away—he simply let you rest, offering the quiet strength you didn’t realize you needed.

Welt

Welt’s calm demeanor had always been a source of comfort for you, but today, it felt especially grounding. After a long day of battling your inner turmoil, you found yourself seeking him out, hoping his presence could soothe the storm raging inside.

You didn’t have to say anything when you arrived. Welt, ever perceptive, seemed to understand without words. He led you to a quiet spot under the stars, his gaze gentle as he sat beside you.

“The stars have always been a reminder to me,” he said softly, looking up at the sky. “No matter how dark it gets, there’s always light somewhere. You just have to look for it.”

You followed his gaze, the twinkling lights above offering a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in days. The silence between you was comforting, not suffocating, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you could breathe.

Welt turned to you, his expression kind. “You’re not alone in this. Whatever you’re going through, you have people who care about you. And if you ever need a reminder, just look at the stars.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight of sincerity that made your chest ache. You hadn’t realized just how much you needed to hear that. The stars twinkled above, and you found yourself nodding, tears brimming in your eyes.

“I don’t want to burden anyone,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Welt shook his head, a gentle smile breaking across his face. “You’re never a burden. Reaching out is part of being human. We all have our battles, and sharing them makes them lighter. You have to let others in, even when it feels hard.”

You looked away, feeling the warmth of his presence wrap around you like a comforting blanket. Welt had a way of putting things into perspective, of making you feel seen without demanding anything from you. His understanding was a lifeline, a beacon guiding you through the darkness.

“What if I keep struggling?” you asked, the fear spilling out before you could hold it back.

“Then we’ll face it together,” he replied with quiet confidence. “Every time you feel lost, remember that I’m here, and so are the others. Just like the stars—sometimes hidden, but always there.”

As the cool night air wrapped around you, you leaned into Welt’s side, allowing the silence to envelop you both. You felt the tension in your shoulders ease just a little, the comfort of his unwavering presence bolstering your resolve.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you finally said, your voice steadier.

“Me too,” Welt replied, glancing up at the stars once more. “And remember, no matter how dark it gets, you are never truly alone.”

Dr. Ratio

Dr. Ratio sits across from you, his expression calm and thoughtful. He’s not the type to rush into emotional outbursts, but the concern in his gaze is unmistakable.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” he says quietly, voice steady. “I know the weight you’re carrying is immense, but you’re stronger than it.”

You nod, feeling a knot in your chest loosen as he continues. “One step at a time. We’ll make sense of it together. Just know—I’m here for you.”

He reaches out, his hand resting gently on yours. His grip is firm but comforting, grounding you in the moment. The logical part of him is evident in his approach—he breaks things down into manageable pieces, knowing that’s what you need right now.

“There’s no shame in struggling, and there’s no shame in asking for help. It’s okay to feel lost, but you won’t always be. Healing isn’t linear, but each day is progress.”

His words settle over you like a warm blanket, soothing the anxious storm swirling inside. As you lean into his comfort, he offers you a small smile, the kind that tells you things will get better, even if it doesn’t feel that way now.

“You don’t have to have everything figured out today,” he adds, his thumb gently tracing soothing patterns over your skin. “But I’ll be here, however long it takes.”

Boothill

Boothill isn’t the type to hover, but he knows when someone’s hurting—he’s been there too many times himself. His heavy boots clunk against the floor as he approaches you, sitting down beside you in a quiet, solid presence.

“Life’s got a way of takin' pieces outta you,” he says, voice gravelly. “But you don’t gotta do this alone, partner.”

You look away, unsure of how to respond, but Boothill doesn’t push. Instead, he wraps a comforting arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. It’s a gesture so simple, yet so grounding. You can feel his steady heartbeat, his unwavering support.

“You’re tougher than you think,” he continues, his voice softer now, “but even the toughest folks need a hand sometimes. Ain’t no shame in leanin’ on someone.”

The weight of his words sinks in, and for the first time in a while, you let yourself lean on him, just a little. Boothill’s grip tightens ever so slightly, and he lets out a quiet sigh, as if holding the weight of the world alongside you.

“We’ll get through this, partner,” he murmurs, “one step at a time.”

Boothill isn’t one for long speeches, but the sincerity in his voice is more than enough. You feel the warmth of his presence, the understanding in his quiet demeanor, and for a moment, the weight you’ve been carrying doesn’t feel so heavy.

And with that, you know you’re not alone.

Masterlist

[skyenish]

You’ve got the same eyes as your mother | Riddle Rosehearts animatic 🌹|

———

I’m not really happy with how this turned out but I’m gonna be honest, I’m just doing anything possible to avoid having to work on stuff I should he working on and drawing is suddenly difficult again, but we keep fighting! Fuck it we ball‼️

(Did you notice I didn’t want to draw the Heartslabyul boys? I love them dearly but they’re my least favorites to draw by FAR, because Ace ily but that hair makes my hands want to explode)

Anyways, here is my little Riddle analisys! Its so tragic to see how much like his mom he’s become. Riddle really isn’t mean or evil, he’s trying to help his dorm in basically the only way he knows how. Perhaps it also shows how abuse victims can become abusers themselves, but on a smaller scale? I am not well read on this topic though, so I hope that’s not insensitive to say. It’s just cool to see how most of the Overblotters become like the people that played a big part in their lives. Azul becomes a “bully”, Jamil becomes a “master” who uses others like servants, Leona becomes dismissive of others, and Riddle becomes like his mom. There are parallels there I think!

You know, Riddle is a very interesting character. Out of all the Overblotters, I’d say he’s the least “evil” person (that’s not to say that the others are evil), in the way that he’s the least selfish, and he’s also the only one who properly apologized. Though, the others also apologized in their own way of course.

Riddle really convinced himself that was he was doing was good, that he was in the right and that he was only protecting the dorm and teaching them the proper way. One of my favorite moments from book 1 was when Riddle cried and apologized, and said that he really wanted to eat that chestnut cake, and he doesn’t like most of the rules! Also of course the line “what rule do I have to follow to make my heart stop hurting”, it truly is devastating.

Sometimes I wonder how Riddle feels when he looks in the mirror, and he sees someone so similar to his mother. He probably feels conflicted, right? He loves her and knows she’s highly succesful, but why does he feel sick at the thought of him being similar to her? I find it interesting how dual and contradictory the overblotters are, and Riddle is no different. I have this headcanon that his housewarden uniform is modeled slightly after his mom, and after his Overblot he changes his uniform, and it resembles her less. I really like Riddle’s character, but I don’t think about him that much. Maybe I should do that more often?

I hope you guys like my interpretation of him and my rambling, and if you didn’t I’d love to hear your interpretation! And if I got something wrong, please correct me in the comments!!

[the-bi-space-ace]

Okay I’m going to talk about cutting off Crosshair’s hand because while I know plenty of people see a lot of symbolism in it and think it was a good decision I have things to say about it.

I have CPTSD which has a lot of different symptoms. One of them is trembling or shaking. There’s a lot of complexities tied up in it but I’m not going to go into more detail because it’s not a fun thing to talk about.

What I liked about Crosshair’s trauma was that it impacted him not only mentally and emotionally but also physically. It’s very representative of what it’s actually like dealing with symptoms from something like PTSD and CPTSD (there are differences between these two that I won’t go into rn). I loved that we got to see a physical symptom of something psychological. It’s so rare that it’s handled well. Because yeah meditation and safety will help, certainly, but oftentimes it’s not the end all be all. I’m safe. I’m protected. I take care of my mental well being. But I still have symptoms that say the opposite. Because it’s not as simple as ‘no longer in the bad situation therefore the symptoms will stop’. I’ve made my peace that it’s lifelong and, honestly, Crosshair’s symptoms would be lifelong as well.

Cutting off his hand…

Here’s the thing.

The show really makes it seem like cutting off his hand is something he needed to move forward. He needed to be rid of the symptom because it was a physical reminder and it was holding him back from moving on. Cutting off the hand means no more shaking which means he’s healed. No more shaking hand=no more trauma. He can finally move on with his life.

And to that I say ouch.

There’s been plenty of times my symptoms are inconvenient to myself or others. Times when I wish I could just make it stop. Times when I’m terrified that it’s holding me back and I’m screwed up and that’s all I’ll ever be: broken. There are plenty of times I know people wish i could just knock it off and get over it and cut it out but that’s not how it works. Like I said. I’ve made peace with this thing that’ll be with me forever.

It was refreshing to see him try to adapt to dealing with it instead of ignoring it or trying to get rid of the part of him that was hurting. I loved that. It was such a freeing thing to see. Someone who will live with the hurt and the symptoms and it doesn’t make him any less. It just makes him have to do life a little different.

I hate that they cut off his hand. I hate that it wasn’t handled with any sort of nuance or delicacy. And I hate that this thing that made me so proud of him, so proud to share something with him, just got cut off for… what? Shock? To ‘fix’ him?

If we had gotten more time with the loss of his hand maybe I’d feel differently. Hell, I’d love to see how Crosshair adapts to losing his hand, see how he learns to accommodate. It would give him and Echo something to bond over and talk about, finding healing with each other. I think this could’ve been done well. I’d still be on the fence about it but I would’ve held my breath and saw how it played out.

I fully expect people to roll their eyes at me here. I expect that people will say that I just don’t get it or that this isn’t what they intended. I’m sure this isn’t what they intended. At least I hope it isn’t. But what they intended doesn’t change how insensitively this was handled after a whole season of him unpacking his hurt and trying to learn to adapt to it. No one reacted to it, not even Crosshair, and we got no unpacking of what happened. I’m not happy with this but it is what it is I guess.

[hitheeprithee]

like a bolt from the blue

Hi hi hi hi!! This is a Ranchers DBHC AU fic for the lovely @shepscapades, featuring a little hurt comfort, a lot of guys who haven't quite figured out their feelings, and a lot of Jimmy trying his absolute darndest. Read on AO3 !!

The problem was, no matter how much Jimmy scrubbed, he could still smell the soot on his clothes.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he took a brief break from pummeling his shirt on the flat river rock in front of him, sighing gustily. The gorge was deep enough that the sunlight had already moved past him, and he could just see it tinging the tops of the distant grass with gold. He frowned. He’d wanted to spend maybe an hour cleaning their things, not the, gosh, probably three or so he’d been down there already. He looked forlornly again down at the shirt which, even water-dark, still looked kind of gray. 

Their bed linens weren’t any better either, the formerly-white sheets were hung up to dry somewhat haphazardly from the branches of the single tree clinging to the rocks at the bottom of the gorge. Tango had scrunched his nose in a barely suppressed laugh when he’d seen Jimmy bundling the fabric into his arms. 

“Really? Are we actually trying to save all that?” Tango had asked disbelievingly. Jimmy liked that even when Tango was looking at him like he’d gone a bit mad, he said ‘we’. 

“I mean, yeah. Do you have a sheep stashed somewhere around here? Or things we can actually trade for wool?” Jimmy asked, almost wishing Tango would say yes. He hadn’t really been looking forward to balancing his way down the precarious path without being able to see his feet. 

Tango, sadly, had only a reluctant nod and a shrug for him as he conceded the point. There had been an awkward pause then as Jimmy hadn’t moved to leave, wondering if there was a way he could ask the question on his mind without sounding weird or stupid or somehow insensitive. But when Tango had looked at him with those glinting red eyes he just couldn’t seem to get the words out, so he left it alone. 

After all, if Tango wanted his clothes washed he would surely say something, right? It felt weird to ask because he didn’t want to assume Tango would want to strip down and let Jimmy go dunk his clothes in the river, but it also felt wrong not to ask. Jimmy would want someone to ask if his shirt looked that crispy on the back. Tango had reassured him that he wasn’t injured there, and Jimmy supposed he had to believe him. Still, there was a kind of pressure in the back of his head that wouldn’t leave him alone. 

It meant that Jimmy kept absent-mindedly scratching at the back of his neck, or feeling a twinge at his shoulder blades that made him sort of wriggle in place trying to dispel it. His eyes kept flicking to Tango afterwards, the little surges of discomfort left a weird almost-taste in the back of his throat that reminded him of something. Maybe it was the way his tongue felt coated in copper when they took damage, or the smell of hot iron and gunpowder that had left his head pounding after they respawned. Jimmy tried to clear his throat of it. 

Jimmy shook himself and stretched, deciding the shirt he was washing wasn’t going to get any less terrible with scrubbing. He wrung it out over the river and sighed as, after everything, the run-off still ran cloudy. He just wanted a clean shirt. 

“Jimmy!” came a shout, echoing down the cliff path. Jimmy managed to not overbalance into the river only by sheer luck, and he grabbed a nearby rock a little roughly as he righted himself. 

A familiar horn call came down the cliff face, and Jimmy couldn’t help the sappy smile that crossed his face. He unhooked his own horn from his belt, raising it to his lips in reply. He heard a distant Tango noise and then a gentle clattering down the precarious cliff path. 

“Be careful!” he shouted up at Tango, shading his eyes as he looked up at his rancher clambering down towards him. 

“I was starting to get worried you’d fallen in!” Tango yelled down to him, and Jimmy laughed. 

“I think you would have heard me shout all the way up there if I had,” Jimmy shot back, grinning at Tango as he finally made it to the little outcropping of rock he’d colonized with their laundry. 

Tango looked around curiously, a faint smile on his face - which Jimmy took as an absolute score. He hadn’t been doing that as much since the ranch burned. Jimmy was momentarily distracted watching the little light on Tango’s temple spin as he processed a thought. He liked it, it was like he was able to watch Tango’s brain tick from the outside. Jimmy didn’t let himself consider any other reasons he might like looking at Tango’s face. 

“Do you need a hand getting all this stuff up the mountain?” Tango asked, and Jimmy was about to shoo him away before he realized that the fabric stretched out along the branches around him was still wet. He hadn’t even considered that before loading himself up with everything he could carry, but now there was no way he’d be getting back up by himself. 

“Oh… yeah, that’d be good,” he said a little sheepishly. 

Tango shook his head at him as he huffed a laugh, and Jimmy once again saw the charred fabric at his back. 

“Do you-” he began, before he could stop himself. 

Tango turned to look at him. 

“What?” he asked. Not annoyed or upset, just looking at Jimmy like he wanted to hear whatever he was going to ask. 

“Do you want a hand with the- all of the… y’know, on your back?” Jimmy asked haltingly, and he watched Tango’s expression shutter for a moment. He swallowed the lump in his throat. There was a long pause where Jimmy regretted ever opening his big mouth in life up until that moment, but then Tango looked down and gave a slightly defeated shrug. 

“I mean… probably. I didn’t wanna bug you with it or anything,” Tango said, tone muted and quieter than Jimmy was used to hearing him. 

Jimmy couldn’t help but cross his arms at that, looking at Tango a little reproachfully. 

“We take care of each other, remember Tango? Why wouldn’t I want to help?” 

Tango looked at him, and Jimmy saw… something there. A kind of guarded thing that worried him. Without saying anything else, Tango began to shrug stiffly out of his vest. Jimmy wished he was still holding a piece of laundry, that he had something to do with his hands other than stand there and fidget as Tango’s face scrunched in discomfort. The light at the side of his head spun yellow. 

“Do you want-” Jimmy started to ask, and Tango waved him off.

Jimmy watched as Tango set his vest down next to Jimmy’s basket, and then paused awkwardly. 

“Actually,” Tango began, and Jimmy was moving practically before he’d finished speaking, crossing the few steps to Tango’s side in an instant. That was probably a little too eager, a little too awkward, but Jimmy was trying not to worry about it. 

“Yeah?” Jimmy asked, and he saw Tango’s eyes flicker to the side, avoiding his gaze. Jimmy felt a strange restlessness in his chest, but he didn’t know what it needed in order to settle. It was some kind of weird nebulous want to help that refused to sit still long enough to become any one action or word. So instead he tried to just project his willingness to do anything at all, and tried to wait for Tango to speak. 

Tango seemed to struggle with the words he needed for a moment, before grumbling under his breath and slowly turning around, posture so stiff his shoulders were practically up to his ears. Jimmy could see how the back of Tango’s vest had taken the brunt of the damage from the fire, but great singed holes still dotted the back of Tango’s shirt, revealing hints of Tango’s synthetic skin underneath. It looked like Tango hadn’t taken any of his layers off since the fire, and if Jimmy was reading Tango’s deep discomfort right, that was exactly what had happened. 

“Look, there’s some stuff back there I just need to get cleaned off probably, and then I’ll be fine,” his tone defensive before Jimmy had even uttered a word. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” Jimmy said automatically, a little furrow forming between his brows as he tried to figure out exactly what had Tango so twitchy. There was a beat of silence where neither of them moved, and Jimmy coughed politely. 

“Do you wanna, y’know, take your shirt off Tango?” he asked, and he saw the tips of Tango’s ears flush blue. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tango said, and he sounded almost like his normal self again, in that playfully exasperated way that somehow never got Jimmy defensive or confused. He reached up, and Jimmy saw him tug the zipper of his shirt down roughly. Something in Jimmy’s heart did a funny little thump as it drew attention to the bandages still on Tango’s hands. They were getting old after a few days of their rebuilding efforts, and by now they were more than a little stained with soot. But Tango had carefully tucked in any loose or trailing ends, and seemed to be in no hurry at all to take them off despite that. It was nice. It made Jimmy feel helpful. 

Tango paused with his shirt dangling half off his shoulders, and Jimmy held up his hands suddenly, a thought occurring to him. 

“Hang on a mo,” he said, and reached for the empty basket, turning it upside down next to a flat-topped rock and gesturing to it. “There, sit, sit,” he urged as he plopped himself on the rock, squeezing his hands between his knees because he didn’t know what else to do with them. 

Tango looked at him skeptically for a moment, and then stepped over and carefully lowered himself onto the basket. It rocked a little precariously on the uneven ground for a moment, but settled under Tango’s weight. Tango fidgeted with his shirt, head jerking to the side like he was resisting looking back at Jimmy, then shrugged his shirt off his shoulders. 

Jimmy wished he could have stifled the gasp that left him. 

Before him was…a lightning strike, etched into the back of Tango’s body. It looked like someone had taken a nail and hammer and shattered the shell of his spine like a pane of glass. A map of white, uncolored android scars interspersed with thirium-blue ran in a jagged line down his back, and Jimmy felt his hands instinctively reach for them. He stopped himself only millimeters from actually touching, and then jerked his hand back like he’d been shocked. 

“Tango…” he breathed, and Tango’s shoulders slumped a little. 

“It’s fine, Jimmy. Don’t worry about it,” Tango said, and Jimmy frowned fiercely at the back of Tango’s head. 

“Since when am I not gonna worry about you when you’re hurt?” he asked almost incredulously, crossing his arms in emphasis, even if Tango couldn’t see him. Tango huffed so sharply it almost sounded like a hiss. 

“I’m fine, Jimmy, it’s an old - I’m fine. I just need a hand cleaning up, that’s all.”

Jimmy’s eyes migrated from the hole he was glaring in the back of Tango’s skull, trailing down once again to the scar snaking down Tango’s skin. He could see smears of charred fabric and ash where his clothes hadn’t quite protected him, and around the edges of the scar he could see those tiny particles of soot settling into almost invisible fine-line cracks in Tango’s shell.

He wanted to ask, he wanted to ask so bad. It took everything in him to hold back the questions that bubbled up in his throat. Who did this to you? Why hasn’t it healed - or no, been fixed? 

Why hasn’t someone already helped you, Tango?

Jimmy swallowed.

“I can do that,” Jimmy said after a pause, and stood to grab one of the shirts of his he’d deemed ‘too ruined’ and had set aside to become rags. He tried to stop his heart from thumping quite so loudly. He wondered for a moment, if it was just his heart doing that, or if Tango’s inner pump was working just as hard as his own. 

Jimmy stood and dipped the cloth in the cool, clear water of the river, grimacing a little as he wrung it out. 

“This’ll be cold though, sorry,” he apologized. 

He could see Tango hesitate for a moment, almost turning to look at Jimmy with a confused tilt to his head. 

“S’fine, don’t worry about it,” Tango said finally, and Jimmy was already getting a little tired of hearing that. Somewhere in the muddle of his emotions, he realized he was maybe a mite protective of his right to worry about Tango. Looking at his rancher now, it looked as though Tango was trying to still enough to fade into the background, like maybe he could just disappear if he tried hard enough. Things were slowly falling together in Jimmy’s mind, not quite clear enough that he could see them yet, but enough that his eyebrows stayed scrunched together in thought. 

Jimmy sat back down on his rock, and surveyed the surface of Tango’s back in the slowly blueing light. Everything about Tango’s posture screamed ‘DONT TOUCH ME’, and Jimmy hesitated before slowly reaching his palm out to rest on Tango’s shoulder, well away from the scar. 

“You sure this is okay?” he asked, a little terrified of messing everything up. This was some kind of trust that Jimmy wanted to handle so, so carefully, because it felt fragile in his hands. 

Tango nearly flinched away from the touch, but after a tense moment Jimmy felt him settle under it. Jimmy might have been imagining things, but he almost thought he felt Tango lean into him a little. 

Tango paused, then nodded, not making a sound. Jimmy wasn’t so sure, but he could only take Tango at his word. 

Squeezing the cloth in his hand to wring out just a little more of the water, he reached up and brushed it oh-so-delicately across the top of Tango’s scar. He saw Tango’s whole frame twitch, and for a moment a red light glowed on the edge of his periphery. Jimmy slowed his movements, but didn’t stop. Something told him stopping every time he got nervous wouldn’t get anything done at all, and he wanted to trust Tango’s word. He wasn’t going to give Tango that same kind of pitying treatment that made his skin crawl, when people looked at him like he couldn’t be trusted to make decisions for himself. 

So Jimmy kept going. He kept the pressure light as he felt the slight texture changes under his fingers. He tried to keep his touch light but not ticklish, cleaning first the surrounding skin, and then the ridges and cracks that criss-crossed his spine. The sound of the rushing river covered the slight shakiness in his breath, and he tried not to focus on the way his body kept drifting closer to Tango’s as he maneuvered the cloth in slow, soft circles.

Jimmy kept feeling almost imperceptible little twitches under his hands, things that he might write off as his imagination if they didn’t happen every time his cloth brushed the edges of a crack. He was afraid for a moment that he was hurting Tango, but it didn’t seem like he was hurting Tango. Maybe it was just sensitive. Jimmy didn’t really know the first thing about how androids like Tango functioned, but if Jimmy had an open wound like that on his back, even if he was a kind of amazing invincible powerhouse of a machine, he was pretty sure he’d feel a little tender. 

There was something about this position that made Jimmy think about the night the ranch burned- aside from all the obvious things, that was. His hands twinged a little bit thinking about it, his own bandages had come off before he had washed their things, and the new, pink skin was still tender. He could see little patches of his skin that had burned, places where he’d gripped Tango and his soulmate’s skin had seared him. It wasn’t just the ash of their home that made him think about it though, even as it ran down Tango’s back in dark little rivulets as he squeezed the cloth. 

It was the way he’d barred Tango across the chest, holding him close even though it felt like opening a blast furnace full in his face, or like pressing a hot iron to his heart. Jimmy hadn’t just been trying to hold him back from running after Scar, but sort of… hold him together. He could feel something through their bond that felt like Tango’s brilliant mind fraying at the edges, like he was spinning away from him, unspooling their red thread further and further away. He hated the memory of Tango’s eyes glowing iron-hot in his head, his face twisted in an anger that made him look alien, something elemental in his rage. 

This felt like that, too. He could feel Tango pulling away with some kind of shame or fear or buried anger that Jimmy couldn’t really read. Each pass over his skin was Jimmy trying to hold him together in his hands, to cup the pieces of him before they could spill away. 

Jimmy was probably being overbearing with it, he was sure. He didn’t want to mess this up. This moment, or this game, or them. He liked Tango, and this game had been so far removed from every single one of his expectations. It felt perilously important not to screw things up, to lose Tango’s partnership or his friendship, he didn’t like the snapping, bitter tension in the air between the other feuding soulmates. He didn’t want to be like that with Tango. 

Cracks under his fingertips slowly came clean, as the sunset slowly turned the sky above them orange. Tango’s torso rose and fell under his hands with slowly lengthening simulated breaths. Jimmy could never really tell if he was actually pulling in air or not, but whatever weird little body process it served made it seem like he was slowly relaxing. Jimmy smiled. 

Tango cleared his throat. 

“There’s a little bit still - kinda down and to the left,” he said, and his voice was more gravelly than usual. Jimmy’s gaze snapped to where Tango said. Without the cloth, he pressed a gentle touch where he thought Tango meant.

“Here?” he asked, and that time Jimmy was pretty sure he didn’t imagine the shiver that ran through Tango. 

“Um, yeah, a little up,” Tango squeaked, and Jimmy dragged his fingertips a little bit up, skating so carefully over a hairline fracture there. 

“Oh yeah I see it,” Jimmy said, and he leaned in a little to see what he was doing, squinting in the fading light. He felt his breath ghost over his hands as he gently worked the area clean with the rag, and he hoped it wasn’t making Tango too uncomfortable to have him so close. His spine had gone a little weird and stiff again, and when he straightened back up he could see a haze of blue dusting across his cheeks, even from behind. 

“You feelin’ better?” he asked, and Tango nodded. 

Jimmy almost didn’t need to ask, because that terrible kind of itch in his spine had eased. He could feel their level of tension slowly drain as the ravine got darker and darker. Jimmy hadn’t realized that his hand was still resting on Tango’s back, but he didn’t really want to move it just then. It was nice to feel the heat coming off of him, to feel that slow rise and fall of his not-breathing. The light on Tango’s temple light flickered blue. 

“S’gettin’ late, we should get home before a mob ruins all my hard work,” Jimmy said jokingly, and he saw Tango huff a laugh. 

“Yeah no more creeper sneak attacks please,” he said, and Jimmy grinned at the way his voice sounded. He sounded lighter. It was nice. 

Jimmy pulled his hand away slowly, smoothing his fingertips over the outer edge of the crack in Tango’s shell. He blushed suddenly. Hadn’t meant to do that, probably a weird thing to do. 

Something shot over the soulmate bond, and Tango’s light spun abruptly red before settling back in yellow. Jimmy held his breath.

“S’alright,” Tango said, and Jimmy looked at the back of his head, confused. He had no idea what Tango was saying, and for a long moment neither of them moved. The movement in Tango’s chest was still, like he was waiting. 

Jimmy wiped a suddenly sweaty palm on his pants, and then, with as much care as he could possibly muster, reached out to brush the edge of the scar again. Tango didn’t jump, or whip around and demand to know what Jimmy was doing. He got brave enough to slowly lay his palm on the unblemished skin and brush his thumb along the slight raised edge.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, nearly whispering. It felt wrong to speak any louder than that, with the twilight rolling up the river towards them and a few stray fireflies blinking steadily across the water. It was a space apart, something soft and still and quiet. 

“I don’t feel pain like that, Jimmy,” bit Tango, and Jimmy felt like his answer was about more than the scar on his back. “I’m not human.” 

Jimmy went to take his hand away, almost like it had been burned again, but Tango softened under his hand, and Jimmy hesitated. 

“No, not how you’re thinking. It’s just… annoying, more than anything,” Tango finished. 

Jimmy carefully thumbed over that spot again, and tried to press the emotions he felt through the skin where they were touching. It was fanciful and silly of him, but he didn’t have the words to say I wish it didn’t bother you at all.

What he said was, “Yeah… good.” 

Dumb. That was a dumb response. 

“‘M sorry,” he said. He hoped it didn’t sound like he was saying I’m sorry you’re broken, or I see you differently now, but he needed to say it anyway. “Dunno what happened but… I’m sorry.”

Tango shook his head a little jerkily, but didn’t respond right away, and Jimmy watched the light on his temple spin and spin and spin. It went orange-red-yellow and back again, and Jimmy didn’t know what was happening in there, but he knew he was watching Tango process a whole lot at once. He pulled his hand away gently, and tucked it in his lap so he wasn’t tempted to reach out again.

“It was a long time ago,” Tango said, and it felt like the end of the conversation. 

Jimmy should have stopped talking, but he didn’t. 

“Well, y’know if it’s any consolation it looks pretty neat. Not that like, that’s something you’re worried about or anything! Not saying you should be, or - it just looks like lightning,” he finished lamely. 

Tango finally turned around to look at him. Tango’s eyes met his, and Jimmy felt like he was see-through for a moment, like Tango was searching for something. Jimmy gulped but held his gaze, just a little worried about what Tango would see there. 

Tango shook his head a little bit as he turned back around and slowly levered himself to standing, but Jimmy saw a wry grin crack his face. 

“Yeah?” he asked, “Like lightning?” 

Jimmy nodded. 

“Pretty metal,” he said, and then winced. “No- no pun intended.”

Tango laughed, and Jimmy eased. 

“Do you wanna go home?” Jimmy asked, desperate to change the subject, and Tango offered Jimmy a hand up. 

“Yeah,” Tango said. “Let’s go home.”

When Tango reached for his soot-stained shirt, Jimmy shooed his hand away and handed him his cleanest, driest overshirt. 

“Let me wash that first at least, jeez,” he said, wrinkling his nose. He felt more than saw Tango staring at the side of his head as he dumped it at the bottom of the pile of clean laundry. “I’ll come down and clean it in the morning. Now c’mon put that on and we can go,” he urged Tango. 

Tango paused before slowly sliding his arms into Jimmy’s shirt. It was big enough across the torso for Tango to cross the two fronts over, and the unrolled sleeves went a little past his wrists. Tango shoved them a further up his forearms as he leaned over to grab the heavier basket before Jimmy could so much as touch it. 

“Alright then, c’mon, it’s dark already,” Tango said, and he sounded like… himself. The look he shot Jimmy had a warmth in it that made Jimmy’s lungs hurt, but in a sort of good way. 

Jimmy hauled the stack of folded sheets into his arms and felt the slight-dampness in them still. Tango started up the cliff path, and Jimmy could just make out the glow of the ranch’s torches over the crest of the hill. Maybe they weren’t so perfect, but it was a good effort. 

Jimmy smiled to himself. Yeah. A good effort. Tango was halfway up the path, and stopped to look back and jerk his head in a beckoning motion. 

“C’mon slowpoke, you coming?” he yelled down. 

“Gimme a minute! Bossy…” he shouted back up, and watched Tango laugh.

A very good effort. 

He began the climb towards home. 

[wileys-russo]

cheeky little angst to fluff blurb for leah??

leah didn't do her acl in this because i said so insensitive II l.williamson

"-so i'll rest again for a bit in bed, go to breakfast and then i think we have our team walk in a couple hours? oh! then a few of the girls are gonna go for breakfast and to the beach tomorrow before our flights since they're later at night. the beaches here are literally insane babe the water is so blue, i'll make sure to send you some photos. i'm keen for one last taste of summer before returning to the bleak dead cold of the uk." you joked with a smile, your girlfriend humming tiredly in response.

"i'm sorry baby i'm talking too much. are you sure you're okay? you played brilliantly leah really, i was so proud of you." you softly assured, as you had been for the majority of this phone call which was really annoying the blonde more than helping her to feel better as you intended.

both of you away with your respective national teams for international break you'd both been on the phone much as you could, forever attached at the hip you missed the older english girl who held your heart terribly.

however it would appear that your break was going a whole lot better than leah's, australia coming away with an 8-0 win a few days ago and england having just lost 3-2.

your chances of qualifying were looking up whilst hers seemed in a jeopardy she'd not predicted experiencing.

"i'm fine." if you would have picked up on the hidden sharpness of her words you might have caught on and changed topics, however still half asleep you missed it, having been up very early to watch your girlfriends match.

"losses happen lee it doesn't mean you girls have any less chance of qualifying, you've come back from worse yeah? heads held high and leave it in the past, same thing you tell us all each week in red babe." you tried to comfort her only your words had the opposite affect.

with the loss playing heavily on her mind and leah attributing a large portion of the blame toward herself in defence, she felt a bitter bubble of jealousy and frustration begin to build up in her throat. and before she could think any better of it, it came out suddenly like a toxic word vomit.

"yeah well some of us have actual challenges to face to qualify. we can't all get the easy draw and piss poor low ranking teams to smash 8-0, scoring hat tricks against players with half your professional experience and no funding into their programs, can we? the entire olympics qualification system is a fucking joke!" leah snapped, a few of her team mates heads swiveling toward her with a mix of frowns and surprise at her harsh tone.

silence was all that she was met with after her little outburst, you opening and closing your mouth in somewhat a state of shock at the venomous tone from your usually calm mannered and always supportive girlfriend.

"you must be tired and your flights soon. i'll call you later before warm ups?" you asked hopefully, heart hammering in your chest. "no, i'm going into the training centre soon as i get back." leah replied bluntly, clearly not intending to watch your match as you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

"right. well i hope you get some rest on your flight then." and with that the line beeped signaling you ended the call, leah shoving her phone into her pocket and resting her chin on the handle of her suitcase she was currently sat on.

"leah mate...that was painful to listen to." georgia winced from beside her, keira humming in agreement. "what? she's being insensative! if she knew me she'd know i fucking hate being coddled and thats all she was doing, as well as flaunting her stupid win." leah muttered with a roll of her eyes.

"is that seriously what you think?" keira questioned, eyebrows knitted together as leah only gave a small shrug. "leah." the younger girl sighed, shaking her head.

"she barely mentioned the win to you when it happened, she spoke about her hat trick maybe once on facetime that night? she stayed in to call you like normal instead of being out for dinner celebrating with her team." keira began to lecture the blonde beside her.

"do ya know what time it is in western australia right now leah?" georgia continued on, eyes wide looking at her phone as again leah only shrugged, though a hint of guilt was just starting to creep in.

"it was 3:30 in the morning there when we kicked off and she watched the entire match and then stayed up for a few hours afterwards to call you, so that she could comfort you and try to make ya feel better." georgia lectured, leahs stern gaze beginning to crack at her words.

"then you just dismissed all of the graft she put in last match and her entire teams hard work down to something they have no control over. doesn't matter who they play leah, they deserved each win." keira continued, leah taking her bottom lip in between her teeth as she sat up and rubbed her face with her hands.

"then she gets up at 3:30 to watch your game and you tell her you aren't bothered to watch hers when its at a more than reasonable time, because you're busy feeling sorry for yourself." georgia added on, yet another blow of guilt for her to swallow.

"did you think it was insensitive when we beat them in the semi final of their home world cup, and you celebrated with your team afterwards?" keira asked with a raised eyebrow.

"nah that was different! i went right to her first to make sure she was okay and tell her how proud of her i was, and she told me to go out afterwards and went out with her own team." leah defended suddenly, shut down by the looks from her best friends either side of her.

"exactly leah, so then how is that any different than her trying to console you after this loss? and then you had to go and open your stupid hot headed mouth, stick your foot in it and probably make her feel like shit before her final international match of the break, which you all but said you wouldn't be watching. how is that fair?" keira delivered the final punch as leah crumpled, head hung in her hands with a small groan.

"yeah alright alright i get it, i've royally fucked up here." leah sighed, standing suddenly and walking off with her phone held to her ear, calling you over and over as each time the phone would ring out only affirming to her that she had really stepped in it this time.

trying you for a fifth time, urged to hurry up from her team mates as their flight was boarding leah's phone vibrated with a message as again you didn't answer.

from; lover girl i need some space please, i'll call you once i land back in london x

with a frustrated sigh leah heart reacted the message not wanting to overstep, locking her phone and hurrying over to keira who was impatiently waiting to board.

she had some serious groveling to do.

~

you opened and scanned through the multiple messages from leah she'd sent while obviously watching the game, withholding the urge to smile at her running commentary and complimentary words about how you and the team played.

still quite frustrated with her and still wanting space you opted not to reply, locking your phone and tucking it under your leg as you rummaged around in your backpack for your airpods.

"you're not gonna call leah?" steph asked with a look of surprise as you settled in beside her on the bus back to the hotel, where as normally you'd sit by yourself to call your girlfriend after each match like clockwork.

"nope." you answered simply, shaking your head and tucking one knee up to your chest. "what's happened?" the older girl sighed knowingly, draping an arm over the back of you as your head came to rest on her shoulder.

through the four seasons you'd played together at arsenal the two of you alongside caitlin and now kyra had become like a family, relishing in the familiar comfort of having your fellow aussies around living in a foreign country where you hardly saw your actual loved ones.

"i think we had an argument? but we didn't exactly argue." you replied, still a little in the dark yourself on what had caused leah's outburst. steph only gave you a confused stare and nodded for you to explain further as you did so, recounting your conversation with the blonde captain this morning.

"ahhh, i see." steph nodded now caught up as you hummed tiredly, the time now nearing eleven at night. "you know she loves you very much. but we both know she hardly has a filter on what she says sometimes, and she's quite potentially the most patriotic person i know both for club and country." steph chuckled, patting your shoulder.

"norf london foreva." you mocked her accent quietly with a small smile, admittedly missing it even more now you knew you'd not be speaking to her for a couple of days while you flew.

"but thats not to dismiss how harsh she was and how that would have made you feel. i think some space is a good idea, gives her some time to reflect on why you're upset and why what she said was wrong. you gonna be okay?" the brunette asked softly as the bus pulled in outside your hotel.

"yeah, i'll be fine. it's been nice being back home and seeing all the girls again, and we're going for brunch and to the beach tomorrow. i'm just focusing on that and the horrendous jetlag we're due for once we touch back down." you groaned, steph agreeing as the two of you filed off the bus.

~

"kyra i promise you, if you so much as breathe near me for the next twenty four hours i am going to murder you." you spoke calmly, stopping to take a deep breath as the younger girl purposefully stepped on the back of your trainer again.

you loved her dearly but it was like having your own child as she'd wound you up for hours now, giving you a brief moment of rest when she'd finally passed out on the plane. but now fully awake and in her usual tiresomely hyperactive mood she'd been kicking the back of your knees out and stepping on the back of your shoes from the moment you stepped off the plane.

"leave her be! honestly mate you're so annoying." caitlin groaned on your behalf, wrangling the girl into a tight headlock and dragging her away from you as the four of you headed out of baggage collection.

"i see your personal chauffeur has arrived." you looked up in confusion as steph elbowed you, spotting leah a hundred or so metres away. "ooo she's off to kiss her little girlfr-" kyra's sarcastic kisses and teasing words were cut short as caitlin suddenly swept her feet out from under her, sending her tumbling to the ground on her ass.

"oi!" with that the two took off chasing one another around the terminal, steph kissing your cheek and telling you to call her if you needed her as she hurried off to sort your friends out, the three of them set to take an uber together.

you watched leah nervously shift her weight from one foot to another as you slowly made your way over, her face partially hidden by the hood drawn over her head. a hoodie which you quickly recognized as one of yours, a faded black australian national team hoodie from years ago.

you also noticed she had a bunch of flowers in one hand which she immediately held out to you. "hi." leah breathed out quietly once you arrived in front of her and had taken the flowers with a mumbled thank you.

"hi." you echoed back, adjusting your bag on your shoulder and shaking your head as she offered to take it from you, the two of you wordlessly making your way out of the airport and to the car park.

you dumped your bag in the boot which she opened and closed for you, sliding into the passenger seat with a tired sigh and carefully placing the flowers on the floor between your feet as leah sat beside you, starting up the car and pulling away.

"can we talk? or do you want some time to like actually sleep and rest, you must be insanely jetlagged. i can stay at beth and viv's place tonight? give you some space." leah offered, the two of you having been living together for well over a year now.

"no it's fine, we can talk." you confirmed, adjusting your position as your head slumped against the window, eyes struggling to stay open which didn't go unnoticed by the blonde beside you.

"are you sure? you look exhausted we can-" "leah i'm sure, we need to talk."

you hadn't mean to come across as bluntly as you did given your jetlag, as you saw surprise flicker across your girlfriends face for a moment before she nodded and you mumbled a quiet apology, rubbing your eyes.

"well i'll start. firstly; i am so incredibly unbelievably sincerely sorry for what i said to you love. i was tired and frustrated with my own performance not that thats any excuse, and selfishly a little jealous of your big win when we lost. which was completely unfair because i am so so proud of you in everything that you do. i promise!" leah started, glancing over at you as she stopped at a red light and you gave her a small smile, nodding for her to continue.

"you put so many hours of extra training in to prepare for the world cup and of course thats payed off and you're finally seeing the benefits. I was bitter and selfish and i lashed out at you when you were just trying to make me feel better, like always, and i am really really sorry baby." leah continued, falling silent after as you assumed she'd finished talking.

"well firstly; you were an asshole." leah winced at that but nodded, understanding her actions were to blame here.

"but i understand you were feeling poorly after a loss, i just wish you'd communicated that with me a little better and i would have left you be with your own thoughts rather than talking your ear off and probably worsening your mood." you sighed, the blonde quick to assure she normally loved you talking her ear off.

"i just felt like i didn't understand what i'd done to cause you to be upset with me, and then you snapped about the qualifying process and you weren't entirely wrong but-"

"i was! i was wrong about that. its been the way they're done for years now and its not anything you or i are ever going to have the influence to change single handedly, and i should have never dismissed the shift you and the girls put in for that win." leah was quick to clarify before apologizing for interrupting you.

"thank you. next time please just communicate with me how you're feeling and what you need lee." you smiled tiredly, your girlfriend reaching for your hand and smiling in relief when you allowed her to take it, the blonde bringing it to her mouth and placing a few tender kisses on your knuckles as she glanced toward you.

"eyes on the road thanks charmer." you smiled tiredly, leah not letting go of your hand but dropping it to rest on the middle console, her other hand expertly maneuvering the steering wheel.

the rest of the ride home was filled with a much more comfortable silence, leah thanking her lucky stars you'd been so forgiving and remanding herself over and over for ever wronging you, smiling softly at you asleep in the seat beside her.

parking in the driveway she flicked the car off, carefully getting out and softly closing her door. she grabbed your bags out of the back and hurried them inside, dropping them in your shared bedroom and rushing back to the car, leaving the front door open.

gently opening your door she caught your body as it slid out having been leant against the door, your eyes shooting open as you inhaled sharply and sat up. "we're home baby." leah advised, affectionately rubbing your flushed cheek with her thumb as she pressed a kiss to your temple.

with a tired nod you allowed her to pull you up and out of the car, walking yourself to the front door and rubbing your eyes. you stretched as you crossed the threshold of your home, squealing as leahs hands poked at the sliver of skin which popped out as your top rode up.

"hello." you latched yourself onto her the moment she closed the front door and turned, your cheek smooshed into her shoulder as her hoodie clad arms wound tightly around you. "i really really missed you." leah sighed, swaying the two of you back and forth as you relished in the familiar warmth of her embrace.

"so i can see, you've become an honorary tillie." you teased, tugging on the sides of the hoodie as your chin moved to rest against her sternum, looking up at her in amusement. "for you my girl? anything." leah promised with a soft smitten smile, leaning down to kiss you.

"leah what is that?" you spotted a piece of cardboard on the kitchen counter over her shoulder, pulling away from her right before her lips met yours causing her to frown.

"welcome home from prison!" you read out the sign with a scoff, leahs arms folding around you from behind as her chin rested on your shoulder and you felt her body vibrate with a quiet laughter.

"thought it might be a bit too soon for the joke to land right without an apology first." leah admitted, pressing a few light kisses to the side of your neck.

"mm yeah good choice. dick!" you shoved her playfully as she continued to cling onto you, spinning you around. "may i have a proper kiss now please?" the blonde pouted, puckering her lips as you smiled, shaking your head.

"well i am all for charity and since you asked so nicely." she pinched your side for the comment, pressing her lips to yours before you could say another word.

the way her lips slotted perfectly with yours would forever make your head spin, sending you into a love drunk haze of dizziness at the euphoric feeling of kissing her. the way her bottom lip would part slightly as her hand flew to the back of your neck, her tongue slipping into your mouth as her thumb rubbed gentle circles just below your ear.

her lips always soft and welcoming, her kisses calculated and thought out, making sure that with every fleeting second you could feel how deeply she cared for you. this kiss in particular was two weeks in the making, the blonde pouring into it every inch of her adoration for you with each slight adjustment and touch, her other hand resting on your waist to draw your body even closer into hers, trapping the two of you in a cocoon of warmth and love and safety.

"welcome home." she pulled away with a light smack, pressing a few softer kisses to your swollen lips before pressing her forehead against yours, closing her eyes and hugging you tightly, anchoring you in her arms like a lost ship coming ashore.

the sea of your relationship wouldn't always be smooth, but with leah at the helm and you loyal by her side the two of you could get through pretty much anything.

"it's two now baby. do you want to sleep for a few hours and then up for dinner? and we can stay up till around maybe ten to try and reset your schedule?" your girlfriend offered sweetly, warm lips pressing against the crown of your temple with each word.

"so long as you're with me i don't mind." you sighed, head falling to her chest as you squeezed her tightly, melting the older girls heart who hugged you back just as firmly.

"well you can't sleep standing up." with that she'd bent down to grab the back of your thighs, hoisting you up. "bed or lounge baby?" the defender asked with a raised eyebrow. "not the first time you've asked me that while i'm off the ground in your arms." you smirked, kissing her nose and grinning as she scrunched it slightly.

"even half asleep with jet lag you remain a cheeky cheeky girl." leah tutted with a shake of her head and carrying you with her over to the sofa, turning around and sitting down as she pulled you to sit between her legs which stretched down its length.

"can you put the golf on please?" you mumbled tiredly, shuffling so your head was resting on leah's chest, hearing her heartbeat beneath your ear as leah smiled happily in surprise at your request. "really?"

"yeah, always sends me to sleep." you continued, closing your eyes as leah rolled hers, carding a hand through your hair but doing as you asked, nails scratching at your scalp and the english captain chuckled seeing within a few short minutes you'd fallen right back to sleep.

desite the fact she actually enjoyed watching the golf much to your horror, a few holes in, she was ashamed to admit she joined you, eyes drifting closed.

[skiddlecat]

you know what? fuck it. the dynamic between taco and microphone is really interesting and dumbing it down to "evil terrible abuser and poor innocent victim" flattens both of their characters simultaneously.

they both hurt Each Other in ways that can't be undone!!! mic did her fair share of Fucking It Up Big Time as well and i think the way their fallout went down is the best example of times mic could have been better. and before anyone says it NO i'm NOT saying she didn't have a right to back out when she did but what i AM saying is that i think the way she handled cutting taco off showcases one of her biggest character flaws EXCELLENTLY:

when she's hurt by someone, she will hurt them back twice as hard. cheesy makes an insensitive joke? she calls him a monster. taco relapses in her bad habits? she weaponizes her past friendship with pickle. i'm pretty confident in saying both of these responses are Pretty Damn Disproportionate. and i think that's really interesting!!! we should talk more about this!!!!!!!!!

taco did a lot of bad things in their friendship and should absolutely be held accountable for it, but i also think simply calling her a heartless abuser is horribly undermining her character. like, imagine with me, if you will:

(post-writing note. HOLY SHIT this was way longer than i thought it'd be. putting the rest of this post under the cut because the previous paragraphs are pretty much all my thoughts but i kind of go into a full taco character analysis below. if you want to see that then keep reading i suppose LMAOOO)

you once accidentally formed a friendship with someone based off of a lie. you exposed the lie, sabotaged that relationship, and cut him off. that was the last conversation you had. a good while later you realize that, oh no, you actually DID care about this person, and you miss him! but he's GONE and it's YOUR FAULT!!! so you write. you write, you write, you write, hoping to get a response, but you never do.

and then. and then you find someone else. someone who's loud, chaotic, cast out. she reminds you a little too much of the lie you built for yourself. and so, you help her. for your own selfish reasons, sure, but you attempt to reign her in. she doesn't trust you at first, you don't trust her either, and you are... less than kind to her. it's not pretty, but at this point it doesn't really matter to you, because right now she's just a means to an end. she doesn't mean anything to you.

but slowly, over time, things start changing. she starts seeing past the brick walls you built around yourself. starts trying to break them down, little by little. you avoid, you resist, you do everything you can to prevent her from getting through, because vulnerability is frankly disgusting, and you don't want to talk about your problems anyway! but, this doesn't last. you actually apologize to her, for being so closed off, because you should be doing better, and she seems to appreciate it.

someone brings up that old friend to her. you get MAD. it's like rubbing salt in the wound, reminding you of every reason you're not happy, every reason you've been scared of getting too close. he suggests that you will leave her the same way you left him.

and. surprisingly. your ally does not side with him. she tells him you're changing. you're changing. she looks at you and all of your disgusting flaws, and she sees someone not beyond redemption. and you think that maybe. maybe you can trust her. maybe you CAN let your walls down. maybe you won't screw it up this time. and, and...

one mistake.

a pretty big one, granted, but a mistake nonetheless. you relapse into some bad habits, because the situation you entered was not the one you planned for. and she's mad. so mad, in fact, that she takes your old friendship, something she knows is a touchy subject, that hurts every time it's brought up, and she weaponizes it. she looks at you as if you mean nothing to her, and then she leaves. she leaves before you even have a chance to respond.

one. mistake.

one mistake is all it took for her to grow sick of you, for her to agree with all of the terrible things people say about you. and what hurts the most is that you TRUSTED her. you thought you could be open with her, you thought she was DIFFERENT. but no, she's not different. she's just like everyone else. and maybe, if the one person who believed you could be better gives up on you... maybe they're all right about you.

the walls are back up. they're thicker, stronger, and as far as you're concerned... it will take FAR more convincing to let anyone get through ever again.

...and then mepad comes along and says he doesn't even believe you're a bad person in the FIRST place, which is. astounding and very hard to believe but he's seeing you at your absolute worst being needlessly cruel to everyone and is STILL saying this with complete confidence so, fuck, kind of hard to keep THAT up for very long. then ii16 happens and you know the drill SHE'S DOING BAD.

hoo boy this went on for a lot longer than it was supposed to. anyway all this to say i think we should talk more about how they both hurt each other rather than push the narrative that one of them was "the abuser" and the other was "the victim" because frankly that's not even how it works in real life. thank you for coming to my ted talk i've been sitting on this for weeks afraid that i'd be told to kill myself over anons 👍

[celestialprincesse]

I JUST SAW YOUR POLY 141 AND UGGH IT WAS SO GOOD! If you’re interested! Could you do like poly 141 with an angst- hurt/comfort! Where supposedly one of the boys said something and the reader took it in a negative way? I liked to think that this reader is a more sensitive reader, maybe something some of us can relate too (cause I know I can <3)

with lots of love and positivity! - 🩰

Warnings: afab reader, mentions of periods 💕🎀

Cooking is your safe place. The bubbling of pots and sizzling of pans gets you out of your head. Working to delicately lattice the tops of pies or pipe cakes keeps your hands busy and your mind elsewhere. Today, the kitchen is less of a safe place, and more of a war room. The snap of your meat cleaver down onto the chopping board echoes through the house like a death knell, and the boys convene on the porch to work out what the hell happened.

"Mate, she sounds like fucking Hannibal in there." Kyle huffs, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose to soothe the building headache that stress has dropped upon his temples. Simon is already looking at Johnny, who looks like a guilty child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Johnny." Simon murmurs, surprisingly warmly, in that way he does to coax someone to talk before he resorts to his 6'4 arsenal of intimidation tactics. John and Kyle proceed to look his way, his captain's eyes blazing with embers of fire just ready to spark. "I did no mean to say anythin'." His thick Scots accent drips with defeat as he looks at the other men around him. "But.." Kyle nods slowly, a comforting hand placed on Johnny's shoulder, giving an encouraging squeeze. "I said she was acting pissy." He huffs, running his hands over his face in frustration. "She was bein' all huffy an' puffy, tried to ask what was wrong and she went off." Simon immediately has his phone in hand, scrolling through their shared calendar until he comes to the date, and a little blood drop emoji a few days later. "Ah." Simon sighs, followed by a chorus of "Oh's" From the others.

Halfway through cooking whatever it is you'd stormed in here to make - you weren't really sure what - You'd managed to elbow a bowl full of eggs on the floor, and now, sat in a mess of egg yolks, shells, flour and porcelain, you sniffled pathetically into your hands.

"Hen?" Johnny calls softly, a quiet knock on the kitchen door, which he opens slowly, shuffling in with your three other massive soldiers shimmying into the kitchen at his back. "Oh, no." He coos, taking your cheeks in his palms, dropping a kiss to your forehead as he helps you up. "I didnae mean to make you cry, love. I was jus' being an idiot, yeah? Insensitive an that." Simon is at your back, gathering your hair away from your face, leaning the reassuring weight of his head into the crook of your neck, whilst John helps you out of your apron and Kyle grabs cleaning supplies for the mess you'd made on the floor. "I'm sorry for being pissy." You sniffle, stuffing your head into the ever warm skin of his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne as your residual tears soak his shirt. "Ye was no bein' pissy. Ye jus weren't as chirpy as usual, eh? No problem with that, was jus surprised is all." "You know we all love you." John coos, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder as you're left smushed between four huge bodies. "Love you too."

[koibitogata]

hey hatchet!! hope youre doing okay, could i request some angsty romantic headcanons between ticci toby and a gn!reader? maybe like if they argue about toby's behavior and whatnot

hey there darling! i’m actually doing great, and i hope you are too! i absolutely love the sound of this request, so here we fucking go (disclaimer i am not an expert on his MULTITUDE of conditions, which practically make up his whole person atp)

arguments about Toby’s behavior are not uncommon.

Toby was born with multiple diseases and disorders; though he doesn’t know his own past, you figure that if his parents did even a little less for him, he would be way worse off than he is now. in fact, you’re pretty sure this is as good as it could get.

but oh, there are so many things you simply do not love about this man.

his CIPA (congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis) prevents him from feeling pain, and as such he has not felt pain since he was born. as such, completely lacking the concept of pain and never remembering that others are susceptible to it, he is often a little too rough with you, not just in bed. sometimes, he grabs you just a little too hard, and it gets to you.

you know he is as dense as he seems, but just in case, you hope hard that he never realizes you’re slowly becoming distant from him. you simply can’t do it, not with his roughness and lack of reverence on your body.

and oh, this is just scratching the surface of his behavioral issues.

Toby is also diagnosed with BPD (borderline personality disorder). this is what you consider to be the worst part of his behavioral issues.

you had the misfortune of ending up as his favorite person (though in his defense there are not many others around him so his poor mentally ill brain pretty much has no choice).

you talk to the cashier at 7-11 for a millisecond too long? suddenly as you walk out, Toby is gone from where he was waiting for you and when you look back, the cashier’s gone too. but you know somewhere behind the store, the poor cashier’s blood is being spilled.

and even if you need just a small something from his fellow proxies, they’re not immune either.

though, you have to say, you prefer asking a random person instead.

because even though tim and brian may be punished by Toby, you feel like you are the one being punished the hardest.

he’ll give you the cold shoulder and guilt trip you and manipulate you.

it’s to the point you don’t think you know what a normal relationship feels like anymore. are boyfriends supposed to be loving? or are they supposed to scowl at you, go silent and cold the moment they notice you talking to someone else, even if it’s absolutely necessary?

and so you do the only thing you can do to rebel: argue.

you first start out gently, chiding him when he does something he’s not supposed to do. you correct him and explain to him why it’s wrong.

but you’re not sure if it goes through to him at all. you genuinely cannot tell, between his desperate apologies right after and the blatant repetition of his behavior.

for a while, it’d just been the apologies and repetition. though you disliked it, you soon came to realize that it was better than apologies, repetition and THEN arguments, guilt tripping and manipulation.

“why can’t you just love me for who i am? do you not love me after all? i was right all along. you’re desperate to get rid of me.”

and the truth is, you are.

[sirenalpha]

It's interesting you read Langdon's benzo addiction narrative choice as "going against type", the type being the housewife taking valium; because my first notion was also "mothers little helper" and, okay, why are they woman-coding this male character? Lol. It's really interesting too to me that the most glaring teasing of his addiction/stealing is when Santos is talking to Dana ABT the effect Ativan vial as voice over and we cut to Langdon looking up at the ceiling—then bam Jake enters. You can always read Langdon as the fun uncle in the dynamic—but I always found it glaring that it was Langdon talking to Jake after Jake's and Robby's breakout. Anyways, tentatively looking forward to whatever they do with the writing in S2...

yeah my initial reading of going against type was just about a doctor being addicted to benzos just because House seems like such a standout among medical dramas and I haven't seen ER but Carter is addicted to narcotics specifically opioids and since the Pitt is a spiritual successor to ER so this is an intentional change they made on purpose, but I'm not sure for what that purpose is

also as I pointed out, the Pitt is by the book with every other depiction of substance abuse, it's all men with stereotypical addictive drugs of choice, and then there's Langdon on benzos and in the reverse, Langdon is presented as almost stereotypically masculine in a doctor-y way, he's clean cut with a square jaw, doesn't wear colors except for a gifted bracelet from his kid, he's the asshole/less compassionate than his female coworkers at least on the surface

I didn't get into how Langdon's relationships play into this since the post was already getting long

but just hearing the little we do about his home life you might assume it would be Abby and not Frank on benzos since she's potentially a housewife and raising two kids maybe on her own depending on how much Langdon actually does at home

instead they gave Langdon the quote unquote women's addiction despite his high profile job and apparent distance from his family which is usually 'the reason' women get addicted to a benzo

and this typically isn't taken seriously as a damaging addiction, but Robby flips his lid and takes it both very seriously and also very personally, like this is not a professional dispute where Robby is following protocol and Langdon doesn't like it, no Robby is entirely all up in his feelings, wildly angry, and taking Langdon's addiction as a personal betrayal, it doesn't quite map onto familial relationships simply because they aren't that close and have a work relationship but if Robby as the attending physician is the dad of the Pitt then it's closest to being a dad kicking his son out of the house over drug use

you also make a good point about Langdon and Jake, Langdon is portrayed as snarky to colleagues and sometimes insensitive around death and never the one chosen for harrowing talks with patients, he kind of flubs with the mother of the four year old that took weed gummies (but she was always going to blow up no matter what imo) and he's a little off the mark with the bug in ear lady and the guy with dead parasites in his brain

but with Jake, Langdon actually does give Jake good advice regarding his girlfriend before Pittfest and after the shooting, Langdon is given the opportunity to be (at least one of) the sensitive one(s) and he succeeds where Robby fails as he spirals into a break down while trying to speak to Jake and Langdon offers verbal comfort where Dana is only able to offer Jake a hug

Langdon also provides this comfort WITHOUT bringing in his personal feelings towards Robby and actually speaks well of Robby to Jake which as I just pointed out Robby failed at with both Langdon and Jake as surrogate sons

so there is something to back up Langdon's friendship bracelet from his son in terms of his fathering skills

so maybe the choice in benzos is related to Langdon's relationship with his family, Robby blames Langdon's addiction on the job breaking something in him, but that doesn't mean he's right or that it's the only factor, and significantly, Robby doesn't have a family, Langdon is the only doctor with the wife and two kids and a picket fence and that situation is strained so he's dealing with issues no one else in the cast can relate to (so far as we know as we have less bg on the nurses)

the typical narrative for the housewife's addiction is she's trapped in the home with her kids unable to be her own person and find fulfillment, but maybe Langdon's problem is that he's out of the home and away from his family, it would help make sense of why he has a four year old son as an R4 making his son born around when he started residency which is long hours with low pay and during COVID lockdowns when he likely had to isolate from his family to avoid getting them sick which could definitely also 'break' a person

but I don't know what the show will go for, I'm cautious about it since there are many directions they could go in on this

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for ZepysGirl; the wet nurse omegaverse.

“We don’t even know if this will be enough,” Clark says softly, so unfortunately he’s apparently on a similar line of thought right now. Unsurprisingly, but unfortunately. “Chris is a toddler. He doesn’t know anything but that he smelled milk on someone who would–who could nurse him. But human milk might not be enough.” 

“It was enough for you,” Bruce reminds him. 

“I was at least a year older, and still wound up malnourished,” Clark reminds him in turn. Which, admittedly, is not actually something he’d forgotten. “And Ma was my mother. My pack. Both my primary and my family pack, on top of that. I can’t give Chris that. I can’t give him anything she gave me.” 

“You’re giving him everything she gave you, Clark,” Bruce says evenly. 

“I’m really, really not,” Clark says, and puts a hand over his chest . . . purposelessly, as far as Bruce can tell. Just . . . there. “I couldn’t even–I couldn’t even try. Couldn’t even let him latch to try and get my milk to come in. Couldn’t even take my shirt off. It might–if I try, it might come in. We could–test it, maybe. I could pump, or . . . I could at least try.” 

“You did try,” Bruce says, since “giving yourself a panic attack trying to force it would not have been a helpful form of 'trying’” would come off a little more insensitive and Clark’s already not in the best place at the moment. And Clark did in fact do everything short of taking lactation stimulants, which they already know Lor wouldn’t have tolerated even if they had managed to synthesize Kryptonian-effective ones. The Fortress’s AI didn’t have any more tolerable stimulant formulas that they could reproduce, and even if it had, those stimulants certainly weren’t designed to function on a Kryptonian living on a yellow-sun planet. 

Clark tried, and nothing happened. 

The issue is undeniably psychological, but unless Clark can retroactively go to six years of extremely intensive therapy that would’ve both compromised his identity and might not even have helped at all, much less actually worked, and that he never knew he’d need to have worked for anything like this–

Clark did everything that he could’ve reasonably been expected to, and more than he should’ve had to. 

Sometimes that just isn’t enough, Bruce knows. Jason is proof enough of that, if nothing else is. 

And they have chances, still. There���s hope, still. 

There is. 

Bruce is just very, very tired, and at this point even Clark is tired, and they're both worrying about things that aren't currently helpful. Directionless worry isn't a solution or a plan; it's just wasted energy. 

Honestly, at this point Bruce just wants to go take a damn nap. 

Unfortunately, one of the most singularly powerful people on the planet still needs emotional support, and Bruce is still terrible at emotional support.

[wonderlandwalker]

The Will of the Moirai | Finnick Odair x Reader

previous part / thg masterlist / inbox / next part

summary: Part three of the remember series. Time passes in district 13 and Finnick wonders if everything will ever be as it was, but the moment everything feels like it did before, fate interrupts tags / content warnings: angst, memory loss, blood, gunshots, major character injury, hurt/very little comfort, my love of Greek mythology, no use of y/n word count: 1.5k a/n: So turns out I lied and I wrote this before my exam but since I did I might as well post it. Look I tried to make it less sad but as I was writing it somewhere my thoughts just took over. If anyone knows how to make happy endings let me know cause by the gods we all know Finnick deserves one. I also nerded out a bit on the mythology becayse i'm rereading pjo I'm sorry

Vocabulary: Moirai = the three fates which determine the length of someones life River of lost souls = one of the five rivers of the underworld, the river of misery Lethe = one of the five rivers of the underworld, the river of forgetfulness

He knows someone died today, he knows because whenever this happens there is always an announcement. And he’s never sure why they do this, because to him it feels like they're just adding salt to a fresh wound. He doesn’t understand the custom, and he hopes he will never get the chance to learn either, hopes that the gods will have mercy on him for a little longer. He doesn’t know who it is that passed away in the hospital wing, he hears them mention a name but he’s not listening. He can hear someone else, someone yelling about how the doctors did something wrong, how they messed up. And he isn't sure if it’s insensitive, but he does not care much, he can’t get himself to care because it isn't you. You are standing next to him and to him, all is right. For the most part

It’s comical almost, the way he gets excited every time, as if this is the last piece of the puzzle and the picture will be complete, but every time there is still another piece lost somewhere. And while he’s grateful every time that light of recollection passes through you, it’s not enough. It will never be enough because you do remember him, but you don’t remember him like he remembers you. He thought he knew what patience felt like, because first, he spent his time waiting for you to fall in love with him the way he had always known he loved you. then he was tested whenever you would wear something just a little too revealing to a party, making him wonder if patience really was a virtue, and if it was, he’d prefer spending his time searching for vices. 

Yes, Finnick thought himself a patient man, but as the days continued to pass by he found himself reevaluating the standard. Because he wasn't annoyed, he wasn't anxious, and he was surely not tolerable. So maybe this wasn't a question of patience, maybe, he thought, this was a test of his love for you. And with that thought, he went to bed every night. He went to sleep not with the comfort of you next to him, but with the comfort of knowing that this was a scrutiny he would spend eternity enduring in order to get you back.

With that he spends his days next to you, knowing that even if it takes forever, he will still be there. So he makes conversation with you during dinner and makes you laugh at parties, he makes sure everyone knows he is yours, even if you don’t know it yet. So when someone interrupts him from the hypnotizing effect you have on him, he tries not to pay it any mind, but unfortunately, that is not an option this time. Because the man he had seen making a commotion the other day is here, he is even more upset than he had seemed before, and this time he has a gun.

He sees the man step closer, and he is about to take his chances to try and disarm him when he sees you stepping forward. You take a step closer to the man while holding out your hands, you look as if you’re trying to address an easily startled animal. But it’s working, and Finnick can’t say he’s surprised, because who could say no to you? You’re trying to reason with him, and usually, Finnick would have said it’s no use, but he knows how persuasive you can be. He remembers how you were always the one to reason, even when he didn't see the point. You always had to try, because you had told him about the good of people, but you were the only one Finnick saw any good in. You’re telling the man about the importance of memories. Youre talking about the fondness you hold to your own memories, but they're not just yours, they're your memories with him. You’re talking about that day in the arena, you’re saying how scared you were, scared that those would be your last moments. But you didn't care, because you knew Finnick was alive, and he would never let the memory of you die. You’re asking the man about the woman who died, he still can't remember her name, but you do, you remember. And it’s working, it’s all working like a tower of cards put together by the gentlest of hands. 

But it doesn't take much to destroy what you’ve built, the smallest gust of wind can knock it over. He watches it happen, he sees the soldiers slowly and silently entering the room to try and put a stop to the rampage the man has caused. He sees it and he knows everything is about to start to crumble down. So he does the only thing he knows how to do, he reaches for you. He reaches for you because he knows that once the man notices what is happening, your tower of cards will be knocked over and you will have lost the battle you’ve been trying to win. And he can’t stop it from happening, but he can save you from the fall. He reaches out to you and he can feel your soft skin against his as he tugs you towards him. And he can’t explain it, because he knows there isn't a logical way to do so, but the moment he feels your touch, he knows everything is back in its right place. He knows you remember.  He gets to you, and he hears the shot echo through the room, but he doesn't want you to have to see it, he shields you from everything that's happening because youre letting him, for the first time since the games you’re letting him. 

But he should've learned by now that things are never this simple, and every time he thinks he’s won, there is always something there to push him off the pedestal he’s just built. He looks and he sees the man standing there, and he doesn't understand. Because he heard a gunshot, but the man is still standing, being surrounded and being detained, but standing. He doesn't understand until he can feel you collapsing, he looks back to you as he supports you and his blood turns to ice. Because he sees his hands, the hands that were supposed to save you, and they’re covered in blood. They’re covered in your blood. He can see the blush disappearing from your cheeks and the way your eyes are starting to close. And for once he wished he didn't remember. That he couldn't recall the last time this happened, because he wants to have hope, he wants to convince himself that tomorrow everything would be okay, because he’s managed to get you back yet again. But the memory hangs over him like a dark storm he should’ve seen coming. He spent days, weeks begging whichever god would be listening to make you remember, to give you back to him. And it turns out they heard him, but they have never been known to be fair. He remembers the strength it took you to get here, and he doesn't know if you have enough left to do it again. 

And if he could, he’d offer himself to the river of lost souls, he would spend eternity reliving this misery as long as he knew you wouldn't have to. He would dive into it like the sea on a summer night back home, because to him, that would be better than seeing you be taken to the Lethe again. And he knows the moirai do not care what he has to say, that they do not care what he is willing to offer, but he is still pleading to them anyway. Because you open your eyes when he asks you to, and you look at him the same way as when he found you in the capitol, you look at him as if nothing is wrong, because he makes it all right. And surely, he thinks, this cannot be how it ends. He’s desperate, and he’s scared. But he’s no longer scared you’ll pull away when he kisses you, because your lips are melting together with his again and he’s sure this is what heaven must feel like. Except the moment you stop kissing him, the moment your hand falls from where it was holding his face, he knows this was never heaven, this is his hell.

Next part: One day at a Time

[luverz-exe]

Hey, I was wondering if maybe you could do yandere headcanons for The Riddler from arkahm city? I rarley see anything about the arkahm games. However, If not it's fine, have a nice day or night!

Yandere Arkham City! Riddler Headcanons

...Uh, hi. I'm back. sorry for the prolonged hiatus, I've just been...dealing with a lot at the moment. I'm glad to be back. I'm not gonna be making a full blown post for it, so imma just say my piece here. Don't worry Anon, I'm gonna get to your request soon- just wanna talk a little bit. Requests will be off for awhile, how long, I'm not sure. Going to finish the requests I can, I won't force myself to do them all- because if I can't write it, then I realize I'm not obligated to. A reason that I quit was because I was so overwhelmed with stuff. But that was any of your faults! I am absolutely astounded that I have so much support! Just that sometimes I need to realize that I can't do everything there is out there, because I'm still an amateur writer, there's a lot I can't do and even more that I have yet to get good at. Sorry for rambling, here's your request Anon!!

Slightly suggestive near the end, oopsie doopsie guys. Oh yeah, and he says some really mean words, guys- an absolute shocker 🤯

Here's the thing when it comes to Edward. He's an asshole- a smug, insensitive asshole. Of course, we all know this by now. But this snarky self-absorbed piece of shit is slowly starting to decay, inside out. His mental state fluctuates, and it really is straining on your "relationship". He believes in more practicality, you're here to be his assistant, and he's here to protect your primitive brain (though, less than your peers, just enough for him to take you under his wing and truly try and help you flourish) from combusting. He can make you smarter, you know. You have so much potential, enough to be second best...Just watch, and learn. It's not like you'll have a choice.

Yeah...The first few weeks-months will be tenuous- it's likely you didn't join this relationship of your own volition. And even if you somehow did, it's not going to be any better. He's making you go no contact with the outside world. While you call it a fucked up form of house arrest, he prefers to call it a more civilized form of rehabilitation. Sorry, not sorry- those idiotic, moronic, brain-dead louts would taint you again. No wonder you're so much dumber than him, all your life you've been surrounded by bad influences (so was he, but he's a prodigy, and you're just smarter than average- it's different). You have to stay away from them because any smarts he's been giving you might be sucked up by those braindead leeches!

Good news though- free range of his living space (if you can even call it that)! While he's still keeping his appearance semi-clean, his space hasn't, as he's slowly beginning his descent into the Arkham Knight version. But hey, how about you be a good helper and pick some stuff up- keep you occupied short-term. Because, you try and talk to him, it's going to be a lot longer- and you might want to take notes because he is going to test your knowledge on it later.

"Why are you bothering me? ..Cleaning? No, no, you stop that. If you're going to keep your mind occupied, then I recommend you grab the 11mm crowfoot wrench and get over here." When you didn't move, be it you didn't know where he stored those or a genuine lack of knowledge about wrenches, he peered up from his work. "..What, can't even do that?" He signed, furrowing his brow, but prevented himself from badmouthing further. It wasn't their fault for having an idiot society teach them about these things. "..Just- grab the flashlight, over there on the counter, I'll get it myself- and you better pay attention. This mistake will not be made more than once, I assure you of it."

Pity is a common occurrence, but his sympathy isn't. Oh, your poor pitiful shrunken brain, rotting away from all the bad people in your life. But you should've taken one quick look at him, realized he was your intellectual superior and asked for him to bring your brain to a normal size and to ditch everyone else in your life. That's your fault.

Now, it isn't all bad! Look on the bright side, learning is now your full time job- with him as your teacher (in a non-sexual way, because god-damnit if you think you can get out of learning about the proper ways to build one of his puzzles by giving him a handjob (you can, and probably should to avoid what would be considered a 5 hour lecture over the course of the day)). He enjoys teaching you all that he knows, and he expects you to share that enthusiasm, especially when he talks about batman. When he starts talking about the flying rat that plagues his life, you better listen. You're going to be his assistant someday with all of this 'killing Batman' thing, so you better hop on that train early.

While he does call you an idiot, he's just self-projecting his hatred of Batman (and himself) onto you. No, it's not your fault- it's 100% his own and he won't apologize or acknowledge it in a meaningful way. It slowly dissipates the more your 'nasty' attitude does, but even then it never fully disappears. Depends on the day. He'll never get better, though, not fully. And once you see how bad he becomes in Arkham Knight, you'll realize this isn't as low as he can go.

"You idiot! Can't you do something right? When I talk, you listen! Why do I even keep you around?! You're an absolute buffoon, you know that?...Of course you don't, you see? If you were with me sooner, you wouldn't be like this. We'll get you to the intelligence level you should be, don't you worry, but clearly we're going to need to change tactics if I'm going to get it through that thick skull of yours."

[gusujay]

I love the pathologic fandom cause it’s filled with incredibly talented and creative people who’s passion for the game is so cathartic and inspiring, but there’s one question I’ve wanted to voice for a while but I haven’t known how to word it correctly.

And that question is; why is the common opinion in the fandom that Artemy is the “good doctor” and Daniil is the “bad doctor”? (not in terms of skill but in terms of moral standing)

Because yeah Daniil says some *clears throat* questionable things but I’m on the Haruspex route day 5 and…Artemy in game is just as awful sometimes. “Man’s share is harder” (why ice pick lodge why) is a line that both Daniil AND Artemy have as dialogue options, and Artemy is often very rude to the townsfolk too.

I feel the need to clarify that by awful I just mean…you know, a mix of the trauma that comes with being a doctor trying to survive the plague and ice pick lodge making some Decisions. But it’s not like Daniil is this mean guy and Artemy is understanding and kind cause he’s not.

In-game they’re literally both assholes and I love that about them, but why is the common opinion in the fandom that Daniil is a horrible bastard when Artemy and Daniil are equal levels of Bastard in the actual game, at least in classic hd. They have very different personalities, but I mean…they’re both a little bit horrible (I say this with affection).

I mean, in the Haruspex route almost the first thing you do is choose whether or not to kill a child, a child that Artemy is quite harsh to if the player picks certain dialogue options. Which is very similar to how you can play Daniil as someone who’s genuinely trying his best to help people but doesn’t quite understand the consequences his actions might be having, OR you can play him as a city boy who’s arrogant and selfish.

You can play Artemy as someone who’s come home from being away for quite a while and now has to live with the fact that the town has pinned him as an outsider and a murderer, OR you can play him as someone who’s been unjustly accused of murder and is very resentful and angry with the town and takes it out on the people who used to be his family. But only Daniil gets his less flattering dialogue options thrown at him by the fandom.

Again, I love both Artemy AND daniil they’re both my beloveds. But I feel like both of them are their own kind of fucked up and they both take that out on other people, no matter how nice the player tries to be while controlling them.

But for some reason Daniil has the reputation of being awful while Artemy doesn’t. Maybe it’s all because of the hbomb video but I’m not so sure, because (and we are going into subjective territory now since how each person interprets a video essay about a game will naturally be different, but I came out of hbomb’s video thinking Daniil was fucking hilarious, if a bit (or a lot) insensitive and ignorant about the town’s culture).

I don’t have a grand conclusion to come to at the end of this post. Just wanted to get the thought out there. Take something from it, or take nothing, I’m just a random person voicing a random thought. I’m not trying to start any fights, nor do I think this observation is at all groundbreaking, it’s just a question I’ve had for a while.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for putting less effort into food if I know the person who eats it wouldn't appreciate/finish it anyway?

I like to cook, especially for people I like. And there's not many people I like. One of them is my bf, who basically never has the energy to cook for himself, and who I was initially excited to cook for when he moved in. But it turns out he has little appetite period, and he eats so slow that his food always gets cold (or melts if it was cold to begin with), and he literally doesn't care at all. Like, he'll drink melted ice cream and eat room-temperature soup, is how little he cares. And regardless of how much quality remains in the meal, he's basically never ever able to finish it. He always has to-go boxes when we go out to eat and I have to remind him that he has them or else he completely forgets.

Basically there's a lot of food waste that's inevitable with him for adhd reasons (which I understand!) and he has really insensitive taste buds (I also know it's not his fault) that make cooking for him very... not satisfying. And also objectively wasteful. So if there's shortcuts that I can take that I maybe wouldn't take with my own food but it's not gonna make it dangerous to eat or anything, I do it. I know he won't know the difference or care.

Recently I mentioned to a family member how I did this because I was also saying how I don't waste the good water on my little sister who's a toddler and whose water is always mixed with juice anyway. They were appalled and I tried to explain that the tap water isn't gonna make her sick, it's just not to our tastes because we're used to a specific minerality, meanwhile my sister literally does not know any difference. It's extra time and money to go fill up our water jugs with the "purified" stuff, so I'm just being efficient by not using it if I don't need to.

That explanation didn't make that family member calm down at all; they told me I was treating my sister "like a dog." (Personally I don't think that there's a specific different treatment that humans and dogs "deserve" or anything either but whatever.) This is where I went on to say that it wasn't like I had anything against my sister bc I do this with my own boyfriend too, and it's just a matter of being efficient and not putting extra effort where it doesn't matter and won't be noticed. Like, you're not gonna waste the $200 vodka on a cocktail, right? No. If you're mixing it with a bunch of juice and whatnot you use the bottom shelf stuff. It turns out the same.

You can probably guess that that still didn't help. They're insistent I'm like a psychopath or something for being like this. I think the explanation makes it make perfect sense though. AITA?

What are these acronyms?