#my values didn’t change you just showed you have none

[kelluinox]

You never gave a shit about "woman life freedom" did you? You support Iran and its proxies.

You never gave a shit about slavery. You support the Houthis.

You never gave a shit about colonialism. You're happy to colonize our indigenous homeland on behalf of the arabs, and you stand with Russia's allies. Russia is the largest colonial empire in the world.

You never gave a shit about racism. You're happy to be racist against jews, happy to be "noble savage" racists, happy to close your eyes to arab racism.

You never gave a shit about religious extremism. You're happy to support jihadism.

You never gave a shit about Ukraine. You support Russia and its allies, closing your eyes to the fact that Iran sells shahed drones to Russia and both the PA and Hamas have both been to Moscow

We knew you never gave a shit about jews. And now you showed us that you don't give a shit about everything else, too.

[seresinhangmanjake]

To add on to my last ask about the celebrating the holiday for the sake of Feyds new wife:

LIKE SHE MAKES FEYD A FLOWER CROWN AND HE WEARS IT

Like from the “friendship bracelet” dialogue from bobs burgers

Wife: :)I made you a flower crown!:)

Feyd: *thinly veiled annoyance and disapproval*

Wife: :( you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to :(

Feyd: No, I’m gonna wear it. Forever. Back off.

Anniversary

Feyd-Rautha x wife!reader

Summary: Giedi Prime is different than your home planet. They don’t celebrate the things you used to. So, you show your husband one of your traditions to mark the first year of your marriage. 

Notes/Warnings: none, i think. It's just a cute fluffy thing.

Words: 1050

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

You once would’ve bet everything you had that you would never fall in love with him; from every coin to your family’s name, to every extravagant gown you owned, to every jewel that adorned your neck. When you walked down the aisle, you saw something vile waiting for you at the other end, not the husband you would come to have. You saw a snake to match the name of Harkonnen, and the prospect of a future together made your stomach turn. Until you became his wife. 

What you expected in the form of threatening words and a knife to the throat on your wedding night didn’t come. He left you alone when you told him that was what you wanted. In fact, he left you alone in every aspect of your relationship until you were ready to come to him. 

That moment came three months later. For those three months, he made sure you were comfortable, as happy as you could be, well-taken care of, and he didn’t once force his presence upon you. From that, you opened yourself to him and, in a quick decision one night, dressed yourself up, went to his room, and let him take you. 

You’ve been inseparable ever since, unwilling to leave his side and vice versa, even when he’s needed elsewhere. He takes you with him to his meetings, his executions, Arrakis. You’re his wife, in all senses of the title. And as more time has passed, you’ve adjusted to being a Harkonnen wife; everything it means, down to the things you gain and the losses you face. 

The most difficult of losses have been the traditions you grew up with. You don’t see your family anymore—as enemies of Giedi Prime, they aren’t exactly welcome on the planet—and so the values your House believes and partakes in have disappeared from your life. Holidays celebrated on your home planet do not exist on Giedi Prime. Religion is not the same. Your people bow to a Goddess. Harkonnens bow to Harkonnens. Your people bask in the changes of the seasons. Giedi Prime doesn’t experience those same seasons due to the lack of rotation around their sun. Celebrations do not exist for anything other than war victories and birthdays. But most painful are the anniversaries that go entirely unacknowledged. 

At home, anniversaries are one of the grandest events. Another year of love, of shared life. Each year, you watched your parents grow giddy as their anniversary neared, and you witnessed the people of your planet rejoice for them as if it were their own milestone of marriage. 

Giedi Prime—the Harkonnens—do not care for that. Something to do with wives not lasting very long in their House. History states you’re one of few who has made it to a year of marriage with a Harkonnen, as most women, unless pregnant with an heir, have offended their spouse in some manner and so have received that dreaded knife to the throat. 

You’re lucky there, you suppose, but it doesn’t make you miss the things you can no longer have any less. And Feyd has noticed.

“Tell me what is wrong,” he says to you as he sits beside you on your bed. 

You hesitate, fearing laughter and jokes about how ridiculous your upbringing was—it wouldn’t be the first time—but when you explain further, he’s much more receptive than you imagined.

“A celebration of love?” he asks. His brow raises, but he doesn’t scoff. 

“Yes,” you say. “Back home, couples do not have to stay together. If they are unhappy, they separate–” His head jerks and he makes a displeased face. “Staying together, continuing to be in love with each year that goes by, is considered an achievement. Something worthy of praise and pride.”

“And you want this…praise?” He doesn’t understand. Praise is harder earned in his world. Praise comes when pain is inflicted. “How do you receive praise for love?”

“People have parties–”

“We cannot have a party for this.”

You take his hand in your lap. “No, I know,” you say. “But there’s also gifts.”

He shakes his head. “No one will–”

“Between us,” you stop him. “We give each other a present as a symbol of the strength of our love.”

He thinks on your words for a few moments, slightly staring off into space, until he says, “Like what?”

“Well…” Taking your hand back, you reach into your nightstand drawer and pull out a small box. “Something like this.” You peel back the lid of the box to reveal a black band with a ring of silver running through the middle. “I had this made.”

“A ring?”

As you nod, you set the small box down between you. “It’s a wedding ring. I know you don’t exchange those on your wedding day here, but back home, when you say vows, each person puts their ring on the other’s finger. This one right here,” you say, tapping the correct finger on your hand. “It’s a kind of ownership that you show to the world. You’re telling everyone that you’re taken by someone who loves you.”

Feyd swallows, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours and the ring. “People know you belong to someone else if you wear this on your planet?”

“Yes. And seeing as you belong to me, I thought…” you pause, realizing he might hate the idea. What if it bothers him? What if the light weight throws off his knife skills? What if it gets in the way of his armor? You didn’t think about these problems until now when he’s blankly staring at the damn thing. 

Feyd plucks the ring from the box and puts it up to the light. “They all look like this?”

“They’re all different,” you tell him. “If you don’t want to wear it–”

He slips it onto the correct finger. “I’m never taking it off.”

“Wh–” Your eyes blow wide. “Really?”

“Never,” he says, still staring at the onyx circle around his finger. “Even my enemies will know I’m taken.” You sigh. A chuckle of relief leaves your throat, and he turns his gaze to you. “I’ll make one for you.”

“Oh! But you don’t have to just because I did.”

His features twist in disapproval. “You belong to me as much as I belong to you, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Then you will wear one as well. Silver,” he says. His hand raises to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone. The ring is cold against your skin. “With black diamonds.”

“You want to match?”

“Yes.”

[cupids-diner]

hey! so I'm kind of obsessed with your writing ☠️ it's all soooo good, i was wondering if you could do a fic where the reader is a ballerina? (I'm also obsessed with your moodboard because I did ballet when I was a kid 😭) with Damian Wayne plsss, because I just LOVED how you write him nd I thought it would be cute.

Beneath the ballet’s shadow - Damian Wayne

A/n: I love getting requests for Damian and generally any of my favorite characters from shows/movies. Especially when I get to write for specific types of readers (ex: ballerina!reader) because I like looking up stuff to include in the story! I’ve also noticed how my formatting of my stories change with the stories, like there is some consistency but not a lot, Y’know?

Warnings: none

Rating: fluff

Damian Wayne wasn’t one for distractions. His life had been built on discipline, precision, and a resolve far beyond his years. Yet, for reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint, he found himself regularly at Gotham City Ballet, watching you.

It had started innocently enough. He had accompanied you once, claiming he needed to ensure your safety as you walked through the dark streets of Gotham. But after that first time, something kept pulling him back. Maybe it was the grace in your movements, the way you seemed to defy gravity with every leap and pirouette, or perhaps it was the quiet contentment he felt in your presence, a rare feeling for someone like him.

You’d catch him sometimes, leaning against the doorframe of the practice room, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “You know, you don’t have to keep coming,” you’d tease, wiping the sweat from your brow.

“I’m simply ensuring you’re not slacking in your training,” he’d reply, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. But in truth, he admired your dedication, your focus—traits he valued in himself.

One day, after practice, you sat beside him on the worn wooden bench outside the studio. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the city, softening the harsh lines of the buildings. Damian was unusually quiet, even for him, staring out at the horizon as if deep in thought.

“You know,” you started, breaking the silence, “I appreciate you being here. It means a lot.”

He glanced at you, his sharp green eyes softening just a fraction. “It’s nothing,” he replied, but the words felt heavier than usual.

“No, it’s not nothing,” you insisted, a gentle smile on your lips. “You’re always here, watching. It’s like you care or something.”

Damian felt his heart skip—a rare, unfamiliar sensation. But he maintained his stoic demeanor, merely raising an eyebrow. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered, but you could see the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck.

You laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. “Okay, okay, tough guy. But seriously, I’m glad we’re friends.”

Friends. The word hung in the air between you. Damian had never had many of those, never allowed himself the luxury. Yet, with you, it felt different. There was no pressure, no expectations. Just… peace. He didn’t need to say anything more; you seemed to understand him without words.

As you leaned back on the bench, your shoulder brushing against his, Damian felt an odd warmth settle in his chest. He wasn’t sure what it meant, or why it felt so significant. But for now, he let it be, content to simply sit beside you, watching the sun dip below the skyline, the weight of the world momentarily lifting from his shoulders.

In that moment, he didn’t need to be the son of Batman, the heir to the League of Assassins. He was just Damian, a boy quietly, contentedly falling for his best friend. And that, he decided, was enough.

A/n: does anyone know where I can watch more Batman/batfam movies/slash shows? I have Netflix, Hulu, and Disney plus and like miscellaneous apps to watch movies on but they’re almost always unavailable on those platforms. I plan on creating like a schedule for when I post because I go back to school soon, I was supposed to go back yesterday but my mom forgot to register me so.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

No Body to Bury

This is a full dead spin off of another one shot I read about Danny being given flowers for his grave by a child.

-------

The Justice League had been working with Phantom for a while now, not consistently, but he showed up when they were dealing with something ~spooky~, and he’d given them a way to contact him. They called him in to consult, or to back them up sometimes because he was a bit of a power-house. At first they had thought the name was part of his shtick, after all his powers were ghostly enough and there was something satisfying about having a theme.

They had started to suspect something when the child citizen had given him flowers for his grave, and his delighted reaction. It could have just been a kid happy to get a gift, but it wasn’t, it was clearly more then that and Batman had had a flashback to one of Constantine’s crash course lesson’s on supernatural, the one on ghosts. Graves were very important to them, as were morning gifts like flowers and candles, whatever was culturally appropriate.

None of them knew where Phantom’s grave was, Batman had tried to find it, to find anything about the ghosts life and death, but there wasn’t much. Not before he became a hero in Amity park, so he could maybe guess that the other had died in Amity (if he had died), but there was no deaths that matched up with his appearance. The closest thing was a boy named Danny but he had gone missing years after Phantom showed up, and he’d never been declared dead officially. More was impossible to find, even after the GIW had been disbanded the information they had destroyed about the town couldn’t all be retrieved.

Since Batman didn’t know where Phantom’s grave was he couldn’t leave flowers on it directly which meant he had to actually give them to the ghost boy. It was a bit uncomfortable the first few times, and his kids made fun of him for being emotionally repressed but… it made Phantom so happy, and brought him closer and closer to Batman. He had already started to see Phantom as one of his kids, even if he knew he’d never get the ghost to come back to the manor. The gifts helped, he found that Phantom also liked to receive food, he even picked at it sometimes even though it seemed he didn’t need to eat. Sharing meals with him was a good excuse to actually talk some though, Batman would listen and eat his own food as Phantom picked at his and rambled about space, about recent fights he’d been in, and people he’d met.

Through all that Batman managed to learn more about the young hero, about what he valued, and what he did when he wasn’t being a hero. Apparently he spent a lot of time off world but exploring rather then being a hero to the galaxy. Batman had a feeling superman would be upset by that, that Phantom could be doing more good then he was and was choosing not to. But the ghost was clearly still a kid, or at least had been when he died, and he was plenty heroic, he didn’t need to be dealing with universal threats at maximum sixteen years old, Batman felt bad calling him in for the planetary threats, but sometimes it was unavoidable.

As they got closer Phantom started to let other things slip, that he’d had a sister, and a couple of close friends that he still watched over when he could. When Batman had asked if those people knew he was dead Phantom had fallen silent for a full minute and then changed the subject entirely, Batman hadn’t pushed it that time. If he had Phantom would have retreated, but as it was they kept having lunch together, and the boy let more and more slip. Including more stories about those friend he must have had while he was alive, it was during one of those that he let his name slip.

“So my sister said to me, ‘Danny you should-‘” his mind seemed to catch up with his mouth and he froze, Batman was still too but when Phantom started to fade from view he spoke up.

“Phantom, wait, why don’t we leave the tower and go somewhere private. We can talk secret identities, I’ll tell you mine too,” Batman promised, he thought it was the best way to make Danny feel better, besides he did trust Phantom.

Danny hesitated before fading back into full visibility and nodding, “Alright,” He agreed, looking very young and vulnerable. “Do you mind if I fly us down to earth? I’ll keep you safe from space,” He asked and Batman nodded, letting Danny grab his arms and phase them through the building and out. Danny flue quickly back down to the earth, the side facing away from the sun so it was the middle of the night, putting Batman down in the middle of an abandoned park, landing as well and going to sit on the swing set.

Batman followed, sitting down next to the young hero and trying hard not to think about Ace, another talented and powerful person who went through to much and died to young. Once he was sat down Bruce sighed and took off his cowl, showing his face to the other young hero. “I’m Bruce Wayne,” He said with a wry smile when he saw familiar recognition cross over Danny’s face.

“No way, that makes so much sense,” Danny cackled, which wasn’t the reaction Bruce was expecting. He’d ask about that later, instead he just gestured for Danny to introduce himself next.

“Danny Fenton,” the kid introduced, holding out his hand with an impish little smile. Bruce chuckled and shook it as if this was the first time they’d met instead of having known each other for nearly a year.

“I know that name,” Bruce hummed thoughtfully, back peddling a little when Danny tensed. “Sorry, worlds greatest detective and all, I did a bit of research on Amity Park when you joined us to see if I could track you down. I had ruled that out because your civilian identity didn’t go missing for two years until after you showed up as Phantom. Does that mean you’re not, well, dead?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck at the awkward question.

“Oh, no, I’m very dead,” Danny said with a bitter chuckle, pushing himself to rock on the swing a little. “But I didn’t die for a couple of years after I got my powers, not fully. I don’t think most people understand what it’s like to die twice,” He said, looking down, already pale hands going white around the knuckles with how tight he was holding the chains.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Batman said softly, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. “But if you want to talk, I’ll listen, and I won’t break your confidence,” Bruce assured, they sat quietly for a few more minutes before Danny sighed and looked away.

“My parents were.. well probably best classed as mad-scientists. I loved them and they loved me but they were obsessed with ghosts and with discovery, it was always a tossup which was more important. I would join them in their lab to get their attention, and it was often my job to clean up after them. I ended up being micro-dosed on this stuff they called ectoplasm a lot which probably helped when the accident happened. My parents were trying to build a portal to the ‘ghost-zone’, what Constantine calls the infinite realms. It didn’t work at first, not till I stepped inside it, then it opened and it electrocuted me at the same time as flooding me with that weird glowing green ooze. It killed me and resurrected me simultaneously but not properly.

“Instead of actually bringing me back to life it bound my ghost back to my own body so I became the ghost possessing myself. That’s when I started working as a hero, while I was still partially alive.” He paused, swinging for a moment while Bruce stayed quiet and still, trying not to think about what Danny’s homelife must have been life, or how much it must have hurt to be killed like that.

“After a while the GIW showed up, they tried to catch me, but my parents had been trying to catch or destroy me as phantom for years. The GIW weren’t nearly as competent as the Red Huntress, so I avoided and ignored them. But I started to take it for granted and dismiss them, I didn’t pay enough attention, and they finally got the drop on me. I don’t want to talk about everything they did to me, but it was bad, and it was to much for my human half,” Danny stopped again and bit his lip, there was a hitch in his breathing that told Bruce exactly why Danny was hiding his eyes.

“Danny died, but it turned out that being half human was sort of holding back what I was capable of as a ghost,” He snickered with a little bit of bitter, vicious glee. “They couldn’t hold me anymore, all their little devices got left on my corpse when they forced me out and I destroyed the lab. After that I just… couldn’t go back to my life, it’s not natural. I died, they need to grieve me. That’s- that’s how it works.”

“And did they? Did you… get a burial?” Bruce asked, because he hadn’t seen anything about it in the news. His fear was confirmed when Danny took a deep breath and shook his head.

“No, I didn’t leave my body in the wreckage. I was worried… scratch that, I knew my parents would cremate me to try and keep me from coming back as a ghost, because they didn’t know I already was one. And that would weaken my connection to this world. I need to protect people, it’s half my purpose, I need a connection to this world.”

“Where did you hide it?” Batman asked, his breath catching when he saw Danny’s eyes flash a dangerous red.

“Why do you want to know?” He growled, bearing teeth that were sharper then they usually were. “You gonna give it back to my family for ~closure~? Destroy it yourself to curtail my power? I know Constantine is scared of me, he’d like that.”

Bruce immediately held his hands up in a placating gesture, of course Danny would be protective of his body. “No nothing like that Danny, I promise,” He said quickly. “But I just remember from what I’ve been told about ghosts, having a grave is important and, if you wanted, I would like to see you get a proper burial. It’s your body, you should get to control what happens to it but if you wanted a grave, a funeral, we have a protected graveyard for fallen heros. You’d fit right in,” He said with a uncertain smile.

Danny relaxed slowly, his eyes going back to green and his expression turning contemplative, looking back down as he thought about the offer. “Maybe… maybe,” He murmured. “It would be nice to have a grave, I’ve been leaving the flowers near my body in the ghost zone but… it would be nice to have a grave. I can feel the longing, the instinct. It feels bad to not have… have that, have something.

“But… I am scared. Would you be willing to- if you do an empty coffin funeral and burial for me, I’ll put my body in it, once the coffin is in the protected ground I can phase my body into it?” He asked, looking up at Batman worriedly and it was so obvious Danny was just a kid, a neglected boy who had been unlucky enough to die violently twice.

“Of course Danny, however you feel most comfortable,” Batman assured. Watching as Danny took a deep breath, more out of habit then anything, then nodded firmly.

“Then, I would like that. I know I am still here in a way so it feels weird having a funeral for me but, I still died, and I’d like to be remembered.” He murmured uncertainly.

“Of course, I understand. We didn’t get rid of my son’s grave when he came back because he still died. Being brought back, in any way, doesn’t really undo that,” Bruce sympathized, finally getting a small smile from Danny.

“Thank you Bruce, you’re a good guy. Now… do you need a lift back to the watchtower?”

“Yes please,” Bruce agreed with a sigh, finally standing up and pulling his hood back on. He had a funeral to plan.

"When we do have the funeral, can you ask your son to come? I'd like to meet him," Danny asked and Batman hummed, not sure how to explain the complicated relationship he had with Jason now.

"I'll try," He agreed, that was the best he could do really.

Part 2: here

[raisedbythetv89]

Listennnnn to be loved is to be seen

Buffy is SURROUNDED by people who project and project and project some more onto her without ever truly seeing her and just trying to force her to be whatever they want/need her to be often leaving her feeling used, abused, and lonely.

And so while yes on the surface the Buffy bot is icky as hell and obviously irl all of us would be rightfully horrified if that happened to us. This is fictional and with a still evil but trying to be good but with no human soul to help guide him on how to be good Spike - who has been rejected and is honoring that rejection and finding a solution to leave real Buffy alone by giving him a place to put all his feelings for Buffy somewhere that isn’t Buffy herself - programs her so well and therefore showing how well he sees and understands her!! NO ONE ELSE could have programmed that exact Buffy that was believable enough to fool her friends. So yes it’s twisted but this is a vampire falling in love with the slayer if you want completely healthy truly go elsewhere lololol but so the bot is used to show just how well Spike truly understands her and more importantly what he loves about her which given the partner she had right before this was Riley who VERY CLEARLY hated how strong she was and that she was the slayer…

spike is like SHE NEEDS A DEDICATED SLAYER FOLDER

HE PUT THE YEAR WILLOW CAME OUT IN HER BIO 😭😭😭😭 angel and riley truly could never in a million years pay close enough attention to the people in her life that Buffy cares about to add info like that

The choice of “make spike happy” instead of something like “pleasing spike” feels significant because it’s able to encompass a wider range of things including her care for her friends since that seems to be the active folder when she’s accessing information on them. Buffy caring about other people makes him happy even though he’s morally grey at best at this moment 😭 AND TWO KISSING PROGRAMS ARE THE VERY FIRST THINGS IN THAT FOLDER 😭😭😭 he doesn’t just “want to fuck her” like people try to claim he wants to love her 🥲 he wants her kisses like I’m gonna throw up from how disgustingly tender and heartbreaking that is

Buffy bot calls both her and Buffy very pretty and tells Giles he “should listen to the other Buffy because she’s very smart”. Spike made sure the Buffy bot was a Buffy that loved herself and valued her intelligence like I cannot even begin to tell you how NONE of this is your run of the mill making just a sex bot of your crush because not being able to have sex with them upsets you. He wants to love her because he knows she needs it as much as he wants to give it to her

We have this moment where Buffy bot has finally found Spike who she’s been looking for and worried about the whole time and seemingly only cares about him and no one else and she sees he’s SEVERELY injured yet when Giles calls for help Buffy bot responds at the same time as Buffy does and runs to his aide leaving Spike like she’s still just so BUFFY at her core even if the superficial aspects have been changed 😭

if we compare this moment to the one in something blue where xander calls out for help in the crypt in an IDENTICAL situation yet ACTUAL BUFFY just continues to make out with Spike when he’s not even injured at all 💀 like Spike didn’t even give Buffy bot the “extra love sick” component Buffy herself exhibits for him on multiple occasions 😭

and of course - WE END WITH THIS KISS AND THE WAY SHE’S FUCKING LOOKING AT HIM BRO 😩 she’s like holy shit he was for real when he said he loved me no one has ever done anything like this for me while simultaneously showing how COMPLETELY loyal and obsessed they are and how well they know and love all of me AND my sister like

‼️I CAN DEPEND ON HIM‼️

So close to death even Xander is feeling sympathy for him yet clocks IMMEDIATELY it’s her and she’s just like hi 🥹 yes it’s me, I really just did that. I see you and what you did for me. HAVE HOPE KEEP TRYING DONT GIVE UP.

If Buffy loves you she forgives you pretty easily and I personally think that’s what we’re seeing here with Spike like kissing him in the same ep she learns of the Buffy bot is low key CRAZY 😹 but truly people who have done less for her have done far worse!!! The bot kept dawn and tara from being taken instead and he proved he would protect both of them with his life and like she already loves him which is why she even went for the kiss she was like REALLY THE SITUATION CALLS FOR IT WHAT’S A GIRL TO DO 🤷🏼‍♀️

[southsideserendipity]

I saw your post about Mikey so I hope this is okay & what you were looking for. Mikey meets a girl that is like sunshine whenever she walks in the room & makes him finally feel worthy/valued so he’ll do anything to make her feel special in return

Sunshine (Mikey Berzatto x Reader)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of weed and alcohol.

Word Count: 4.2k

I found a good boy and he's on my side You're just my eternal sunshine, sunshine

“John, John- you listenin’ to me?!” Mikey was pacing his office, trampling over receipts and month-old sticky notes while aggressively combing his hands through his tussled black hair. “I’ll have your money. When have I not paid you, goombah? I didn’t see the invoice, you should see this fuckin’ office, not enough time to organize this damn shit show” he responded, kicking a stack of papers in the process. 

Bending down, he began rummaging through the various papers littering the office floor, attempting to compile them into categories. “John! You there?! Fuck.” Mikey frantically pat himself down, a sudden yearn for nicotine overcoming him. Finding his carton of Marlboros, he slipped the end of a cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

Letting out a sigh, John grunted, “Yeah, I’m here, Mikey. I’ll give you a couple more d-” before being interrupted by the vibrations of Mikey’s phone. 

“Fuck me, that jagoff is calling” Mikey thought out loud. “Listen, John, I hear you, you’ll have your money, mmkay? On my ma, I swear to ya, I gotta go though there’s another ball-buster on the other line. K? Ciao.” Before John could respond, Mikey stood up to accept the other call.

“Mark, brother, hey, before you start… I know, I know.” He picked up his phone, taking it off speaker to slip it under his ear. “I— Listen, I know. I hear you. I- Hey, you gon’ let me speak, or wha’?!” Speaking with his hands he continued to pace around the room, his booming voice stifled by the cigarette. 

The lunch rush at The Beef was dying down, exposing you to increasingly longer bits of the chaotic conversation occurring in the office. This was Mikey’s typical presentation; disheveled, malnourished, and overexaggerately buzzed off of caffeine, nicotine, and italian-ness. Although he was impossible to reason with in this state, you took it upon yourself to fix him up his favourite; a mortadella sandwich with sundried tomatoes, pesto, and mozzarella.

“You think I don’t know that? Pft, c’mon! Mark, man, you’re killin’ me!” You stood in the doorway, observing Mikey as he stood with one hand on his hip, the other flailing around to exemplify his frustrations. In one of your hands was the plate holding the lunch you made; in the other was a Chicago Bears BIC lighter.

Subtly knocking on the already open office door, Mikey whipped around to face you, his inconvenienced facial expression seamlessly evaporating into his wide-tooth grin. Mouthing ‘meet me outside’ was all it took for him to fake an excuse off of the phone and trail in your footsteps.

Albeit cheesy, you had that captivating effect on him, your hidden-well insecurities and past failed relationships blinding you to the fact that Mikey was infatuated with you. That, in combination with the 15-year age gap between you two. For Mikey, none of those factors changed the fact that you were his daylight, sunshine in human form.

Outside in the back you sat on a milk crate, the pre-Spring Chicagoan air fluttering over your skin. Moments after, Mikey joined you by sitting on an adjacent crate close to you after propping open the door. “Thanks, Bella” he said as he leaned over, his palm squeezing your thigh in an attempt to physically communicate the appreciation he held for your act of service. 

You offered out the plate to him, prompting him to begin devouring. He gruffly moaned after taking his first bite. “Mhhhh, shit, this is like Marry Me chicken but in sandwich form.” You giggled in response with your hands resting in your lap, watching as he attacked it hungrily. Mid-bite, he motioned with his head towards the other sandwich on the plate, “Ain’t gonna eat itself, Italiana.”

“I’m not hungry right now, Mike,” you responded, suddenly losing your appetite as you thought of the most effective way to check in on him without him brushing it off. Mikey had a fortified ‘I’ll deal with it maself’ attitude; his hard-headed, traditional Italian, ‘Godfather’ persona caused him to keep you far away from the messes he had gotten himself into. In his eyes, you are more than capable of dealing with life’s bullshit, but his innate urge to protect you from harm’s way and unnecessary stress made it difficult to involve you.

“What was going on in there?” you motioned towards inside with your head. “Ah, nothin’ doll.” He shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to brush off the topic, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Just some bills that need payin’, I got it covered. Business good today? Any jagoffs give you trouble?” He frantically read your face, urgently hoping you’d buy his not-so-discreet attempt at changing the topic.

“C’mon, Mike. Cut the shit. You’re suffocating in that office.” The only person whose bluntness Mikey could listen to happened to also be the only person he’d accept ‘Mike’ from. He took the cigarette that had been hanging from his lips in his office out of his shirt pocket and proceeded to light it. Taking the first drag of it, he flicked it, holding it out to you.

Pursing his lips to blow out his puff, he responded confidently. “I got it all figured out, sunshine. Plus, I got cousin helpin’ me with the books and shit. Just gotta pay back those muthafuckas who keep callin’ me. They’re all, ‘where’s my money!?’” he playfully rolled his eyes, making hand gestures and displaying a funny face as he imitated the callers. You both knew damn well they had every right to be calling him. 

“You telling me that Richie is on the books is supposed to bring me a sense of comfort?” Asking him that question with pure seriousness and handing him back the cigarette, Mikey stifled a laugh. “Hey, him and the IRS are like this” he crossed his middle finger over his index while winking and making a clicking noise with his tongue.

“Cousin, where the fuck are the receipt rolls, the office looks like an abandoned and pissed-in office depot” Richie’s exclaiming became increasingly louder the closer he got. “Feels like we change the damn paper in that thing ever- oh shit, pardon my interruption to your rendezvous. Were you guys about to fuck? I can leave” Richie pointed with his thumb towards the kitchen as he sported a fake-worried and devious expression, slowly inching backwards.

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “No one’s fucking anyone, Rich.” Mikey looked to the ground as he faked a chuckle, ignoring the slight pang of hurt in his chest.

“You want a mortadella sandwhich?” You held out the plate to Richie, knowing he couldn’t resist. “Uh, DUH,” Richie grabbed an additional crate to join the two of you, immediately beginning to eat.

“Oh fuck, are you fucking serious right now?! Mikey, if you don’t marry this girl I’ll do it for you. ‘S like a mouf orgathm” Richie had just begun eating yet he already had food on the corners of his mouth. You chuckled, choosing to ignore the marriage comment. “Here, you child. You’re such a slob” you threw him a napkin you had stored in your apron. 

“Hey, the real slob is right over there” he pointed directly at Mikey, not even bothering to wipe his mouth but proceeding to take a another massive bite. “Something’s gotta be done about that cesspool of an office,” Richie shook his head disapprovingly, despite also functioning well in chaotic enrivonments. Mikey took yet another drag, the stress of you and Richie’s indirect demand to get his shit together getting to him. “It’s organized chaos, I know where everything is, s’all that matters.” 

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This was the third night in a row that you had difficulty falling asleep. You had tried everything in your arsenal of melatonin-producing activities, and yet, your brain was spiraling, most of your thoughts pertaining to Mikey.

You weren’t going to kid yourself. You needed something and you knew exactly who to get it from. Picking up your phone, you made the call.

“Rich?? You awake?” You rolled over to your side, holding yourself up by your elbow and propping your head up with the palm of your hand. “Yeah I’m awake, but why the fuck are you awake, missus?” “I need a favour…” 

Richie’s dirty mind figured any call from a woman at this hour was for sex, but he also knew about Mikey’s schoolboy yearn for you and wouldn’t dare make any advancements. The silence on his end was telling. “Not that type of favour, God, Rich! Stop being a man for a second. I need weed.” You huffed out, a whiny tone of desperation heavy in your voice. 

“Now that I can help you with” he chuckled.

“YES thank you, Rich, oh my god” You sprung up out of bad as if there were hot rocks in it. “I will meet you at The Beef, okay?!” And that was where he met you.

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You and Richie sat at the back of The Beef, exactly where you had had lunch earlier that day. “You want to do the honours, stoner?” Richie held out the joint and lighter for you. You faked an annoying look and exaggerately took them from him. “I’m not a stoner, Rich. I just have an undiagnosed sleeping problem.” You put the joint between your lips and lit it, taking an ungodly large pull from it. 

“Woahhhhh cheech and chong, relax” Richie practically yanked the joint from you. You immediately began coughing as you hadn’t smoked in a while. “What or who the fuck are you trying to forget, Italiana?” Richie’s joking tone didn’t conceal his concern as he took a puff himself. You looked at him, tilting your head to the side to signify confusion.

Richie took another pull before returning the joint to you. “If you’re calling me at 12am to smoke because you couldn’t sleep, it tells me your big brain was overthinking.” You took a moderate inhale this time, the buzz beginning to radiate out to your extremities. “What were you thinking about, Richie? Something tells me you were awake for similar reasons.”

“I’m not sayin’ anything ‘til you do” he responded whilst shrugging. 

Making a sour face, you attempted to restore the saliva in your mouth. “I have cotton mouth like a bitch, I’m going to get something to drink. You want anything?” you asked, heading inside before he could interrogate you further. “Get me a brio!” You chuckled to yourself, shouting back “You know you’re not Italian, right?!”

You walked over to the walk-in fridge, grabbing Richie’s Brio and a Fresca for yourself. On the way back out, Mikey’s office door caught your attention, and you suddenly had an idea. “Rich. Oh my god. I know exactly what we can do.” 

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“I… I think we just made things worse.” Looking up at Richie in horror, he mirrored your reaction. “Yeah, we fucked up cousin. We’re in some deep shit.” 

You and Richie were both sat on the office floor, waist deep in the paper equivalent of a small forest. You took a swig from your Fresca, attempting to decipher where to start. “We can do this. For Mikey. He deserves this, and fuck, let’s face it, he was never gonna do it himself!” You attempted to motivate Richie, knowing his child-like attention span and patience were on their last legs. 

Picking up various pieces of paper, you attempted to make sense of them. “Okay… I’ll make one pile for receipts, and I’ll sort them by date, and then-” You felt Richie’s eyes burning a hole into you, causing you to look at him and flail your hands around. “What?!” Impatiently waiting for his response, you began gnawing on the inside of your cheek, nervous that he was onto you. 

“You like him.” Richie slowly grinned from ear to ear as he stated it matter o’factly. “You like like him.” You flung your head back and groaned. “‘Like like?’ C’mon, Rich, what are you, 12? Shut the fuck up and help me.” The blood rushed into your cheeks almost immediately at his accusation, the THC physiologically betraying you and making it impossible to put on a front. “You like him. Oh my god. I fuckin’ knew it,” he giggled. 

“I don’t know whether it’s the weed or the fact that it’s 3am and I’m reaching the point of delirium, but since I’m not a pre-teen, I’ll admit that you’re not wrong. But it’s never going to happen. He’s mentally ill with a fucked up family and so am I- that doesn’t tend to be the ideal romantic combination. Now, lets finish this so we can still go home and get some rest before shift starts.” You looked at Richie with a stern look; he was shocked at your mini rampage, and internally, you were petrified about the fact that you had just spilt your guts to Mikey’s bestfriend.

“And don’t get any ideas, because this conversation does NOT repeat itself, you hear me, Jerimovich!” When you addressed someone in the kitchen by their last name, they knew you meant business. “Uh-huh, yup, yes ma’am.” Richie gulped, considering you just displayed more emotions in the last 5-minutes than you had for the entire length of time he has known you. It didn’t help that he was beyond stoned and couldn’t quite comprehend the nature of what you had told him. 

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“Cousin! What the fuck is this? Why can I see the floor?” Mikey was standing at the doorway of his office in utter disbelief that morning. Richie jogged over peaking his head into the office. “It was Italiana’s doing, she just told me what to do. We were preeeetty fried” he chuckled to himself, recalling last night’s events. “Surprisingly, we didn’t throw anything out. She’s got a real knack for organizing, should’ve let her do this months ago. The IRS and I aren’t going to have anymore beef, see what I did.” 

Richie couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. His nervous rambling was an attempt to not tell Mikey about your confession. Knowing how much Mikey admired you, it was killing him to not be able to tell his own bestfriend that the girl of his dreams reciprocated his feelings. Mikey slowly turned to look at Richie, hands still on his hips. “What the fuck did you smoke, crack? Why are you acting all fucked?”

You had walked into the kitchen at perfect timing before Richie blabbed your secret. Going to hang your purse up, Mikey called you over; he didn’t even need to see you to feel your presence. “Italiana, come ‘ere!” You sped walk over and stood in the entrance, your hands folded in front of you with a nervousness. A part of you was worried that messing with Mikey’s ‘organized chaos’ was going to disorient him, but you wanted to lessen the stress he was experiencing. That was what you did for the people you loved; especially the man you loved. 

“You did this?” He looked directly at you; despite being an expert in Mikey’s nuances, you couldn’t tell whether he was pissed or overjoyed. “Uh, yeah! It’s all pretty self-explanatory but I can go through it with you if you want? I just thought it’d make your life a lil easier. And Richie’s! Of course.” You rubbed your arm with your hand as a means of self-soothing.

“This is great, Bella. Truly. I can’t believe you went through all this trouble, I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen it look like this ever” he motioned towards the filing cabinet and the paper baskets you had labelled appropriately, using his other hand to comb through his hair in shock. “I couldnt of done it without Richie. And Richie’s weed! It was nothing, Mike” you smiled at him and showed yourself out as nonchalantly as possible. 

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You were waiting the last tables of the day - mainly consisting of left behind beer bottles and plastic sandwich baskets - when Mikey came up behind you putting one hand on your waist. “Meet me in the office when you’re done here, yeah?” As he whispered into your ear, you had to keep your knees from buckling. “Yeah, Mike! Okay!” Fucking Richie.

You attempted to stall for the inevitably painful conversation that awaited you, slowly walking towards the kitchen. While washing your hands, your brain began to spiral. Wiping your hands on your apron, you attempted to bravely walk towards the office, standing in the doorway. 

“What’s up?” You halted in your tracks almost immediately as you noticed the charcuterie board Mikey was standing in front of and the bottle of red wine in his hands. “Fuck me. Okay, listen.” You walked closer to him. “Before you say anything, I don’t know what Richie said to you, but as someone who doesn’t know the difference between your and you’re, he has no idea what he’s talking about. You didn’t have to do any of this.” 

Mikey looked at you like a deer in headlights. “What the fuck are you talking about,” he chuckled. There was that dimpled smile. And now you were confused (and distracted) before you realized Richie didn’t say anything.

“I wanted to thank you for organizing the office…” Mikey explained, twisting the bottle of wine open and pouring you a glass. “I know how much you like your charcuterie. If Starbucks ever stops selling those little boards I’ll wonder what you’re gonna eat.” He earned a laugh from you for joking about your mild salami addiction.

You sported the fakest wide tooth grin you could muster. “Hey, I’m Italian. I can’t help it. I think I’m keeping them in business though” you joked in response. He held out the glass for you and winked. “Thanks, Mike” you smiled, hoping he couldn’t pick up on your nervousness. 

“Okay, let me show you what we’ve got here.” He clapped his hands together, excited to introduce you to his concoction of Italian meets and cheeses. Hunched over his desk with both of his hands planted on the surface to support him, he pointed at each meat and cheese as he went through the board’s contents. 

“We’ve got cacciatore, prosciutto, mortadella, then I added parmesan - I know how much you like it - along with romano and gorgonzola. I was thinking we can add it to the menu. We’re no hipster yuppies but throw some olives and overpriced crackers on here and I mean, we’re talkin’ business, baby.” Looking up at you, he attempted to read your face for your thoughts.

Mikey was passionate. That was his entire nature. And when he presented you with ideas, he seemed to put your approval and opinion on a pedestal. You had helped significantly with business at The Beef, assisting in bringing Mikey’s visions to fruition while also providing your input where necessary; he valued your insight more than you realized. 

Taking a baguette slice, you added cacciatore and parmesan onto it and bit in. “Fuck, Mike.” Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you let out a near moan. “We gotta add this. It could even be part of a date night special. The charcuterie as an antipasto, a soup or salad, a main, and then dessert” you presented.

Mike glanced up at you with a smirk, content with your proposal. “Have I ever told you that I love your brain, Italiana?” You giggled as you continued to devour the board, attempting to ignore his blatantly obvious attempt at flirting as you couldn’t believe he could possibly be interested in you. 

The rest of the evening was spent brainstorming business ideas, reminiscing on memories shared between you, Mikey, and Richie, and consuming copious amounts of wine. 

“Oh my god, Mike. You remember when Richie tried picking up that blonde girl at the bar with a magic trick, and you- y- oh my god.” You flung your head back as you cackled; you were wine drunk and snortling to the point of incoherence. You were sat across from Mikey who was planted behind his desk, his ankle resting on top of his other knee. His forearms rested on the arms of his chair, and he loosely held a glass of whiskey as he watched you with amusement and a sly grin of admiration. 

“You had to go over there and save him from the embarrassment. Poor thing.” You chuckled. “I’m pretty sure the chick he was tryna bag had started flirting with me,” Mikey said, taking a sip of his whiskey and raising his eyebrows as he attempted to recall the events of that evening. 

You looked intently at him, not breaking eye contact. “Can you blame her?” The wine encouraged a new-found confidence to emerge from within you. There was no way you would’ve been this direct with Mikey while sober. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mikey leaned forward to put his glass on his desk then returned to his laid back position. With a dumbfounded look on your faced, you laughed then displayed a look of annoyance. “Don’t play stupid. Look at yourself, Mike.” You stood up, put the wine glass down, and rested both of your hands on his desk, leaning forward until you were mere inches away from his face.

Looking into his right eye, glancing down at his lips, and looking back up to his left eye, he began to shift in his seat. It was evident that you were both under a hazy and horny alcohol-induced influence, the sexual tension very obviously suffocating the room. “Now take me home before I say or do something I’ll regret.”

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

As Mikey walked you back to your apartment, you held onto the side of his frame with all your might. He guided you through the streets of Chicago with ease; he was nowhere near the level of drunk that you had achieved. “You okay, darlin’?” He looked down, a slight smile on his face as he recognized your drunken effort to walk in a straight line. “Yeah, Mike. Thanks for tonight. No one’s ever gone through such an effort to appreciate me.”

You peered up at him with a smile; you wanted to put into perspective how much his actions meant to you, however, Mikey felt an even stronger urge to spoil you moving forward. Quite frankly, he was bewildered that his small gesture that evening exceeded all that you’ve known. 

Arriving to the door of your apartment, you began rummaging through your purse for your keys. Finding them, you held your arm out straight and dangled them in front of Mikey. “You’re gonna need to unlock the door, mister. I do not currently possess the fine motor skills” you joked, earning a laugh from him.

You caught the glimmer in his eyes. Mikey felt like your fierce protector. You both knew you didn’t need protecting- while this was a part of you he admired, his masculinity often fought for dominance; for the chance to show you how well he could look after you and how much you deserved it. 

He opened the door, propping it open for you as you stumbled through, immediately attempting to take off your shoes. You hadn’t thought this out thoroughly as you ended up toppling over, Mikey catching you in the process. “Easy, doll. Here, sit down,” he motioned toward the ottoman in the foyer of your apartment, guiding you as you lowered yourself. 

He crouched down at your feet and placed the heel of your foot on his thigh, proceeding to untie your shoes. Grasping your ankle one at a time, he wiggled your feet out. You looked down at him, admiring his gentle touch, the concentration present in his furrowed brow; you loved to watch him, whatever he was doing, and you’ve known for a long time that you’ve loved him.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” Holding out both of his hands for you, you stood up, letting him walk you through to your bedroom. You had a case of the over-tired drunken giggles, prompting you to laugh as you slurred your intentions to take off your make-up.

Mikey picked out some pjs for you, then proceeded to pour you a cold glass of water while you got changed. Opening the door to your bedroom, you motioned for him to come inside. “Sleep next to me?” You proposed with a curious tone despite knowing he’d decline as he (annoyingly) insisted on being a respectful gentleman at all times. “S’all good doll, I’ll be good on the couch” he motioned to the living room with his head. “Lemme tuck you in.” 

As you got under the covers, Mikey offered you the glass of water to which you happily obliged. Handing it back to him, he placed it on your bedside table as you snuggled yourself into the sheets. He turned off the lamp, the room engulfing with darkness save for the midnight blue hue that the window cast in. 

Mikey began to walk out of your room when you called out to him. “Hey Mike, c’mere” you turned over, watching him as he slowly approached. Motioning for him to come closer, you whispered into his ear. “I like like you.” 

Knocking out after the words escaped your lips, as if they were made of melatonin, Mikey smiled to himself as he looked down at you. “And I love you, sunshine.”

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EEEEEEEEK my very first Mikey imagine! Which means I am still learning to integrate his personality into my writing- it’s hard when he has extremely minimal screentime. ALSO I am writing this in whatever year Mikey was operating The Beef, so Carmy, Syd, and the others aren’t there, and Richie and Tiff are still together. I am completely open to feedback and would also love to get more requests for Mikey. Let me know what y’all think!!! :)

[fangsforiris]

How would the s and m bros react to an s/o who's insecure about her body image. Like she's not 'fat' but she's got a chubby stomach and thighs. Thank youuu !

S & M Boys React to Insecure S/O (Body Image)

— — — — — — — — —

Shū:

“Mm? Do you really care about that? If I didn’t like what I saw, I wouldn’t have chosen you. Isn’t that right? We’ll gain and we’ll lose weight, it’s normal. I’ll show you what I love about you right now if you’re still unsure.”

Reiji:

“Your physique is none of my concern, yet you fuss over such trivial things. You are perfect, my dear. And I shall say it as many times as you desire once you see what I see; perfection.”

Ayato:

“Who cares about a few extra pounds?! They don’t mean much to Ore-sama anyways. All I care about is you choosing to be with me. You chose me, I chose you. That means we’re staying together until I say otherwise!”

Kanato:

“Who says you should care for anyone’s opinions but mine? I think you are my perfection, Dolly. The ideal doll that is mine. I deem you as perfect, so you’re perfect. You have no need to think on things already decided for you. I love you, no matter your flaws. I’ll overlook them for you.”

Laito:

“You’re beautiful, S/O. I cherish you and love you for every curve and limb attached. Weight means nothing. It’s trivial, wouldn’t you agree? I chose you because of my longing, not cosmetics. It seems I’ve allowed you to forget how much i love you, though. That’ll change~!”

Subaru:

“…You might see things you don’t particularly like about yourself, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder isn’t it…? Just… don’t worry about that stupid stuff, we’ll all die anyways, so what’s the point of wasting your time with it, right?”

Ruki:

“Beauty isn’t permanent. We will all grow old and it shall lose value as we mature. You look fine just the way you are, I have no doubt about it. You doing so gives me reason to believe you doubt your masters choices… Do you believe I’ve chosen wrongly in choosing you? Because I will never think so.”

Kou:

“You shouldn’t cry over something like this, you know? But… I get it, being an idol and all. You can’t help insecurity, it comes with life… I guess we really are our harshest critic..! You’re cute and pretty, M-Neko-chan! So I don’t really think you need reassurance for something so cut and dry!”

Yūma:

“Eh? Are you alright? Stressing over looks ain’t everything in the world, ya know? All that matters is that I like ya and that yer my type, alright..! I get that I’m tough on ya, but if I need to remind you about how much I cherish you, then I’ll do it.”

Azusa:

“Eve… What’s the matter, why do you cry…? I don’t think… you need to change anything… If anything… I should… fix myself. You’re perfect, Eve. I’m so… grateful for you…! Don’t forget… please.”

[atsucry]

Beyond The Thorn Vines

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝐈𝐕

Malleus Draconia x gn!reader

Additional info: again, a bit boring cs this is just a yap session but it is the turning point

cw: none

The young naiad was placed in a serene pond, the water rippled as the group submerged them. they limped backwards as they rested on the damp soil as all the other nymphs gathered around the poor child.

"Will they be alright?" one spoke up, concern for the child laced her sentence.

Your mother cried out, "By the name of all that is mighty, they will!" She brought down her hand to caress your features, tracing her thumb down the bridge of your nose.

You sat at the very back row in the stadium, the sound of cheering surrounded you—though your attention was not fully caught on anything. These things have become partly tedium to you that you wonder why you still come. It was nearing the championship round and it has been three hours since then.

Throughout the entire game, your leg bounced uncontrollably—your heel tapping rhythmically against the concrete while everyone else was enjoying the tournament. The blood that has been inside the book yesterday night had yet to change colour—even by a bit. It gave you a nerve wrecking, nail biting feeling. It had you contemplating on if you had gotten yourself stuck in a time loop, perhaps the reason why you felt so bored. But you chose to mark it as something of an impossible manner. Something a little more mundane.

At that moment, you valued logic over all else—it would take a whole day or two for blood to oxidise and turn brown in colour. Yes—that's what it is, of course it is. It hasn't been a full day yet, there's no need to fret.

A whistle sounded out through the entirety of the area and snapped you out of your own bubble. It was just another score.

You uncomfortably shifted in your seat, trying to ease the stiffness in your legs as the stadium lights blared out for the championship round.

You swept your eyes to the left as Che'nya materialised right before you, slipping into the empty seat next to you with his hands behind his neck with one leg swung over the other. His sudden presence was almost a relief, he looked around with an air of curiosity and leaned in to speak.

“You know, this tournament really does bring out the best and the worst in people,” Che’nya said, scanning the field. Expectantly Waiting for an exciting incident to occur. "And I mean…who even bothers watching till the end anyway? It ain't fun anymore when we got a winning streak over the other."

You hummed in agreement, though, you were sure you had more to say, more to add. "Out of our obligation to support our team, I guess."

"YOUR obligation, not mine though."

You sighed as you leaned back, your eyes wandered the field. "You didn’t have to show up at all, then," you said, half-serious. He was almost above it all.

Che’nya shrugged, tipping his head back lazily. "Me? Well, let's see…why do I bother showing up?" He pretended to contemplate, tapping his chin. "Ah, right! Who else in here are you friends with and would mind to care for you…yes, it might only be me!" He said, sticking his thumb out and pointing towards himself. "No offense to you, of course. But you should really start mingling with the crowd. I mean—I know in magical creature years, you're 'bout the same age as me. But my, you're 178! In those years, an average person would've met at least double-digits of people."

"Oh…don't hit me with that. It's just one more year here and I'm good to go. It'd be pointless to start making friends now."

"Oh but i'm being real, It's kind of pathetic—But do what you want!"

"There’s Neige,"

"Neige is everyone's friend. He doesn't count."

You two sat in silence as the players prepared for the final round, the audience gripped the edge of their seats as they waited, leaning over forward to see even more of the field. "You'd think after almost a century of this crap that they'd just stop holding inter-school tournaments," Che'nya added. "But I don't know, it's worth a shot,"

"I suppose so," You slouched forward and placed your elbows on your knees, you couldn't care for any of this, at all.

Che'nya's voice continued to drone on beside you, a mix of playful banter and casual observations. rambling on about whatever kind of absurdity, as he usually does. Recounting the pranks he's pulled off in the past, present, and acts he'll do in the future.

"Aha! And when I saw the new first years at heartslabyul and when they first saw me—along with the cat—They thought of me as a ghost!" He snapped at his sides as he burst into hysterics—you could almost say he had a passion for shaking people up in the head, especially with his real name being that long.

And in a sudden moment, you felt as if a large sword cave itself in your skull, it pierced your brain in half—Your hands flew to clutch the sides of your head as you let out an agonising groan—an agonising scream if you weren't in public. It was happening again. Not only was the pain unbearable, but made you feel bound down—something out of control. A helpless fish caught in a net. That it made a mockery of you—that all your moves were already predetermined. And even if that wasn't the case at all, you still felt trapped in your own body, and that was the opposite of what you wanted as a nature spirit—a water spirit nonetheless.

"So then in the corridor—wh—hey!" your friend looked at you frantically, leaning to meet you at eye level. The highest level of concern was etched on his face. "No…you don't look so good," His eyebrows quirked as his face scrunched up—looking around to see if anyone else had noticed. No one. "Okay! I think we need to go—what's the point in staying to watch anyway? It's boring, boring!"

He bent down to scoop you up, throwing your arm over his shoulders as he pushed past the rows of people. manoeuvring through them all. "Alright—Excuse me! Coming through!" He exclaimed, escorting you out of the stadium as quickly as possible as you carried your own head in your hands, eyes screwed shut as your forehead wrinkled while your face formed a scowl. You learned not to bother coming to these events at all when you reach your 4th year. The entire way out came across as longer than it actually was, like someone had brought you back to the beginning every time. You two hurriedly scampered down the steps, stumbling on the stairs occasionally your way down.

Once you made it past the threshold the gate, the cheering faded out by a bit. Che'nya set you to lean on a wall, catching his own breath. And at once the pricking sensation stopped all together. Just like last time, and it always left you dumbfounded. No, not how many times it has happened—but the reason why it did. Yes, you've accepted that it happens, but you never found the explanation.

You slid down the wall, resting your back against it as you caught your breath. The quiet outside the stadium was a stark contrast to the overwhelming noise inside, and you relished the momentary peace.

You stared off into space, murmuring to yourself. "Why is that…?"

"Hah…What? You're good now?"

"As far as I can tell, I am,"

He let out a relieved sigh, letting his head hang low as he leaned with his hands on his knees. "Well, it's not the greatest idea to stick around, so let's just retreat to your room to figure out what's going on, yea?"

"Yea, that sounds reasonable enough," You pushed yourself off the floor and dusted down your uniform. "Let's head back!"

"Oh, and thanks, by the way!"

"You're in thinking territory, that's dangerous. Don't pop a vein now!" Che'nya cackled as he basically let himself melt and become one with your bed, overseeing you connect the dots in your thumbtack board with your chin tucked between your thumb and index.

"You've been standing there for a good 3 hours,"

"Che'nya, can you please shut up for a second,"

"I'm looking at an empty board!"

"Because you feel the need to input your own thoughts that I don't have space to think of mine! Just hold on and sit still for a minute!" You shooed him away, turning your focus back to your mind map. You're sure there must be an explanation for…whatever nonsense this was. You could link it to the fact that you have chronological gaps in your own memory—

"Have you figured anything out? Little genius?"

"I'm leaving this for tomorrow! I'm leaving this all for tomorrow!" Your outburst surprised Che'nya, maybe he should also leave the teasing for tomorrow as he sat himself back up awkwardly. you dragged your two hands across your face, letting out a frustrated groan. Your eyes drooped and were ready to fully shut.

"No…No, I'll continue. I'll continue with my work. Pass me that stupid book on my desk,"

"The old looking one?"

"There is no other book on my desk…?"

You held out an expectant open hand, waiting for him to hand it over—you felt a sudden heavy weight on it and brought it to your front. The blood still remained a pretty shade of red.

"No…I'll continue this tomorrow,"

“Seriously though,” he said, hopping up onto your bed like it was his own personal couch. “You should really take it easy. Whatever this thing is, it's getting worse.”

You didn't answer, your eyes focused on the floor. “Hey,” he said, his tone shifting. “You're doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That brooding thing where you start spiralling. It’s not a good look on you.” He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as if it held the answers to the universe.

You pushed the book aside, finally letting your shoulders drop with exhaustion. The pounding headache had dulled to a light throb, but the fogginess in your mind lingered. Che’nya lay sprawled out on your bed, completely at ease while you were drowning in your thoughts. "Alright," you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck, "I’m done for tonight. Let’s call it."

Che’nya stretched like a cat, extending his arms up to the ceiling with a dramatic yawn. “Well, it’s about time! You always overthink stuff, y’know? Let things breathe a bit."

Rolling your eyes, you stood up and moved toward the door, signaling the end of the conversation. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I’m heading to bed. You should probably head back to your dorm.”

Che’nya jumped to his feet, surprisingly spry despite his earlier lounging. “Night, night! Try not to overwork that brain of yours.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was almost overwhelming. You stood there for a moment, staring at the door, before letting out a slow breath. The room suddenly felt much larger, more empty.

But no, you’d already decided. It could wait until tomorrow. You weren’t going to drive yourself insane over it tonight. The exhaustion settled in, heavy like a blanket.

Your mind, however, didn’t want to fully quiet down. It wasn’t the first time you’d experienced something like this, but it was happening more frequently, and that in itself was troubling.

The ceiling above you was a blank canvas, and you stared at it, wondering why your body had reacted so violently in the stadium. You knew from a young age that you'd been cursed somehow. You didn’t want to admit it, but the idea of a deeper cause gnawed at the back of your mind. It wasn’t just the headaches. It was the fog, the gaps in your memory, the flashes of something you couldn’t quite place.

But before you could spiral too far down that road, you turned onto your side, pulling the covers up over yourself. "Tomorrow," you muttered to yourself. "Deal with it tomorrow."

The fatigue finally began to take hold, pulling you into the welcome embrace of sleep. The last thing you heard before your mind slipped into darkness was the faint echo of the cheering crowd, still celebrating the championship match you barely paid attention to.

Tomorrow would bring more questions, but for tonight, at least, you’d find peace.

In your sleep, you heard a voice call out to you, and an annoying one at that. "Psst, wake up…hey, hey, hey, hey, heyyy—" Che'nya poked at your shoulder, urging you to wake up and stir you from your stupor for some unknown but probably irrational reason.

"Hm…? Huh…?" Your words were muddled and groggy, tossing and turning in your bed—You didn't want to get ready yet—no, not yet. It was too early to be dealing with the world right now. You didn’t even bother to try opening your eyes till a bright light shone down on you.

"Agh—what's wrong with you?!—"

"The headmaster's calling us to the office,"

That sentence alone had you shot up straight into a sitting position, were you still dreaming? No it seems that you're fully awake now, perhaps you heard it wrong. "Hah…Huh? Pardon?"

“We’re considering you two for the exchange program between Royal Sword Academy and Night Raven College,” the headmaster began, his tone measured and formal. “It’s an opportunity for selected students to experience a different academic environment and broaden their perspectives.”

Che’nya nudged you slightly, a playful grin on his face. “Looks like someone’s about to have a big adventure.”

You barely processed his comment, your mind still reeling from the abrupt awakening and the lingering discomfort from the previous day. "...Im sorry?"

The headmaster adjusted his glasses and shuffled through the papers on his desk. “It’s a chance to engage with a new curriculum, participate in unique magical studies, and interact with students from a different institution. It’s designed to be both challenging and enriching. And the main reason being that after almost 100 years of consecutive losses from Night Raven, we decided to send in our own students to possibly get the to learn teamwork and cooperation.”

"Yea, but why us though…?" You took a glance to your friend to the right of you, 'you put me up for this, didn't you?' you tried communicating telepathically with him. Though you were certain it wasn't exactly what you managed to tell him, you knew he understood what you meant. He shrugged and only gave you a knowing smile.

"Well, let's see…" The headmaster shifted in his leather seat, clasping his hands together. "You two rarely participate in any school activities," He listed. "And we heavily encourage our students to get to know each other through school activities and events—yet in your three years here, you two have yet to show that type of enthusiasm."

Ah, so that's what it was. You felt a pang of unease. "I see," you said, trying to mask the irritation in your voice. "But why would you think we'd be a good fit for this program?"

The headmaster's eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “We’ve noticed potential in both of you, even if you haven’t been the most socially active, except for your friend; Che'nya over here. Who does seem to show interest in socializing...Just in his own peculiar way. It’s about pushing boundaries and discovering new strengths. And, considering your unique talents and perspectives, we believe this experience will be beneficial not only for you but for the academy as well.”

"And I expect you both to also participate in the activities and events that Night Raven has to offer, as well as maintaining academic performance—"

Che'nya suddenly butted in. "We'll take you up on the offer, anyways, bye-bye!" He grabbed your wrist, leading you out the office and out into the hallway and closing the large door behind him.

You squinted your eyes at him, agitated and quite frankly, furious. "...Are you serious?!"

Note: guys is it obvious that this was rushed.

btw apologies for any mistakes in my writing😗

[supernatural-dreamer]

The Unnatural and Unexpected (Embry Call x Black! Reader) Pt. 4

A/N: Hiya everyone! We're baack with another installment. School just started back for me and it's been kicking my butt so apologies for any delays. This part changes focus a little from the main character and is little bit of a filler, but rest assured it's getting juicy... Enjoy! Cheers!

~Lauren

This is set during Eclipse around newborn battle. This is tailored for a African American/Black female reader specifically, however all are welcome to read..

—

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist

—

Imagine being Embry’s imprint and tagging along with the wolves to their newborn training session. However, you’re always in for an unexpected surprise when you’re around Bella..

Unfortunately she was right. The wound was deeper than anticipated. No wonder why it was hard for you to stop the bleeding. As much as you cared for him, you were silently cursing Embry and Jasper every which way. 

Damn superhuman strength.

Not even fifteen minutes after she walked in the door, Emily had your wound disinfected, helped clean you up, and even started heating up leftovers she brought over. Bless this woman.

“Just one more stitch, I’m almost done, hon. Hang in there.” You winced in pain as she covers up your fresh stitches with a bandage dressing. 

“I at LEAST owe one of them a slap for the fight. This is crazy.” Sitting up gently from the living room couch, Emily helps you into the kitchen. 

“Deal.” She pulls out a small bottle of vodka from her bag with two shot glasses and places them on the counter. You raise an eyebrow, smirking. 

“This is JUST for now until I can get you some painkillers tomorrow. Unfortunately, you’re out of Tylenol and the drugstores are closed.” She shrugs her shoulders at your slight shock and amusement. 

“Being an ex-nurse has its perks. Food’s almost done, you hungry?” 

——

After finishing up eating and graciously accepting the little alcohol. It was only then you remembered the days earlier events.

As much as you wanted some time, you thanked your lucky stars that the one person you probably needed showed up at your doorstep.

“Sorry about how I answered the door earlier.” Sheepishly, you start to look down at your kitchen floor.

“Nothing to apologize for. Sam told me everything that happened and I came straight over and don’t worry, they don’t know I’m here.” 

“I appreciate it. How’s Embry holding up?” Sighing heavily, Emily places her plate and yours in the dishwasher. 

“Sam, myself, and their partners let him have it after finding out he hurt you. Is he justified in his anger, yes, but he shouldn’t have let it get the best of him.” At this, you bury your face in your hands. This is such a mess. You didn’t mean to cause any of it.

You hear her shuffle to sit next to you as she gently pulls your hands from your face. 

“Hey, NONE of this is your fault. You never asked to be in this situation. The only people at fault here are Embry and Jasper. Jasper chose to keep it from you and both of them hurt you. As much as I love the pack, they do not get to decide anything for their imprints, especially after they hurt them.” It was then you looked up at her. The fluorescent light of the kitchen made the darkness outside look endless.  For the first time, at least to you, her scar was more prominent on her skin. 

“I made the choice to stay with Sam, but you don’t have to. As much as I’m not a big fan of the vampires, I value yours, and the other imprints, well-being above all else.” She pats your shoulder. 

“Now, for the most important question, Comedy or Rom-com?” 

—

tags: @fckwritersblock , @zoexme , @abluejay-comments , @solar2solstice

[beefrobeefcal]

Catfish to BigFish feat. Dark!Frankie Morales

Summary: Boston. The Frontiersmen is a crime syndicate that deals in drugs, arms, and anything else they can to keep themselves on top. But how did Frankie 'Catfish' Morales, the coke-addicted, lanky mess of a man become its leader? And where did the moniker 'BigFish' come from?

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 2,283 | 3+/- years before OTWF begins

Content Warning: threats of violence, crime, violence, betrayal, Big Fish is a bad man in the making, character death, allusions to drug use, swearing, choking, punching, eating, comments on body, weight gain, friendship but at what cost?, Tom is a bag of smashed assholes

Author's Notes: this is a prequel showing us the how, what, why, and where roughly three years before Honey comes into the picture in Chapter One: Signed and Sealed. The biggest, juiciest, wettest thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for brainstorming this with me and to @strang3lov3 and @noxturnalpascal for their love and eyes. Pour one out for @xdaddysprincessxx - she will need all the hydration she can get.

On the Waterfront Masterlist

“If it were anyone else…”, Tom warned. 

“Yeah, we know. But it’s not. It’s Fish. He’s one of us.”

Pope sat back and watched Will do something none of them thought they’d have to do – convince Tom to give a shit.

“He’s a fuckin’ coke head! Snortin’ our own shit and lyin’ about it!”, Tom boomed, standing over Will. “You ran the fuckin’ numbers, you can see how much money we lost up his fuckin’ nose! And now you wanna spend more money tryin’ to get that fucker clean again?”

Will didn’t bend. He didn’t shrink and he didn’t back down. “It’s Frankie. Catfish. Our Catfish. And he needs help.”

Tom huffed harshly enough in Will’s face that his hair moved, then turned his ire to Pope. 

“You think Fish’s worth it? Already cost us a shit load of money and Will wants to blow more on that fuckhead.”

Pope slipped into his smooth and nonchalant voice and crossed his arms. He’d hoped this would give Tom the impression that he was just as unnerved and steadfast as Will.

“You know he’d do the same thing for any of us.”

“Fuckin’ altruistic bullshit!”, Tom barked, slamming his fist on the table. 

Pope felt his blood heating up and his jaw tightening. Will looked over at him quickly, his blue eyes ice cold and angry, and then back to Tom. 

“I disagree. He’s just as much my brother as Benny is. Or you, or Santi. He’s family and I’ll get’m help as many times as possible. And you know what you’re sayin’s bullshit-“

“Fuck you and your fuckin’ family values dog shit! You and I both know that he’s gonna get clean, last a week or two, then shit’s gonna start goin’ missing again and he’s gonna be right back to bein’ the fuckin’ crypt keeper he looks like now! He’s not gonna change. We need to cut him loose and let him kill himself. He made his choice, Will! Admit it - Fish ain’t worth it!”

Will stood up and moved close to Tom, almost nose to nose. Yeah, Tom was bigger, stronger even, but Will was precise and skilled in a way that seeing him square up like that scared Pope. He unfolded his arms and stepped forward. 

“Hey! Hold up! We’re not gonna do th-“

“You’re supposed to be our leader – our fuckin’ captain.”, Will seethed lowly. “I’m not gonna take orders from some mother fucker who decides to ‘cut loose’ one of our own. Fish needs our help and fuck you for turnin’ your back on’ im.”

Tom glared at Will. “Fine.”, he spat, then dug his index finger in Will’s chest. “But when he he fuckin’ OD’s, it’s on you!”

*****

It felt like more than 90 days when Pope rolled up in front of the rehab centre to pick up Frankie, and when he saw him standing outside, waiting for him, he frowned. Not because he wasn’t glad to see him looking better and fuller, but because this was the third time he had picked Frankie up from a stint in rehab. 

Frankie pulled open the passenger door and slid in, not daring to look up. 

“Fish…”, Pope broke the silence as he put the car in drive. “You look good - ”

“How mad is he this time?”, Frankie interjected.

Pope sighed, knowing exactly how mad Tom was that the Frontiersmen funded another one of Frankie’s stays in an expensive treatment centre. The fact that Tom could be mad at Frankie for this used to baffle him, but by this time - the third time – he could at least see where Tom was coming from. It didn’t sway his growing dislike of their leader though. 

“You keep clean, and he won’t have a reason to be pissed.”

“Fuck… Santi… I try, and – “

“Just shut the fuck up and keep clean, Frank.” Pope snapped, cutting Frankie off in turn. “Besides, I have something in mind to keep you motivated.”

All Frankie could do was nod, despite not knowing what Pope could offer as motivation. He never wanted to relapse, but the call was too sweet, too enticing, for him to stay away too long. He’d said this the day before while he was going through the exit procedure and the facilitator just shrugged and said, “Find something else to get high on then.” 

*****

Less than two months after Frankie came back to the compound, Tom was dead. 

Pope had walked down the hallway to the office where Will waited, and he pushed open the door. Will had looked up, expecting to see Tom, and when he saw Pope instead, blood on his hands and splattered on his body and face, and wide eyed, he stood up, confusion etched on his face.

“Santiago… what the fuck is goin’-“

“He’s dead.”

Will dropped the file folder he held precariously and moved quickly to Pope’s side as he sat heavily in one of the armchairs. He wiped his hand over his face, smudging the semi-dried blood, and he sighed.

“Who’s dea- “

“Tom… Tom’s dead. He’s fuckin’ dead, Will.”

“Santi.”, Will said in a low, controlled voice that just barely masked the panic writhing below. “What happened?”

“I… I was… I didn’t…”, Pope paused, trying to find a way to confess. Instead, his conscience was silenced by his ego, and he found himself lying without even really thinking. “He was… taken out by… by the Gutierrez gang… those fuckers… they ambushed him, Will.”

Pope looked up at Will, daring to see if what he said even sounded feasible. To Will, Pope’s wide, frightened eyes convinced him to ignore the itch at the back of his brain, needling him to probe further.

“I was… I was with him when he… I found him before he died. He was fuckin’ babbling some shit… who was supposed to take over…”

Will’s eyes narrowed subtly, but enough for Pope to register. He knew he couldn’t say he was the one Tom wanted; it would be too suspicious. And he couldn’t say Will because that would give him full control - something Pope truly believed would be his own downfall. 

“He wanted Fish…”

*****

Frankie was a half a year sober – actually, really, fully, no-word-of-a-lie sober – and had been the head of the Frontiersmen for just shy of four months. He’d spent the last six months trying to find a new vice that wouldn’t render him a liability and bankrupt the organization. He was just barely making an impact as the new leader; no one took him seriously. He was skinny and quiet. Only his inner circle knew how violent and dangerous he could be, but even then, they knew he really had to be provoked to get him to that point.

Pope decided he had to do something. His plan to put Frankie in the captain’s chair was failing miserably, and he knew if he couldn’t land this, he would be sussed out. 

“Fish… come on… we’re going out for dinner.”, he said, slapping Frankie’s back.

He looked up at Pope, tired and miserable. “Why?”

“Because you need to eat. You’re skin and bones and no one wants to be led by a corpse.”

Frankie’s expression turned from confused to hurt as his shoulders dropped, feeling the weight of everyone’s expectations gnaw at his sobriety. He carried this somber aura all the way to the restaurant. 

*****

The dingy little Italian restaurant had a name – Marcello’s - and it became Frankie’s haven. It was nowhere near as festive or amazing as Benny had indicated. The way he raved about the place, Pope thought he was taking Frankie to a pasta titty bar paradise, and instead he found them in a mid-century dive with carpet and wood paneling on the walls. 

It wasn’t until the hostess came out from the bar to greet them that Pope understood exactly why Benny loved this place, and he understood it even more when they had their food served.  It had started out as once a week, then turned into almost every night. The effects of pasta, heavy cream sauces, and garlic bread we’re beginning to show on Frankie. Gone were the feeling of his ribs when Pope patted him on his back and gone were his sunken cheeks. Frankie had filled out and he was glad to see his friend looking better. 

That was, until he noticed something. Yeah, Frankie was clean from coke, but he seemed to have turned that same veracity that he’d once carried for the narcotic on to food. It used to be that Frankie could barely finish a frozen TV dinner, being able to stretch one over two meals. As Pope sat across from him at Marcello’s one Tuesday evening, he watched his friend plow through two whole plates of pasta in one sitting. Pope noticed that while Frankie ate, he seemed almost tranquil, serene.

He’d found something else to get high on.

There was a notable change in Frankie as he gained weight. The soft spoken, always amenable Frankie was slowly being enveloped by a bigger, meaner, and more vicious version of him. 

When he was thinner, Frankie could get lucky with women if he tried, but he wasn’t the most confident and rarely put himself out there. But as he grew, so did his self-esteem. He no longer sat back and accepted things as they were said to him – he questioned and even demanded answers, using his newfound size to intimidate if need be. If he saw something he liked, be it clothing, electronics, cars, he took it and gave no one a chance to say otherwise.

The legacy Tom left behind began to fade within the Frontiersmen as Frankie’s violence took centre stage. His quick temper and fists built a reputation; he was still quiet, but the silence he offered was no longer one of contemplation, it was one of simmering rage, liable to explode into violence at any moment. But this was within their group alone. No one outside of their crew took him seriously enough to even warrant giving him a foot in the door.

All of that changed one evening and Pope got a front seat to watch his plan to hide behind Frankie finally bear fruit. Catfish’s temper finally exploded on the right person to get the message out. 

Chuck, the leader of another group called the Golden Kings, had sat across from Frankie at a roundtable, hosted by one of the other gangs to broker agreements and territories. Chuck had taken every opportunity to remind everyone that Frankie was a junkie who used to pilfer his group’s own product to get high. When he stopped getting the reaction he wanted, Chuck moved onto Frankie’s weight, which had pretty well doubled since Tom’s death. 

Will, seated on the other side of Frankie, quietly said, “Let it go, Catfish.”

“Catfish?”, Chuck laughed cruelly. “Fuckin’ Catfish? Really? Fatfish is more like it. What happened, Morales? You eat your feelings ‘cause you can’t get high no more?”

Pope caught a glance at Frankie’s face which only could be described as dark and malevolent as a thunderclap. It unnerved him to see Frankie looking so dangerous around other people. It was one thing for him to beat one of their own for being a dipshit, but this was someone who wasn't below Frankie – he was ranks above him. Frankie sat, glaring across the table at Chuck, his elbows on the armrests and his hands tensely tenting his fingers.

It seemed that the rest of the men at the table could sense the electric tension between Frankie and Chuck. Dan Connor, leader of the Dead Rabbits and host for the evening, motioned to Frankie with a head nod. 

“Get it out, Morales. Can’t move on with you having a bitchfit at some name callin’.”

Pope knew none of these men took his friend seriously and it was either going to be Frankie using his keen negotiation tactics or Frankie showing off his newfound rage. 

The latter won. Frankie sat in silence as Chuck beat his mouth off at him, trying to get Frankie to react, to no avail. He didn’t speak; he just watched, letting Chuck keep talking, letting him fuel his violent rage even more, until it reached a tipping point. 

“You may be a big fish now, you fuckin’ goof, but you’re still a rat-faced junkie.”

It happened quickly. Frankie stood up and grabbed Chuck from across the table by his suit jacket lapel and pulled him to his side as his fist began beating into the man’s face over and over.

Chuck’s men stood up, but Dan Connor’s hand came out, motioning for them to sit. His own men waited for their cue to remove Frankie from Chuck, but Dan just watched in reverence.

The punching stopped and Chuck gurgled in pain, and Frankie wrapped his huge hands around Chuck’s throat and squeezed. 

“I am Big Fish, you fuckin’ cunt.”, he growled in a calm and low tone, then he spat on Chuck’s face.

Will looked at Frankie horrified, and Pope couldn’t help the grin that forced its way to his face. Dan finally motioned for his men to intervene, and it took all four to pry Frankie’s hands off the bloody, gasping mess that was Chuck. 

Chuck’s men moved to get their boss away from Frankie as he sat back in his chair, and nodded at Dan, signaling for him to continue. The room remained silent, save for the pathetic whining of Chuck in the hallway. Dan looked at Frankie, eyes narrowed, then finally he started laughing – hard.

“Fuckin’ BigFish Morales! Welcome to the table, asshole.”

no more taglist! follow @beefnotes for fic updates!

[david-talks-sw]

I can’t remember which post it was off the top of my head but you’ve mentioned how George was explicit that nothing in The Clone Wars directly influences Anakin’s fall to the Dark Side, what about indirectly? There’s the obvious one: Anakin finds it easier to give into his anger as the war goes on. But I was also thinking the events of Hardeen and Wrong Jedi arcs weaken Anakin’s trust in the Order that then plays into the circumstances in which his fall to the Dark Side took place. Like that weakened trust meant Anakin distanced himself which gives context for why he refused to go to Obi-Wan when the visions started.

It also fits with his character because one of Anakin’s flaws is that he takes things way to personally, e.g. he was not the only person the Council lied to about Obi-Wan’s fake death. Then when Ahsoka was leaving the Order after the Council let her down, which they did let her down, she had to remind Anakin that it was about her not him.

Of course weakened trust is nowhere near enough to cause someone to commit genocide and Anakin didn’t seem to make any effort to mend those fences either. And of course none of this would have happened without Palpatine manipulating things. Hence my question of how you think The Clone Wars indirectly influenced his journey to the Dark Side even as none of really tied to why Anakin ultimately fell.

I think you summed it up perfectly, actually.

If you're using Lucas' word as the "be-all, end-all", then The Clone Wars is indeed just an asterisk/addendum to the story of the films.

Its purpose? Providing context for the minor changes between Episode II and Episode III, changes that aren't exactly relevant to the story of Anakin's downfall.

"Anakin seems more mature and less whiny, in Episode III, what happened to change that?" He got a Padawan of his own during the Clone War and when you're put in charge of someone, you grow up real quick.

"He and Obi-Wan were constantly bickering in Episode II, now they're best buds, why?" In Episode II, Anakin was in Obi-Wan's care but felt he needed to leave the nest, whereas Obi-Wan was being a helicopter parent. In The Clone Wars, we see that once Anakin gets knighted, their relationship smooths over, now becoming a more brotherly bond than a parent/child one. Obi-Wan will sometimes worry that Anakin will fly off the handle, but he's also able to recognize his former Padawan is now his own man, whereas Anakin takes responsibility more frequently, now, due to now having a Padawan of his own.

"What's the relationship between Anakin and the other Jedi we saw in the background of the movies?" Find out by tuning in to The Clone Wars!

"The clones have names, now? And they're the Jedi's friends, when did all that happen!" You can find out by seeing them fight side-by-side with the Jedi and slowly becoming independent thinkers, only in The Clone Wars.

"The Jedi are more scheming and political in Episode III, they and Anakin are at odds... why the shift in attitudes?" They were drafted into a war, and forced to make compromise after compromise to a point where their values have been rendered pointless and they've become begrudging hypocrites. They're playing politics (and sucking at it) because they've been dragged onto a political chessboard and are trying to keep up with a far more skilled opponent. These terrible decisions impact all of them, even Anakin.

Stuff like that.

But none of that is relevant to Anakin's story, which is more personal, in nature. It's a story about how his own greed turned him into the very thing he swore to destroy, which parallels how the Republic became the Empire for those same reasons.

The films show us this, and The Clone Wars *reinforces* this narrative by giving us further examples of it.

While Anakin is aware of what's right and wrong... the more the war rages on, the more frequently he takes the "easy" path and gives in to his anger and selfish desires, enabled by Palpatine.

Sometimes Anakin does manage to get a grip, he does manage to take responsibility, he does learn to let go... but then something happens (often orchestrated by Palpatine) and he goes right back to square one... then square zero... then square minus one, etc.

He never takes that final step to being a more enlightened person.

The Clone Wars challenges the Jedi at times, questions their actions... but ultimately, the responsibility falls on Anakin's shoulders. The series will show you moments where they fail Anakin, but there's as many moments of him failing them.

Could the Jedi have done more? Yes. But if you think them doing more would've solved the problem, you're missing the point of the story of the Prequels.

Functionally, all that is achieved from the Council/Anakin conflict (again, orchestrated by Palpatine), in Episode III, is creating more pressure for Anakin to cave under. That's it.

They're not a meaningful factor in his turn to the Dark Side.

Padmé is.

When he's hesitating between saving Mace or saving Palpatine...

... he's not thinking "one of them was nice to me, but the other one was mean to me and kicked out Ahsoka, so I'll chop his hand off".

And he's not thinking "this isn't by the book, Mace you hypocrite!"

Lucas tells us what's going through his head, in that moment.

It's about Padmé living. And we've already established that what that's really about is "Anakin not wanting to live without her". So, really, it's about Anakin.

Mace and Anakin butting heads isn't even considered. If Mace had been laughing with Anakin and hugging him on the daily, Anakin still would've ended up chopping off his hand. It wasn't about Mace, it was about Anakin.

If Ahsoka had stayed with the Jedi Order, he still would've joined the Dark Side. Because it was never about Ahsoka, it was about Anakin.

If Qui-Gon had lived, Anakin would've still turned. It was never about Obi-Wan or Qui-Gon being the teachers, it was about Anakin.

Because the message of the story is basically that:

"Ultimately, it's up to you to take personal responsibility and be compassionate. If you avoid responsibility and give in to your darker impulses for selfish purposes, bad shit happens. The only meaningful change can come from within."

And in Anakin's case it didn't. He zigged instead of zagging at almost every turn.

Now, you can agree or disagree with that message. But that's what it is. Even some of the current Star Wars authors acknowledge this.

The story of Anakin Skywalker is told in the movies.

The Clone Wars is there as an addendum to:

Shine a spotlight/provide context on minor changes between Episode II and Episode III.

Humanize Anakin, to further drive the point that what happened to him can happen to anyone.

ADDENDUM:

[circular-bircular]

I think there genuinely is an enormous problem in online spaces, I think in part due to the whole concept of purity culture, where everything people say and do online is scrutinized — not just in the case of “Is this person a good person,” but “Does this person represent the values we wish to see 24/7.”

Nobody is perfect, dear lord, and this place is not the place to seek perfection regardless. This is tumblr, home of the go nuts, show nuts rule; tumblr, which is as invaded by fandom and was originally meant to be a pseudo Facebook. People who use this place didn’t come here originally to be activists. And if you did, I'm a little concerned, genuinely, for your mental health and how well you're distancing yourself from difficult subjects and giving yourself the time you need to decompress.

And yet, we keep holding people up to this frankly impossible standard of representing a movement, regardless of what their blog content originally was for. Suddenly, every system on tumblr has to represent a certain Ideal for System Rights! They have to have the right views on system accountability, endogenic systems, plurality as an umbrella, littles, dormancy, fusion, functional multiplicity, parts language, the ToSD-

This is fucking ridiculous. A laundry list of topics that people have on their shoulders, along with every other laundry list of things that people need to care about. Fuck you if you're oppressed in any single way, you need to form opinions on every single one of those things, and if any opinion is out of place, then You Are Not A True [IDENTITY].

Somewhere along the way, many of us (I’m including myself here for a reason) managed to either convince ourselves or be convinced that we need to be Correct in some way about how this all works. That’s prideful and haughty at best, but typically moreso just… so detrimental to healing. None of us will be perfect… and so, when those of us who aren’t perfect are imperfect publicly, we are often harassed or attacked — or some of us attack others, for whatever reason it may be. And somehow, someway, we accepted that this is just how it works.

It's okay to discuss those things you disagree with online. It's okay to look at someone's take about, say, system accountability, or plurality, or littles, and reblog with your corrections and even anger! But you must be doing this with acknowledgement that people will be in different places, healing in different ways, and that there is nothing wrong with that. They're their own person!

But moreover, that's a whole ass blog. That's not a reflection of a person as a whole -- hell, it's rarely a reflection of the person at all. It's just a blog that they can put anything on. Have we not all heard the stories of people who've "Completely Changed" online, becoming people who others cannot recognize? People lie on the internet, intentionally or not.

Even me. I try my best to be who I am in real life here, and I share a LOT of myself with you all. You know I'm a teacher, and engaged, and have the most perfectest little cat in the world. But do you know me? I recently just got to visit an online friend in person (It was absolutely fucking incredible and I can't wait to do it again), and the entire time, I felt like I was just so awkward; I really struggled to stay present and talk more, which is something I don't struggle with nearly as much online. Believe it or not, I am not this long-winded in real life.

Maybe that's not lying, but it's not who I am. It's me being fundamentally different online than in real life. You all see me entirely through just the blogs you know me through. Maybe it's circie bircie, maybe you know my D&D blog, maybe you know me through positivitycombopack, or maybe this just shows up randomly on your dashboard. Maybe you don't know me at all.

And that goes for every person you see online. Do you actually know them? Do you know their beliefs? What they stand for? Why they believe those beliefs?

Or are you just seeing a blog?

[i-really-like-phrogs]

So I watched Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, and I have some thoughts.

(BIG SPOILERS. If you have not watched it yet, do so before reading)

I didn’t have any expectations for this movie. Sure, I wasn’t thrilled that it was actually going to exist and was no longer a rumor; but I went in with as blind expectations of it as I could so I would take it at face value.

I nearly cried, several times—in the theater, and the entire ride home afterward… and it did not have anything to do with emotional beats.

I will be very honest, I’m really disappointed with how this movie turned out. They had everything going for them: The original actor, directors, the use of puppetry and special effects… but it just felt felt flat and washed out.

The biggest problem was that the story had zero focus. There were lots of good ideas: I loved the character of Delores, I was interested in learning about Beetlejuice’s past, Astrid and Lydia were okay… Except they were all just brushed over and added nothing to the story.

The scene where Astrid met her father and they reunited and he told them to take care of eachother didn’t make sense to me, because Lydia was just pretty much there, and Astrid was kind of a brat for no reason??? Yes, she hates her mom because she’s ’always talking to shitty ghosts’ or whatever, but why not do more with that? They should have put way more attention on Astrid and Lydia in my opinion, showed more of them actually trying to bond, because the end scene felt rushed and undeserved.

Also, the characterization just did not make sense. It was all the same faces, but none of the characters bounced off eachother or had any chemistry. They all felt flat, less than one dimensional. It really felt like an SNL parody of them rather than an official movie.

And the lack of ENERGY in the movie? Please do not get me started! They were trying to do lots of funny things with visuals and whatnot, but there was no heart to it, or campiness with something to say. you laughed, but it didn’t resonate with you because it just felt like it was thrown at you to try and cover up the fact that the story itself had no legs. Why was Delores even there when all she did was suck some unimportant characters, only to get eaten by a sandworm? Why didn’t she cause any problems to Lydia, or heck, even to Beetlejuice? I hate to say it, but you could take her out of the movie and nothing would change!

Grrr, grrr grrr… This movie made me very sad, because it forgot everything about the heart and goofiness that made the original special. The fact that most of the better fanfiction I have read does a better job of capturing this and their characters makes me angry to no end!

I’m sorry for being so mad. I will have some nicer things to say, but as for right now… I am going to take up my offer on pretending this movie doesn’t exist.

The movie was disheartening, but it doesn’t change how much I love the original as well as the other adaptations. I will adore every second of the original, there will still be cartoon doodles all over my sketchbook, the musical will still be on my bucket list of things to see live.

If anything, I can let it inspire me to create my own version of these characters thirty years into the future. Fanart is a valuable skill eable way to build on an idea and learn new skills, plus it helps me figure out what I do like in a story and what I want to avoid.

I will have much, much more to say… but I think that’s it for now.

[velvetyraincoat]

I enjoyed the show because it scratched that KotOR itch that I desperately crave, but I can’t get over just how many scenes in The Acolyte didn’t make very much sense.

It feels like a lot of characters ended up making strange decisions purely for the sake of plot and I kept having moments where I felt like I was an idiot or like I missed something.

I made a list of big holes that I had trouble filling in my own head. Maybe someone smarter than me can explain this show to me.

Spoilers for The Acolyte S01 below

- After Sol rescues Osha and she clears her name, she says that she wants nothing to do with the situation and that Mae is the republic’s problem. She’s very clear as to what her desires are and they devote a bunch of time giving her goodbyes and then trying to sneak off. Then Sol is like “but what if you helped me??? 🥺”. And she’s like ‘ok’, and changes her mind without any hesitation. Why?

- Why did Mae decide to tie up Manny Strangerface on Khofar and give up on her quest? When this happened, I assumed she was just making up an excuse to ditch him, but it turned out genuine which was really weird. Mae has devoted her whole life to killing these people. She also called her sister Jedi scum earlier and didn’t seem to bear any real attachment to her. Where did this change of heart come from?

- Why did Darth Nobody make his dramatic appearance and morb all over all those Jedi guys? Why not just kill Mae earlier when she tied him up? Surely if he can kill a whole squad of Jedi, he can Force his way out of a stupid rope trap.

- On that note, how is it that Jecki, the padawan, is capable of squarely holding her own in an extended fight scene against a guy who just three-man solo decapitated a bunch of Jedi knights in two seconds?

- Yord gets instructions to take Osha back to the ship, despite Osha’s protest to stay. But then Osha has a vision of her sister and suddenly Yord is like “ok that checks out guess we’ll turn around then”. What?

- The thing with Pip as a flashlight. Why didn’t Powerful Sith Guy just use the Force to pull it off of himself? Seems kind of obvious, no?

- Mae stuns Osha and then clothes swaps with her. Didn’t Mae just renounce her dark side master in the name of her love her her sister? But she’s going to just leave Osha to be found by her master now?? What? Why?

- Everything about Darth Swole Guy after he picks up Osha and nurses her back to health. We just saw him being the world’s biggest dickhead, but he’s nice now? Why? Osha even asks him why he’s being nice to her, lampshading the question, but it just never really gets answered. Guess he’s just a nice guy now.

- Everything with Mother Aniseya. We’re expected to see Ascension as this big culturally important thing that the Jedi are butting into, but none of it seems particularly important to Aniseya (the coven leader) who is willing to just look the other way and let Osha do whatever she wants (valuing her individualism the same way the Jedi do). The cultural relativism plot sort of breaks down when the two cultures don’t have, you know, conflicting values.

- Every single time there’s a question of whether to go with tradition or let the girls do what they want, Aniseya actively steps against tradition in the name of ‘it’s what Osha wants’. If the leader of the coven can say that it’s not that important and let Osha leave, then why is it bad for the Jedi to interfere? It don’t make no sense.

- In the finale, why does Osha agree to train with qimmy again? She says she will take her sister’s place, but why is this an option? Also, why doesn’t he want to kill Mae anymore? Didn’t he want to kill her for being weak or whatever back when he was still Darth Scaryguy the first time they met him?

- Why erase Mae’s memories if they are just going to leave her to the Jedi anyway? The whole Vernestra questioning scene where Mae does the Rosemary Kennedy bit just felt so weird, gross, and unnecessary. “Who am I? What is this place and how did I get here?” — Dude me too, Mae. Questions I ask myself when watching The Acolyte.

- Why leave her alive at all even? Why not just kill her and tie off the loose end? Isnt that kind of show of strength what the Sith are known for?

- Why torch Sol’s reputation at the end? If you have no moral backbone and are already about to admit there was an evil Jedi guy but are really Sol’s friend, then just put Mae on trial. You literally have her in custody. Why not just execute her and call it a day?

look I really want to like this show. The casting is fantastic, the acting is overall pretty good, and the special effects are so incredibly cool and perfectly capture the vibe of an older time in the Republic era. I wish I could say this show was amazing because it panders to the exact kind of Star Wars shit I love, but it’s so incredibly hard to get past the fact that the writing is so internally incoherent with its own plot and characters.

[nightmarerodent]

I really enjoy reading your headcannons!

Tell me, do you have like... Very sad once? About mk kids? 👀

I m sorry if my question sounds too cruel or rude--

Oh no worries, Honey. I love torturing my kiddos. 😁

Cassie has massive imposter syndrome and anxiety around her position as a leader.

When she was a kid, both her parents didn’t have a lot of time for her and she’d find herself alone or forgotten. Now she makes a big show of herself and constantly butts into her friend’s lives so they don’t get the opportunity to forget her. She’s lost several friendships/relationships because of this in the past.

Jacqui constantly strives for perfection trying to win her dad’s approval. She idolizes him and the fact that he doesn’t approve of any of her interests or career choices hurts like hell.

Jacqui and her father fight constantly about Takeda and the two love birds had actually split up a few times in the early days of their relationship because of it. None of these break ups ever lasted long but they hurt like hell when they were separated. After it became clear Jax was never going to change his mind she just stopped bringing the topic of Takeda up altogether.

If there was a contest for who on Earth has the most abandonment issues Takeda would win by a landslide. It makes him very clingy in his relationships. After being dropped off at the Shirai Ryu by his father, a man he’s only known for all of three days, and then never hearing from him ever again, Takeda’s tiny little 8 year old mind internalized that as there being something wrong with him and that no one wanted him. He closed himself off and it took years for Hanzo to get him to open back up again. Now he clings to his relationship with the Grandmaster and for the longest time refused to acknowledge that he was anything other than Hanzo’s son since he was the only person that never walked away from him.

This is also why he tries to be liked by everyone in the room. He doesn’t want anyone to leave him. He’ll joke, he’ll smile, he’ll mediate, anything to keep the peace and keep people happy. He’ll bury his anger until it’s safe to use it in a fight, and there’s a lot of it. The little voice in his head that wants to burn everything to the ground, friends and family be damned. They’re all going to leave eventually anyway. All they’re ever going to do is hurt you. Why not hurt them back? Why not hurt them first? It’s only fair. It might even be fun. He ignores this voice as best he can.

Jin has massive trust issues. He can never take anything at face value because the last time he did he was kicked to the streets for something he couldn’t control and had no say in. You can’t trust people and can only rely on yourself. People slow you down, it’s better to go it alone. Safer.

His pride is another thing. He’s been doing things his way for this long, clearly something is working. He doesn’t need to be told what to do because he knows how to handle things himself. These people don’t know what they’re talking about and they sure as hell don’t know him. If anything they should be following his lead. He knows what he’s doing. Otherwise they should just get out of his way.

Frost has nightmares. Nightmares about her mother. Nightmares about the fighting pits. About cold nights sleeping on the streets. About beatings and screaming and hateful words. Every time she wakes up in tears. Every time she feels so weak and small and helpless. She hates it. She has to be stronger. She has to be better. She has to prove to herself, to the world, that she is stronger. Better. She’s not helpless. She’s not weak. She’s better. Better than all of them combined.

[xxx-theartofsuicide-xxx]

I had to pass out last night so I didn’t get a chance to take a look at your posts until now, and this is easier than reblogging shit over and over. And forgive me for missing things - it’s ass o,clock in the morning here. I really like your theory about it being married to the cartoon, because I do feel like the Beetlejuice we got in the second movie is a lot more like that iteration than the first movie. I’m also happy to keep both entities separate but fan theories are part of what makes fandom great and I can definitely see it. The theory that I agree with most is that the ENTIRE second film is the dream and this is BJ’s way, during the wedding scene, of letting us know that none of this is real. Couple of possibilities here:

1) Her waking up at the end with the indented pillow I think could be a nod to something like you suggested where she grew up, never got hitched or had a kid and she’s just been clowning around with BJ the whole time, much of which as a couple, maybe they do even have the ghost house show but it’s a long con they’re running together from both sides lol. Otherwise, why show him in bed with her at all?

2) Could Charles death brought her and the others to the house and allowed BJ to use her dreams to show her the truth about her relationship with Rory and her daughter?

3) I also like the to play with the idea that it isn’t all a dream up to a certain point, and that there’s a time skip between their escape before failed second wedding and when she has the dream about the future only for it to turn into the beetle baby nightmare lol. People can take it at face value to play with that. In that scenario she’d have to wake up and make changes because Rory would still be in the picture, and maybe she can keep Delia from killing herself lol. There’s a lot there to work with.

This is part of the genius of Burton, Gough and Millar tho. I think where fans run into trouble is that some folks cannot accept that it can be interpreted many ways and that all the ways are technically correct. You can take and leave whatever you want. I think a great example of that inability to accept differences is like…

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’d say within the last seven years or so, fans have gotten really aggressive about canon actualization and then bringing the disappointment (sometimes in extreme ways) when the creators and writers of a work take the plot and its characters in a direction the disagrees with their head canons and desires for the work. And we get all kinds of weird harassment of writers and actors and shit and just, I’m from an entirely different school of thought.

It’s always been my understanding that transformative works like fanart and fanfiction were where fans went to create the outcomes they desired for their favorite stories and characters. I’ve never understood the need to have a headcanon or canon to become actual canon. I feel like canon has its space and fandom, likewise, has its own space, and if something from fandom actualizes into canon, awesome. But if it doesn’t, then who cares? So all these antis and others who refuse to accept that art is made to be interpreted just seem so silly to me. Which is why I responded to your post originally. So, I apologize for mischaracterizing you.

Apology accepted, and I'm sorry if any of my responses were needlessly harsh. I most definitely have noticed the rise in vitriol. I was here through all of it and was a key player in the Beetlewars. There was a time when you couldn't Google "beetlebabes" without finding antis complaining about me specifically by name on all the big social media platforms. It's made me a bit jaded in my response to others, but at my core I am a person who respects artistic freedom and freedom of fan interpretation.

In fact, I think the whole point of Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is that it's a spite film meant to insult fans who take it too literally. I strongly urge all of my haters to please, please take the plot literally lmao. I want them to. Tim wants them to.

The need for "headcanon" to become canon is weak af. As far as I'm concerned, my interpretation is canon because it's derived entirely from canon. I don't need Tim or Winona or any of the legends to validate that for me. This is partially why I'm not a fan of BJ3 begging. It feels greedy to me. I've learned my lesson about asking for more beetlebabes smdh.

The dreamverse is just canon, honestly. It's up to user interpretation where the dream starts and how much of the fantasy is indeed a fantasy, but it makes the most sense to me that the entire plot is hooey. Basically every lifelong babe I know prefers to believe that Lydia spent her life with BJ and I don't see why Winona would be any different. Personally, I think they're in the twisted cuck phase of their marriage.

As a bonus, here's my literal interpretation.