#neither of them can do anything other than half damage to her

[lxvsiick]

O U R

PART 12 | SUNGHO FIRST WIN!! (written)

A/N: guys it’s been so long since i’ve been on less than 5 hours of sleep and 2 hours of sleep is making me crash out 😵‍💫 ,, bouta pull a y/n and down 4 cups of coffee ,, might have to hibernate once i finish my classes today

୧⋆｡🕯. -ʚɞ

Taesan trudged down the hall, swinging a bag of Subway in his hands. Out of nowhere, Sungho had begged him to bring lunch, practically promising his firstborn in exchange for a burger and fries. He sighed, wondering why he always gave in so easily. At least he’d get to sit down after this, or so he hoped.

Pushing open the door to the art room, the smell of paint and ink immediately hit his nose. The room was well-lit, with tables scattered around, various projects in different stages of completion. His eyes quickly found Sungho, who was lounging at a nearby table with someone else.

Then he saw her.

The girl who had dropped a massive book on his head at the library. His heart skipped a beat as he hesitated in the doorway, the bag of food feeling heavier in his hands.

Sungho spotted him first, grinning wide. “Oh, you’re here! Thanks, man. Just set the food down for a sec.” He nodded toward the table in front of him, where she was seated, working on a sketch.

Trying to keep his cool, Taesan awkwardly stepped forward and placed the bag of food down. He couldn’t help but glance at her, who looked up and smiled politely. He wasn’t ready for that—his stomach did an unexpected flip.

“By the way,” Sungho said, gesturing between them, “you two should meet.” He gave a lazy shrug, leaving the introductions vague. “I’ll let you ask each other’s names. I’ll be in the office eating.” A teasing grin on his lips, he grabbed his bag of food and slipped out, leaving them alone.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Taesan stood there, suddenly feeling very out of place in a room full of unfinished art and half-sketched projects. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at her, trying to muster something to say.

“Uh… h-hey,” he managed, giving her a small, nervous smile. “I guess we haven’t officially met.”

She smiled back, just as awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess not. I’m Kim Y/n.”

“Oh, uh, I’m Han Taesan or Han Dongmin. B-but you can just call me Taesan.” he stammered, trying to keep his voice steady. “But you can call me yours” is what you really wanted to say, right? SHUT UP BRAIN! Why did his name suddenly feel weird in his mouth? He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the art project in front of her, desperate for something to focus on that wasn’t her face. If he focused on her face, he wasn't so sure he would remember anything else.

The silence that followed was heavy and awkward, stretching longer than it should have. Taesan shifted on his feet, his heart pounding, when she suddenly broke the silence.

“Hey, um…” she started, gesturing to a large book sitting on the table next to her. “I wanted to apologize again for, uh, dropping that massive art book on your head the other day.” Her tone was sincere, but there was a hint of a nervous smile tugging at her lips.

“Oh, that…” Taesan gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah, that’s okay. No permanent damage or anything.” He was trying to joke, but it came out stiffer than he intended. He mentally kicked himself for being so awkward.

She laughed softly, the tension breaking just a little. “Well, that’s good. I was afraid I might’ve knocked you out or something. That book weighs a ton.”

“Yeah, it did feel like getting hit by a brick,” he said, finally relaxing a bit. “But, you know, I’ve survived worse.”

They shared a brief smile, the awkwardness still lingering but not as intense now. He wasn’t sure if he should keep the conversation going or let it fizzle out, but Y/n seemed a little more at ease, which helped him breathe a bit easier.

“So uh… art major?” Taesan asked, gesturing to the work she was doing.

She nodded. “Yeah. What major are you?”

“I’m a music composition major.” Taesan answers, nervously fidgeting with his rings.

“Oh, that’s cool.” The beating of his heart was making Taesan dizzy. He still couldn’t believe Sungho knew her this whole time. Park Sungho, you bastard.

“S-so are you a junior like Sungho hyung?” Taesan rambled out. Placing her pencil down, Y/n shakes her head.

“No, I’m a sophomore.” Taesan widens his eyes. She was in the same year as him? 

“O-oh we’re the same year then.” Taesan says. “Wow, you’re a sophomore and you’re on the same level as Sungho hyung.” Y/n lets out a small, embarrassed laugh.

Just as the conversation was starting to feel a little less awkward, the door to the office swung open, and Sungho reemerged, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Alright, I’m good to go. You ready?”

Taesan turned to face him, caught off guard by how fast the time had passed. “Yeah, sure,” he replied, giving Y/n a quick glance.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/n,” Sungho said as he started to head toward the door. As he passed Taesan, he gave him a teasing smirk to which Taesan squinted at.

Taesan gave her a small wave. “Yeah, see you around,” he mumbled.

“Bye,” she said, smiling at them both as they made their way out.

As they left the art room, Taesan couldn’t help but feel the strange mixture of relief and regret. He’d survived the awkward encounter, but somehow, he wished it hadn’t ended so soon. Turning to Sungho, Taesan gives him a light punch on the arm.

“You knew her this whole time, hyung?” Taesan says, his eyes squinted at the older boy. Sungho shrugs with an innocent face.

“You never asked.”

୧⋆｡🕯. -ʚɞ

PART 11 | PART 13

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST [OPEN]: comment a 🐝 to be added

@tkooooop @ktzuki @dalliesque @cherrytaesan @crispy-kirby @onedoorland @chnhnyu @nujeskz @txjuns @prettiann @imuziawi @lynnimini @woorcve @swanyvess

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, lxvsiick, 2024

[runnning-outof-time]

Better Than the Dream | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: After meeting in France, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Tommy Shelby were certain that they'd never see each other again...until one fateful moment has Tommy dreaming of her, or maybe he's not dreaming at all.

Warnings: language, mentions of drinking, talk of war, injuries, blood, hospitals

Word Count: 3388

A/N: I….I’m not sure how I feel about this one…as I was finishing it, I realized that it was like my other story ‘Called to Serve’, even though there are some differences to the story. I decided to set it after Tommy’s injury in season 2. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: also I’m sorry this is being posted late…I didn’t have much time to get it edited today.

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

"Would you stop fucking wincing? You're gonna get that bloody thing stuck into me hand as well," Tommy grumbled as he continued to hold down pressure on his fellow soldier's hand so that he wouldn't bleed out anymore than he had already.

"I'm trying me best, Sergeant Major...it really fucking stings though," Donny, the unfortunate one who'd gotten barbed wire stuck in his hand while their company was on overhaul, responded, the second half of his words coming out like a hiss as he winced yet again.

The curtain that was separating the bed and chair these two men were occupying moved before Tommy could say anything else. From behind it came a woman, dressed in a nurse's outfit with a clipboard in her hands. "Donald White?" she asked as she looked up from the papers, a polite smile on her face.

"That'd be me," Donny responded, raising his good hand as he spoke, "me Sergeant Major's come with me...he needed to make sure the bleeding was controlled," he added then, explaining the other man's presence.

"Hi," she sent a nod and a smile in his direction, almost immediately noticing the pair of ocean blue eyes he had. She had to look back at the patient so that she didn't get sucked into them. "What's happened here?" she asked then, focusing on the injury.

"We were doing overhaul and I got this section of barbed wire stuck in me hand. Most of it was able to be removed, but there's still some left inside," Donny explained. Tommy let go of the cloth he'd been applying pressure to so that Donny could unwrap it and show the nurse the extent of the injury.

The woman nodded almost immediately after seeing the damage that had been done. It was pretty obvious that there was at least one barb and some wire still stuck in his palm. "I'm going to get the doctor to come over...he'll be able to extract it," she explained the next steps of treatment as she went about writing some things down on the clipboard.

"You've an English accent," Donny pointed out, a bit of a smile forming on his face. Neither he, nor Tommy, were expecting to hear one in a French run hospital.

"I do," the nurse answered, laughing slightly.

"Where're ya from?" Donny asked.

"Solihull," she answered with a polite smile.

"Ahh, ok," Donny nodded.

"I'm going to get the doctor now so that he can have a look at your hand. My name's (Y/N), if you need anything," she addressed both of the soldiers then, sending them one last smile before she turned and exited the closed off area.

Donny turned to Tommy with a grin seconds after (Y/N) had exited the room they were in. "She's fuckin' gorgeous, ain't she?" he asked, nudging Tommy's arm with his good hand. Tommy finally brought his eyes away from the section of curtain (Y/N) had exited through to look at his comrade. He didn't have to say anything, because the second Donny saw his face, he was speaking again, "yeah, she is...got you too stunned to speak," he ragged on his superior like they were part of the same rank again, and all Tommy could do was roll his eyes.

He wasn't going to deny something that was as obvious as the light of day. Their company had been given a week-long reprieve, and even though they were only one day into it, Tommy knew that he wasn't going to see a woman that was more beautiful than her. So he kept his mouth shut and listened to Donny's goading, allowing him some time to soak it up while he was injured.

——

Tommy returned to the same wing that he'd left his fellow soldier in two days ago, keeping his eyes peeled for the woman who he couldn't seem to get out of his mind since she left the room the other day. He, thankfully, found her, standing at one of the nurse's stations at the end of the hall.

"(Y/N), isn't it?" he asked as he approached her, successfully getting her attention.

"It is," she answered as she turned to smile at him, "what is it, Sergeant Major? Are you looking for Donny?" she asked, her voice sounding like sweet music to his ears.

"I'm not...was looking for you actually," he answered her, not caring how straightforward he sounded.

(Y/N)'s eyes widened slightly out of surprise when she heard his statement. "Me?" she checked to make sure, tilting her head slightly to show her interest in the answer.

"Yeah," Tommy nodded, "I was wondering if you'd want to go out and get a drink after your shift's finished?" he boldly asked her. A more pronounced look of surprise formed on (Y/N)'s face. That immediately made Tommy backtrack, "that might have been a bit too forward of me. I haven't even asked if you have someone, or if you're busy."

"No, it's fine," (Y/N) brushed him off, "I quite like the confidence actually," she added then, flashing a smile and letting out a slight laugh.

"So you'd be willing to join me?" he asked her, allowing a smile to form on his face. Her laugh, much like her voice, was music to his ears.

(Y/N) nodded before giving a verbal answer, "yes. My shift finishes at the top of the hour."

"I'll meet you outside," Tommy suggested, making her nod again. He nodded back, showing that he was happy that the plans had been finalized, before he decided he'd let her get back to work. "Which room was Donny in actually?" he asked her after she'd taken a few steps away from him.

She turned around to smile at him. "So you weren't only here for me?" she decided to tease him slightly.

"No. Just figured I'd see him while I'm here," he grinned, loving her attitude and the fact that she was able to banter with him despite everything going on around them.

"He's four doors down," she told him, pointing past him down the hallway.

"Thank you," he said to her, nodding one last time before he turned and went to his comrade's room.

—

"Are you only here because of Donny?" (Y/N) asked once their laughter caused by a story Tommy had told trailed off. She had her head rested on her arm that was propped up on the bar, and she was giving Tommy her full attention.

"No," he shook his head, looking briefly down at his glass as he let out a soft scoff, "we were granted a week's leave and sent into town instead of home...someone thought it'd be less money to keep us close. Cheap bastards," he explained then, muttering the final two words under his breath.

"Donny's having a terrible week off then," she commented, remembering the man that had come into her ward the other day.

"He managed to do it while we were doing overhaul," he shared another detail about the accident with her.

"Tough luck," (Y/N) stated, shaking her head as a look of sympathy formed on her face.

"That's Donny for you," Tommy responded, chuckling slightly at the thought of his friend.

"So where do they have you staying?" she asked him then, moving their conversation to another topic.

"A boarding house in town," he answered before adding, "it's an absolute shit hole."

(Y/N) sent him a sympathetic smile before looking at the bar. "I don't have anyone," she said out of nowhere, her statement shifting the topic of conversation yet again.

"What?" Tommy asked her, his brows furrowed as he looked at her once more. He was confused by her sudden statement, unsure of how to link it to what they'd been talking about.

"You said before that you hadn't asked if I had someone...I don't," she filled him in, calling back to the statement that he'd made at the hospital. Tommy nodded his head in response to her statement and looked at his glass again. Silence fell between them for a moment before she spoke again: "do you have anyone?" she asked him, her question making his eyes snap to hers in seconds.

He looked her over, his brows slightly furrowed in surprise. He didn't expect her to ask such a question. But he wasn't going to waste time answering it. "No," he told her, shaking his head for extra measure.

(Y/N) felt her throat go dry at his answer. Am I really going to do this? she asked herself, taking a moment to think her choices over. "It might be a bit forward of me to ask this, but..." she trailed off, thinking over it again. Ah, why not? "Would you like to come home with me tonight?" she asked her question, rushing to get in: "it'd give you a chance to sleep in a proper bed," so that her intentions weren't that out there in the open.

Who could blame her though? Almost all of the men around her age living here had gone off to fight as well. There wasn't anyone left, and as much as she hated to admit it...she still had desires too. And the fact that Tommy was a good looking man greatly helped the cause.

Tommy looked her over again after hearing her proposition. A grin ghosted over his lips as he nodded his head slightly before answering, "I would like that."

His answer made the fire that (Y/N) had been feeling in her stomach since the moment he'd found her today begin to burn out of control. She couldn't help but exude a giggle, feeling giddy that her attempt had actually worked.

"Would you...want to get out of here now?" Tommy asked her then, trailing off in the middle of his sentence, but completing it before she could interject with anything.

"Yes," her answer was said in a breathless manner, but he heard her loud and clear, and the two left the bar after paying what they owed.

—

The door to the apartment was barely shut before Tommy had trapped (Y/N) in his arms. It was no secret what the two wanted from each other. The hand holding and shoulder brushing on the walk back made it rather clear. But still, his kiss took (Y/N)'s breath away, and the way that her hands were roaming his body made Tommy feel dizzy; something he hadn't felt with the women he'd been with before.

Every night for the rest of the week ended that way for Tommy and (Y/N). He would come to the hospital to check in on Donny and then would wait around for the rest of (Y/N)'s shift until she could leave. They'd go to the tavern for some drinks before winding up at her apartment again; where they'd end the night wrapped up in each others' arms.

It was a nice arrangement, one that lasted right up until Tommy came to the hospital at the end of the week. Donny was being released after his stay (his hand had thankfully healed without infection) and their unit was due to move onto another station. Which meant that it was time for Tommy and (Y/N) to say goodbye.

The two soldiers were walking down the hallway when (Y/N) exited one of the rooms she was cleaning. Her eyes immediately found Tommy, and they widened visibly. Without thinking, she backed up into the room in hopes that he wouldn't have seen her. But the knock on the door told her otherwise. Of course, she let him in.

"I wanted to say goodbye...before we shipped out to our next station," Tommy started, a solemn look on his face. Spending time with her this past week was the closest to normal he'd gotten in a long time.

"I appreciate that," (Y/N) answered, a sad smile forming on her face as her eyes met his for a moment. She didn't have it in her to hold his gaze for it might have made her start to cry.

"This past week was lovely, (Y/N)," he told her, taking her hands into his. "Thank you."

"I enjoyed it too," she answered, her heart squeezing as she admitted this. It was making the situation all the more real.

"C-can I kiss you one last time?" he asked her then, wanting to kick himself for how juvenile he sounded.

"Please," she breathed quicker than she would have liked, but the timing didn't phase Tommy. Upon hearing her answer, he dropped her hands and grabbed her cheeks, pulling her to him for one last head-spinning kiss. They broke away moments after, their foreheads finding each other. "Goodbye, Tommy," (Y/N) was the first to speak, and she hated that her voice cracked when she said these two words.

"Goodbye, (Y/N)," he repeated her farewell, lifting his head so that he could press his lips to her forehead before he dropped his hands from her completely.

They offered each other a sad smile before he exited the room, leaving her alone once again.

"So that's why you were coming to see me every bloody day, eh?" Donny questioned with a wide grin on his face once Tommy was back by his side.

"Fuck off, Donny," Tommy grumbled, not in the mood for the banter.

"Ahh, I get it. It's hard to leave," Donny commented, picking up the signals that Tommy was putting down.

The two walked out of the hospital then without saying another word to each other. Back inside, (Y/N) had to put a smile back onto her face before she re-entered the hallway, even though she was hurting because she knew she’d never see Tommy Shelby again.

——

—1921—

Tommy was slipping in and out of consciousness as he was carried by stretcher into the hospital. He couldn't remember much from the beating he’d gotten; just that Sabini had been standing over him, grinning, as one of his men aimed a revolver at him. The Italians then scattered after another weapon was fired, and Campbell became visible before he blacked out completely.

He knew he was at a hospital now. The blinding, overhead lights of the operating room easily gave it away. There were doctors working on him. He could just barely feel their prodding as they tried to figure out the extent of his injuries. Every inch of his body hurt. It hurt just to think, and he couldn’t bear it much longer. So he closed his eyes and allowed complete blackness to overtake him.

The room was much darker when Tommy woke again. He looked around as best as he could, trying to get familiar with his surroundings. Things were starting to come together when he felt something touch his cheek. He jerked his face away before quickly turning his head to see (Y/N) (Y/L/N) with a rag in her hands. She looked worried, but not put off by his sudden movement.

"You...you found me again?" Tommy stammered, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. It was slowly becoming apparent to him that he was in her apartment in France.

"You were attacked. They brought you here," she explained to him while dipping the rag into a bowl, "I need to get you cleaned up." He nodded and allowed her to continue on with what she was doing.

"Can I hold you again?" he asked after silence had been hanging between them for a few moments.

She looked around the room for a moment, which Tommy found odd. "You can," she then answered, and he wasted no time in opening his arms for her. She smiled before moving into them.

Tommy inhaled her scent as she settled in his arms. He found it odd that he couldn't really feel her, but he didn't think too much into it. He had her again. "Can I stay here with you forever?" he asked after they'd been still for a few minutes.

(Y/N) giggled as she heard his question. "I'm not sure if you'd be allowed to..." she trailed off, her smile a sight for his sore eyes.

"What do you mean?" he furrowed his brows, confused by her response.

"Wake up, Tommy," she said to him, her statement confusing him even more. In what way is that a response to my question? he wondered, but yet he couldn't ask her because she was speaking again, "Tommy..." this time her statement was accompanied with a slight shake.

Things got much brighter in the room then, so bright that it made Tommy squeeze his eyes shut. He couldn't handle the pain that it was causing in his head. When he opened his eyes again, everything was different. He was no longer in (Y/N)'s apartment, instead he was in what looked to be a rather large hospital room. He was laying down instead of sitting, and he didn't have his arms around the woman he couldn't seem to erase from his mind. But she was still in front of him.

"(Y/N)..." he said her name, his voice still groggy. He felt a heaviness in his hand and it made him glance down to find that he was holding hers. "Wha...how are you here?" he asked, his confusion apparent in his words.

"I'm your nurse, Tommy," she answered him, throwing the formalities out the window. She felt that they were past all of that.

"Are we still in France?" he asked her next. This hospital seemed to be in much better condition than the one he remembered meeting her in, but it was the only way he could make this make sense.

"No," she shook her head softly, a gentle smile on her face. This information made Tommy's brow furrowed in confusion. "I think you were having a dream, Tommy," (Y/N) spoke up when she noticed his expression.

"But you're still here..." he trailed off, voicing the part that he was most confused about. He was unsure in saying it though because he didn't want her to disappear when he admitted this observation.

"I moved from Solihull after a position opened up. I work here now," she explained to him, her answer making his confusion dissipate. He simply nodded at this new information, taking a moment to think about what it meant.

Silence fell between them after she finished speaking, and she took that as her go ahead to complete some of the tests that she was required to run.

Tommy was the one to speak after a few minutes had passed, "so you're in Birmingham for good now?" he questioned her, watching intently as she continued checking him.

"I am," she answered, not losing focus on what she was doing. Another period of silence began. (Y/N) waited until she was finished with her tasks before she looked at him again. "So the dream you had..." she started off, unsure of how she'd word the question that had been burning in her mind since he came to, "is me being here better, or worse?"

Tommy chuckled slightly at her question, "oh this is better, love. You being here now is way better than the dream," he told her, a grin tugging the corner of his lips upwards. (Y/N) smiled at his admission. "And this may be a bit straightforward, but I wanted to know if I could take you out for dinner?" he asked her then, not wanting to waste any more time in getting them reacquainted with each other, "if you don't have anyone, that is," he added to the end.

(Y/N) giggled slightly as his final statement made her think back to the first night they shared with each other. "I don't have anyone," she started, a smile forming on her face, "and I'd love to have dinner with you, but..." she trailed off then, biting on her bottom lip. Tommy sat up straighter as he waited intently for what she would say next. (Y/N) noticed this and couldn't help but smile as she delivered the rest of her statement, "we need to make sure you get healthy first."

Tagged: @mgcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @raincoffeeandfandoms @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @lora21 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cilliansangel @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable

MASTERLIST

[just-a-random-dead-thing]

~Lost and found~ (Larissa Weems x student!reader)

The reader is 19 in this fic!!! The show makes it clear they have students well above the age of consent.

Sorry for the longer than expected wait! Mocks are a bitch and a half! The reader is a snarky little shit in this chapter btw- The chapters will be getting slightly longer as I get more comfortable with the story but please let me know if you would prefer shorter chapters.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 (1.2k words)

Thank you for all your kind words about the last chapter <3 I hope you continue to enjoy my shitty angst!!!

Lastly thank you once again to @thefangedman for the editing to make the story make any semblance of sense. You should check out their Tiffany Valentine fic! It's amazing!!!

Static takes over my senses. I slowly come round from my near death experience at the hands of my own Headmistress - ‘my duty is to protect all the students within these walls’ my ass. The glaring lights start to bother my shut eyes, begging me to open them and rejoin the living world. I'll give it 5 more minutes. I haven't had a nap like this in years.

Just as I'm getting comfortable, I hear the tapping of heels on a wooden floor, pacing back and forth. From what I can piece together, Weems accidentally impeded my ability to breathe; I passed out and she has dragged me to her office because she's too embarrassed to tell the nursing staff what happened. Hmm... I should have some fun with her. Fake amnesia seems like it'll do the trick. I mentally smirk, thinking over the horrified reaction I'll get to see on her face.

I flutter open my eyes to play into the act of just having awoken. I stare at the ceiling, hearing her rush towards me. "Mx/Mr/Miss L/N, how are you feeling? It appears you... umm, passed out in the corridor."

I turn to face her, sitting up on the leather sofa I'm lying on. I rub my forehead, slightly obscuring my eye as a confused expression crosses my features.

"...I'm sorry but who is Mx/Mr/Miss L/N, and who are you?" Her face, like I thought, is priceless - she even backs away slightly.

Her voice quivers as she talks, an unfamiliar tone in the usually confident woman.

"S-shit...no no no. This can't be happening, I d-didn't. God, what am I going to do-" with this, she grips my face in her hand, the other removing my own from my forehead, grasping it gently as our eyes meeting in perfect alignment. The only difference is her eyes are glazed over with tears that will fall any second, "I am so sorry, Y/N..."

God, this was meant to be fun, but it's just depressing.

I swear, she has an ability to suck all the joy out of anything I do. I roll my eyes at her, but in reality a small part of me feels regret. Regret over my actions, regret over leaving her in this state, but alas, I repress this thought and lean into the anger. I rip my hand out of hers and shove her away from me.

"You're so annoying! I can't even prank you after you nearly murder me without you sucking the joy out of it. Also- thanks for being too scared to take me to see the nursing staff, or even an actual fucking doctor incase God forbid you got into trouble. I could have gotten actual brain damage-"

I am interrupted mid-rant when she embraces me, her face buried in my neck, now fully sobbing. Fuck. Why do I always have to be such a blunt asshole? I need Noah to translate my words into nice ‘feeling protecting’ ones, he's good at all the dumb emotional stuff. Normally I am at least okay at faking, and I can get by, but everything just feels so foggy. No matter how hard I try, I can't concentrate on finding the right words.

I feel awkward as her hot tears sear into my skin like a mark of shame. I bring my hand to her head, undoing her usual pristine hairstyle. I run my hand over her scalp and the nape of her neck, gently scratching her skin. She calms down slowly, relaxing more into me more. My hand slows with her tears, until both cease and we remain there, unmoving for what feels like eternity. Neither one of us knows how to proceed, not wanting to ruin our brief moment of peace and unspoken understanding of what the other needs.

It has to end eventually however, and I am the one to do so, saying words I never thought I'd utter to this woman in my life. Before I can gather what to say three simple words cross my mind, "...I am sorry."

No. I will never apologise to this woman.

Instead I simply remove all venom from my being. I render myself completely vulnerable to her, a spider without its fangs, completely defenceless. "I don't think before I speak. As you know I'm not exactly great at the whole communication thing. So understand, I did not mean to hurt you. I just struggle when taking others emotions into account and instead I chose to be selfish by lashing out at you, it was immature of me."

The air felt thick as I tried to regain my lost stoicism. I feel shame and pity for both of us. I pry her away from my body as I stand, desperately needing to leave, but my legs buckle beneath my weight as everything goes blurry - fuck. I must have hit my head harder than I thought.

Before my body can meet the welcoming ground, I am snatched by a set of strong arms. She turns me to face her once more, before gently setting me on the settee. She turns away from me walking towards her desk as she speaks, her voice still not quite back to it's typical happy/mildly aggressive cadence.

"I had the nurses come to see you here, because I know you don't like the nursing wing of the academy. They said you'd have a mild concussion from hitting your head, and told me to observe you, which is why I didn't put you in your dorm. I know you think of me as being too proud to admit when I am wrong, but I want you to know I will never put my pride before the health of you, or anyone else in this academy."

God, what is wrong with Weems, I think I broke her. She's being too emotional - in the sad way, normally she's just angry. I swear, she speaks exclusively in passive aggressive niceness. I lift my head to properly meet her eyes.

She has taken her seat pride of place behind her desk, having almost the same power behind it as when a queen takes her throne. I begin to verbalise my thoughts.

"Are you on your period? Or are you too old for that... when does menopause start? Oh wait, could it be perimenopause? Oh god, are you pregnant? Can you still even get pregnant?" I become horrified as the last thought even crossed my mind, that poor child.

I notice Weem's equally horrified expression contorting her features, "Mx/Mr/Miss L/N just how old do you think I am exactly? I also don't appreciate the invasive line of questioning, but for your information, no, I am not pregnant."

I shutter slightly feeling her peircing gaze wait for me to answer her. "I want to say, 54...?" Oh God, she looks like she's about to slap me. "54! I beg your pardon, Mx/Mr/Miss L/N, I am 44, and I do not appreciate you aging me a decade! I should give you an extra detention for this alone."

I look at her, wondering if she has been seriously affected by my words, merely her vanity showing as per usual, or if this is her failed attempt trying to be more humorous while scolding me. I run my hand through my hair and let it fall over my eyes.

"I don't give a shit how old you are! You still cried like a baby either way, get over yourself, you're not 2. So what? You nearly murdered someone, we've all been there. You aren't special, so don't expect sympathy from me!"

Weems stands once and strides towards me. I am not interested in her lectures about manners and etiquette, so I leave quickly through the nearest set of doors and out into the corridor, taking a sharp right into the closest room to me.

Grabbing the chair beside me, I barricade the door, allowing myself to slide down it and contemplate all that's happened thus far, while also figuring out an excuse. I look around the room, only now realising I've locked myself within Weems' bedroom.

"Shit."

================tags================

@the-bagel24, @suckerforcate

[mdhwrites]

Andrias vs. Collector: Who Was Redeemed Better?

Andrias hands down. Not only is it helped IMMENSELY by character consistency with him but it actually functions with what we know of him. Despite literally only ever getting half an episode dedicated to him (he doesn't actually get a lot more screentime than The Collector, especially while as a villain) we understand his motivations, the reasons for his cruelty, why Marcy made him cold and annoyed every time she was even mentioned post True Colors (he did not enjoy torturing Marcy. The literal only claim there is one line from True Colors where he blames her but otherwise, Marcy is fridged SPECIFICALLY to give someone for Andrias to show regret about) and then when shown how far he had fallen from the good man he was, he goes ahead and tries to fix that. First a final act of heroism but then not asking for forgiveness or the like. He is too guilty to need, or perhaps even want, such things and he instead can try to put things right on his own. In the end, we are left with the impression that Andrias WILL continue to tend to Amphibia now until the day he finally dies. It's actually done pretty well for the fact that it's given such little direct attention, especially by the time he's supposed to start being redeemed.

Meanwhile, the Collector's arc only works if you ignore large swaths of the show. His redemption mostly comes down to the idea that he needs to learn morality and that other people can be hurt by his actions but... He already did. In Watching and Dreaming, he yells at Belos controlled Raine specifically about how King will hate him for the nightmares, showing that he understands that his actions can upset people. In S2B, he talked about wanting to play with bones and criticized Belos for potentially murdering the Grimmwalkers, kind of opening up a moral conversation about the nature of Belos' treatment of them while showing his knowledge of death.

Even if we believe he didn't know these things and try to say he was manipulated, we can't. Belos' goal was extremely explicit and back when he was Philip, he had no reason to lie to the Collector. A spell to kill all witches in return for your freedom was the deal. That's pretty damn evil and the Collector could have always said no but instead he's EXCITED for them to be dead in Hollow Mind. All that matters to him then is his freedom, screw anyone else. Then when he is freed, he has neither the archivists or Belos to push him around and tell him what to do. As such: Why the fuck did he make the hunting stars? You know, the roaming stars that turn people automatically into puppets, rendering them to a fate worse than death as they are conscious and aware of what's going on, even as they are entirely incapable of doing anything about it. They are still around MONTHS later. Hexside literally keeps watch for them. If he is just a little guy, why the fuck did he make those in the first place and why are they still around?

None of this is ever addressed though. Instead, the show spends a quarter of its finale, and a decent chunk of the special before it, focusing on trying to redeem him and show him off as a good guy while not having him actually acknowledge the awful, terrible things he did. There's no taking of responsibility like with Andrias. There is no proper refusal of his morality or change in his thinking. Even his attempt to make peace with Belos is flawed because it's still the same all or nothing thinking that we've seen up until now for the Collector. "I do X, I get friend." It's not actually an acknowledgement that other people are complex and have their own free will, it's just a new form of trying to easily get what he wants. Then after her turns people back, which is good, he just leaves. He doesn't do anything to actually make up for what he did or allow him to face a world that he has irrevocably damaged. Instead, he abandons it all. All that responsibility and guilt can just be left behind instead of actually worked on. How is that a show of what he learned? Of him rejecting how he was before? Of him being REDEEMED?

It makes it much less an arc and more something we're told. At least when Andrias powers down to make Anne's final punch on him more effective, we have seen his regret. We have seen his motivations. We have seen as one is pushed into his face and the other torn down. Then we get to see him act on it, allow his conquest to fail, as a willful decision to back down from that evil rather than double down. Then we see follow through with him in the timeskip where he is still simply trying to make up for his sins, even if no one will ever tell him his work is done.

We don't get anything like that with the Collector and that's why he will always be easily worse to me.

======+++++======

Someone shared a Reddit post on this topic in my Discord and I almost posted 95% of this as a comment there. I... I know better than to do that on Reddit though so I decided to just let it be a blog over here.

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[bloodyshadow1]

just my feelings on the bad kids and their class levels/classes right now. It's just my opinion, I am not bashing the multiclasses or the players choices

Adaine- Love it, she's an 11th level wizard, i get that multiclassing can be fun, but for some classes it's just better, imo, to just stay the course because having access to upper level spells can be more useful than a multiclass. I'm sure there's a broken wizard multiclass, but I think it just fits her better to stay a wizard throughout. Sometimes with full casters, I could see dipping into monk or Barbarian for the ac buff, but neither would help her so It's probably best for her to stay a wizard since she has access to 6th level spells since leveling up

Kristen- Same as Adaine, I personally like full casters to stay the course and keep on keeping on. again I'm sure there's a broken cleric other class build, like Saccharina from ACOC, but I'm not sure anything other than paladin would fit Kristen. A lot of her issues are mental and Tracker was right about her not wanting to do the boring stuff. I like her having to discover what she wants out of being a cleric rather than her dropping it because it's not exactly what she wants for something new.

Riz- 11 levels of rogue, though from the beginning of the season he's now an arcane trickster instead of an inquisitor which I think is more helpful and just a better fit. He's still a detective, but he's also kind of a secret agent so having access to magic helps and fits his character growth. Also he never really used a lot of the inquisitor abilities that often and his perception wasn't that good to justify the subclass. I'm also glad he is staying a full rogue so far, I think given the mechanics of Junior year so far, it would put a lot of strain on him to try and do more than just a single course track

Now for the multiclassers

Fabian- I think both taking levels of bard and going from champion fighter to battlemaster was the best choice for him. I think overall he was a fighter because he was taught to be one, but overall the boy is a bard at his core. The flourishes the spells, the charisma proficiency, they're what Fabian wants more than what he gets from being a fighter. Fabian has always wanted to be popular and stand out while being a great warrior and a swords college bard fits that better than being a fighter, a class he seems to have very little attachment to. Currently he is a 6 fighter 5 bard, since he was a level 8 fighter and gave up 3 levels to take in bard when he was depressed he has boosted up 2 levels in that class vs 1 in fighter. After the initial class level trading he hasn't decreased his levels in fighter, but I wouldn't be surprised if he does in the future.

Gorgug- this is where I get a bit critical, I don't really know if Artificer Barbarian is a good multiclass. I've seen some people say it's amazing while others say it's terrible, I have no clue. from what I can tell it doesn't look like it's super good, it's a support class and a tinkerer so it does fit Gorgug, but I don't think it really is that efficient with the Bad Kid's party comp. Fabian and Gorgug were the front line fighters, Gorgug being the tank and DPS while Fabian was a striker dps with a good hp pool and ac, but Barbarians soak up damage better than any class. It's also hard to be a caster (even a half/third caster like Artificier, and be a barbarian because you can't cast spells or even concentrate on them when you rage which is obviously a problem. It's just hard to imagine gorgug as an battlesmith, which I assume he is, since other than the steeldefender it doesn't give him anything he doesn't already have as a barbarian. We also don't know any of his infusions so it's hard to really be attached to Gorgug as an artificer when we don't really seem him artifice. That being said, he's Zac's character so whatever he wants is gonna happen. Since Gorgug has been trading an additional level in barbarian for artificer (6 barb/5 art) I wouldn't be surprised if he eventually drops barbarian all together. I think a barbarian is more useful, but I can understand why Zac would want Gorgug to go down the artificer path instead and I support it.

Fig- Honestly, Fig's multiclassing is the strangest to me because I can't really wrap my head around it. She so far only has 2 levels of warlock to her 9 of bard, even last level up she took another level of Bard, the two levels she took of warlock were in freshman year and she never really looked back. That being said, from the recent eps, it seems like she likes the warlock classes better, she isn't even sure if she wants to be a bard anymore. which I find kind of a shame because she also liked the 1 bard class she took. Emily is a master multiclasser so I'm sure Fig is gonna be great whatever and will be who Emily wants her to be. I'm hoping she doesn't become a paladin because, even if it's to replace her levels in Bard, despite hexblade being one of the best combos with paladin. It just feels like Fig as the character took levels/are planning to take levels in other classes to make other people happy. She became a warlock because she found her devil father and wanted to be closer to him, she offered to become a paladin for Cassandra to help out Kristen, but I think that's selfless, but it doesn't help her as a person. Sometimes you can be too selfless to a point where it's bad for you. Emily can of course do whatever, but I'll be a bit sad if has Fig giving up on being a bard. Like with Kristen it seems like Fig just doesn't want to do the uncool stuff and that's gonna be with anything she tries. I think she's running away from what she wants herself to be to make things easier/more exciting and I think it's going to backfire.

I will also say, it's not exactly fair for Brennan to poison her bardic abilities. I'll say more on the topic on another post but it's still how I feel.

[centrally-unplanned]

House of the Dragon "peace arc" was generally cringe though with a bright spot at the core. Rhaenys came off the worst for it; sitting in a council meeting getting news that the enemy has marched an army, taken two of their castles, and sacked a city and calling those wanting to respond to that warmongering idiots is an amateur hour moment. It isn't like Rhaenyra was heading to King's Landing to surrender or anything, she wanted a negotiated peace. To get that, you need a position of strength - otherwise your enemy is less likely to make peace with you, as the cost of killing you is so low. "War begets war" is an aphorism, not an iron law; this cowardice in the name of conflict avoidance serves neither peace nor their war. Smack their advancing army with a squad of dragons and show them "hey, this is what More War is gonna bring - let's give peace a chance hm?" You only make peace with your enemies, after all, reminding them of that fact is not the barrier to peace naive instinct thinks it is. And then you also aren't telling your own vassals you are going to ditch them in the face of fire, bonus!

The way she seems haughtily superior to the "squabblings of men" while making a fool or herself is a real directorial fail, it is almost accidentally sexist - poor wimmins can't understand Clausewitz. Though I gotta give the actress Eve Best some unintentional credit:

I guess she fucking nailed it.

While I am bashing Rhaenys, the framing of the Vhagar/Meraxes fight is very strange - Rhaenys has clearly won the battle, because Sunfyre is pretty much dead, and you would likely bet Aegon with him, and the way it is shot strongly suggests Rhaenys successfully retreated while Aemond is not at all in pursuit. The whole battle was clearly a trap that she had just dodged. Then she doubles back anyway against a much stronger foe and loses while dealing no apparent damage. Why do that dumb thing? It's both way too risky and also strategically foolish - Meleys as the Black's strongest dragon is highly needed as a deterrent force. It would be more reasonable if Rhaenys was a proud warrior type, proud warriors do that kind of thing ("I can't abandon Rook's Rest!"), but she was defined by her caution up until she chose suicide-by-dracarys.

In the books she is ambushed by a cooperative Aegon/Aemond and dies fighting, easy peasy. The logic is sound, it is a weird change to make.

Speaking of bad tactics, why only send one dragon? If the other dragons were busy that would be one thing, but they mainly aren't, they are doing nothing of note at the time, you have like 4 of them. In the book Rhaenyra is being a bad leader, too grief-stricken or cowardly to go herself, and too possessive of her sons to let them fight; it is shown as a mistake. In this show it is shown as a moment of Rhaenys's courage; she is like "I will go your grace" and everyone is like "oooh" and the question of why this is a solo mission just gets swept aside. Again, you know Vhagar is stronger than you, teamwork is the only real chance you have, while having more dragons is your primary advantage. The Blacks can and should make mistakes, but it has to be framed as mistakes by the show.

This is of course downstream of the "make Rhaenyra the Good Guy" decision; but beyond the Rhaenys idiocy I think this worked great for her here. She didn't hesitate to help her allies; the moment she returned from her failed peace mission, she got right to work. Trying to make peace was idealistic but people are sometimes. And meanwhile I continue to support the Aegon's Dream choice - it really does give her this solid motivation beyond power for her commitment to her inheritance. It is framed really well - like she herself only half believes the prophecy. She is choosing to believe it because she is stuck now and needs moral certainty for the choices she is going to make. That is a very human thing to do, and insightful to essentially admit her own biases out the gate. It makes her likeable without giving her a moral pass for anything.

I do think the show has tipped a bit too far into the "greens = bad guys" camp in comparison though. I would have fixed that by making Rhaenyra more directly complicit in past crimes like killing those who called her children bastards, show she is too committed to this whole "law & prophecy above all" bit, and that the Greens have some legitimate grievances against her. But we may see her get corrupted by the war yet; hopefully they have the courage when it matters most.

[valscigarette]

Summary: Vox takes Angel on a "dry-run" of a date he has planned for Valentino. (Angel's POV on Staticmoth)

Tags: Vox/Valentino, background Angel/Valentino, Canon-Typical Everything, Angst, Mutually Destructive Vox/Val, Threats of Violence

See AO3 or DM me for more detailed tags/warnings!

WC: 3.6k | AO3

-

“Be good to him, Voxxy,” Val warns playfully, smacking a wet kiss to the corner of Vox’s screen and leaving a tinted smear that could be lipstick or drool. “We have a long shoot tomorrow, and if you make a mess-”

“Oh, please,” Vox huffs.

Despite this being his idea, his plan, his request, he seems utterly uninterested in Angel’s presence. From the cabin of the limousine, Angel watches his and Valentino’s back and forth, desperate for some clue as to what the evening has in store for him. Most johns are simple. They know what they want, and Angel knows how to give it to them, and Val usually steps in before they damage the merchandise too badly. Vox, on the other hand, has never asked for Angel’s time so much as inflicted himself on it when Val’s feeling particularly cruel.

“Since when do you give a fuck, anyway?”

Vox leans against the side of the limo, a sign that their conversation will last long enough for Angel to light a smoke. He taps one from the pack in his clutch, pink-filtered with an extra dose of Valentino’s venom, and holds it out toward Vox for a dismissive, static arc of a light. They’re not oblivious to his presence- just ignoring him, like he’s no more alive than the velvet cushion beneath his ass.

A chuckle, low and dangerous, spills from Valentino’s lips with a plume of opaque smoke Vox has to physically wave from the air between them. “Since you decided that my toys are more fun than me,” Val answers, torn somewhere between deadly anger and catty mockery. Angel stutters on his exhale. Even when Val is blurry, separated by the tinted windows of the car and half-obscured from Vox’s frame, the sound of his temper is enough for Angel’s lungs to seize.

“Come on,” Vox groans. He pushes off the side of the car to crowd Val’s space while Angel recenters himself, hoping to finish his smoke before Vox is ready to leave. “It was one mistake, baby. And honestly, how many whores do you fuck a week? A day? How is this different?”

This gets Angel’s attention enough to subtly shift in his seat, scooting toward the open door to better hear the argument Vox has definitely started. Neither of them like to back down, but both love the heat of a fight and to take it out on their subordinates. It’s a sick cycle Angel somehow found himself in the middle of.

“It’s my fucking job, that happens to make you a shit-load of money. You don’t see me taking your assistant—what's his name, the slimy one with that sexy little fin—to bed in the middle of your workday!”

The assistant in question could be one of several, though Angel noticed Vox replacing the whole set of them over the course of the month. He wonders if it has to do with Val, but quickly dismisses the thought; Valentino will fuck anything that moves, or anything that doesn’t so long as he can find a hole to stick his cock in, and there’s simply no one Vox could hire that Val wouldn’t want to fuck. Yeah, he has his favorites. Angel’s one of them. But Angel knows Val isn’t loyal to anyone, and he’s certain Vox is equally aware.

“Is that what this is about?” Vox asks. “They’re- that’s what you keep them for, Val, don’t be ridiculous. I know for a fact you fucked that one twice, the same day I did, and it wasn’t even in front of a studio camera!”

“Her performance needed work,” Val sniffs, then blows a heart-shaped smoke ring into Vox’s screen petulantly. “Forgive me if I don’t appreciate all the time you have for my performers, amor.” Vox mutters something, only to glance back at Angel through the window as if to commiserate when Val barrels over him. “You just don’t seem to have any left for me.” His pleading lilt is almost convincing as his lower set of hands curl into fists at his side.

Angel inhales from his cigarette until his eyes cross and his lungs burn. Although Val likes him fine high, in too much of a stupor to raise a hand let alone fight back, Vox prefers his partners sharp enough to scream, and this tainted smoke is likely the only reprieve he’ll get until Vox dumps what’s left of him in front of Valentino’s door tomorrow morning. He holds his breath. 

Vox reaches out, insisting, “That’s not true,” as the light from his screen flashes across Val’s eyes.

“Fuck you.”

When Val slaps Vox, his head slams into the car window with a thunk that spiderwebs a crack over the glass and dents the corner of Vox’s screen. 

“I don’t even care,” Val adds. “Have fun with fucking Angel Dust. Don’t break him.”

As Valentino swaggers away, not even bothering to say goodbye to Angel, Vox sighs and takes a minute to compose himself. Through the broken tinted glass and a wispy cloud of smoke, Angel watches him straighten his tie, button his jacket, adjust his hat, and flicker through a few settings on his screen to ensure Val hasn’t actually damaged it. By the time he slides into limo, Angel is ready to toss his butt out the window and put on a show. For all that Valentino doesn’t care, he made sure Angel knew to be on his best behavior tonight for Vox. 

The limo pulls away the second Vox shuts the door, but it takes a bit longer for him to acknowledge Angel for the first time all night. “Val pick the dress?” he asks, staring out the window as the city passes them by. 

“Why? Do you like it?”

It was Val’s choice, a silky red number that matches both Vox’s usual suit and the gloves on all four of his arms. The skirt is wide and flowy, unlike the usual form-fitting dresses he wears, and his patent red heels are so short he may as well have gone without. His outfit has been meticulously crafted as an homage to the glitzy fifties nostalgia Vox can’t seem to let go of.

“It looks lovely,” Vox replies, glancing over at the hem of the skirt with such interest that Angel has to tug it up higher on his thighs. “Not your usual style, but it’s better than those slutty costumes he always puts you in.”

Unsure whether it would please or irritate Vox to know Val chose this one, too, Angel doesn’t clarify either way. Instead, he keeps a careful eye on every minute movement Vox makes, desperate to prepare himself for the evening ahead. From the scenery passing out the windows, he can tell they’re on their way out of the city, but that alone isn’t necessarily indicative of anything. Vox doesn’t care who hears them. “Thanks, Mr. Vox,” Angel offers, the safest bet available. He may not know Vox inside and out like he does Valentino, but he’d be stupid not to have picked up on what pleases and pisses him off the most. Demure, grateful, and appropriate are the key words Val gave Angel years ago, and they’re still a good rule of thumb despite how much has changed.

“Can’t see him wearing anything like it though,” Vox says. He pinches the hem of Angel’s skirt between two clawed fingers, barely careful enough to avoid tearing the thin fabric, and scoffs. “It’s cute, I like it, but it’s- he wouldn’t be caught dead in this.”

Angel makes an appropriately sympathetic noise and leans into Vox’s side, mindful not to bump into his sensitive screen when he’s not been given permission. “His loss. Not only would it look great, but you know, you deserve something every now and then, too, baby.” When Vox gets what he wants, he’s happy, and when he’s happy, he doesn’t occupy his free time testing the limits of sinner regeneration. 

“You get it,” agrees Vox, finally wrapping an arm around Angel’s shoulders and tugging him close. Hot-and-cold is Val’s game, and so the affection soothes Angel’s racing heart to a tolerable tremolo, and the way he relaxes into Vox’s touch is entirely genuine. “You’re smarter than Val gives you credit for, Angel.” As he talks, Vox traces shapes over Angel’s bare shoulder in the perfect accompaniment to his affectedly saccharine tone. “Satan, sometimes I wonder.”

The territory gets more familiar with each passing quip. “Hey, Val doesn’t mind sharing. He’s into it. You know that.” Angel leans forward for a kiss before he remembers that Vox is no particular fan, but electric teal claws seize his jaw to keep him from pulling away by the time he realizes his mistake. “Sorry,” he mutters instinctively. “I- I didn’t mean-”

“Oh, relax.” Vox shakes Angel’s head gently with the grip on his face. “He usually doesn’t care--fucking better not, with how busy he gets--and if I wanted you, sweetheart, I’d have you by now.” He chuckles. “As if you’d be worth the effort.” Though it’s far from the cruelest thing Vox has ever said, something about the fondness laced through his voice is worse than outright anger, and Angel struggles to blink back a reaction. “I mean if you weren't his favorite whore,” he continues, releasing Angel's face, “you’d be working for Voxtek.”

Reasonably convinced it’s a compliment, Angel thanks Vox again and tries not to cringe away from him. “Yeah, well, I don’t foresee Val letting me out of filming any time soon.” He pointedly avoids thinking about the implications: his afterlife, infinite in its duration, will be spent at Valentino’s whims, and every time Angel thinks it no longer bothers him, the reminder stings behind his eyes. “‘Specially not when he’s mad at you.”

“He’s always throwing a tantrum about something.” The limo slows as they turn onto a sidestreet along the outskirts of Pentagram City, the neon signs and patchy streetlights fading behind them. Vox picks a sliver of plastic from the scrape on his screen and says, “You know, I made him. He was just another whore, selling backroom tapes before I got involved. He’d still be turning out tricks if it weren’t for me.” 

Whether Vox forgets Angel has been around longer than him, or he simply doesn’t care, it’s impossible to tell, but Angel remembers the days before Vox well enough to know how well Val did for himself on his own. He doesn’t have do the dirty work himself anymore. Of course, the studio still re-releases his old pornos a couple times a year as a publicity stunt, because Val won’t let anyone forget his allure. These two don’t need each other at all. 

“He ever tell you, I built Vee Tower for him?” Vox carries on, nonplussed by the lack of response. “He just had to have a penthouse suite, taller than anyone else’s, and I gave it to him. Me. I’ve done everything for him, and for what? To share his attention with every down-on-their-luck sex doll he sees?” He throws Angel a sidelong glance. “Some offense intended.”

“It’s okay, I know where I stand.”

At last their ride ends. The driver scurries to open Vox’s door for him, and upon climbing out, Vox offers his hand to Angel for support. Angel only hesitates a second before he takes it. He finds Vox’s palm cool and unforgiving, his claws a faint threat where they rest against Angel’s hand, but the touch is uncharacteristically gentle as Angel fluffs his skirt back out. Once they’re a couple steps away, the limousine speeds off, and he suddenly realizes he’s alone on a deserted road with Vox, whose face serves as the only light in the absence of the car headlights. 

“Uh, Mr. Vox, can I ask you something?” He asks, leaning into Vox’s support as they take slow steps further along the road.

Vox walks like he knows the path well, veering from the craggy asphalt to the soft dirt alongside a guardrail. Glancing past him, Angel can make out the glow of the city hundreds of feet below, and realizes they’re on one of the mountains that border it. “If you must,” Vox tells him. The hand not intertwined with Angel’s casts a spark to light gas lamps spaced along the railing.

“What are we doing up here? Not that I’m questioning you, but throwing me over a cliff is a new one, and if you don’t like the dress-” Angel cuts off when Vox squeezes his hand hard enough to hurt. 

“I took Valentino here for our first date, and for some of the bigger anniversaries,” Vox says. The cut path broadens to include an outlook, which has been furnished with a set dinner table and two comfortable chairs, each slightly angled to be close to one another and enjoy the admittedly breathtaking view. Vee Tower is visible from here, the tallest building in the city, and Angel imagines Valentino brooding on the balcony as he waits for Angel to come back and give him every detail of the encounter. Vox guides Angel to one of the chairs, pulling it out for him and pushing him into the table once he’s seated. He tells Angel, “I haven’t been up here in years, so I needed to make sure it’s exactly as I remembered.”

“It’s very romantic,” Angel agrees. “I can see why you guys like it.”

Vox lifts the silver dome covers off their plates, which releases a plume of fragrant steam as it reveals their classic steak dinner, exactly like the place up the block from the tower serves. “We used to,” he says, and he almost sounds wistful. He picks up his fork, then pauses, lights the candle on the table with a spark, and spears a couple of green beans. “I need to do a dry run.”

“Right.” Angel reaches for the bottle of wine, corkscrew placed but unopened, and holds it out to Vox. “Might wanna open this first. And, you know, warn him that you’re taking him to dinner, not his grave.”

“Maybe stewing on his choices will do him some good.” Vox uncorks the bottle with ease, filling Angel’s glass before his own, and his demeanor suddenly clicks. Angel’s here as a proxy for Valentino. For now, that’s a benefit rather than a detriment, and he might catch a glimpse of whatever Val saw in Vox to begin with. “Are you warm enough?”

The chilly breeze is nothing in comparison to the heat generated by Angel’s pounding heart. “Sure. I wouldn’t worry about Val, either, he runs hot.” When he takes a bite of steak, Angel lets out a pleased sound that has Vox’s attention snapping away from the meal and back to him, as though surprised he’s enjoying the exquisite food provided to him. “What?” Angel manages. “I got something on my face?” He reaches for the white cloth napkin to dab around his mouth, but only sticky pink lipgloss comes away with the fabric. 

“Just wondering what he sees in you,” Vox says, voice performatively flat, before he pulls out his cellphone. “I better get some dancers out here, or something. He likes dinner and a show.”

“Oh, ‘cause that won’t bother you at all, Mr. Possessive?” If Angel’s stepping over the line, Vox gives no indication. “And how’s that special? He can go to every club in the city at the drop of a hat. Val doesn’t need your help finding strippers.”

A frown twitches across Vox’s mouth. “I suppose I would be pulling them from the studio payroll.” He slips out of his chair to pace in front of the table, the neon colors of his face slicing a visible beam through the night, brighter than the candle and closer than the city. If it were Val, Angel would already be on his knees to console him, but with Vox, he can’t bring himself to move an inch. “What the fuck does he want from me?” 

A garbled laugh crackles through his speakers and Angel wonders idly whether his phone would get any reception out here. 

“I give him everything he wants. The best booze money can buy.” Vox snatches the wine off the table and hurls it over the side of the mountain, where it disappears to a fate so far below, they never hear it shatter. “As many drugs as the lab can develop. Whatever clothes Velvette can dream up.” He snags a strap of Angel’s dress in one claw, sneering at the delicate fabric. “Eight different fucking engagement rings.” Under the whisper of candlelight, Angel can barely make out the plain golden band on Vox’s left hand- not his color, but Val’s, which is all that matters. “I don’t get it.” Vox draws himself up to his full height, which is shorter than Angel when they’re both standing, but towers over him when Angel is pressed as deep into his chair as the unforgiving wood will allow. “What the fuck,” he growls, letting each syllable grate on Angel’s ears, “is so special about you?”

Angel swallows. He can’t flinch. Fear is like blood in the water, and Vox is a precision-designed predator who will pounce the second he smells it. “Nothing you want, Mr. Vox, I promise.”

His chuckle vibrates in Angel’s chest. “What, going face-down, ass-up at the snap of his fingers?”

“No, well yes, but-” The scent of coolant and expensive cologne that surrounds Vox clouds Angel’s mind as easily as his hypnotic eye. “Val’s not a sentimental guy, alright?” Angel hedges. “He doesn’t appreciate the tradition of coming here over and over. He likes novelty.” 

Vox releases Angel’s clothes to curl his fingers around his neck instead, grip barely tight enough to restrict his breathing. “And why is it you think I don’t want to have new experiences with him?”

“It’s not that, I promise.” Angel can’t focus his eyes, but he wrangles his tongue around the words like he’s begging for his life. “I can’t say no to him. The shit you don’t wanna do, aren’t willing to try, he does with me.” He knows because Valentino constantly runs his mouth. “My thing with Val- it’s not like what you guys have.”

“I know that,” Vox snaps.

His teeth seem real and three dimensional, as if they could bite Angel in half. In the recesses of his memory he thinks he’s felt them before. No one except Val would even notice Angel was missing, if Vox decided to rip him to shreds and leave him here, alone, to piece himself back together. 

“He’s not bored of you, baby,” Angel pleads, desperate to soften Vox’s temper, “just the routine. There’s gotta be somewhere in the city you ain’t gone yet, right?”

When Vox drops his hand, Angel gasps in a deep breath, mindlessly fixing his askew neckline so he doesn’t have to think about whether there will be bruises under his fur tomorrow. Val would be mad at both of them for it, printing his own handprints over Vox’s and spitting degradations for allowing himself to be used in such a manner, despite his own orders not to give Vox any trouble. 

“If you’re fucking with me, I’ll make Val’s worst moods look like a walk in the park,” Vox threatens. His phone emerges from his pocket again, blue-tipped fingers dancing across the screen in what Angel assumes is an effort to secure a reservation somewhere new.

“Understood.”

Evidently over his outburst, Vox flops back down in his chair and says, “My driver will be back in ten minutes.”

Angel tentatively picks his fork up and, when Vox doesn’t react, wolfs down the rest of the dinner provided before the limo’s headlights eek up the road once more. He figures he likes Vox best distracted. Like Val, his attention can only be positive for so long before his mercurial mood changes. At least his worst injury is the lingering ache in his throat, and not the mess Vox leaves when permitted to express his pent up rage on Angel’s body.

As when they arrived, the driver opens the door for them, and Vox offers Angel a polite hand into the car and doesn’t release him until he’s settled into the comfortable seats. In the wash of light, his screen brightens, making Angel realize how much it had dimmed to avoid becoming a beacon on the lonesome cliffside. 

“Since I gave you good advice, would you do something for me, Mr. Vox?” Angel asks.

He knows he’s pushing his luck even before Vox’s condescending laugh. “You’re asking me a favor?”

“Forget it, I shouldn’t’ve asked-”

“No,” Vox chuckles, “go on.” His eye begins to spin and his voice drops. “Tell me.”

The words tumble out as if Vox plucked them from his brain: “Can you please mention to Val that I was good for you?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Vox sighs, reclining into his seat. “I wouldn’t if you paid me.”

On that note, Vox doesn’t say another word for the rest of the drive back to the tower. At some point Angel gives up on sitting modestly, like Val told him to, and draws his knees up in front of him to wrap both sets of arms around. If he’s lucky, Vox and Val will make up sooner rather than later, and he can go a few more months without being used as a pawn for the game they play, but he’s not so naive as to expect a significant reprieve from either of them. He’d be more likely to find a way to Heaven. 

[unkat]

i am playing around with the idea of naturally ending chilchuck/his wife as a narrative, with a lot of headcanon interpolation of events. this is led by my fanfic brain which is looking at a different end game. i am marcilling it.

canonically he did not contact his daughters or wife for those years after she left. i struggle to imagine how it must feel for your life partner to let you disappear from his life and stopped contacting your shared kids at the same time, diving even more headfirst into his work that made you feel abandoned in the first place.

i think chilchuck thinks he is doing what is best for them by working hard on improving the respect for half-foots and not telling them about his work life. i can see him thinking that this is too much for them to worry about, so he can protect them by not disclosing anything but a censored version of events, minimizing the danger and death he faces whenever he leaves. i think before he started working in the dungeon, he was a lot more open about it with her, back when the complaints were just shitty customers.

but its not like she wouldnt notice, once he started advocating for higher safety regulations. like. what if each time he came home, he had some new frightening clause to add to his contract, and brushed off her attempts to get details as to why he put it there? and that feeling is not something their kids would be able to overlook once they get old enough to go from parent-child caretaker to parent-child friendship/advisor.

so yeah! when she actually meets his coworkers and realizes how much he has been leaving out about his life, its like he is a totally different person than the man she has been living with for the past 13 years. she has been lied to through omission, and he cant read the room that she needed him to trust her. so, she does something drastic to get his attention (and, very importantly, give herself fulfillment). and then he never calls, never writes, never reaches out for years of her life.

personally i think it would make sense for her to find something of her own, like a hobby or job, after her children have grown, and through that there could someone who can give her enough emotional support to fall in love again.

by the time he returns, he was a good man and great father, but a lousy husband, and she does not want to throw away the happiness she found without him. i think they loved each other for so long that it would be easy to fall back into that fondness after they both had a serious couple of conversations. but the ship to go back to how things were has sailed, and neither of them should try to go back to how things were. there is still love there, just in a different form than it was before.

i guess i kinda like the idea of growth that is staggered from each other due to their communication problems, if i had to make them lines moving in parallel. they fell out of sync understanding each other, and by the time they caught back up, they have missed the window to be as close as they were before. kinda a "right place, wrong time" by the time chilchuck has finished canon. i think there is beauty in the imperfections of damaged relationships, the fallibility of human nature, healing by falling apart.

could they have both been that loyal to the commitment and still work hard to fall back into love? i think its possible, but it should be as difficult as it needs to be for both of them to feel like this is a real change. chilchuck retiring might make that easier or harder for her- less stressful job, but he needs to actually put aside time for them and not fixate on his career, which would be hard if he is still a driving force behind civil movements on top of starting his business.

[formosusiniquis]

Water is wet, the sky is blue, and Eddie Munson is a music snob.

Sure, he listens to more music than Steve even knew existed. Sure, he can curate a playlist that gets you from Korn to Disney without it feeling jarring. Sure, he can give you a full college quality lecture on the history of modern rock and metal and how it can all be traced back to the blues.

But he’s also the same guy who brutally eviscerates anything that even approaches popularity. He’s watched Eddie drop bands the second their music starts making radio play because it’s a short trip to an album that’s been engineered in a lab for maximum radio play.

An educated music snob is still a snob is the point.

But the rest of their friend group is also a collection of snobs and bitches, so when Eddie suggested they do a Spotify Wrapped viewing party it quickly became an annual tradition. They all make sure they have the night off when the Wrapped drops, meeting up at Steve’s house where they spend the night stuffing their faces and roasting each other for the music that made up their soundtrack to the year.

Eddie the Snobbish is of course the most vocal critic.

“Girl in Red, Buckley, really? There is such a thing as leaning too far into the stereotype.”

“Get fucked, Munson, they’re my number five.”

“And your number two is Hayley Kiyoko, but she’s actually good so I kept her out of it. Honestly, it’d be faster to just shout from the rooftops that you’re queer.”

“Yeah, yeah, wait ‘til we get to you, Eddie.”

“I drew 7 so you’ll have to wait a little bit longer.

It goes like that all night. Eddie makes at least one comment about each person’s wrapped as the night goes on. But then everyone takes at least one crack at the others. From listen time to top genres nothing is safe and nothing is sacred. Sometimes the only comment needed is the sounds of nine other people shrieking in laughter because Accidentally in Love from the Shrek 2 soundtrack cracked your top 5.

“Seriously, Sinclair, the rest of it is so good!”

“I refuse to be critiqued by the same man I caught singing Nickelback last week.”

“Damn, seeing the family resemblance between you and Lady Applejack now.”

Sometimes his mockery is flavored like concern.

“William, the top .05% of Mitski listeners? Do you need help? Should we call your mom? This feels like a cry for help.”

“She’s classically trained, musically a genius. Sorry, we can’t all spend our time listening to Ozzy struggle through a basic melody.”

And Eddie isn’t afraid to get other people in on his snobbery.

“Ten bucks, Stevie, your little Dusty has Weird Al in his top 5.”

“I don’t make bets, I know I’m going to lose. That’d be like saying ‘I bet he’s going to have Neverending Story in his top 5’, it’s practically guaranteed.”

Robin’s not as afraid to get involved, “Five bucks, Neverending Story is his number 1.”

“Oh you’re on, Bucks, no way it’s not a parody.”

They’re both wrong, deciding that neither is out the money, and Steve wishing he had gone ahead and bet when it turns out to be a movie instrumental. “He can’t listen to music with words when he’s building shit, and he’s always tinkering with something in his room.”

“It was from the Neverending Story soundtrack, I still think that means I win.”

“Absolutely not.”

It’s always a big moment when it’s finally Eddie’s turn, he’s the whole reason they had to start drawing their places at random. He spends so much time talking shit about everyone else’s music taste that by the time his turn rolls around half the group is ravenous, a pack of feral dogs snarling at a feast before them,  ready to give him a taste of his own medicine.

The earliest bits are the most boring. The strange emotion tags are always a little jarring, though no one is surprised when spooky makes its way onto Eddie’s. It’s a little concerning just how much time Eddie is clocking on Spotify, “Over 40,000 minutes, Eddie, that’s almost an entire month.”

“How come your math is never that quick when you’re adding up your damage, Henderson?”

And then Spotify helpfully announces that Eddie Munson's most played song of the year is Head Over Heels by Tears for fucking Fears, clocking in at 267 plays. 

It could go without saying that all hell then breaks loose, but then not saying it makes it sound like a regular amount of hell is breaking loose. And not the kind of hell that can only come from a room full of people who show their affection through ruthless teasing and mockery finding a massive hole in the armor of someone who had spent most of their friendship unassailable.

It’s mean. It’s targeted. It’s the standard brand of teasing that this group is built on.

It would be a lot funnier if Eddie, someone who is normally pretty good about taking the same kind of shit that he deals out, didn’t look like he wanted the floor to swallow him up.

The jokes all reach a logical end. The kids have a killer’s instinct when it comes to weakness, but they’re soft where it counts, and there’s not a joke in the world that’s still funny when it’s being laughed at instead of with.

And Steve, normally the first to tease Eddie about his dad rock playlist can’t think of a single thing to say that isn’t going to come out, “Why was your day with the most listens right after the weekend trip we took for my birthday?”

That wasn’t going to be, “Do you want this the way that I do?”

The rest of the reveal is standard, nearly 19 hours of playtime does put Tears for Fears in the 5th spot of Eddie’s Top Artists but no one comments on it. Steve doesn’t even make fun of Eddie for being the only person under 40 to still listen to Metallica.

Because he’s finally found something to say that isn’t going to come out, “Do you know someone else who only listens to new wave or do listen to that song and think about me?”

“I’m going next.” Eddie finally, finally, makes eye contact with him instead of staring out into the middle distance. Maybe his announcement does sound more like, ‘let me say it back.’

“Steve, you drew last. Nancy’s next.”

Nancy, who knows him uniquely. Knows him in a way that no one, except maybe Eddie one day, ever will. Nancy cuts through the bullshit decisively. “Steve can go next.”

“No appreciation for the rules, why do we even have them?”

Steve does not give a single shit about his wrapped outside of it being a source of amusement for his friends. His taste in music is as close to nonexistent as it gets and, really, if he’s going to listen to something he’s probably going to pick a book over music if he’s by himself.

Except this year.

The teasing is a little tamer now. Normally, Steve is happy to take the brunt of it. 

From Eddie picking at his lack of taste. “Pick a genre, Steve, god.” 

To the kids joining in because they want to impress Eddie, “Can you even listen to the playlist without getting whiplash? I Will Survive to Part of Your World, jeez.” Nevermind that they’re both basically power ballads, and Wheeler can mock but I Will Survive was the soundtrack to his break up with Nance and sometimes he wants to be both nostalgic and angry-sad. 

This year is quiet, like they’re worried they went too far with Eddie and now they’re afraid to take shots at their other favorite babysitter.

It’s fine. Steve has pretty much unfailingly had one song playing at any point anymore. Maybe it took him a little longer than April, but he knows without a doubt what his top song of the year is going to be.

Eddie takes the armchair for Wrapped nights, he’s the meanest normally and says he wants to be out of the direct line of fire of any noogies or Robin’s lethal elbows. It means Steve has to reach to kick the side of the chair to make sure Eddie is watching.

Rainbow in the Dark was Steve’s number one song this year with 171 plays.

And maybe it would be appropriate to say that all hell breaks loose once again. Steve wouldn’t really know, too busy staring at Eddie. He’s in the eye of the storm now, while chaos breaks out around him Steve can only wait to see how Eddie reacts.

Wonders if that pink blush is because Eddie realizes that the day he repeated it the most was right after he heard Eddie play it for the first time. Fell asleep to it playing on repeat, thinking about Eddie’s fingers and Eddie’s smile, drowning out the sounds of fireworks that still trigger panic.

"It makes me think of you," Eddie, brave and shy and only hiding part of his face behind his hair, answers the only question Steve needed answered.

"Yeah," he agrees, hoping it sounds less like a breathless demand for reassurance and more like, 'listening to this song all year was the closest I could get to imagining what it could be like having you.'

"Yeah." And Steve hears, 'I  still expect to be wined and dined, Harrington.' Maybe because it's the kind of silly request Eddie would make, or maybe he just likes giving the people he cares about everything he can.

"But seriously, Stevie, why the fuck is Careless Whisper in your top 5? It should be a crime for Dio and George Michael to be that close together."

[buried-stars]

💜 a ship that you like but have never written for before! >:)

thanks i went insane about this (bstars ending spoilers + suicide cw)

💜 surprise kiss / impulsive kiss

When Seil slinks out of the hospital at half-past eight in the morning, he isn't expecting an ambush.

"You're not hurt!"

He instinctively pushes away from the attack, only for the words to sink in. He's not being strangled, he's being hugged. It's still weird, but it's not entirely unwelcome.

"Tae-yeon... How long have you been waiting here?"

Tae-yeon Kim is probably the only person in the world Seil thinks he can call a friend. Prior to last night, a few other members of the Top 5 could have qualified, but not anymore. Those bridges are nothing but ash.

She lets go of him and takes a step back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Ever since you were airlifted out. Soon as I found out what hospital you were taken to, I... I had to make sure you were still alive."

Seil's neck prickles. Of the seven people trapped in the collapsed stage site, five survived. Hyesung's in surgery and apparently Do-yoon's in a much worse state than any of them thought, but they should still live.

"Hey," Tae-yeon says, her eyes crinkling around the edges, "let's bail. We can talk more somewhere private."

"I can't go home," Seil mutters, tugging on the strap of his messenger bag. "My parents... They won't be..."

She rolls her eyes. "Obviously. You can crash on my sofa for now. Min-hee won't mind; they're too busy doing damage control with the rest of the staff to notice, honestly."

Seil doesn't feel up to arguing with that. They take her car -- a plain, scratched up sedan -- back to her apartment, and she doesn't force him to talk on the way. He's too busy running through the events of the night in his head, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when everything went wrong.

When they get inside, Seil sits on the sofa and cradles one of the decorative pillows to his chest. Tae-yeon brings two cups of herbal tea in after a few more minutes of silence, and sets it town on the low table.

"Is it true?" she asks finally, trepidation dripping from her words. "One of the light techs caught wind from the rescue team that... that Gyu-hyuk's dead."

Seil clenches the pillow tightly. "...Yeah. We took our eyes off him for a minute and he... he hung himself."

Tae-yeon gags on her tea. After struggling to swallow it, she rests the mug between her thighs, no longer looking interested in it. "Oh my god. That's... Right at the end...?"

"He didn't leave a note," Seil says, but it feels like a lie in his mouth. He'd seen Do-yoon clutching scraps of paper, white knuckled and shaking, but that's not proof of anything. In any case, Seil has a sinking feeling he knows what the note would have said.

Silence again fills the apartment. Eventually, Tae-yeon clears the mugs -- both cold and neither more than a few sips from full -- and Seil rests his head on the sofa arm. He's exhausted, but the thought of sleeping feels foreign.

(He shouldn't be here. He needs to turn himself in. It's the only way to absolve the sins festering in his rib cage.)

"Tell me what I can do to help you," Tae-yeon says softly when she returns from the kitchen. "Even if it's just to leave you alone for now."

Seil shakes his head and, impulsively, reaches for her hand. "Stay. Please. I'm... I'm afraid."

Delicately, she presses her lips to his fingers, and settles down beside him. "Okay. I promise."

[marshmallowprotection]

Ray felt shameful.

Even as he recovered from the explosion, he felt guilty and shameful for how the situation played out. No matter how much he begged, pleaded, or lamented with her to leave him behind and save herself—she refused to let him be alone if that was the end of his life—and her blood was on his hands because of it.

Neither died from the explosion, instead, they were left with scars that wouldn’t leave no matter how many years passed by. He could live knowing that he had marred his flesh because he just couldn’t do anything right—he couldn’t dispose of himself properly—but the scars on her body felt like they were his to take the blame for in the end.

She might’ve stayed with him, knowing what that meant in every way, but she didn’t choose to carry the weight of his sins. She chose to stand to with him so he wouldn’t be afraid to... you know... go away by himself. He spent too many years alone and afraid... and his selfish wish was the ugliest of all, because he felt ultimately grateful that someone was there with him.

Even though the guilt was just as powerful to him as that relief. Even though it’d been a few months since the explosion, he couldn’t shake these feelings away no matter how hard he tried. They were a part of him now... and he doubted the emotions were going to stop vexing him anytime soon. It might’ve been easier to bite his tongue, lay down in the cabin V decided to hole them in, and cry.

But, he couldn’t do that.

The pain of immobility was worse than the pain of a gentle breeze hitting his body like a thousand paper cuts.

It left Ray to sit there on the porch, watching Lila as she sat underneath a tree, a pencil in hand as she stared at the patch of dandelions that swarmed around her legs. She had every reason to be sent back to the RFA... to America... to people who could take care of her better than he ever did. She could’ve gone back to a life that wouldn’t hurt her like... like he did.

Yet, there she was, a sunhat protecting her face from overexposure from the sun and an eye-patch to limit the damage to her pupil. Even if he took the brunt of it that day... leaving most of his right side from his cheek to his mid-thighs with the abrasive edge of frayed skin... it didn’t change the fact that she got hurt, too. The fire licked the left side of her face, burning her cheek from just beneath her eyes to her shoulder blades.

Her hair was no longer in waves that cascaded down her back. it was short and framed her face in a way that made him wonder if it tickled. The curls kissed her cheeks in a way that he once... dreamed of doing. As always, he felt like he was transfixed on her image and he wanted nothing more than to paint her face like a portrait that would never fade from the gallery of his mind.

But, his quivering hand wavered and couldn’t bring his brush to the canvas like he once had. A half-finished painting haunted him of a life that he once dreamed of that they could never have again. There was no more castle, no more walls to protect them, no more gardens and tiaras to bathe her in glory, and no more lost eyes and deluded fantasies that could never amount to the way he realized just how much she’d come to mean to him.

“Why didn’t you send her back?” his broken voice sounded foreign to him but it was a question that plagued him like nothing else.

“My mistake was trying to pull you two apart,” V’s voice responded from behind him, his tone just as weary and shameful, but Ray didn’t flinch when he admitted that. “If only I listened when she pleaded with me to ask for help... your suffering wouldn’t have gotten as far as it did. I cannot change the past, however, so the fact remains that we have to accept our actions and the consequences that are a part of them.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Neither of you can heal from this without the other. That might... be the selfish part of my choices thus far, but... speaking from experience, this pain that you’re suffering... it’s better suffered with someone by your side instead of all alone in a dark place where no relief can be found.”

“...”

“...”

“What do you know about this shame, anyway?” Ray asked. His voice was more cruel than he intended it to be, partially his own frustration mixed in with what he knew was Saeran’s contempt just lurking behind his mind’s eye. “Don’t act like a man like you knows what this feels like.”

V moved from behind him, but the smallest sound of something light hitting the table next to him was done with extra care as not to frighten Ray with what he’d discovered wasn’t safe for him—loud noises. The man he once considered to be interesting and admirable was still in there, Ray hoped, but it was hard to let go of everything that happened to him, both before Mint Eye and after it.

Ray drew in a breath as he took a spot on the porch step beneath him. What was he thinking, anyway?

V unpeeled the shirt from his back just enough so that Ray could see the marred skin from a fire that must’ve taken place in his childhood. The burns covered his upper back, all across his shoulder blades as if the fire had dug its tendrils into it without hesitation. Well, it explained why V always wore so many layers all year around ever since he met him.

“I lost my mother in a fire when I was a boy. She died. She did everything she could to protect me back then, even though I hadn’t been a good son to her in years, if ever. After she found me... slumped over from smoke inhalation, she tried to get me outside of our house... and she succeeded... getting me out of the house... she didn’t get out. These scars I carry... these burns... these are a reminder of her love for me despite my failure as a son.”

“I didn’t have anyone but Jumin back then... but after the accident, I couldn’t face him for weeks. He was the one who wanted me to mend things with my mother... the one pushing me to make things right. But, before I could... the fire happened. I pushed him away for a while. I suffered alone... feeling the fire and letting every part of my body suffer because I felt like I deserved to suffer for being the reason why my mother didn’t help herself.”

“I think... that’s where I went wrong in the end, Ray. My mother loved me more than herself and she wanted me to know that by doing everything she could to save my life. My being alive is... I think that’s her love for me. I don’t want you... to suffer alone, Ray. I don’t think Lila would want you to suffer through this alone, either. That’s why she was willing to die with you.”

As V let his shirt fall back down, Ray looked down at his lap. He didn’t know that V went through something like that. In fact, there was a lot about V that he didn’t know. He never wanted to know more after Rika whispered things into his head, but this? This was something that made sense in some ways, and confused him in others.

Ray couldn’t remember everything about the day that V found the two of them left in the crumbling mass of Mint Eye’s rubble, but... he couldn’t remember the anguish in his sobs and the sound of him begging V to save Lila, not him... not him... if he was to suffer in Hell, so be it. That’s what he felt. That’s what Saeran felt, too... even if his voice was so quiet today.

The guilt in V’s voice felt palpable. “If I can do anything to make things right... I’ll start with you two. I’ll make sure that you both always have each other to hold onto. This fire won’t be a tragedy. It’s painful and you’re still suffering today... but I won’t let either of you fall victim to what I suffered if it’s the last thing I do on this Earth.”

Ray didn’t know what to say.

Not that he imagined there was anything that could be said.

“I don’t deserve—”

“Son,” V’s voice was firm, not harsh, but it shut Ray up as soon as he said it. “I won’t let you become me. I won’t let you spend years suffering alone when you have people who love you and want the best for you. No matter what, I vow that no matter how far you stumble or fall, I’ll be here to pick you up and show you a world that exists beyond our self-loathing and fears.”

“I know you want to sit with Lila. Go on, she’s waiting for you for join her this afternoon. I promise you this, no matter what you’re feeling, she would want nothing more than for you to be by her side. She made her choice and I don’t think she regrets it.”

Ray could feel his body trembling from the influx of emotion. It was a lot... it was too much, in fact. How was he supposed to believe in those words? How was he supposed to believe in anything? He couldn’t believe people were willing to die... to save him, much less than it could be possible that people cared about him like that. Tears bubbled up in the corners of his eyes.

Beyond his wandering eyes, he could see Lila, her smile as plain as day as she beckoned him with a waving hand. She wasn’t angry with him nor was she lost in a sea of resentment. In her brown eyes was nothing more than what could be described as love.

Oh.

Oh.

He croaked, in a whisper, not a voice, “Thank you, Dad.”

[my-head-is-an-animal]

Problems With The Heart

Greg House x Dr Anna Harding (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 35 - Swansong

House sent me the results, but I couldn’t stand the thought of opening them just yet. I didn’t talk to House for a week and in that time, I contemplated going to Wilson and I seriously thought about taking some more morphine, but neither seemed like a good option.

I ran a bath and found myself going through the same routine I usually went through before injecting a high dose of morphine.

‘Screw it.’ I breathed and grabbed a new syringe and a small bottle of morphine. I only dished out half of what I usually went for, but it would be enough to settle my nerves.

I got undressed, got into the bath and relaxed back feeling the morphine starting to circulate. I couldn’t feel a single thing and it felt good.

Anna wasn’t picking up her phone. Wilson was just as worried about her.

‘She’s pregnant.’ House said, quietly. Wilson snapped around to face him in the parking lot. ‘We did a blood test, came back positive. She’s had two miscarriages already, a third might indicate another problem.’

‘Hang on.’ Wilson stopped him. ‘She had a miscarriage? When? When were you gonna tell me? Have you called her?’

‘She’s not picking up.’ House shook his head. ‘I’m gonna head over to her place. Call me if she comes in.’

House got back on his motorcycle and raced around to her apartment. He knocked on the door a few times, before letting himself in with the key he still had. He went straight to the bathroom and once again found her beneath her shower in a pool of blood. Another miscarriage.

Anna’s eyes were bloodshot from crying all night. He spotted the syringe in the sink and half a bottle of morphine sitting next to it, no where near enough to actually cause a miscarriage.

‘We need to get you to the hospital and find out what’s wrong.’ He said, quietly.

'I can't keep doing this to you, Greg.'

House stayed and helped her get cleaned up, he was gentle with her and did what he needed to do. They went back to the hospital and found out she had severe damage to her womb that meant she could never have kids, no matter what.

Anna got back to work, they didn’t talk about anything, she just got on with things. Wilson on the other hand was declining. He had cancer and he was going to die.

They went on a road trip and when they got back, Anna was gone. No note, no forwarding address, no phone number. She was just gone. House focused all his efforts into Wilson, he was all he had left.

He got home one evening after Wilson decided he wanted to die. There was a message on his answering machine.

‘Greg, it’s me.’ Anna. ‘I’ve gone to LA, back at the research centre. I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye, I just… everything’s just… I need to start again. I love you more than anything, but I can’t stay in New Jersey and I can’t watch Wilson die and I can’t live everyday knowing that you and I don’t have a future. I didn’t do anything with my life that anyone was grateful for, I never will. People always saw me as the poor broken soldier, not the doctor who was the second best in the hospital and number one cardiologist in the country. I am really good at my job and I am a really good person. I deserve better than what I had, but what I always wanted was you. Greg, I’ll never stop being in love with you, but I need to change something. I made it four months while you were in prison, but barely a week when you were out. Even you can see there’s a connection. I’m so sorry Greg, if you can find a way to forgive me for leaving, come to LA and find me. If you can’t… you were the single best thing I ever experienced. But I wasn’t built for happiness. Goodbye.’

House stared down at the floor for a moment before driving to Anna’s apartment, he got there and found that new people were already moving into her apartment. She really was gone.

He had nothing left, Wilson had five months left to live and Anna was gone. He hated them both, he thought he hated them both, but he loved them and they were leaving him. He had nothing.

Wilson couldn’t believe it, the building burnt down, his best friend chose death over everything else. The funeral was awful and surprisingly Anna didn’t turn up for it, he only realised why when he received a text message saying: shut up you idiot. Wilson couldn’t quite believe it, had House seriously faked his own death?

Wilson drove to his old apartment and found his beast friend sitting on the steps waiting for him. He faked his death to ensure he could spend the next five months with Wilson, he did it for his friend, out of love.

‘You realise we have to go to LA?’ Wilson said, adjusting his helmet as they were about to set off on an epic adventure.

‘Yeah, Anna is waiting for us, we’ll be there in two months time.’ House nodded.

‘You should marry her.’ Wilson thought about it long and hard. ‘I know her last message made things seem like she wasn’t interested, but if you can change, if you can learn to be a little more empathetic, then you might just find what you’re looking for and so might she.’

‘Why do you care? You’ll be dead before the wedding.’

‘Just knowing it’s going to happen will be enough.’ Wilson assured him. ‘You gotta try. You’ve always been in love with her, she’s always been in love with you, this on again off again tango you’ve been doing for the last ten years, it’s time to get off the dance floor.’

House shook his head. ‘She’s better off without me.’

‘I’m not going to spend my last five months arguing about facts.’ Wilson told him firmly. ‘Marry her, give her everything you have, don’t look back and don’t regret not giving it everything you have.’ He exhaled sharply and looked around at the clear day. ‘Lead the way.’

House smirked and half laughed, putting his own helmet on. He revved his motorcycle and they began riding to LA. The last five months of Wilson’s life would be perfectly chaotic and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

END

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[fox-daddy]

20 for all three!

Question 20: Reversed endings

Due to how the reversed/upright endings work in the game. My plan was to give the Mc's a route for each version. Due to it taking 12 endings into 24, some are more worked out than others.

Also, mild to major spoilers for all the endings.

Kyle;

Nadia reversed, Kyle reversed; due to Nadia's plan and being tied to Nadia, Kyle started getting pestered by the Fool. In his reversed ending, he neither tries to counter Nadia's plan despite his position nor ask for help from his friends and allies. Leading to him having to kill the Fool, returning Asra, their half-hearted, and fully becoming the Fool. Nadia's plan leads to a full-on arcana war, causing more damage as the minor arcana suffer the most from this. Lacking the power and security the Major naturally has.

Nadia upright, Kyle revered; similar to how Nadia's reversed ending starts with her killing her ex, Kyle's, start with him killing his sister. To feed into the places law. Kyle is the only one left of a four member group, something he signed up to when he was a child. Thus, unless he passes the title on, which would only be possible once Kyle isn't able to do his job anymore so around 30-50 years. He isn't allowed to date or have romantic relations. Since he's bound to this place with nobody able to take the job, he can't say no. Being on the other side of the world, a war with Vesuvia would be a complete loss for Vesuvia, who can't afford it.

Asra reversed, Kyle reversed;

With the world in chaos, humans are dying left rigor and center as the major arcana are fighting each other for what little power remains. A chunk of the minor arcana is already gone (formless and realmless but not dead), and even some of the major arcana are struggling. With this, the Fool is pestering Kyle again since theirs still time to fix things if they hurry. In the reversed ending, similar to Nadia's reversed ending, Kyle fully becomes the Fool as his domain becomes the new human realm as their unable to gather enough power. Leaving Asra with a full heart again. It takes hundreds of years for Kyle to rebuild the human realm. I'm that time everyone he knows dies of old age as I the end Kyle is left alone as a major arcana, the Fool.

Asra, upright, Kyle reversed; similar to Nadia, it starts with Kyle killing his sister. Instead of staying to face the consequences, he runs away with Asra back to Vesuvia. Due to having the magic to cut the bound and run. Leaving Kyle with a loss to his sense of self. Slowly over years, he becomes consumed by the fool as nobody is not even a major arcana like death, or the magician can do anything to help him. Eventually, Kyle becomes the fool returning Asra's half hear and becoming trapped in the realms unable to truly feel anything but a ghost of his previous human emotions.

Hunter;

Julian's reversed, Hunter's reversed; two words, ✨️alcoholism✨️ and furries. Basically, even with Hunter their unable to find their friends or fix anything. Eventually, much later than Julian, Hunter gives up, and they stay at the always shocked Rowdy Raven. As a ravenman and mained-wolfperson.

(For the rest of Hunter's, I haven't thought much about it)

Julian's upright, Hunter's reversed; basically, Hunter gets killed for their old crimes. Remember how Julian was all for getting hanged because he thought he killed Lucio? Hunter's body count is around 91 people. While they can argue for 32 of them, they were 1. A child and 2. Forced to the other 59 are on the air.

(I haven't played Muriel or Portia'a route in a while)

Muriel reversed, Hunter reversed; while trying to find a way to force Lucio back into the magic realms Hunter ends up making a deal where they trick Lucio into agreeing to go without a fight as long as they become his new pet as the Fool. As of course, when he realizes he's been tricked, he doesn't take it lightly. While Hunter makes sure nobody, not even Asra can enter Lucio's domain (the new devil).

Muriel upright, Hunter reversed; remember that kill count? Hunter is found out to be in Vesuvia and forced to stand trial. After losing horribly, they end up actually having to go into hiding with Muriel. Sinking deeper into the woods and cutting almost all their connections forced to live in basically solitude until their either forgotten or found and killed by those seeking revenge.

Portia reversed, Hunter reversed; with magic gone, an old deal is solidified, so only 59 of the kill count counts. Along with the diplomatic mission failing due to Hunter having to focus on that and not make things more muddled. Vesuvia is in war, another group outside the war wants Hunter's head as compensation for the 12 people they killed, and if they don't, they'll team up against Vesuvia. So Hunter abandons Portia and hands themselves in Julian style to save Vesuvia and in their eyes Portia.

Portia upright, Hunter reversed; basically the same, but three different groups want Hunter's head. Two cities and an entire gang organization. So Hunter gives themselves up to save Vesuvia and, in turn, Portia and give a big fat middle finger to the gang by not letting them torture them before they were killed humanely by being hanged.

Bluebell;

Lucio reversed, Bluebell reversed; after countless attempts from others and the major arcana to change their plan, Bluebell goes full force into murdering most of the human population. Leaving Lucio in control of everyone else as they make sure those remaining are safe to feast and drink as much as they want on a large island while animals and nature take over everything else.

(Another one I haven't really thought of)

Lucio upright, Bluebell reversed; during bounty hunting life, they both get too injured to continue as their forced to retire after having to be saved by other people. It doesn't sound too bad for a reversed, except during their time, Bluebell had their wings and tail chopped off, their ears clipped, and Lucio had his metal arm destroyed, his other arm broken if not cut off, one of his familiars killed the other got saved but was in B.A.D condition when found. Their both traumatized to the Devils realm and back. By the end, their back in the magic shop with the banishment revoked due to Bluebell needing to be close to friends for emotional support despite Bluebell actually spending 99% of their time in the woods in solitude outside Lucio.

[purplesong1028]

The Worthy One

Chapter 3: The Weak

Din watches Paz train with the Darksaber for the first time, and reminisces about his own journey with the legendary weapon.

Rating: General Audience

Paring: Paz/Din

Words: 3,167

For the first time in almost two decades, Din and Paz settle into a routine of peaceful coexistence.

He wakes up late in the morning, puts on his helmet and opens the door. Shortly after, Paz would come in to help him change his bandage. They don’t talk much, both focusing on the task at hand, so Paz can leave him alone to get dressed as soon as possible. He can’t put on any upper body armor yet, but he can wear his flight suit, thigh armor, boots, gloves and helmet. He likes to throw on the cloak too, just to feel more covered.

He spends most of the day sitting by the forge, helping the armorer with whatever she asks him to do. She never lets him lift anything too heavy, insisting that it’s important for him to fully recover first. It feels vaguely patronizing, especially when he watches Paz move these heavy equipment around with ease.

However, he can’t blame them for their caution. His wounds have been healing, but for some reason he still feels exhausted everyday. Maybe there’s some internal damage he doesn’t know of, or maybe everything else he put his body through has finally caught up. He often gets sleepy soon after dinner, and Paz would silently help him with his bandage again before he goes to bed. He falls asleep fast, and wakes up late again the next morning.

*

Din understands resting is necessary in the recovery process, but he can’t help the sense of uselessness gradually building up, growing heavier each day in his chest, spreading to all muscles with every heartbeat.

Slowly, frustration grows into restlessness, and then a dangerous impulsiveness. That’s when he knows he has to do something other than sitting purposelessly by the forge. But what? He can’t resume his regular training yet, not when his right arm hasn’t even gained back half of its mobility and strength. Even if he tries, he’s pretty sure Paz will physically drag him back to his room.

“You still haven’t trained with the Darksaber.” The armorer’s voice snaps him back to reality. He looks up confused, and realizes she’s talking to Paz who’s walking out from the training space.

Paz stops a few steps from the forge. There’s an uncommon tension in his deep voice. “No, I haven’t.”

“What? Why?”

Din bites his lower lip. Interrupting a conversation between the armorer and someone else is rude, but he was too surprised to stop the words from coming out of his mouth. Based on Paz’s enthusiasm during their duel, Din assumed that he must have been playing with the sword everyday since he won it. But Paz hasn’t tried to wield it? Not even once?

The armorer gives him a brief look, silent and calm, but it’s more than enough to make him stop whatever else he might say. Then she turns off the forge, takes her hammer and tongs, and gives Paz a little nod. “Come. It’s time to start.”

*

For the first time, Din is neither defending himself against the Darksaber nor trying to wield it. It’s simply fascinating to watch the legendary sword in action from a bystander’s perspective.

Paz activates the Darksaber. Like most swords, it looks disproportionately small in Paz’s hands, but size doesn’t diminish its commanding presence. Its glowing edge ignites the air around it, creating a deceptively soft halo around the deadly weapon.

“Solus.”

The armorer gives her command. Paz lifts the saber with both hands and strikes. The blade comes straight at the armorer’s helmet, powerful but too slow. She blocks it easily with her hammer.

Sparks fly into the air, each one can easily cause a nasty burn on naked skin. The sheer impact sends waves down the metal floor. He can feel vibration under his feet even from where he’s standing.

He feels his heart racing, matching the throbbing rhythm on the floor. His breath gets hotter, as if some of those fire sparks flew under his helmet.

He wonders if this was what Paz felt that day, watching him train with the armorer, wielding the most formidable weapon known to mandalorian history.

He wonders if that was what made Paz decide to challenge him at that moment.

“T’ad.” “Solus.” “Ehn.” “Cuir.”

Din listens to the armorer giving out familiar commands to Paz, and watches Paz increasingly struggle with each strike just like he did.

If he were to be honest, there is a hint of amusement in his heart. It’s nothing new. Over the years, he's always had a small desire to gloat whenever Paz was in trouble, although he rarely acted on it.

But right now, that tiny sense of mischievous joy is drowned by sadness.

It’s hard enough to know you are not enough, and it’s cruel to hold the proof of that in your own hands.

Din watches in awe as the armorer counters another attack with her tongs, and strikes Paz hard on the chest with her hammer, knocking him off balance.

“You are a lot stronger than this.” She stands over the larger mandalorian on his knees. “You are distracted.”

Paz looks up from the ground, but not at the armorer who’s speaking to him. He glances past her, meeting Din’s visor across the long metal bridge.

Din feels his eyes widen. He can’t meet Paz in the eye behind their helmets, yet somehow he feels connected, seen, exposed in a way that he isn’t prepared for.

After a moment of peculiar silence, the armorer also turns to look at him. She doesn’t say a word, but there’s something extremely perceptive with the way she tilts her helmet.

Suddenly he wants to hide.

Din gives her a respectful nod and turns around. Behind him, the training soon resumes, somehow getting louder with each step he takes to walk away.

*

The best word to describe the structure of Glavis Ringworld would be polarizing. On one hand, if you’re on the top surface, you get perpetual sunlight from the small star in the middle. On the other hand, the substrata area faces the vast empty space, hidden within the boundless darkness of the universe.

Din hears heavy footsteps approaching from behind. He sighs and shifts his attention away from the stars.

Paz sits down next to him, close enough to have a private conversation, but far enough that they won’t accidentally brush shoulders.

“She wasn’t asking you to leave, you know.”

“I know. I didn’t want to distract you.”

“That’s not on you. It’s our own responsibility to ignore distractions in combat.”

“That’s fair.” He tries to make the conversation flow, but isn’t sure where this is going. “So? How did it go?”

“You saw how it went.” Paz gives him a little shrug. “Alor said I needed to learn to control it with my mind, not my strength.”

“She told me the same thing. It’s easier said than done, isn’t it?” Din huffs, feeling truly amused. Now that the pressure isn’t on him, he can finally laugh about it. “But who knows? Maybe you’ll have an easier time. The sword was forged by your ancestors after all.”

Din thought Paz would take the chance to talk more about Tarre Vizsla, but surprisingly, the often prideful mandalorian doesn’t seem interested to talk about his glorious family history today.

“She said something else too, after you left.” Paz’s deep voice sounds even heavier than usual, almost like a sigh. “If you know what’s distracting you, you need to resolve it.”

Din feels the collar of his cloak getting tighter. He pulls on it and takes a deep breath. “Look, you won it from me in fair combat, and I have no interest in challenging you again.”

He turns to look at Paz, trying to show how much he means it when he speaks his next words. If he isn’t worthy, someone else must be.

“The Darksaber is yours. I support your claim.”

“I appreciate that.” There’s a long pause. He can see Paz’s broad shoulders tense up under thick beskar armor. “But that’s not what’s distracting me.”

“It’s not?” Now he’s really confused. What else could it be?

“When I fought you for it…” Paz stops mid sentence like he doesn’t know what to say, which has never happened before. If anything, Paz usually has the opposite problem.

“What about it?”

“You still remember what I said.”

“Oh, that.” Din slowly inhales. The wound on his shoulder aches as his chest expands. “Are you trying to say you didn’t mean it?”

There’s a long silence, then a heavy sigh. “I did, at the time.”

The dull ache turns into excruciating pain, like someone tore his wound open and stabbed him again at the same spot. He feels the air leaving his lungs, his blood turning cold, cold as the words he just heard.

“What do you need from me then?” Din hates his own voice in his ears, hurt and ugly, distorted by the helmet. “To tell you it’s alright, so you can have your peace of mind?”

“Din, that’s not what I meant. Let me finish.”

“No, you don’t need to finish.” He interrupts Paz. It’s been almost two decades. Today is the day he’s finally had enough. “Just tell me, what do you really want me to do? To disappear for good, so I can stop giving you problems? Stop distracting you?”

“No! What the kark are you talking about?!”

“You tried to kill me.” There’s a strange numbness on his tongue, his face, his fingertips. “There’s not much else to talk about.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you. I saved you from the Darksaber!”

*

Din feels his throat tighten on its own, swallowing back all the vicious words he’s about to say. His mouth hangs open but there’s no sound coming out. He would certainly look ridiculous now without the helmet.

From a short distance, the forge is burning with a low humming sound. There is no chance that the armorer didn’t just hear them yelling, but she doesn’t acknowledge it, and he really appreciates that.

He clears his throat and turns back to Paz, “what do you mean?”

Paz scoffs, “now you are letting me finish.”

“Don’t push it.”

For a moment, when silence falls upon them again, Din thinks this might be the end of their conversation. No answer, no closure, just another dead end added to their unresolved tension.

But then Paz begins to speak.

“There isn’t much left of my house. I know some survived the purge, but I don’t know where they are. I knew the Darksaber was taken by the Empire, but didn’t know who had it, or where it went.”

For some reason, that reminds him of his first time meeting Bo-Katan. “I’m the last of my line,” she said.

Every mandalorian understands loss, whether they come from a big house like Vizsla or Kryze, or from nowhere like him. But when loss is certain, at least it comes with closure, just like how he knows his parents died protecting him from the Empire, and his buir also died years later for the same purpose. He will always carry their lives with him, for as long as he lives.

What’s worse is an uncertain hope, like back in Nevarro when the armorer told him maybe some of his vods survived, while he was staring down at a pile of empty helmets.

“So when I saw the sword in your hands that day, and you couldn’t even honor it properly…” Paz keeps talking, pulling him back from his own thoughts. “My mind slipped into a dark place when I looked at you. But it was a brief impulse, nothing more.”

Din doesn’t know how to respond. To be fair, he is a little touched by this rare honesty between them. But what can he possibly say to a heartfelt explanation of why Paz had an impulse to kill him?

“Come on, Din. Don’t tell me you’ve never felt that way.”

“Like I want to kill you?” He snorts, “sure, I got pretty close to it just now.”

Paz lets out a frustrated grunt. “Fine, so you know what I meant.”

“Or that time in Nevarro when you tried to take off my helmet.” Paz probably doesn’t need another example, but he just has to mention it. “But no, it’s not the same. I never acted on it.”

Even with their hostile relationship, Din still sees Paz as a brother. Before Grogu, their covert had been his only family. He can’t ever imagine killing one of his own.

“Me neither, never wanted to.” Paz reaches for the Darksaber on his belt, closing his fingers around it. “Until I picked it up.”

Din watches Paz clench and unclench his grip around the saber several times before finally taking a solid hold.

“When I turned it on for the first time, it felt…alive. It was connected to me, knew what I wanted, how I felt, like it was…”

“Like it was consuming you.” He whispers to himself, before Paz could finish the sentence.

“Yeah, like that.” Paz ignites the Darksaber, but then quickly turns it back off. “All I could feel was this intense rage, and hatred, like nothing else existed. Then the sword started moving on its own, coming for your neck.”

Paz is drowned in the dark, stressful memory, but Din can’t help but feel a warmness spreading in his chest. It all makes sense now.

“You tried to stop it.”

“Yes, but I couldn’t. It still hurt you.” He’s never heard such heavy guilt in Paz’s voice. “I let it hurt you.”

“No, you stopped it from doing something worse.” Din moves in closer, and now their shoulders can almost brush. “You said it yourself. It was coming for my neck. You moved it away.”

“Not completely.”

“Fine, you stopped it partially. At least you didn’t hurt yourself with it like I did. Your family sword probably hated me before you even touched it.”

From the way Paz gives him a blank stare, he knows the other man didn’t find the joke funny. That’s fine, humor has never been the strong suit for either of them.

“Look, what I mean is…I understand.” Din reaches into his pocket and takes out the little red and white package. “I’ve missed him since he left with the Jedi, but when I held the Darksaber, it became unbearable.”

“Grogu, is it? Your foundling’s name.” Paz says gently, and Din loves how the name sounds in the larger mandalorian’s deep voice.

“Yeah, Grogu. I tried not to use the blade after a while. It was…too much.”

The Darksaber flooded his mind with beautiful memories, drowning him in longingness and sorrow. At some point, he caught himself starting to feel hatred towards the Jedi, towards himself. Then he stopped practicing with the blade altogether, and only used it in battles a few times when he had no other options.

“You can still spend time with him. He will always be a mandalorian foundling.”

“He’s with his own kind now, where he belongs.” The shape of the small bag reminds him of Grogu’s large ears. Din brushes them softly with gloved fingertips. “And apparently, Jedis don’t allow attachments.”

“I used to think that was nonsense, but maybe they have a good reason.” Paz turns the Darksaber in his large palms. “That was how the Empire started, right? Some Jedis couldn’t handle their emotions and went mad.”

“What do you mean?”

“…You don’t know?” Paz manages to give him an incredulous look, even with the helmet on. “When a force sensitive gives into their attachments, they start to seek power from their emotions: fear, anger, hatred, until they lose themselves to the dark side.”

“So if we can feel…these emotions when we touch the Darksaber, are we force sensitive? Like the Jedi?”

“I don’t know.” Paz’s visor meets his, a resigned agreement. “But maybe we are both too weak to wield it.”

“Well, if that’s true, now it’s your responsibility to hold onto it until someone else wins it from you.” Din shrugs, “it’ll probably be Bo-Katan.”

“Oh, kark no!”

“What’s your problem with her?” He laughs out, “she is a very strong warrior from what I can tell.”

“Their House has fallen from the Way.” Paz tucks the Darksaber back to his belt. “She’s not a mandalorian anymore, according to our creed.”

The smile fades from his face.

Bo-Katan doesn’t hide her face, so she’s not a true mandalorian in their eyes.

And neither is he, not anymore.

“Is she your friend?”

“Maybe not.” Din answers honestly. He’s pretty sure she doesn’t like him very much, especially not after he took the Darksaber. “But she saved me and my foundling once on Trask, and also joined me to rescue him from Moff Gideon.”

“Anything for the foundlings.” Paz sits straight. “Maybe she is a better mandalorian than I thought.”

“This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

*

Usually this would mark the end of a conversation between mandalorians, but it doesn’t feel the same today. There’s no conclusion or consolation.

“When I got my signet, alor said we are a clan of two.” He’s not wearing the pauldrons now, but he can vividly picture the mudhorn shape when he closes his eyes. “How is it still a clan if only one person is left?”

“Your foundling isn’t dead, Din.” A large hand claps his shoulder. “A clan remains, even when its members are scattered. You should know this.”

“Like the creed?”

“Like the creed.”

Din leans into the hand, just a little, just enough to feel the warmth over layers of clothing.

He’s not ready to lose this too. The creed is all he has.

“You’re right.” He says, pretending that he still has a right to the creed, like he still belongs. “Thank you.”

To his surprise, the hand on this shoulder doesn’t immediately move away. Rather, it slowly moves along his back, until it gently stops at his injured right shoulder.

Din holds his breath, doesn’t dare to move. He can feel Paz’s arm touching his back, like it’s holding him from the side. They’ve never been this close before in a non-confrontational manner.

“Is it time to change your bandage again?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He responds quickly, hoping that will make Paz move his arm away.

“Come on then.”

Paz stands up first, the arm slipping from his shoulder. He exhales. Then a gloved hand appears again, this time in front of him, ready to be taken.

He looks up at Paz, thinking back to the few times he received this nice gesture, when they were sparring in front of the foundlings as a demonstration, so they had to keep some basic decency.

No one’s watching now. Maybe the armorer is, but she is no stranger. There’s no reason to pretend.

Din smiles and takes Paz’s hand, letting himself be pulled up.

At least he still has this, for now.

@mandaloria314 @theydjarin @vanishedangels @cheesybadgers @bellinitini @anunhealthydoseofangst @lithdraug @ragnarvizsla (Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list)

[lec743]

The Pocky Game (February TMNT all 4-1 Challenge)

The Pocky Game is nothing more than another silly game of Chicken. Tina love’s to play Chicken.

Here’s to February’s challenge! Everyone’s art and writings has been wonderful to see. You’re all doing fantastic~

@thelaundrybitch, @turtle-babe83

*******************************************************************************************

           Tina entered the lair to the sound of the boy’s gagging and saying how grossed out they are. Only half of them sounded genuinely grossed out while the others sounded playful. When Tina poked her head into the living room area of the lair, she saw that the turtle boys were standing off to the side as April and Casey were making out on a bench press, with Casey giving the boys the finger.

           Tina chuckled at the sight. Then she moseyed her way over to stand by Raph and she asked, “Why are they making out with each other like they’re trying to set fire to the world?”

           Raph crossed his arms as he shook his head at the two young women, “April brought a few packs of pocky and challenged Casey to the Pocky Game. Neither party has let up… As you can see.”

           “Has anyone else been challenged yet?”

           “Eh,” Leo said, “We don’t really like the idea of kissing April since it’s like kissing a sister, and I’m afraid Casey will bite our lips off.”

           “But isn’t that the point of the Pocky Game? It’s just a more intimate version of playing Chicken.”

           “If your so inclined then you challenge them,” Donnie huffed, “Maybe you can end this disturbing display.”

           April unlocked her lips from Casey and said, “Boo! You just don’t understand us!” She theatrically threw an arm over her eyes and a smile twitched at the corners of her lips.

           “Hey, Casey! I challenge you to the Pocky Game!”

           “You’re on, Tengu Scum!”

           Laughing giddily, Tina and April swapped places. April went to give Donnie a noogie and Tina got comfortable on the bench press in front of Casey.

           As Casey got out the pocky sticks, Mikey said, “I didn’t take you for liking these kinds of games, Tina.”

           “I like playing Chicken. It’s been one of the few games that I can happily play with most people before I met you guys. Not to brag or anything, but I usually won.”

           “Uh, huh, and how much of that winning was you becoming bodily damaged?” Leo asked.

           “… No comment,” Tina said as Casey handed her the pocky stick.

           “You’re totally going to flinch first,” Casey stated confidently.

           Tina gave the older girl a tight-lipped smile and nodded as the pocky stuck out of her mouth. Casey rested her hands on Tina’s shoulders and started nibbling down the chocolate covered biscuit stick. Tina held still, and she focused her gaze on Casey’s eyes. She has very pretty brown eyes that had little flecks of green in them, making them look like some off color of hazel. As Tina focused on Casey’s eyes, the older girl seemed to slow down as she got closer, then Tina saw her eyes focus on her gaze and she froze. Tina continued to stare, and her breath bounced back into her face from Casey’s face being so close. It was almost like Casey was holding her breath.

           Then with a mighty push, Casey shoved Tina back as she flung herself backwards and gasped saying, “Fuck you and your weird ass thousand-mile stare!”

           Tina couldn’t contain her giggling as she stood proud and said, “I am the Champion! Heed me, Casey Jones! I am superior!” She chewed up what was left of the pocky in her mouth and swallowed.

           “Yah, yah!” Casey said as she got off the floor and went to April’s waiting arms.

           April and the boys were snickering at her.

           “If you all think you can do better against her than me, then you give it a shot,” Casey snapped at them.

           Mikey took a step forward, “I’ll give it a go, if that’s okay with you Tina.”

           “Yah! Let’s butt heads!” Tina was excited to keep playing the game.

           Tina picked up the skewed box of pocky off the floor as she sat back down on the bench press. Mikey settled in front of her as she placed another biscuit stick in her mouth. Like Casey, Mikey grabbed Tina by the shoulders and slowly started nibbling the pocky down to her mouth. And like with Casey, she focused on Mikey’s eyes. He had deep black eyes, but as he got closer, she notice that he had little flecks of gold in his iris’. It was like looking into a miniature sky full of stars.

           Mikey slowed down as he got closer, and his eyes moved like he was finally looking Tina in the eyes. Then the biscuit stick snapped at the base of Tina’s mouth as Mikey lifted his head up and fell backwards on the bench press, covering his eyes with his arms.

           “Heck yah! I win again!” Tina cheered as she nibbled on what was left of the dry dessert in her mouth.

           Mikey continued to keep his face covered as Casey said, “Not so easy now, is it!”

           Everyone else was snickering.

           Tina waved away Casey’s comment then she poked him on the knee, “You okay, bud?”

           “It’s like I saw my life flash before my eyes,” Mikey stated as he sat up and avoided eye contact with her.

           “I don’t blame you. That’s how I feel sometimes when I get in trouble with Dad.”

           “Well related or not, you certainly inherited it, whatever “it” may be,” Mikey stated as he walked back to every one else.

           “Who else wants to go against me?” Tina asked, as she hoped to keep playing. She really was enjoying just being with her friends and playing the stupid game.

           Donnie stepped up. “Obviously, you two are just weak willed.” Mikey rolled his eyes and Casey stuck her tongue out at him, as he ignored them. “I’ll show you that my massive brain can handle whatever Medusa-like gaze our resident baby human has.”

           Tina clapped for him enthusiastically as Leo and April booed him playfully. Raph only laughed at the spectacle. Donnie made himself comfortable on the bench press and Tina put another pocky in her mouth. Donnie kept his hands to himself as he started nibbling down the chocolate covered biscuit stick, but it also seemed like he was keeping eye contact with Tina the entire time.

           He had an interesting pair of eyes. That being he has heterochromia, which Tina thought was really cool. It’s kind of hard to notice, but his left eye was definitely a lighter shade of brown than his right eye. His left eye had specks of blue and his right eye had specks of green in his brown eyes. Respectively, it was like looking at two stones that have been taken out of a riverbed.

           Tina felt the faintest brush of Donnie’s snout against her nose before Donnie recoiled and threw his hands in the air saying, “Nope! Can’t!”

           Leo laughed the loudest out of everyone as Donnie ran to his room. Tina pouted at that; she didn’t even get to goad him about her win. She chewed and swallowed what was left of the treat in her mouth.

           Tina turned to the rest of her friends that were still sticking around when Leo spoke up. “Okay. Okay. I’ll show you guys how to really win. Obviously, we need to change the tactic here.”

           Tina smiled at Leo as he walked over and sat on the bench press before her. Tina reached for the box but then Leo picked it up before her and stuck a pocky in his mouth.

           “You do it to me. See how you like it,” Leo stated confidently around the dessert.

           “I like the pocky just fine actually,” Tina said as she got on her feet and using both of her hands, grabbed Leo by the side of his head.

           Leo’s eyes widened in shock form the contact and Tina could see that Leo had very dark blue eyes, like an ocean by a beautiful white sandy beach.

           Then with no hesitation from the blond, chubby girl, Tina opened her mouth wide to let the pocky stick have as much room in her mouth as possible, before clamping her teeth on the treat. Her teeth scrapped against Leo’s lips when she bit down. Leo sat frozen as Tina let go of him and sat back down on the bench press, chewing the treat happily.

           Tina turned to her other friends to see that they were just as shocked. She just waved happily at them since she won the game in record time, she figured they were just impressed with her speed and accuracy. Turning her attention back to Leo, what was left of his side of the pocky was on the bench press as his mouth hung open at her.

           “Want a round two, or am I the official Pocky Queen?”

           Raph came over and planted his big hand on her shoulder, “Let’s say you’re the Pocky Queen for the meantime.” Raph guided Tina up and away from Leo as he continued to look like he was blue screening.

           Everyone was moving off to the part of the living room with the projection screen and couches as April and Mikey discussed what movies they wanted to watch.

           “Did I do something wrong?”

           “No. No. Just. I think we should let Leo think for a minute, that’s all,” Raph said.

           Tina nodded sagely and said, “Ah. The loss must be a massive blow to his ego. Got it.”

           The chubby, blond girl smiled at Raph’s giggling.

           The group chose to watch Lou Jitsu: Unchained and they were halfway through the movie before Leo and Donnie rejoined the group. Tina almost thought that they were avoiding her for some reason, but then Donnie decided to sit next to her, and Leo was fangirling to her about a certain scene that was going to show up in the movie and so her worried thoughts were dashed. Tina was happy to have such cool friends who are willing to do stupid stuff with her.

[captain-lonagan]

MCD Rewatch S1 Ep33: Sugar and Dragons

Do you need to watch this? 0%

Is it fun to watch? 0%

Plot Summary: Aphmau walks in a circle while talking about how far she has to travel, then gets yet another side quest.

Personal Notes:

dogs dying

being weird about little maid again

“I don’t want to see them get hurt” Thorgi is covered in blood, on one health, and crying because he’s starving. you do not care about your dogs at all, don’t lie to me

“kyah” throwing up rn

just noticed KC’s skin has garters

this mod is so so so uncomfortable dude

FOCUS UP. WE HAVE A MISSION

STOP CORRALLING AND COLLECTING THE MAIDS WHO ESCAPED THE BUILDING. THEY’RE PASSIVE MOBS IT DOESN’T MATTER. MOVE ON

maid mod demo but once again Aphmau doesn’t know how the mod works so it’s just her walking in a circle and being confused for ages

“we have a long way to go” YOU HAVE BEEN WALKING IN A CIRCLE FOR TEN MINUTES

whenever Aphmau walks anywhere she doesn’t actually talk about anything she just starts saying the animals she sees. “There’s a panda over there....there’s a cow over there...there’s a tiger over there...there’s some cows over there...” this has gone on for over 5 minutes in the past and it drives me insane whenever she does it. if you have nothing to say or do you can just edit your fucking videos to cut out the time. it might even make the distance you’re traveling seem substantial since I CAN SEE THE MAID CAFE LESS THAN 3 CHUNKS AWAY

“We need to make a camp” I CAN STILL SEE THE CAFE IT IS A 30 SECOND WALK AWAY

“I’m a little lost” HOW

traveler camped out in the woods, he says Scaleswind is half a day’s walk away thank god

NOOOOO HE HAS A SIDEQUEST. TO GATHER SOME FUCKING LOGS

he’s a former Lord whose town was destroyed by shadow knights??? and he’s neither bringing up nor complying with any of the established lore around Lordship and how it works Okay I Guess

WE’RE GOING BACK TO THE CAFE ARE YOU KIDDING

JUST TO GET SUGAR TO TAME THE MAID???

this is gross

Aphmau the whole statement about being lost really is meaningless when you are able to get back to the cafe within 40 seconds of Walking

i maintain nobody walks as badly in minecraft as Aphmau does this is fucking baffling

logs are from a wyvern den btw

teleported to location using a magic staff given by traveller, it’s not a den it’s a whole ass dimension I Guess

STOP STALLING AND TALKING ABOUT BUILDING A SHELTER WE HAVE TO GATHER 4 STACKS OF THESE STUPID LOGS

the shelter is shitty if offers no protection + we can’t stay there anyway because WE NEED TO MOVE AROUND AND CHOP THE TREES

no but actually, all Aphmau’s stalling aside, it seems like Scaleswind is a 5 minute or less walk away. like it’s a 30 second boat trip across the lake, then you go through a forest and fields for like 2 minutes to get to KC’s cafe, and now we’re a “half day’s walk” away from Scaleswind, which means it’s probably literally on the other side of the next hill because it takes Aphmau 5 minutes and 3 hearts of damage to get across a single chunk.