#might write a second part to this

[wholemeallbread]

ITOSHI RIN pretends that a long distance relationship would kill him.

the chances of him getting into a relationship in the first place is already rare enough, but long distance? on the other side of the earth? he's not sure if he'd be able to do it.

but once he gets into a relationship with you, everything seems to change. sure, at first, it's pretty awkward; he's a dry texter and pretty busy, as well as the difference in time. but even with that, and the thousands of metres of land and sea between you, somehow he falls deeper and deeper in love with you. even with the lack of return in affection, you're so committed, committed to loving him, and he doesn't understand why.

was it continuing to text him even though he couldn't respond so he could see the accumulated messages that document your entire day? was it all of the different heart emojis you would send when he says he misses you back? or maybe it was how his sleep schedule was slowly shifting for the worse with how often he stays awake on the phone with you?

it could be anything, really. his love language has already unknowingly made a dramatic shift, sending you gifts and in game currency for all of the stupid games you play together. he even spent an ungodly amount of money just for a setup.

he wants to use words, but he's afraid of how they'll come out. and things would be a lot easier for him if he just booked a plane ticket and flew over to see you.

[rsenak]

It's incredibly funny to me how I'll be there drawing them being cute while plotting various bad things in their future. These crows cannot catch a break

[sallymew4]

i just remembered something ive been thinking about since i was reading Mogami arc. Mogami CHEATS

he was all high and mighty with his “this is how everyone would REALLY ACT in REAL SITUATIONS” and im not doubting him, im sure he was being very honest about this aspect up until these panels. Mob, despite everything he was put through by Mogami and Minori, is letting her off the hook. he even seems a little hesitant to tell her off when he sees how scared she is! he’s yet to let these experiences make him cruel and unforgiving. in the anime he’s cut off with a rock to the head, but here? the only interference is from MOGAMI of all people. when Mogami comes to the conclusion that his plan has essentially failed, he takes action. directly signaling something in Minori to then do this:

now im sure this isnt an impossible situation. im sure that she isnt just carrying that around for no reason and WOULD use it whenever she felt like it. however, in this particular moment, Mogami manipulated this action to occur. it wasnt a natural reaction from Minori. Mob wasn’t giving him the reaction he wanted, so he gave him a little extra push. i just think that’s a very important distinction from the path the anime took, where it makes it seem that Mogami’s plan worked a lot better than it did in the manga

[inseparabiles]

want to be miserable? don't read this if you don't

imagine this being Geta and Caracalla after Caracalla gets worse and wants to feel something and does something to hurt himself again

https://www.tumblr.com/psychecreations/773368937409822720/nosferatu-2024-directed-by-robert-eggers?source=share

Why is this making me feel like 20 000 things at once and all of them are VERY COMPLICATED

[libraryofjupiter]

quotes that are stobotnik. to me.

(chateau lobby #4 by father john misty, you had me at hello by mchairi mcfarlane, the lost future of pepperharrow by natasha pulley)

[toxiccoworkeryaoi]

Here's a little snippet from a tattoo shop/bakery au that i got kinda stuck on and i dont know if ill ever finish.

some context: Chrissy and Eddie are best friends that live in different states, Eds is taking two weeks off work for Chris' visit, he won't be at his tattoo shop which means he won't see the cute baker from next door

Chrissy's in the middle of answering and he's stretching his arms above his head when they hear the front door opening and the little bell above it chiming.

Eddie left the sign up front switched to "CLOSED", which can only mean-

"Eds?" Steve calls into the studio

Eddie immediately gets up from his seat and goes to meet him at the lobby, missing Chrissy's surprised look.

"Hiya, Stevie." he greets, bumping his knuckles against the front counter where Steve is standing just to the side of it.

He's secretly been hoping Steve would stop by just so he could see him. Just so he could hear his voice one last time before he has to go on for days without it.

Steve looks good too, in a plain white shirt, his blue apron and the absolute best pair of lightwash jeans in the whole entire world (if you're asking Eddie).

"I thought I saw you come in" Steve says, "You've been here for hours and you didn't come by to get breakfast, so i brought you this" he lifts the tray in his hands.

There's a mug with coffee, several sugar packets and two chocolate croissants.

"Aw, Steve, you didn't have to" Eddie says, genuinely touched. His heart flutters even though this is typical of Steve. He's just the sweetest.

"Oh, stop it," Steve protests, sounding bashful "these are from yesterday, I can't sell them" he says, placing the tray on the counter. A blush colors his cheeks and Eddie smiles, he looks so pretty.

Eddie knows by now how a pastry looks when it's fresh. He can't be fooled anymore.

It's been so long of them doing this dance though, and Eddie knows if he mentions it Steve will just get embarrassed, so he keeps his mouth shut about it.

"Well, they look really good." Eddie says instead "Thank you, sweetheart" he adds softly, his eyes drawn to the pink blooming on Steve's cheeks and focusing on the flour smeared across Steve's nose. He wants to kiss it and get flour all over his lips.

Eddie leans towards the tray and breaks away a piece of croissant, taking a bite.

Yep. Either Steve made these this morning or he's got magic abilities.

" 'M sure gonna miss these" Eddie says around his mouthful, gesturing with the bit of pastry still in his hand.

"Ugh, don't remind me," Steve groans "the shop already feels dull today"

Eddie laughs softly "You flatterer" he accuses

"Just trying to get you to visit" Steve defends, leaning against the counter and into Eddie's personal space to tap the rim of Eddie's reading glasses.

"Like I could stay away from your shop" Eddie says, tries his best not to sound breathless. He thinks he fails, and he must be blushing too, judging by how Steve's eyes are roaming his face.

"Good. Cause we need the business this month" Steve jokes.

That makes Eddie snort and laugh, Steve's shop is filled to the brim with costumers at least twice a day, five days a week.

Steve smiles at him again and then he peers around Eddie.

"Oh, hi!" Steve greets, straightens up and waves a little.

Eddie turns to see Chrissy leaning against the lobby partition, observing with her arms crossed.

Fuck.

"Chriiisssyyyy!" Eddie draws, and she narrows her eyes suspiciously "C'mere!" Eddie soldiers on,

Chrissy eyes him warily but walks to the counter and smiles sweetly at Steve, "Hi!" she greets "I'm Chrissy."

Steve's eyes widen "Of course! Eddie was picking you up today! I'm Steve, it's nice meeting you!"

He's such an angel, Eddie wants to cry.

"Likewise, Steve. I'm so sorry, I don't think Eddie's mentioned you yet" Chris says, but directs it to Eddie, glaring at him.

Eddie's about to answer, offended, but gets stuck on Steve's crestfallen expression for a split second and then Steve beats him to it.

"Oh, it's okay" Steve says, his smile reappearing, "I own the bakery next door" he supplies.

"He brought croissants!" Eddie tries to redirect "The best croissants in the state I'd say" he offers, succeeding in lightening Steve's mood again, judging by the twinkle in his eye.

Satisfied, Eddie asks Chris "D'you want one?"

Chrissy looks at him weird but mutters "sure" and grabs the one still whole.

"Well!" Steve exclaims, softly clapping his hands against his sides,

"I was just dropping these by, I won't take up any more of your time." Steve says "Chrissy it was really nice meeting you, I hope you have a great time in our town."

He turns to Eddie then and reaches out to squeeze his arm "And Eds, I hope you get lots of rest during your break. And visit us." he adds, moving his hand up to softly pull on a stray bit of hair that fell off Eddie's bun "The place won't be the same without you"

Eddie deflects so he doesn't melt under his gaze.

"I'm not dying, Stevie." he says, grabbing him by the shoulders and bodily turning him around as Steve softly laughs.

Judging by how his own cheeks are burning, Eddie's sure that he's the exact shade of a ripe tomato.

"I'll be back before you know it." Eddie adds, and with that, he gets Steve out the door.

Steve turns to say "You better" to Eddie. And once again, he peers around him to wave his fingers at Chrissy "Bye!" he says.

Sweetheart.

Eddie forces himself to not watch him walk the few steps between their shops.

When he turns back to his best friend he's relieved to see she's not glaring at him anymore.

She's got chocolate in the corner of her mouth and she's nodding.

"These are really good" Chrissy says, lulling Eddie into a false sense of safety.

He walks towards her to pick up and continue eating his own croissant, but as soon as he's within reach, Chris smacks the back of her hand against his bicep.

"OW!" Eddie protests, leaning against the counter and rubbing his arm.

She's been an athlete ever since they were in middle school together and she's never pulled her punches with him, it's a big part of why he loves her so much.

"You never told me you had a boyfriend!" she accuses, her mouth still full.

[a-lonely-dunedain]

the "platonic explanation" is that I feel like shipping cheapens a perfectly good friendship and turns it into something shallow. Takes something that could have been interesting and turns it into just another dime-a-dozen romance you can find in a million other stories. Sands off anything cool or unique about the relationship and the characters so they can slot neatly into some little "A and B" dynamic. The Sunshine x Grumpy the Blue-coded x Red-coded the Cinnamon Roll x Killer. You just have to cut them down to fit in the Romance Box™.

Suddenly every interaction, every look they exchange, every word they speak, has to be seen through the lens of attraction, it HAS to be about the attraction, nothing else matters, they cannot have feelings about each other unrelated to that. If they like each other it's because they are attracted to each other, if they hate each other it's because they are attracted to each other, there can be no other reason behind their actions and feelings, nothing else about them as people matters anymore. They aren't people anymore, they aren't characters anymore, they are just "A and B".

The "platonic explanation" is that lately I've just found friendships SO much more compelling and freeing and cool, y'know? (obligatory ''I'm not bashing you if you like shipping I just Do Not Get It Personally'')

[cattlemons]

Hiding Hearts pt. 1

| Atsumu hates hide-and-seek, but he’s always loved finding you.

TW: Atsumu x childhood friend!reader, 2k words, nothing weird here

a.n. this going to be part 1 of 2 so check back for that!

1, 2, 3…

Atsumu hates playing hide-and-seek. Something about having to find another person who’s trying their best to hide sort of annoys him. He doesn't quite get what's fun about it.

It ain’t worth slick. They’re just tryin’ ta piss me off.

Truth be told, he doesn’t quite mind playing it with others; at least, not as much as when it’s with you. With you, it feels like you’re actively hiding and running from him and it does a little bit of damage to his poor heart. He supposes the soft organ in his chest isn’t smart enough to realize that’s just how the game works. Then again, it’s not like his heart is ever smart when you’re involved.

Atsumu zips around the small confined space of his living room. He wonders aloud how it’s possible that he hasn’t found you yet in a house he’s lived in for the past 8 years. He continued his search behind potted plants and bookshelves before finding his twin brother. Despite earning himself an imaginary point, it only gets him more antsy to find you and end the game. 

Where are ya, stink?

As the minutes pass by, his steps turn into stomps and his pout starts looking a bit too real. Atsumu could only grumble when he would turn to his twin for help only for him to shrug in return. It also did not help that Osamu would occasionally look your way, only to look away just as he turned to follow his line of sight. 

Unfortunately for Atsumu, you were very good at hide-and-seek. You’d think he’d have home advantage but you knew this house just as well as he did–if not better. After all, this is where you’d spend most of the day when your parents are out on errands. 

You keep your eyes on him as Atsumu whined to his brother to just tell him where you were hiding. Truthfully, you never fully understood why the boy gets so upset when you’re last to be found. The other day he got chosen as a seeker and he almost cried when he couldn’t find you after 15 minutes. Yet, in another encounter, he found you first (courtesy to you knocking over a vase) and he spent the rest of the time chatting with you, completely neglecting the fact that his twin brother was waiting to be found on the roof.

Seeing him fully upset now, you decided to give up the jig and ‘reveal’ yourself.

Rustling the curtain with your hands, you heard Osamu yell out an overexaggerated ‘over there’ before being found out. If it were anyone else, you’re pretty sure it’d be a one-and-done game and you won’t be playing with the spoil-sport ever again but seeing him look so proud and happy that he found you, you can’t help but let him cling onto you and suggest another round. 

You suppose your heart isn’t smart enough to realize every round will have the same outcome as the last. Then again, it’s not like your heart is ever smart when he’s involved.

4, 5, 6…

Atsumu wonders where you are. 

You’re supposed to be waiting for him outside the school gates. He grumbles as he wonders how much of his reputation would burn up in flames if he showed up to the first day of middle school with just his brother and without his girl. 

Hehe, my girl.

Despite it being over a month since his confession last summer break, he still feels all giddy when he recollects the memory. He can’t even bear to imagine how pretty you looked then when you blushed at his very cool and awesome confession nor can he stand to remember how you immediately said yes to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He needs to stop those trains of thought lest he wishes to enter his teenage years with a beat red face and a goofy grin. It doesn’t matter much because the moment he spots you getting off your bike just a short distance away, his smitten heart can’t help but pound and turn him into a puddle of puppy love and faux bravado. 

“Look who finally decided ta show up, ‘Samu. It’s my gir-”

“-excuse me, I’m late.”

You did not let him finish his sentence as you speed-walked past him, injuring his heart and ego in the process. Atsumu’s blank face watched your retreating figure as Osamu clutched his stomach for dear life, laughter pouring out of him in unending waves. 

Oi, what was that?

Atsumu is a loudmouth by birth, it’s his default setting and the only way he knows how to function. That portion of his personality means he’s never out of things to say, be it stinging remarks or funny quips. Your refusal to acknowledge his existence as your boyfriend marks the first time he’s ever silenced beyond words, he can’t even form a thought at the moment. 

As he watched his heart break into tiny, confetti-sized sprinkles, you disappeared into the crowd barely sparing him another second. Oh, this won’t do. He needs to find you and clear something up. He doesn’t know what exactly needs clearing up but by heaven’s sake, he’ll figure it out.  

Damn it, I’m comin’ fer ya!

If Atsumu were a scientist and looking for a topic to research, he’d probably look into why you affect his sense of time so damned much. It has not even been an hour and he’s already bouncing in his seat and tapping his left foot on the floor; he won't be surprised if he looked down and found a shoe-sized dent. He’s very anxious to see you again and it shows. For heaven’s sake, the teacher has called on him 5 times to make him stop his nervous habits. Apparently, it’s ‘bothering the class’, whatever that means.

Even if he wanted to stop, he couldn't; not when he does not know where you stand on things and whether or not the trouble he’s caused you is still within the forgivable range. He continues his incessant jitters as he thinks of all his sins (and his forefathers’ sins, just in case you go back that far). To be honest, no matter what it is he has done, he’ll simply grovel and hope you take him back so you would keep looking and talking to him like you did last summer. 

Don’t worry, he’s not afraid to beg.

But if he somehow did something to damage your blossoming relationship beyond repair, it’s no big deal. He’ll be fine. Right?

Yeah, I’ll jus’ go clear my schedule and dig a hole big enough ta rot inside.

He grumbled into his hands as he thought of all the possible outcomes. 

Damn it.

The bell rang and Atsumu was immediately out of class, leaving a trail of chaos behind him as he knocked over a bunch of students in the hallway. Osamu rolled his eyes as he sat back down. Atsumu must’ve been insanely worried if he did not come to Osamu to beg him for assistance but it’s no matter. He knows he'll be hearing all about it when you two kiss and make up. Atsumu is a lot of things, a liar, a goof, a fool, and a scam for a brother but at the very least he’s none of that with you; minus the fool part, though.

Atsumu spent half an hour, basically, touring the school at two-times speed. He couldn’t find you anywhere. He groaned as he sat on the bench overlooking the outdoor sitting area. He’ll recuperate and go back to looking for you when his lungs aren’t on the verge of collapse. 

Damned human lungs. Ain’t worth slick-

“‘Tsumu, are you alright?”

Gotcha! Well, I suppose ya found me first, but what's the difference, right?

Either way, Atsumu saw the pearly gates and high-fived a baby angel when he heard your voice. He probably ascended even higher into the stratosphere when he realized you were concerned for him. 

Maybe he mistook your cold meeting as anger when you’re really just in a rush; or, perhaps, you did not realize it’s him because he somehow had a major glow-up and is now devilishly handsome, a stunner beyond stunners. Maybe he-

“Just because I asked if you’re alright doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you, ok,” you clarified as you took a seat beside him. 

“You just look insane right now so I thought I’d ask.”

Atsumu made a mental note to cry in embarrassment later when you’re out of earshot. Plus he should buy a comb the next chance he gets because he’s just now realizing how hard it is to pat down his hair. Add a handkerchief onto the list too because, damn it, he’s sweating a whole ocean’s worth of liquid; in front of his girl…his mad girl.

What a nightmare.

Despite every bone in his body telling him to apologize right away, his breath was still catching up to his impromptu marathon so he sat there with nothing to say. You seem to notice this as well and sighed before starting your long-winded speech.

“I’m sorry for overreacting earlier, ‘Tsumu. Truth be told, I’m just bummed out that you confessed and never really asked me out. I mean I kissed you on the cheek and you told me you liked me but you never asked me to be your girlfriend. I know some people like their relationships to be without labels but I’m the kind that does like labels. I get it if you’ve changed your mind though… we can just stay how we are if that’s what you- HEY?! WHY ARE YOU CRYING??”

His eyes were welling up with tears and all it takes is for him to look into your eyes for the dam to fully break. You hurried in your efforts to search for a tissue or some wipes to give to the boy sitting beside you but to no avail you found nothing so the best you could do was offer a comforting pat on the back. Instead, he swallowed your whole being in a hug, trapping you in his secure hold. Not that you minded but you’re unsure why he’s the one crying right now, after all, weren’t you the one left confused about where you stand with the guy?

With wobbly lips, he attempted to explain how he thought confession meant you’re already dating and that he didn’t know there was a whole other hurdle of asking out. Even though you barely understood him, he continued to chug on with his explanation as the bell rang to signal the end of the break. He doesn’t seem to care, though, as he continues to tumble out apologies and compliments about how pretty you look and that he could never change his mind about liking you. 

You weren’t sure about 90% of the things he said but the 10% that you did hear convinced you enough that he never did mean to leave you hanging. 

“Pfft, what a fool you are, ‘Tsumu.”

He nodded aggressively, agreeing with you. You laughed a bit louder and it eased his tears.

When the tears staining his cheeks and his snot on your uniform dried, he held you close and asked you out. His arms tightened when you said yes and locked you onto his heart when you kissed him.

With a sheepish grin, Atsumu whispered, “Look at ya. Looks like I made a mess of yer uniform just tryin’ to find ya, I cried and everything.”

“But, I’m glad you did. Even if it's technically me who found you.”

Keep yappin’, stink.”

[serpentface]

Do you conlang? I was wondering if you had naming languages (or possibly even more developed ones) for pulling the words you use. I tried to search your blog but didn't find anything, wouldn't be surprised if the feature is just busted tho. Your worldbuilding is wonderful and I particularly enjoy the anthropological and linguistic elements.

Ok the thing is I had kind of decided I was not going to do any conlanging because I don't feel like I'm equipped to do a good job of it, like was fully like "I'm just going to do JUST enough that it doesn't fail an immediate sniff test and is more thoughtful than just keysmashing and putting in vowels". And then have kinda been conlanging anyway (though not to a very deep and serious extent. I maybe have like....an above average comprehension of how language construction works via willingness to research, but that's not saying much, also I can never remember the meanings of most linguistic terms like 'frictives' or etc off the top of my head. I'm just kinda raw dogging it with a vague conceptualization of what these things mean)

I do at least have a naming language for Wardi (and more basic rules for other established languages) but the rudimentary forms of it were devised with methods much shakier and less linguistically viable than even the most basic naming language schemes, and I only went back over it LONG after I had already made a bunch of words so there's some inconsistencies with consonant presence and usage. (This can at least be justified because it IS a language that would have a lot of loanwords and would be heavily influenced by other language groups- Burri being by far the most significant, Highland-Finnic and Yuroma-Lowlands also being large contributors)

The 'method' I used was:

-Skip basic construction elements and fully move into devising necessary name words, with at least a Vibe of what consonants are going to be common and how pronunciation works -Identify some roots out of the established words and their meanings. Establish an ongoing glossary of known roots/words. -Construct new words based in root words, or as obvious extensions/variants of established words. -Get really involved in how the literal meanings of some words might not translate properly to english, mostly use this to produce a glossary of in-universe slang. -Realize that I probably should have at least some very basic internal consistency at this point. -Google search tutorials on writing a naming language. -Reverse engineer a naming language out of established words, and ascribe all remaining inconsistencies to being loanwords or just the mysteries of life or whatever.

I do at least have some strongly established pronunciation rules and a sense of broad regional dialect/accents.

-'ai' words are almost always pronounced with a long 'aye' sound.

-There is no 'Z' or 'X' sound, a Wardi speaker pronouncing 'zebra' would go for 'tsee-brah', and would attempt 'xylophone' as 'ssye-lohp-hon'

-'V' sounds are nearly absent and occur only in loanwords, and tend to be pronounced with a 'W' sound. 'Virsum' is a Highland word (pronounced 'veer-soom') denoting ancestry, a Wardi speaker would go 'weer-sum'.

-'Ch' spellings almost always imply a soft 'chuh' sound when appearing after an E, I, or O (pelatoche= pel-ah-toh-chey), but a hard 'kh' sound after an A or U (odomache= oh-doh-mah-khe). When at the start of a word, it's usually a soft 'ch' unless followed by an 'i' sound (chin (dog) is pronounced with a hard K 'khiin', cholem (salt) is pronounced with a soft Ch 'cho-lehm')

-Western Wardin has strong Burri cultural and linguistic influence, and a distinct accent- one of the most pronounced differences is use of the ñ sound in 'nn' words. The western city of Ephennos is pronounced 'ey-fey-nyos' by most residents, the southeastern city of Erubinnos is pronounced 'eh-roo-been-nos' by most residents. Palo's surname 'Apolynnon' is pronounced 'A-puh-lee-nyon' in the Burri and western Wardi dialects (which is the 'proper' pronunciation, given that it's a Kos name), but will generally be spoken as 'Ah-poh-leen-non' in the south and east.

-R's are rolled in Highland-Finnic words. Rolling R's is common in far northern rural Wardi dialects but no others. Most urban Wardi speakers consider rolling R's sort of a hick thing, and often think it sounds stupid or at least uneducated. (Brakul's name should be pronounced with a brief rolled 'r', short 'ah' and long 'uul', but is generally being pronounced by his south-southeastern compatriots with a long unrolled 'Brah' sound).

Anyway not really a sturdy construction that will hold up to the scrutiny of someone well equipped for linguistics but not pure bullshit either.

[truebluemenace]

I don't normally write angst/whump/hurt no comfort like this but the idea wouldn't leave me alone.

Tails has a bad time in this. Sorry

1.8k words

All things considered, it didn’t take them that long to find Tails. There had been a time, admittedly before the two of them had any other friends, when Eggman had kidnapped Tails for days. It had taken Sonic a long time to even track the man down, let alone break into his base and rescue his friend.

Things were different now. Sonic was stronger. He had friends to back him up.

Sure, maybe the idea of kidnappings was a little more concerning now than it had been before Sonic’s six month… vacation. But what had happened then wouldn’t be repeated.

Especially not with Tails.

He had only been missing for a few hours when they found him. Or, more accurately, Sonic found him. Once he, Knuckles, and Amy had breached Eggman’s base, his friends let him rush off to find Tails without question. They’d stay behind and cover for him if any badniks tried to impede the rescue, but they knew how anxious Sonic was to get to Tails. Trying to keep him from getting there first would not spell out good results for anyone.

The cells were easy to find. Eggman usually built at least one or two into any new bases he developed, and it was simple to locate them if you were familiar with Eggman’s architectural style. They were normally underground and close to the center of the base. All Sonic had to do was find an elevator deep enough in and, sure enough, the cells were just outside of the doors when they opened.

The smell of blood and medical supplies hit his nostrils, and his heart started hammering.

“Tails?” he called out; the closest cell was empty, so he had to move past it to an adjacent one before he was able to catch sight of the fox.

He couldn’t prevent a gasp from escaping at what he saw, eyes going wide as he immediately plucked a quill from his head, plunging it into the lock on the cell with a significant amount of urgency.

Tails was lying in the corner, curled into a ball, trembling. Sonic couldn’t see what the cause was from outside the cell with the way Tails was lying, but he’d also caught the sight of white bandages with splotches of red soaking through.

“Tails, it’s me, I’m gonna get you out,” Sonic spoke as he fussed with the lock. Lock picking was not his specialty, and his inefficiency made his stress increase. He let out a frustrated grunt, kicking the bottom of the door as he kept fiddling with the detached quill in the lock.

The little pile of golden fur began to shift, unrolling from the ball he’d been in to look up. “S-Sonic?”

Tension drained from Sonic’s body at the sound of that voice. If Tails was conscious, everything was so much better than it would be otherwise. “Yeah, bud, it’s me.” He took a moment to pause his lock picking to look over at his little bro, and sucked in a gasp, almost wishing he hadn’t.

There was a haunted look in Tails’ eyes. It was like a shadow had fallen over them, despite the almost too-bright lighting in the cell. He didn’t seem entirely present, either, as if he was in a kind of daze. Any relief Sonic had felt evaporated in an instant. His little bro should not look like that. He dropped his focus back down to his task.

“Just hang on for a minute, I’ve almost got this open…”

“Use two quills.”

Sonic looked back at Tails again. “Huh?”

“Use two quills,” Tails repeated, now starting to shuffle around into a sitting position, back against the cell wall. It let Sonic see that the bandages were wrapped around Tails’ hips, but he couldn’t see more than that. “One to put tension on the lock and the other to move the pins.”

Sonic snapped his fingers. “Thanks, bud! I knew I was forgetting something.” He plucked another quill from his head and got back to work on the lock, noting that Tails didn’t perk up at his lighter tone like he’d hoped. Something was definitely wrong.

The first pin popped into place. Tails would be out soon. “What did Eggman do? How badly are you hurt?” he asked as he kept working away at the lock.

He didn’t expect Tails to whimper. The sound made him freeze. “Tails, bud--” He cut himself off when Tails whimpered again. The kid flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. Okay, this wasn’t good. Sonic focused his full attention on the lock.

After a few more clicks, he was able to turn it and open the door. Immediately he rushed to Tails’ side.

He wasn’t prepared for Tails to cower away from him.

“Hey, buddy, it’s just me,” Sonic said carefully, kneeling down on the floor next to him and holding his hands out. “Whatever Eggman did is over now. I’m getting you out of here.”

Tails shook his head, still not looking up at Sonic, still squeezing his eyes shut.

“At the very least I need to know how hurt you are,” Sonic tried to reason, reaching out a hand. “Can I see—”

“DON’T!”

Not expecting such an outburst, Sonic jumped, startled. Tails’ eyes had flown open and he, somehow, pressed himself further into the corner where he was sitting.

This was not going well.

“Tails, I need—” He cut himself off again when Tails flinched at the sound of his name. Was… was there something wrong with the name? Every once in a while, Sonic would ask his brother if the nickname was still okay, to make sure it wasn’t bringing up bad memories unnecessarily. Every time, Tails insisted that he liked the name, that it was better than “Miles”. But maybe Eggman had done something to change that opinion?

His eyes drifted down to the bandages around Tails’ waist. They were wrapped loosely around the front of his body, in a way that suggested they were simply holding in place the more important bandages on the other side. Tails’ back. Or, more accurately…

“He did something to your tails.” It wasn’t a question. The fox kit was positioned in a way that hid his tails from view. Now that Sonic had put the pieces together, it was obvious.

The whine that Tails let out was enough confirmation he was right.

“C’mon, bud, let me see,” Sonic tried to coax gently, unsurprised when Tails shook his head immediately. He forced himself not to sigh. He understood Tails’ sensitivity about his tails, but in situations like this, it could be a problem. He had to change tactics. “Alright, I don’t have to see right now. But are you too hurt to walk? I need to know if I have to carry you out of here or not.”

Tails just shook his head again.

“No? No what? No, you can’t walk? No, you don’t need to be carried?”

Tails didn’t answer, just sniffled.

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Tails was just a kid. With how insanely intelligent he was, and how easily he kept up and fit in with his older friends, it wasn’t always obvious just how young he was. But Sonic knew better than anyone that he was just a child still. And on occasion, in rare situations like this one, he had to be treated like the age he was, and not the age he acted.

“Kid, can you look at me?” No reaction. “C’mon, just for a second?”

Two baby blue eyes opened slowly and met Sonic’s. There were emotions there that he couldn’t read, and that scared him. Sonic knew Tails better than anyone else on the planet; it was rare that he wasn’t able to read him flawlessly at this point.

“I’m still not sure what Eggman did to you, but it was bad, wasn’t it?”

Hesitation, then Tails nodded. Gaia, he looked absolutely miserable. Sonic was about ready to track Eggman down and make him pay, but Tails needed him right now. He had to hope that Amy and Knuckles were giving him a bad time for him.

“I’m not sure if you’re more hurt or more scared, but it’s okay to be feeling those things,” Sonic continued. He wasn’t sure if he was getting through to Tails, but he hoped he was. “You’re gonna be okay though. Whatever happened, it’ll be much better once we get out of here, but that means we actually have to get out first. Which is why I need to know if I have to carry you or not.”

Tails held his gaze in silence for a few seconds, biting at his lower lip. Then he turned his head away. The arms wrapped around his torso tightened. “It’s not gonna get better.”

Oh, Sonic’s heart could break at that. What the hell did Eggman do to his little brother in such a short amount of time to break his spirit like this? “Yeah it will, li’l bro, you’ll see—”

“No it won’t!” Tails didn’t yell as loudly this time, but it still startled Sonic. “You can’t say that, you don’t even… you don’t know what he…” The kid’s breathing started to accelerate, the signs of panic evident. Sonic was completely messing this up.

“Tails,” he said, wincing as he caught the flinch at the name again. “Please just let me help you get out of here. Whatever happened, we can find a way to fix it once we’re safe.”

Tails shook his head again. “It can’t be fixed,” he insisted, voice wavering.

“I doubt that’s true—”

“It can’t. It can’t.”

“Bud—”

“He took it.”

Sonic froze. “...What?”

Tails sniffled. “It’s… he…”

Realization dawned on Sonic like a bucket of ice water being poured over him. He pleaded to every god out there that what he was putting together was wrong.

“Your tails…” Sonic said, feeling like he was going to be sick.

Suddenly, Tails lunged forward and wrapped his arms tight around Sonic, burying his face in Sonic’s chest and letting out a wail. His entire body was shuddering with the force of his sobbing, the wetness of his tears soaking through Sonic’s fur in only a few seconds.

He wrapped his arms tight around his little brother, rubbing his back in a way that he hoped was soothing, gently shushing him and instructing him to breathe. But Sonic felt like he might need someone to console him, too, because he now had a clear look at what had happened.

At the base of Tails’ spine, there were bandages with just enough blood soaking through to be of note. They would have to be changed as soon as they could.

Because where there should be two tails, now sat only one.

[phantomtwitch]

For angstfest! I'm a little late, but here's one for a No One Knows AU.

They’re already moving as soon as he’s gone. 

Tucker grabs Danny’s legs while Sam picks up Danny beneath his arms and shoulders. He’s long past the point of being embarrassed about Sam being stronger than him, and they have to move fast as they drag Danny’s body into an empty classroom nearby. He mutters curses under his breath as the heavy classroom door bounces off his side, and Sam huffs and rolls her eyes. “Drama queen,” she accuses, and he sticks his tongue out at her as they carry Danny’s body the rest of the way inside and the door shuts with a too-loud slam behind them. 

But they’re not worried about the noise attracting attention. Most of the students are staying within their own classrooms, ignoring whatever odd sounds they might hear as the ghost alarm goes off in the background. The harsh, blinking lights cast odd shadows on Danny’s face, making Tucker queasy for a minute as they prop his body up against the wall below the whiteboard. 

“How long?” he asks, panting heavily and trying to catch his breath. 

“Two minutes and forty-five seconds,” she says with a grin as she sits down next to him. “Pretty sure that’s a new record.”

“Nah, we did it in two minutes and thirty-eight seconds last month, remember?” he says as he sits down beside her and starts to unpack his backpack. The defibrillator is buried at the bottom, tucked beneath his things. It’s the smallest one they could find that’s still effective, even if they’re not exactly using it for its intended purpose, and Sam carries another just in case. For a normal person, it wouldn’t be possible to restart their heart and lungs with an electric shock, despite what the movies claim, but for Danny? Electricity is the only thing that works, the only thing that will bind his spirit back to his corpse as it infuses and activates the ectoplasm flooding his blood stream. 

The Fentons could no doubt provide a scientific explanation as to why and how it works, but to Tucker, it’s an odd kind of magic, of horrifying necromancy as they forcibly, painfully force the electricity to run through him again, so similar to the accident that caused this problem in the first place. It’s only by chance that they know it works, having tried the defibrillator hanging on the lab wall in the basement after he came out of the portal and his body fell to the ground as his ghost hovered over it in shock. He didn’t give it much thought the first time. Tucker merely assumed the movies were right and that they restarted Danny’s heart. It wasn’t until later that they learned the truth. 

With practiced ease he pulls Danny’s old NASA t-shirt off, and then scowls as he notices that Danny’s wearing a new necklace with a constellation on it that Tucker probably should know the name of after being Danny’s friend for so many years but doesn’t. “Great. More stuff to take off. Wonder who gave it to him,” he grumbles, twisting it around in his fingers until he finds the clasp and removes it. He checks him over for any more metal and finds none. “How long now?” 

“Four minutes,” says Sam, and he nods. They worry one day it’ll be too long, that there will be no forcibly stitching his soul and body back together, that all will remain is a ghost and the body of a boy who’s been dead for longer than anyone knows. The longest Danny’s ever gone is thirty-three minutes, yet they were still able to bring him back that day even as it seemed to take longer than usual. But there’s no one they can ask for help or advice, no one that’s dealt with this before besides them and Jazz, and none of them trust the Fenton parents enough  to not shoot their own son in the face if they learn the truth. Because so far, at least, when Danny’s back he is alive again. He’s grown a few inches since this started a year ago. He’s been forced to get his usual haircuts, to trim his nails when they get too long. His heart beats within his chest, and he breathes and smiles and laughs like there’s nothing different, nothing wrong, and absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about him.

They shift Danny again, laying him down flat on the floor on his back as Tucker kneels down beside him and sets up the defibrillator and sticks the pads to Danny’s chest. There’s nothing they can do until he returns, so they wait, Tucker drumming his fingers against the side of his leg as Sam continues to glance at her watch every few seconds. “Did you hear that they’re remaking the first Nightmerica movie?” he asks, looking for any distraction he can. 

“Ughh, yeah,” she groans. “Which completely misses the point of why it’s so good in the first place. I don’t want a modern version with modern effects. I want cheesy 80s costumes and music and horror and the chance to cheer as stuck-up cheerleaders get murdered. I mean I guess there’s a chance they’ll keep the original charm, but I doubt it.”

“Yeah, there’s already rumors that they’re casting, like, Scarlett Johanson as Nightmerica,” adds Tucker. “Doesn’t really bode well.”

“Seriously? If she gets cast, I’m just going to nope right out, pretend it doesn’t exist, and hope everyone else does the same,” she says, and then goosebumps erupt across their skin as the temperature in the room drops precipitously as Phantom enters the classroom, phasing through the wall. 

He looks rougher than usual as ectoplasm drips from his arms and chest, deep claw marks gouging through the thin black and white hazmat suit he wears even now. His eyes are consumed with green light, his hair floating over his head and flickering like sparks, and there’s a faint hint of white beneath the dark suit, of the shape of bones even as Phantom is nothing but ectoplasm. “Rough fight?” he asks.

There’s heavy static behind each word. Talking to him like this is almost useless. They can’t understand the ghost speech, the odd echoes and noise and whirring, and trying to teach Danny sign language or morse code or any other method of communication when he’s whole again is worthless, none of the knowledge transferring to his ghostly self, the wall between his two halves too solid for even Phantom to phase through. They don’t know why Phantom is one of the only ghosts that can’t speak without the noise and distortion, that can’t make his words understood, but it’s a truth that’s held fast for as long as Danny’s been like this. 

But Tucker’s gotten better at reading his unnatural body language, the way he twists upside down and curls his tail around himself as his sharp, pointed teeth flash. “Sorry, man,” he says. “I wish you didn’t have to do this.”

They don't know why he feels compelled to fight the other ghosts. They don't even know what triggers the transformation, even as they've come to recognize the warning signs, like the odd vacant stare that sets in, the way Danny’s hackles almost seem to rise as he silently snarls. And it's not as if Danny can tell them.

Phantom whispers something in response, the words still lost in the static, and then he floats over to himself, putting a hand over his own corpse, because as hard as it is for Tucker to think of it that way, he knows, on some level, that’s what Danny's body is without Phantom. There’s no life in it, no presence, no spirit. It’s merely flesh, an empty vessel, and he shudders to think what could happen if another ghost found him like this, if he might be able to possess him somehow. 

"We're at nine minutes," says Sam, and Phantom lets out something like a sigh as he floats back into the corpse. Danny's eyes snap open, green and glowing, and they move quickly.

Unlike the one in the lab that was old and lacked the safety features of most modern AEDs, they had to make a few modifications to this one to get it to work. A modern defibrillator won't let someone shock a body with no heartbeat. Messing with the tech felt dicey, but they couldn't find any other methods to safely deliver a shock to him that wouldn't risk their own safety, too.

The pads are already placed, and he pushes the button, biting his lip as he waits. It delivers the first shock, but aside from a twitch in his shoulders and a confirmation from the AED, there's little to no sign it happened. 

A hiss of soft static, and Tucker understands the meaning despite the noise, a bitter plea for them to do it again. It takes three shocks before they see it, the strange white light around his midsection, and Tucker turns off the AED as he and Sam scramble a few steps back.

The light spreads, eventually too bright for them to bear the sight of it as little arcs of electricity dance along Danny's skin, and when it finally stops he's sitting up, staring vacantly. The daze won't last, but they take this moment to put away the defibrillator, removing the pads from his chest. Tucker puts the necklace back on, his fingers shaking as he snaps the clasp together. Much as he tries to act like this doesn’t bother him anymore, he can’t contain his relief at seeing Danny sitting up again, his chest slowly moving with each breath, his pulse steady beneath his wrist and neck. 

They've just pulled his shirt on when he blinks, and Danny looks down at his hands, wincing as he touches his chest. "I feel like I got run over by the GAV," he groans, and Tucker forces himself to chuckle.

"You might as well have. You hit the floor hard when you fainted," says Tucker. The injuries are never there, but some phantom pain always seems to remain as his ghost heals. "I'm sorry we never manage to catch you, man. I know it’s gotta hurt."

"It's fine," mumbles Danny. "How long was I out?"

"About ten minutes," says Sam. She doesn’t point out that they time this, now, down to the second. It’s not as if timing it changes anything, but it makes them feel better when they revive Danny in under twenty minutes. More than that and they start to worry. Tucker’s still not sure how Danny doesn’t have any brain damage at this point from the lack of oxygen. 

Danny hums, flexing his fingers for a minute as the ghost alarm shuts down. "I . . . Doesn't it seem like this is getting worse? I can't even remember seeing a ghost. I . . . I never can."

"You know this messes with your memory–"

"Yeah, but that makes this seem more like I'm having seizures or something, not fainting. And it's always one of you or Jazz when I wake up, which seems weird, maybe? I just  . . . Maybe we should tell my parents," he whispers, and Tucker's heart aches.

"I don't think that's a good idea–" begins Sam, but he cuts her off.

"--why not?" He looks between the two of them, scowling, his fists now clenched. "What aren't you telling me?"

He and Sam exchange a long look. It always comes to this eventually, yet despite their best efforts, it's pointless. Some part of Danny refuses to hear the truth, to acknowledge that he died or at least half-died in the portal, and within an hour he always forgets they even discussed this at all. They don't know why. They've proven over and over again that they accept him and love him despite how he’s changed. But the wall is still too solid to break through.

They should explain it to Danny again anyway. Tucker knows that. But he's so tired of repeating himself, and he knows Sam is, too. Jazz says his psyche needs more time to process and accept the truth, but it's been a year with no sign of things changing. 

Sam eventually sighs, forcing the words out. She's always been the strongest of the three of them in more ways than one. "A year ago, you had an accident. You were hurt badly, and we saved you, but–"

The door swings open suddenly, and he sees Mr. Lancer there, the relief evident on his face. "Lord of the Flies! Is everyone okay?" he asks as he takes in the sight of the three of them on the floor. At least the AED is back in Tucker's bag and out of sight, since Tucker doubts Mr. Lancer would be willing to ignore what that might signify if he saw it. 

"We're fine," says Sam. "We thought we heard the ghost and hid. I'm sorry we worried you."

"Somehow that always seems to happen with the three of you," he says with a frown, clearly questioning it, but thankfully he doesn't push it further. "But I’m glad that you’re safe, at least, and now that the ghost is gone you three need to get to class."

"Okay." They stand up, and Tucker can see the worry and distrust as Danny clenches his jaw and refuses to look at them as he heads out into the hallway. But that’s not the worst part. No, it’s knowing that by the time lunch rolls around, Danny won’t remember his suspicions or his fears. They’ll be pushed down, slowly hidden beneath the protective part of his mind that refuses to let him know the truth, and instead of questioning why he constantly faints whenever there’s a ghost, why he has strange aches and pains, and why he often sets off his parents’ equipment even when he’s human again, he’ll talk to them about the latest video games and movies and gossip and homework. 

He desperately wants his friend to know the truth. It hurts, even as he knows they’re not lying to Danny about what’s happening, that they’ve tried to explain it before. And despite how naturally taking care of his body comes to him and Sam now, despite knowing the signs that herald Phantom’s emergence, Tucker knows they can’t keep this a secret forever. Inevitably, they won’t be there one day, they’ll miss an obvious sign, or someone like Lancer will walk in a little too soon. And once they learn the truth, he and Sam and Jazz know that Danny will be taken from them as he’s locked away in a lab by the GIW or his parents and becomes some gruesome science experiment, tortured as he can’t even remember the reason why. 

More and more Tucker’s beginning to think they’re running out of time. They need to find a way. They need to get Danny to understand who and what he is so he can protect himself, because Tucker’s not sure how much longer he can keep up the lie, too. 

EDIT: I wrote a Part Two, it's here.

[not-poignant]

Raphael has a very poetic and grandiose way of speaking that is absolutely not the norm for day-to-day life. How do you get in the mindset to come up with his dialogues? They're perfection and I just can't even imagine how long it would take to do one paragraph of the way he talks, but you're writing an entire story with him...

Oh I love this question because I can answer it, lol sadlkjfsda

Okay so, Raphael's character is tough for me.

Normally I do a lot of dialogue research before starting to write a character in fanfiction and original fiction, but Raphael actually gets proportionately very few lines that really show his full emotional range (compared to say, Astarion), and he's got an incredibly specific way of talking that sounds similar to Astarion but at the same time is very different.

They share enough similarities (calling people darling and dear for example) that it's easy to fall into the trap of giving them the same 'voice.'

I find Astarion's voice a lot easier to 'get' and I feel like I can hear him better when I'm writing him. But Raphael I'm taking into emotional spaces we simply never see in the game, and then I have to really guess how he'd sound (like coming up with the idea that the theatricality vanishes when Raphael is genuinely panicking).

I ended up listening to a lot of interviews with Andrew Wincott, the Voice Actor for Raphael who is an incredible actor and extremely articulate. He was very clear in one of his interviews that one of the reasons he was selected to play Raphael was because, in part, he already sounded like him. Obviously there's differences / skill in changing cadence and more, but for the most part, Andrew Wincott uses similar vocabulary and talks in a similar manner to Raphael naturally, so I had an abundance of interviews that I could then listen to in order to get a feel for Raphael's voice. I picked the things that felt more 'Raphael' and added them to my dialogue notes.

I often have to go back and edit Raphael's dialogue. Sometimes it's very simple things, I had him say 'much more' in the chapter I'm editing right now, and I edited it to 'far more' because I think he'd just phrase it like that. Sometimes I expand a sentence into an entire paragraph.

I've also leaned a lot from Korilla's transcripts in the game, which have been super useful. They really cement, more than anything, how much he loves lullabies, nursery rhymes, children's tales and more.

HOW TO DO DIALOGUE RESEARCH:-

If you're new to dialogue research, it mostly involves listening to - and watching a character and then literally taking notes of how they talk. The things you observe are:

The tone of their voice - Fast or slow. Loud or soft. Musical or flat. Theatrical or matter-of-fact. High or low. Questioning or complete statements. Considered or hedging (i.e. very well constructed sentences, or a lot of pauses, ellipses, broken sentences). Rambling or concise.

How often they talk - Some characters actually say a lot with very little. Raphael is actually a lot of observation and facial expressions and eyebrow movements in between his dialogue. Little smirks, hand gestures and more. Do they interrupt or let people finish their sentences? Are they comfortable with silence? I find Raphael oscillates between long theatrical paragraphs, single sentences or words, and then a lot of silence. He's actually not very conversational, in that you can have a conversation with him, but I doubt he'd see the point of two hours of small-talk. (At this point you might be realising that dialogue research is also character research, how a character talks tells you so much about a character.)

The words (and metaphors/subjects) they use - This is a big one and I'm going to break this down a little bit more:

How they pause if they don't know what to say. Is it 'um' 'uh' 'ah' 'hm' 'mm' 'mn' or nothing at all (or something else) because they've mastered self-control over their dialogue? If Raphael says 'ah' he does so on purpose.

Filler words. Things like characters saying 'like' in a sentence. 'He was like, 'I can't believe it'' etc. This is very similar to how they pause, but it's the things people say to get from point A to point B. People who don't do this have often had training or think very hard about what they're going to say before they say it. But people say 'like' or 'and then' or 'well' or 'i realised that' or 'i thought that' etc. to carry them on. Some are more acceptable than others (people do just have realisations for example).

Profanity. How often do they swear, and how intentional is it? Some characters only swear when they get hurt or stub their toe or get angry. Some characters swear all the time for fun. Some characters only use some swear words and not others. Be specific. Be aware that some swear words are cultural! This includes blasphemy. In Faerun they use 'gods' and 'gods damn it' more often than we use 'god' or 'oh my god.'

Vulgarity. This is useful for Raphael (and Astarion) because he's very happy to be vulgar. This is like... how comfortable are they talking about sex, about sexual subjects, being crude, being seductive, flirtatious? And if they use it, do they use vulgarity to shock, seduce, scare, threaten, or for humour?

Salutations and farewells. How do they greet people? Silence? A calm hello? (A lot of greetings are omitted in dialogue but this is still good to know). How do they say hello, goodbye. How does that change between friends and enemies and strangers?

Single word sentences. This might sound weird, but sometimes when a character hears something that shocks them, or needs to acknowledge something, they may say anything from 'huh' to 'yeah' to 'fuck' to 'okay' to 'all right' to 'sure' to 'go on' to 'indeed' to just laughing out loud. The list goes on. Raphael is team 'indeed' lmao.

Sentence structure. Raphael's sentence structure is - when he's most comfortable - gently provoking, teasing, vaguely threatening, and makes liberal use of simile, metaphor, fairy tale, rhyme, sayings, colloquialisms and more. Raphael talks like someone who knows someone could quote him at any moment lmao. But from here, how a character structures their sentences can be helpful to know. Go back to 'the tone of their voice.' Those notes will give you an idea of structure.

Emotionality. How emotional are they? Do they have rage rants? Joyful giggling dialogue? Do they infodump with little emotion? Or with sheer excitement? Does their dialogue feel fake or real? Opaque or transparent? Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves, and others will never be able to say 'I love you' in anything other than actions. Raphael's emotionality in dialogue is more present in his anger and irritation, and also when he feels triumphant and/or turned on.

The symbols, sayings, colloquialisms and metaphors themselves. Not all characters use these. But some people/characters will talk through analogies, colloquialisms. This is actually Raphael's biggest dialogue departure from Astarion, imho, aside from the fact that Astarion is a lot more emotional with his dialogue.

Take into account their culture, ethnicity, conceits, upbringing, education and the people they're close to:

This one is vital. Firstly, some people tend to 'absorb' elements of those around them. A person raised by affluent people will often 'sound affluent' and a person raised in poverty will often have dialogue that reflects this and if they don't there will be reasons for that. It might be a conceit (some people self-teach themselves different accents), it might be education, it might be training, it might be the subculture/s they've entered into, and so on.

~

When doing this research, you'll end up with a kind of master-list of actual words and probably some sentences you've written down, along with a lot of notes. You can also do this for any original characters you're making at all, you're just then making it up based on the character, and this research will also give in many ways the shape of the character.

It's a fun exercise and I highly recommend everyone tries it literally for people who don't exist and also observe your friends and family, and do a dialogue cheat sheet for some of them. It's pretty eye-opening! Even one page will teach you more than nothing at all. You can go deep and write many pages, or you can do what I do and keep it lean at 2 pages. Anyone who struggles with characterisation I suggest at least try this exercise, because anyone can put on a YouTube video and/or streaming service or even a favourite Tiktoker and start doing dialogue research! It's a way of building a character from the top down while also getting information about their foundations.

[tumfullofblue]

imagine being stuck in gman's stasis but you're in this large 1950's house and the gman treats you like you're his adorable little housewife, but he also has no idea what a housewife actually is/does so you're basically just his pet. and you really don't want to be there and you want to leave and you want him to stop touching you like that, but he just dismisses your complaints - you just need more attention! more cuddles! more treats! he knows what's best for you, after all.

This has fried the last half of my bear-brain. I've become obssesed. I had to rub my eyes and blink and whisper a dostoevsky's amount of russian swear words. This request is the perfection even without my ramble. I may turn this into series.

I may want this so so freaking much that I'll Alanwake it into a reality.

Feast your eyes.

NSFT and dark themes under the cut.

Every dream had to end. Your eyes would be open. You should feel the way your pillow dug into softness of your cheek. The arm of your long-lost lover sneaking around your waist. A perfect morning after the nightmare-filled night.

Why couldn’t you wake up from this dream?

You were being preserved. A butterfly under the glass, pins in your wings. The chaos of the world remaning somewhere at the outskirts of reality. Free will is such a human concept he chose to rob you off. You would be cared for. Safe. Loved. Isn’t what you always wanted?

"It’s a... highly advantageous arrangement. You remain... unspoiled. The world outside is... fraught with uncertainty. Here, you are... mine. "

He genuinely believed he’s being kind, you realize when the loop of your nightmare starts anew. The picket fence. The faceless neihboors waving at you when you try to stand at the road and wait for the car to run over you. The dresses hugging you just right. He never, ever tears them from your body. Takes them off you as you whimper. He’s polite. He’s reasonable. He’ll pour you tea while calmly explaining why you can’t never, ever, ever leave.

"This is... for your benefit. My employers have... invested in you. You were promised to me. I suggest you... acclimate."

You hated this. Hated the perpetual golden hour, the neverending twillight. He seemed to love it. Maybe because your hair looked real nice once you sit down at your vanity, straighaning your strawberry dress and brushing your hair, like he expected you to do. The brush catched a knot. You yank it through, a small act of defiance, your eyes narrowing at the slight pain. The man stepped into the room, his reflection looming in the mirror. His hand closed over yours, freezing your movements.

"You’re... being careless. Tsk. Such... valuable material."

His fingers slide the brush from your grip. He dragged it through your hair with exact strokes, humming under his breath. His other hand rested on your shoulder—weighted, possessive. Not painful. Just inescapable.

"I can do it myself." Another small act of defiance. His movements stop and long, pale fingers scratched your scalp in an almost paternal pattern. Making your stomach twist in disgust.

"Mm. But you don’t... do it correctly." A pause. "I prefer it... this way."

His rhythm is hypnotic. Every pull of the brush is flawless, methodical. Like he’s maintaining equipment. When he’s satisfied, his hands linger, tilting your head back just so to inspect his work. His thumb traces your cheekbone—a scientist admiring a specimen.

"There. Beautiful."

The kiss on your lips taste of static, like touching the CTR monitor for too long. He draws out a sweet, longing sigh from you. In your mind you are begging him to choke you. He just wraps a hand around your throat, too. The smile he gave you instead is as sweet as the artificial condensed milk in your pink refrigirator.

"You’ll thank me... one day."

“Go to hell.”

“Mm…” another kiss, lips moving against yours, eyes staring down, reading every expression you were so easily giving to him. You had to stop him. You try to bite, to tear that lying, long, thick tongue out of his mouth. Your toes in pointy shoes curled instead.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

Once you are in bed, he undressed you like a doll. Your curls are all over the pillow, your thighs trembling. You’re wet and tight and willing, like a good wife should be. He pumps his cock in slow motions, standing on his knees in front of your spread legs. The man still mostly dressed, the setting sun creating a twisted halo above his head.

“Stop. Stop. Stop! I do not want you. I do not want this!”

“Hush,” his voice turned to hiss. For a second your cut veins on arms start bleeding before they are stitched up once again. “Your... resistance is... notable. But counterproductive. In time, you’ll... understand. You will love. I am giving you life you deserve. You will understand it, one way or another.”

He is inside you so quickly, it makes you gasp out in pain. Usually, he takes his time with you – maybe eating you for hours, making you cum on his tongue as he eagerly laps out your release. If you give him more than he expected of you, you get a pair of golden hoops, weightless in your ears. But tonight… something changed in him. Was he getting tired of the your dissobidence? Was the last china you smashed over the wall tipped him over the edge? Was he getting into some form of heat?

You cred out his name. Well, the name he asked you to call him. His eyes glowed as he took your hand in his and kissed the ring on your finger. Suddenly, you found your hand craddling his cheek as he fucked into you, your legs high on his shoulders. You moaned when his other hand dipped below your belly, getting into your heat, rubbing your clit in tantalizing motions, keeping the rhythm with slapping of your bodies together.

You tasted blood in your mouth. Turned your face from him and tried to contain your moans to a minimun, trying not to think of his thick, uncut cock abusing your spongy walls, filling you to the brim, of how your sensitive button was abused with precious flickers of his fingers. Your body betrayed you once again.

You loved when your husband fucked you like that.

The first orgasm of the night hit you like a wave. His lips swallowed your moan and kissed away your tears. You were everything to him. You will understand, in time, how much he loved you. How much he needed you.

His precious little wife.

[shoot-i-messed-up]

…ngl the Ilana & Rick dynamic was more interesting before they fucked

[sionnaach]

“What is happening?”

Nico slinks up beside Percy, who is sitting with Annabeth and watching a group of campers dancing out on the open grass.

There's country music playing from somewhere. What is going on.

“Line dancing.” Percy informs him with a grin, still watching the crowd. “Will was teaching the younger Apollo kids. Now half the camp is involved.”

Half the camp might be an overstatement, but the number is slowly growing as more campers wander over to see what’s going on.

“What.”

Nico cranes his neck. Sure enough, a familiar head of blonde curls is standing nearly a head above the rest of the campers (Will had another growth spurt that summer and finally broke six foot. He also was not about to let Nico forget it), as the head medic (and now dance instructor, apparently) guides the small gathering through a set of simple, repetitive steps.

He throws in a couple of high energy jumping, spinning movements with a laugh that earn him a slap on the arm from Kayla, who had been trying her best to follow her older brother until that moment.

Nico is in disbelief as it dawns on him; Will can dance. Talented a healer Will may be, the son of Apollo is famously, catastrophically - and those are his own words - lacking in the department of his father’s creative talents. Nico has watched Will trip over the ground, his own feet, and honest to Gods thin air more times than he can count and yet here, as the music changes to something a bit more upbeat, Nico realises that Will is showing off, with a series of complicated movements that only a few other kids, who have evidently done this before, can keep up with. Even Nico, with all his battle training, has trouble following.

Will looks up and catches his eye. Nico didn't think the smile on his tanned, freckle-covered face could get any brighter, but it does. Will waves to them, says something to Kayla, then jogs over.

“Hey!” Will passes a glance over Percy and Annabeth, but when his blue eyes meet Nico's, they don't stray. Nor does the bright, eager smile on his face.

Nico can hear the muffled laughter from his friends.

His ears are burning.

“Would y'all like to join in rather than just standin’ around?” Will asks, a little breathless. His eyes never leave Nico, even though the question is clearly directed at all of them.

Nico feels a little breathless, too.

“Nico would!” Percy says with far too much enthusiasm, and shoves Nico’s leg, right in the joint of his knee, sending him stumbling directly into Will’s arms as Will reaches out to steady him.

“Woah, careful.” Will grips his arms, voice low as he helps Nico to right himself while his heart does a series of complicated movements of its own.

Nico can feel goosebumps where Will is touching him, and he jumps back like he had been electrocuted. He turns to Percy with a near-murderous glare. Percy smiles serenely back.

“I don’t dance.” Nico answers flatly, directed more at the son of Poseidon, but behind him, he hears Will scoff.

“Bullshit, di Angelo. I’ve seen you sword fighting.”

“Yeah, Nico. And what is sword fighting, if not an elaborate dance between two - or more, in this case - people?” Percy adds helpfully, elbow on his knee and chin resting in his hand. He has the audacity to waggle his eyebrows at him.

“Exactly. Thank you, Percy.” Will is grinning, blissfully ignorant to the blatant ribbing occurring before him. Percy waves his hand and ducks his head with a smug smile.

“I think it would be fun.” Annabeth adds innocently, and Nico gives her a look of utter betrayal. He was expecting this from Percy, but has been hoping that Annabeth would have some sympathy towards him. She meets his eyes with a smile, before looking to her boyfriend. “We’ll join in a bit, Will. You two get started.”

Will shoots her a pair of finger guns, because of course he does. “I’m holdin' you to that.”

(“Will we?” Percy asks her, once they’re out of earshot

Annabeth grins. “No.”)

Still glaring daggers at his friends for their treachery, Nico feels a brush against his arm, and he looks down to see Will’s hand retreating. Looking up, the head of the Apollo cabin is watching him with a soft, hopeful expression.

“Coming?”

Nico groans internally. Damn Will and his stupid puppy eyes and damn him and his Stupid, Enormous Crush. He looks up at the sky, and sends a quick prayer to his father and any other god who might be listening to smite him now before he makes an even bigger fool of himself, because he just can’t say no to this boy, can he?

He sighs and resigns himself to his fate when nothing happens.

“Fine.”

With a smile that is nearly blinding, Will reaches back out to grab Nico’s arm, and all but drags him towards the crowd.

[cherryfennec]

opened docs after a while and forgot how much lore i actually wrote, (power-up or general world building) and even though some of these are old i was actually kinda cooking with half of these untitled files and there's no way im letting them go to waste

an honorable mention to my unfinished fic draft with almost 3k words atm about mario, luigi and the chaos heart that i made november last year and forgot about since