#one of them is basically like a rage room where you break stuff it's really fun | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreamwreaver · 1 month ago

Note

Now as much as I like Lucifer, there's a lot of things that they did with him in the show that messed up certain dynamics and developments of characters.

One thing that really ticks me off is when he came in the episode 8 battle at the last minute and defeating Adam for his daughter. The show doesn't give you a reason why he's there all of a sudden and why he didn't just join them the first time. From what we've seen in episode 5, it doesn't seem like he's got much else to do other than sequestering himself in his room and building rubber ducks so what was his excuse for being late? But that's not the part that I'm angry with. It's the fact that by showing up and beating the main villain of the show by himself, he has effectively robbed Charlie of her character development. This battle was her chance to prove herself and to reveal her true power after being severely underestimated by her subjects but she doesn't get the opportunity before her dad swoops in and does the job for her. All without breaking a sweat, making Adam's defeat anticlimactic because we all know Lucifer is immensely powerful firsthand, what's the first man going to do against the fallen angel that doomed humanity?

That's what really made me fume at how the last episode was handled, that the show had to resort to a cheap deus ex machina to get rid of Adam instead of having the main characters fight for his demise. The show has teased Charlie's demon form several times, showing that raw power is simmering beneath the surface, ready to burst but the show doesn't give her the moment where she releases all that pent up anger, showing that you shouldn't mess with the princess of hell and justified rage at the angel who clearly should not be in heaven. No, what the show does is sidelining her once again, in favor of bringing in the creator's favorite boy. Doing so has led to Charlie looking like she relied on her dad to solve her problems for her.

Which comes back to my point of Lucifer's inclusion in the main cast, inducting him to a more prominent role would lessen the stakes and mess up Charlie and Alastor's development. Alastor is meant to be Charlie's mentor, the one who guides her and brings out her true potential but that would be extremely difficult to pull off considering her overprotective and jealous father will apparently be staying at the hotel and he's more powerful than the Radio Demon, he can teach his daughter on his own, basically nullifying Alastor's purpose. Because if Lucifer can do what he does but better, what use does Charlie have for him, considering she cannot trust him at all to begin with. Overall, Lucifer's involvement in the plot has been poorly executed and including him as a full-time member of the hotel is too early and upsets the power dynamics.

Again I am going to blame streaming at large and shortened seasons for some of these problems you've mentioned. I remember in at least one episode Viv wanted a 23-26 episode season but could only get 8. I assume that that would have given time for what I would call "townie" episodes and plot related ones. Townie of course being from the Steven Universe episodes that focused on Steven's relationships with the people of beach city and not doing his gem stuff. Townie episodes in hazbin would have been super useful for fleshing out the characters so that the ones who aren't Viv's oldest characters (Angel, Alastor, and some version of Charlie) feel less flat.

I'm just spitballing here but I do imagine that had she gotten her wish the visit to heaven and vaggie reveal likely would have been the mid season finale, leaving us with a couple of months or so to speculate on how things would play out before giving us the month timeline. Lucifer's inclusion, I believe, would have benefitted too from multiple episodes spent on him and Charlie butting heads over how to run things and manage her meeting with heaven (though part of me is glad they didn't because ra shippers can be entitled and annoying enough with just the not even 5 minutes of interaction they did get. God help us if they'd had multiple episodes of them interacting).

Personally, I don't think Lucifer should have been involved in the hotel at all. You're right, he's a deus ex machina, and a very annoying one at that. Maybe if Sera or any other high ranking angel was the one attempting to kill Charlie. We can assume that Lucifer hasn't intervened in other instances likely because of what tenuous treaty allows for the exterminations in the first place; namely that in exchange for not intervening the exorcists only target sinners and not Hellborns or something like that. I'd have much preferred them using him sparringly. One would think that as not just the leader of Pride but the literal Ruler of all Hell he'd have more important things to do than hang around his daughter's hotel all day.

But you're right, one thing I think I also like about Charlie and alastor's dynamic is that he knows she's more powerful than him. They both know it. The difference between Charlie and Lucifer is that she would never use her powers if it wasn't needed. Lucifer clearly has no problem showing off his abilities at the drop of a hat. While I do appreciate there being some indication that Adam's attempt at killing Charlie likely violated some sort of treaty between heaven and hell (hence why his mask glitched) and that's why Lucifer stepped in I really don't think that in that state Charlie was as defenseless as portrayed. Had she, like Alastor, already taken a blow of pure angelic might and was bleeding out or something then yeah, Lucifer stepping in would make sense. Charlie at that point would have been through the ringer and it would have been deserved.

Of course, Lucifer's relationship with Charlie is far from fixed. Years of estrangement is not by one musical number repaired. Personally, I'm hoping the only reason he's been elevated to a permanent place in the hotel currently is because Lilith is supposed to be re-entering Charlie's life after a seven year absence. And I want that man to become a S-Tier Simp because of it. We see already that he still wears his wedding ring, he's not over losing her, he likely wants her back. If the instas are still second tier canon this man was the Hellish Gomez to Lilith's morticia. Also lbr; the idea of bringing in this powerful king of hell only to nerf him by way of "still not over my ex" is honestly hilarious.

Thank you for all the asks Nonny, you deserve the world.

#charlastor #radiobelle #hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #alastor #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #dream replies

22 notes · View notes

thetomorrowshow · 27 days ago

Text

Whumptober Day 14 - Left for Dead

title: a boy falling out of the sky

fandom: limited life smp

this is a follow-up to my day 6 prompt fill, exit 73. you don't need to read it to understand this :)

cw: blood and injury, implied/referenced abuse

Jimmy doesn’t stop fighting.

He never does. Always been a fighter, his mother used to say.

Doesn’t know what’s good for him, his boss says now.

He isn’t well liked among TIES, he knows that. He’s been running with them for about four months, and they still won’t give him the chance to prove himself.

He usually spends his time manning the front with the same group of five, all of whom have been involved in TIES for years, all of whom see him as nothing more than a kid who needs to shut up and pay attention to them. They don’t like that he has ideas—probably because they’re better than whatever they could think of.

They report him to Impulse when he says that last bit. Impulse takes Jimmy aside and reminds him that the only reason he’s here is because he begged them, and that if he wants to prove his worth, he can do it by following orders.

It’s stupid. It’s so, so stupid, because he knows what he’s doing! He learned how to shoot when he was four years old—he doesn’t need someone telling him how to hold his gun! He knows how to sneak around—he used to do it every night to get to his sister’s room, trying not to anger their father. He knows how to steal, he’s been doing that since he was seven, slipping snacks into his shorts at the grocery store.

He knows how to do everything that the higher-ups ask of the others, but nobody wants him to do it. They keep him on menial work—delivering mail, manning the front, occasionally being sent to peacefully threaten someone. Nothing interesting. None of the really good-paying stuff.

He needs the money. He really, really needs the money.

But he can’t get the money when none of these morons trust him to do even the most basic of tasks!

Jimmy spends a lot of time frustrated. He spends a lot of time hanging out in the alley behind their front (a self-storage business), kicking at the gravel and smoking, letting the tobacco calm the anger.

That’s where one of the leaders finds him, one day.

“I bet your fifteen minute smoke break is up.”

Jimmy glances up—Tango. That’s Tango, one of the bosses of TIES—Jimmy’s so low on the food chain that he’s never actually met Tango before, just seen him in passing. Jimmy’s under Impulse’s command, technically (though he almost never sees him, either), and Impulse and Tango’s commands rarely interact.

Tango probably expects him to be starstruck at seeing one of the kingpins, or ashamed at being caught an extended break.

Jimmy just rolls his eyes, takes another puff. He doesn’t know what Tango’s doing here, and he doesn’t really care.

“Are you even old enough to smoke those things?”

“I’m not a baby,” Jimmy growls. “I’ve seen just as much as half the people here, and more than the other half. I know what I’m doing.”

“Whoa, that sounds like a disproportionate response to my joke,” Tango says. He doesn’t sound mad, which is good. Jimmy’s not all that skilled in the art of keeping his mouth shut. “Who said you didn’t?”

Jimmy gestures vaguely with his cigarette. “I don’t know. Everyone. Why else would I be stuck at the desk all day? I can shoot. I can sneak. I need a mission, not this.”

Tango’s quiet for a moment. Jimmy looks down at what’s left of his cigarette, takes one final drag, then drops it to the gravel, grounds it out with his heel.

“Do you need a mission?” asks Tango. “Or do you need money?”

“I—does it matter?”

Tango shrugs casually. “Not to some people. Most people are here for the money. That’s fine. It’s pretty easy to guess what for, too. Debts, treatments. . . .” he squints at Jimmy. “You look like your mom has cancer. Yeah?”

“Don’t talk about my mother,” Jimmy snarls, sudden rage flooding his chest. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Tango laughs. “Dude, I know more about you than you know about yourself. What, does your dad beat her—gak!”

Jimmy cuts him off by grabbing the front of Tango’s shirt, shoving him up against the wall. He can’t—nobody gets to talk about his mother like that, he isn’t going to stand her name being dragged through the mud—

“Don’t you dare,” he hisses. “I don’t wanna hear—”

“One of my men has a gun trained on you right now,” Tango says calmly.

The breath freezes in Jimmy’s lungs.

He lets go, steps away. “I—”

“Shut up, I don’t have time for apologies. You wanna prove yourself, kid? You wanna get the money to get your mommy safe? Fine. Tomorrow. Six in the morning, all right?”

Jimmy’s hands clench into fists, but he nods shortly. Tango, his cool demeanor soured by irritation, rolls his eyes.

“Chill out, dude. The world’s not gonna end tomorrow.”

“You don’t know that,” grumbles Jimmy. Tango shrugs.

“Sure. You should chill out, anyways.”

“Canary, take the right with Eagle. Vulture with me, to the basement. Hawk and Blue Jay, you’re on left.”

They’ve gone over the plan a hundred times, so Jimmy knows that he’s going right without the Cardinal telling him which way to go. He rolls his eyes, but turns down that way, pulling his mask up a bit higher on his nose.

He fiddles with the earpiece that they’d given him—it’s a bit clunkier than everyone else’s, but he’s trying his best not to argue today so he doesn’t bring it up. If he wants Tango to consider sending him out again, he has to be perfect.

“Listen to me,” Eagle says harshly, the moment they’re out of sight of the others. “You’re going to do everything I say, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Jimmy mutters. Eagle backhands him across the cheek; Jimmy freezes, clenching his fists.

He’s not going to fight. Even though fighting is all he knows how to do, he’s going to lay low and wait for his time to come. He can prove himself. He will prove himself.

“Don’t talk back,” says Eagle. “I’m in charge. You’re a kid if I say you’re a kid. Now—you’d better do everything I say, you hear? No mouthing off, no assuming you know better—because you don’t. You don’t know anything. Got that?”

Jimmy nods angrily. Eagle raises an eyebrow at him (and Jimmy just knows he’s smirking under his mask, the little—), then continues down the hall.

They’re infiltrating the main headquarters of a rival, though nobody will tell Jimmy who or why. He’s just there to clear the building, as out of danger as he can be. It’s not the highest position on the team, but it is on the team, and Jimmy’s doing his best to feel grateful about that.

This is a dangerous mission—a very dangerous mission. Tango had offered to let him back out around five times, his eyes glinting with something like self-satisfaction, but Jimmy had stubbornly remained and now he’s going to prove that he’s earned his place on this team. Not just on this team, but in this family. He belongs in TIES, and he’s going to prove it.

Despite its danger, it still surprises Jimmy when they walk straight into a firefight.

“Eagle to Cardinal, we need back-up! Anyone—we’re on the second floor, it’s—there’s already a fight—”

Jimmy doesn’t know what’s happening or why guns were firing before they got there, but he throws himself back around the corner with Eagle and readies his own gun, aiming it in the direction of the massive garage that they both just fled from.

“The Bad Boys are here, too, looks like—they must’ve gotten the same intel,” Eagle hisses into his earpiece. A moment later, Jimmy’s own crackles with a painful spark.

“Cardinal to all. Evacuate and regroup, sunglasses are here.”

Eagle nods, motions for Jimmy to follow as they creep back into the hallway they’d come from, into view of the garage again.

Jimmy pauses to look—it’s a quiet moment in the fight within, everyone hiding on opposite sides of the room, occasionally darting out to fire at one another.

The garage is massive, its ceiling vaulted high above the hall, and Jimmy scans the room as quickly as he can—and he spots what he’s looking for.

“Who are the Bad Boys?” Jimmy whispers. Eagle grabs his wrist, tugs him along.

“Another gang.”

“Are we enemies? Because—look—”

He points up across the room, toward a window set into the wall near the ceiling. “There’s a room up there. We could go up and snipe both sides, easy.”

Eagle sighs. “Bad Boys aren’t our enemies, not right now. Etho apparently gets along pretty well with one of their higher-ups.”

“Then—why don’t we join them, help them out?”

“Just because we aren’t enemies doesn’t mean we’re friends. We don’t want them to get the package any more than we want these guys to have it.”

Jimmy doesn’t know what this so-called package is, but he nods. Sure. It’s not like this was his one chance to prove his worth to Tango. Now—

One of the Bad Boys—he’s got a leather vest on, a green streak through his hair, no mask (the mask might be a TIES signature, Jimmy thinks, but he isn’t sure)—rolls out from behind a car, aims his gun—

But he gets hit before he can pull the trigger. A pained grunt tears from the man’s lips as he falls, a bullet piercing his calf, blood splattering out onto the concrete below him.

Jimmy looks over, sees the man who shot the Bad Boy cocking his gun, aiming it at green-hair’s prone body, and acts before he can even think.

Well, not really. He does think, but all he thinks is, maybe if I save a Bad Boy, Etho will like me.

He knows how to shoot a gun. There’s only a couple of things Jimmy knows how to do really well, and one of them is standing between the injured and their abuser and the other is firing a gun. This is both of those, so he reckons he’s pretty much in his element.

Jimmy ducks into the garage proper and fires.

He lands a shot on the man who had risen up from behind a barrel, gun aimed at the Bad Boy. The man falls with a cry, and Jimmy only has a moment to acknowledge that he just pulled that reckless stunt before he turns and runs.

That was probably really stupid, now that he takes a moment to consider the consequences.

“You—idiot—” Eagle snarls, quickly overtaking him. Jimmy hears pounding footsteps behind him, and Eagle—

Pain tears through his chest—

Jimmy’s on the ground before he can so much as blink. There’s—there’s so much ice-hot fire burning through him from his chest, all of the sudden, and he pushes himself up onto his elbows before it overtakes him and tries to make sense of what’s going on around him. How did he end up on the ground? Why did Eagle stop running?

Eagle stands frozen in front of him, gun trained on something behind Jimmy. Jimmy hears a voice behind him—

“They’ve got back-up, get the package and get out—”

Then Eagle, into his own earpiece—

“They’re taking it and running, this is a bust—”

Then his heartbeat, loud and heavy in his ears.

More footsteps behind him, as the person there runs back the other way.

Jimmy’s lips move, but nothing comes out but a long, whistling wheeze.

He was shot.

He was shot in the back, and now his chest feels warm with blood as it runs down the inside of his shirt. He was shot. Is he dying?

It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. He’d propped himself up on his elbows before it really came over him, but now he feels frozen there, limbs locked up, unable to even roll out of the middle of the hallway. He’s been hurt before, he’s been beaten almost to the point of death before but it wasn’t quite like this, because he can’t move or speak or anything. Is he in shock? That must be it. He’s in shock.

He blinks up at Eagle, not entirely sure what he’s trying to convey. A plea for help, probably. As much as it hurts his pride, he can’t do anything else.

Eagle stares down at him, face expressionless. Then, his hand touches his earpiece again.

“Canary’s dead. Let’s get out of here.”

“I—” Jimmy manages, because he isn’t dead, he’s still here and sure, it hurts to breathe and he isn’t sure how to move, but he’s still alive.

Eagle doesn’t say anything. He turns away, jogs down the hallway, and eventually out of sight.

Jimmy wishes he could feel the rage that he longs for, that’s always so close to the surface.

He hurts too much for that, though.

A tear slips down his cheek and he curses, the words pained and broken. He can’t die here. If he dies here, who will protect Lizzie?

He promised to get them their own place. He promised to get her away from him. If he dies here, she’ll be left to face him alone, stuck with him forever, no escape in sight.

He can’t let that happen. He won’t let that happen.

Agony lances through his chest as he forces his locked limbs to move, shifts until he’s on his side, head bumping lightly against the wall of the hallway. There’s still gunshots coming from behind him, but he ignores it. Embarrassingly high-pitched whimpers escape his firmly-pressed lips as every movement jars his chest, but he eventually finds himself kind of sitting up, slumped against the wall.

His shirt is soaked through with blood. The grey with which he’d been outfitted shows how the blooming bloodstain had spread, out from the right side of his chest, down his stomach and up his shoulder. There’s a long smear of blood on the floor from his maneuvering, shockingly bright against the dirty tiles.

Jimmy stares at the blood, his heart pounding in his ears.

How is he going to find the strength to get up? He was barely able to make it to this point.

Once he does get up, how is he going to get out?

Will he walk out of here on legs that won’t cooperate? Will he manage to call for a taxi to take him to a hospital? Will the hospital turn him away without insurance? Will they call the cops?

He licks his lips, cracked and dry.

Every breath feels like another bullet pushing through his chest.

He isn’t getting out of here.

He clutches feebly at his shirt with his left hand, as if he has the strength to strip it off, as if he could ever manage to bandage the wound.

His hand is stained with blood, snaking through every crack of his palm.

It feels wrong to die like this. Alone in a corridor, his lifeblood slipping between his fingers.

Last time he thought he would die, he wasn't alone. Lizzie was holding him, frantically trying to dress his injuries, muttering nonsense about how everything would be all right and how she was going to call an ambulance and he would be fine.

Jimmy still remembers how the musty carpet smelled like smoke under him, how he couldn't make his eyes focus on Lizzie's face, how his entire body morphed into blurry pain.

It was different.

But one thing is the same—the anger that usually burns in the pit of his stomach has been replaced by cold, disgusting, creeping shame.

He failed her. He failed the only person who means anything to him, and she's not even here for him to apologize.

It hurts even more to breathe. It feels like there's a shard of glass pressing into his lungs, each breath digging it deeper.

Another tear falls, trails down through his lips. His tongue darts out to taste the saltiness, and it tastes like failure.

“We got it, that's all that matters.”

“No, what matters is that you get medical attention. You don't get shot and just walk it off, Joel—”

For a split second, Jimmy thinks wildly that perhaps Lizzie is here, is on her way down the hall to find him, but that isn't her voice. Lizzie isn't here and nobody is coming for him.

They abandoned him.

Two men enter the hallway—one is the man who got shot, his green streak of hair falling into his eyes as he limps out, supported by another man. This man is dressed in a red shirt with a leather jacket, sunglasses stuck into his messy hair.

They're bickering—

“Can't believe we have to take the back way out—”

“It's your fault, shouldn't have gotten injured—”

But they both freeze when they see Jimmy.

“Wait—Grian, it's that kid,” the green-haired one says. “He shot the guy that was going for me. Is he still alive?”

“Yeah, he is,” Grian says, his face twisting. He lowers green-hair to the ground carefully, propping him up against the wall a foot or two away, then kneels at Jimmy's side.

“Hey, kid,” says Grian, lifting Jimmy's chin to meet his eyes. “What happened?”

Jimmy resists the urge to cough, squeezes the wet fabric of his shirt. “Chest,” he manages. “Not—not a kid.”

“Talk to me,” Grian instructs, flipping open a pocket knife to cut through Jimmy's shirt. “Who are you with? Is someone coming for you?”

“He's with TIES, look at his mask,” green-hair interjects. “Classic Etho, looking out for me.”

“Let him answer, Joel.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy breathes, nodding in Joel's direction. “TIES. They—they left me.”

His eyes burn with tears at the admission. Grian frowns, hands dancing across Jimmy's chest. “Really? That's not like them. They usually take care of their own.”

But Jimmy isn't really one of them, is he? He made an enemy of everyone he talked to. He made it clear that he wasn't in it for friends, he'd fought tooth and nail over every little thing, so does it really surprise him that they left him to die here?

He’s dying.

“I failed her,” whispers Jimmy. He hisses in pain as Grian presses on his chest, right up against the burning bullet wound. He swallows back a cough, refusing the pain it would surely bring.

“Went clean through, looks like. I'm gonna move you, look at your back.”

Jimmy actually cries out when Grian shifts him forward, letting him slump against his chest.

“Keep talking.”

“I-I'm gonna die. I failed her. He's gonna kill her.”

“Who is she? Tell me about her.”

“M’ sister,” Jimmy mumbles, biting his lip as Grian prods at the wound. “She—he'll kill her, I'm gonna die and—and nobody—”

“What color is her hair?” Joel asks.

Jimmy blinks, more tears spilling down his face. “P-pink.”

“Pink? That's a weird color.”

Jimmy sniffs. “He—he hates it. I told her not to dye it—” he cuts off with a strangled gasp, one that makes his chest seize with pain, as Grian presses his hand down firmly on Jimmy's back.

“Throw me the spare ace bandage,” Grian orders, holding his hand out to Joel. Joel digs a roll of bandages out of his pocket and tosses it to him.

“How old are you?” Joel asks. “What's your name, how old are you?”

“Jimmy,” he barely manages, as Grian wraps the bandage around his chest. “I—I'm—seventeen.”

Grian curses in Jimmy's ear. Joel’s face darkens.

“Told Etho they need to be better about checking ages,” says Joel angrily. “A kid shouldn't be part of a dangerous op, for goodness sakes—”

“We don't have time for this,” Grian says firmly. He ties off the bandage and arranges himself to be side-by-side with Jimmy, loops an arm under his shoulders. “Joel, can you call in back-up? Kid, can you walk?”

“We don't need back-up, I can walk—”

“Absolutely not—”

“We'll help Jimmy between us, all right? Then he can lean on both of us and I can lean on him—”

Jimmy’s next few moments are a blur of pain and nausea, but he somehow finds himself standing, one arm slung over Joel's shoulders, one arm over Grian's.

“Just take a step,” Grian grunts, and Jimmy stumbles forward, just trying to breathe the best he can through the stabbing pain.

Do they think he’s going to survive? They wouldn’t be helping him if they didn’t, right?

“How far to the car?” Joel asks tightly.

“If we take a left, we should hit the stairwell soon after.”

“Right. Stairs. That’ll go great.”

They make their slow way down the hall, Jimmy’s exhaustion growing with each step. They stop frequently, adjusting their positions so that Jimmy can rest easier on the two of them. Then they keep going, one painful foot forward after the other.

After what feels like ages of the hall tunneling in front of him, Grian shifts them both left, toward another hall, identical to the first (but a good bit shorter).

Joel is breathing heavily, occasionally making small, pained noises under his breath. If Jimmy had enough space in his chest for more emotions, he would feel guilty that he was making Joel go to all this trouble for him.

He doesn’t have room for that. Just the shame.

There’s a door at the end of the hall, and all three of them are gasping for breath by the time they make it. Joel leans against the wall and Jimmy leans against him. His feet are practically deadweight, his shoes feeling like cinder blocks.

“We go up one level of stairs,” Grian tells them, voice a bit raspy. “The door out should be there. The car’ll be . . . probably a short walk from there. Good?”

Joel flashes a thumbs-up. “Can we . . . all right if we take a minute, first?”

Grian checks his watch, worries his lip between his teeth. “I don’t think we have time. We should go.”

Joel huffs, but he pushes himself off the wall, readjusting Jimmy’s arm around him.

Jimmy just swallows, then finally gives in to the urge to cough.

Apparently, it’s the wrong decision to make. The cough instantly makes the pain skyrocket, so much worse than it’s been so far, and Jimmy can barely keep standing\. He tries to breathe through it—but barely any air seems to be entering his lungs, it’s like there’s hardly room for even half a breath.

He falls to his knees, another weak cough escaping him, one that only serves to drive out what little air he’s managed to collect. He can’t breathe. It hurts too much, and he can’t breathe.

“Jimmy? Jimmy, stay with us—”

“Stay here with him, I’ll go grab whoever’s in the car—”

Jimmy barely registers the sound of running footsteps as he falls further, leaning on his hands. He gasps fruitlessly, in and out and far too shallow. He can’t do it, he can’t manage it.

He’s dying. He was shot in the chest and he can’t breathe. He’s dying right here, after everything, abandoning Lizzie and everything he’s been fighting for his whole life.

He’s so scared.

He’s terrified, the fear even colder than the guilt, because he doesn’t want to die, but he can’t breathe long enough to even say it.

I don’t want to die, he thinks with all his might. I don’t want to.

He’s always been a fighter. That’s what his mother would tell him, as she spread numbing cream on his bruises and kissed his forehead good night. He never got to hear her last words, but every day before school she would ask him to watch out for his sister (even though she was three years his senior) and he thinks she would have said something like that if he was there when she died.

He’s failed her, too. He couldn’t save his mom, and he can’t save Lizzie, even though it was all she ever asked of him. He’s let them both down, and he can’t even get enough breath for an apology.

“Jimmy, listen to me,” Joel says, his voice sounding as if it’s underwater. The man sits on the floor in front of him, adds his hands to Jimmy’s shoulders to try and keep him somewhat up. “Listen. Can you see me?”

Through tear-blurred eyes, he can just manage to see Joel, discern the worry etched into his face. Jimmy nods, just barely.

“Good. Calm down, okay? Breathe slowly. Slow and deep, okay?”

Jimmy shakes his head. He can’t. He can’t breathe slowly, he can’t breathe deeply, he can barely breathe at all. His arms are trembling, and it’s only moments before they give out entirely. He slumps against Joel, noticing vaguely that his fingers are numb.

“Bullet probably hit your lung,” Joel mutters, adjusting Jimmy in his arms so that he’s sitting, Joel’s legs around him. “Do you smoke? Or, did you smoke, I guess. You won’t anymore.”

The room is going out of focus, and not just because of the tears. Jimmy tries desperately to hold on to consciousness, licking his lips and flexing his fingers compulsively.

Joel tilts his head back, peering into his eyes. Jimmy wonders if he can see the fear there, if he looks as scared as he feels, heaving for breath.

“It’s okay,” Joel says, voice considerably softer than it’s been this whole time. “Geez, you’re just a kid. Killer aim, though. Where’d you learn to shoot?”

My dad taught me, Jimmy wants to say. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have enough air.

He’s going to pass out. Jimmy’s been beaten to unconsciousness too many times to count on one hand, so he knows what it feels like when his head starts to fuzz over, goosebumps breaking out over his entire body.

He swallows, squeezes his eyes shut.

He’s going to die.

He failed.

He survives, somehow.

His lung had collapsed after being punctured by the bullet, which was life-threatening, but didn’t claim him this time. Jimmy woke up in an unfamiliar library-turned-medical wing, an oxygen mask taped to his face and an IV stuck in his arm.

He heals up nicely, according to the doctor, and once he’s cleared to walk (on oxygen, pulling a portable oxygen canister behind him), he starts exploring the manor he finds himself in.

It’s massive, dozens of rooms and chandeliers and fancy carpets, and plenty of people always coming and going. He spends a lot of time sitting in a cushy chair outside of the library, looking out at the main entrance, people-watching everyone who comes through. He gets strange looks, sometimes, but he’s ignored for the most part, and for the first time in a long time he feels almost relaxed.

Not quite. A nagging voice in the back of Jimmy’s head reminds him of Lizzie, of the hell he’s left her to face alone, and he knows he has to do something soon or the guilt and anger will overwhelm him again, but he tries not to think about it and just focused on recovering.

Grian and Joel show up on the fourth day, when he’s finally released from using an oxygen cannula during the day.

“How are you feeling?” Grian asks awkwardly when they approach his bedside, hands stuck in his jeans pockets.

Jimmy shrugs. “Good,” he says. “I mean, like I was shot in the chest. Good, given the circumstances.”

Joel snorts. “Well, yeah, duh.”

“Good enough to get going, soon?”

Jimmy blanches. He’d been dreading this conversation. “I . . . actually, I was wanting to ask. . . .”

They know what he wants before he even suggests it.

“Absolutely not,” Grian says. “We don’t take on kids. It’s not—”

“I turn eighteen in six months—”

“—super dangerous, and—”

“I think he should stay,” Joel says helpfully, settling into an armchair far too grandiose for what should be a hospital setting. Grian glares at him.

��You know we don’t bring kids into this.”

“We can’t send him back to TIES, can we?” Joel says. “We can’t turn him loose on the street, or else they’ll probably try to take him out, just in case. You don’t just quit TIES and walk away.”

“I don’t want to go back to TIES, if it helps,” Jimmy adds. “They left me to die back there.”

Joel waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Etho said you’re welcome back, if you want. But you don’t, so we don’t need to worry about that.”

“But he’s—”

“I’ll do anything to stay. I’ll—I’ll even just work the front, I just—I need it,” Jimmy says, glancing between the two of them.

They don’t know how desperately he needs it. They don’t know that the only reason he has for living is saving Lizzie.

He’d tried getting a normal job, but no place that paid enough was willing to hire someone underage full-time, much less someone without a high school diploma. TIES was the first place to offer him more than seven dollars an hour with the promise of one day making more.

He needs this kind of money to get an apartment. And he needs an apartment more than anything in this world.

Grian bites his lip, looks over at Joel.

“We can say he’s eighteen,” Joel suggests.

“I’ll get my birth certificate changed,” promises Jimmy. “I just—” this is it, he has to convince them— “I have to get my sister to safety. Please.”

“I—look, you can’t tell anyone, ever,” Grian stresses, running his hands through his hair. “You’re eighteen, all right? And don’t expect to get any ops—”

“Do expect to get ops, you’re a decent shot—”

“Joel and I are your only friends, don’t trust anyone else—”

“Do whatever you want, we aren’t your dads—”

Jimmy lies back on the bed, propping the pillows up under him. Relief tastes sweet on his tongue, after the building guilt he’s been feeling over the past few days. So . . . he’s a Bad Boy now? Would he get a leather jacket? Or sunglasses?

That doesn’t matter, really. What matters is that he’s already become friends with two people here after being a member for less than two minutes, and that’s way closer to getting Lizzie to safety than he ever was with TIES.

He can keep his promise.

And one day, when he’s got enough rapport in the Bad Boys, he’s going to call out a hit of his own. And he’ll fulfill it on his own—he’ll hold the gun that he was given on his sixth birthday, the last gift he ever received, the one with his father’s initials messily carved into the hilt—

He’ll take that gun and shoot his dad in the head, and they’ll finally be safe.

#whumptober2024 #no.14 #left for dead #limited life smp #fic #blood and injury #implied/referenced abuse #jimmy solidarity #limited life #limited life fanfic #mas writes #i did not expect to give jimmy an ansgty backstory for the comedic joel fic #but whumping jimmy is my middle name #mas whumping jimmy tomorrowshow #das me #angry revenge-seeking jimmy??? let's gooooo #this is content that specifically caters to me. sorry everyone #lmk what you think #love you guys

14 notes · View notes

docholligay · 8 months ago

Text

The best thing about this episode is the way it plays out the unique pain of grieving someone you do not love. Or worse maybe even, someone you did love, once but they disappointed you so intensely that all you can feel is rage and despair.

Bojack actually doesn't have to be giving this eulogy at all. That's not a requirement. There's no rule that says you have to have any kind of funeral at all.

But he does. And he keeps going on, even after he says that he has nothing more to say about his mother. Because he does. He has so much more to say, and there is no other place in his life where he will ever just be allowed to talk about his mother and the way he felt about her, outside of the therapy that he is absolutely not going to go to.

Complicated grief is an interesting thing, and for my money it's harder than "normal" grief (if grief is ever really normal) and that's why this is one of my favorite episodes of anything ever, is I'm not sure I've ever seen it dealt with where the emotions are so much more than just sorrow. Sorrow isn't easy, but it is simple.

But, what Bojack goes into, is anger, and disappointment.

It starts with him continuing to joke, with telling his mom to knock once if she's proud of him, and him saying how nice it is to be in a room with his mother and just be able to talk without her telling him to shut up. It's this knife tip, just working its way out of Bojack's mouth, and the jokes keep coming, but they are less funny and more this weaponized humor.

Then even that breaks down, and he starts to realize what the problem was, what the problem has always been. Even while he's realizing that he is perpetuating this same set of problems, he's thinking about the grand gesture. And how Tv convinced him that someday, he would see the one thing that let him know his parents loved him.

But it's the consistency. I love the way here, he basically yells at the coffin.

To love someone who has consistently disappointed you, to be joined with them, and the rage that comes out of that, it's so real. And Bojack can't even look at his parents and say, 'You tried" because they didn't. They didn't try even one day in their lives. Not with him. But there are so many people in our lives we allow to disappoint us over and over again, and when they die, or leave your life completely, you have this realization, that, they were never ever what you needed. You convinced yourself that maybe someday they would be, but they were never going to be, maybe they even couldn't, and then YOU feel like the fucking idiot. For wanting it. For thinking that it could happen. And then we're all Bojack here, yelling at a dead body, and it's worse than pointless, and that is part of the complication of this grief, is, not only is it not going to get any better, but you can't even offload it back onto that person. You have to swallow your role and their role in it all, forever.

And then we come back to that "Knock once." asking her if she loved him and wanted him to know that he made her life a little brighter. He knows she won't knock, he knows she can't respond. It's still a joke but it's a joke he's playing on himself.

This anger, that she was never going to be the mother he needed, comes around at the end in some of the best stuff, and this is the kind of stuff that gets it so right that it causes me physical pain.

The worst part, of someone dying, that you have a difficult relationship with, is that it will never get better. Someone disappoints you, and they disappoint you more, but then someday, they die, and they can never ever get better. They can never turn it around and they can never make it right. "My mother is dead, and everything is worse now, because now I know I will never have a mother who looks at me from across a room and says, “BoJack Horseman, I see you." WHile someone is alive, they could always get better. At one point in my life, I was a selfish, mean-spirited person who spent my days doing whatever I wanted and my nights drunk, and doing whatever I wanted. I didn't do anything that would put me out. I got better, because I lived long enough to pull my head out of my ass.

But when someone doesn't do that. When you wait for them to have some epiphany, and hold out their hand, and do better, and then suddenly, they can't, and, everything is going to be stuck, the way it is. It is the death of possibility that makes this sort of complicated grief so painful. Someone who was wonderful dies, you miss what they were, but someone difficult dies, you miss who they could have been, and that's so impossible to describe to someone that I had never seen it well done, before this episode.

#Doc watches Bojack horseman #Free Churro #Bojack S5E6

39 notes · View notes

oneatlatime · 1 year ago

Text

The Avatar Returns

Exposition as an opening theme song is an interesting choice. I thought that was a quirk of the first episode, but nope. Less catchy than an actual song, but probably less annoying that hearing a song 50+ times in a row.

Episode 2 starts right where episode 1 left off, making me think that this must have been a two part premiere.

Yeah, Sokka is right. Gran-gran is right. Katara's known this boy for five minutes and she's already breaking what seem to be basic, long-established, life or death rules. See this is why gran-gran weighs Katara down with washing Sokka's dirty socks (and probably any other chore she can find). The first time this girl has more than five minutes to herself she endangers everyone (albeit with help). But Aang seriously doesn't get how dangerous the situation is, what with him being frozen for a hundred years. Katara had to be the responsible one with regards to the ship and she blew it. And now presumably they're all gonna get melted to death. Or burnt. Fireburnt? Firebended? Killed a bunch.

"Well I'm banished too!" UUUGGGHHH wrong hill to die on! This girl goes from 0 to 100 lightning fast. Although if the Fire nation do attack, Katara may be setting herself up to be the sole survivor of her village.

Why does the temporally dislocated 12 year old have more sense that Katara? So bossy and hotheaded and teenage girl-like. And she's known him for five minutes, why is she heartbroken by his leaving? Girl you feel too much.

"I haven't cleaned my room in 100 years" such a simple joke but it completely caught me off guard. Aang's priorities are so in line with what an actual 12 year old prioritises. I love it.

Laying it on thick.

You know it's too bad that igloos don't have wooden doors because I think Katara would feel a lot better slamming one right about now. Don't yell at your grandma.

Can ice do this? Also Appa looks so comfy. The one time I lived somewhere with bay windows & box seats I sat like this all the time. Messed my neck up every time I did, but that didn't stop me. The comfiness outweighs the pain.

They weren't kidding when they said all the men went to war. I was expecting a Helm's Deep type situation where old men and younger teenagers would be there to man the defences. But it's really just Sokka. That's an impossible burden.

This is the second episode of a kids' cartoon so I don't think they're going to kill anyone, but if this were a more realistic show, or real life, that whole village would be doomed.

What a shot! And he's not running. That's an unquantifiable level of courage.

Boat's got no brakes

That is not where I was expecting that ship to open.

The fire benders have horns. And I bet that steam coming out of the ship smells sulphurous.

That might be the best possible outcome. Head first in a snowbank is embarrassing but not fatal. Also war cries are manly but they give advance warning to your target. Hush up.

I love the "show no fear!" kid. Sokka's genuinely got these little kids believing in him. The potty break scene last episode shows that he pretty much has no idea what he's talking about but he's got the kids convinced! And the moms probably appreciate him taking charge of them for a few hours, even if he has no actual combat experience. And he keeps getting up!

How hard did he throw that boomerang!?! It took 24 seconds according to my DVD for it to come back.

It honked. Lord have mercy it honked. I have a weakness for well-placed sound effects and this one got me. Also these other soldiers must have orders to be as useless as possible. And do they all have the same face?

Zuko's spent years meditating? Don't believe it. Unless angry meditation is a thing? Maybe he has to meditate himself into angriness before he can burn stuff? Like work up a rage? Just guessing.

"Well you're just a teenager" They're all babies! All of them!

I repeat, Katara you feel too much! You need to grow up apathetic and cynical like the rest of us dried up adult husks ASAP or else you're really gonna be hurting.

"Take care of Appa for me until I get back!" I love this. He's announcing at maximum volume that he's going to escape and none of the fire soldiers react?

Sokka my man of practicality and action. Gran-gran my grandma of practicality and action. Katara my annoying little sister.

Is Zuko's little speech to Aang supposed to be a veiled insult or is he just making small talk? Obviously it's exposition for the viewer re: how monks are raised, but why did he feel the need to say that? Also your dad likes sticks? Cool. We all have hobbies.

So pretty.

Sokka, my man of synonyms. So Appa understands basic language commands but not spoken English. Heartfelt pleas won't get him flying, but yipyip will.

These two are such siblings. "big deal he's flying" careful there Sokka, you were nearly uncool in front of your younger sister. That can be fatal.

Aang is so polite when he's wiping the floor with full grown men. Also he has crazy good aim. That trick to break the ropes? How?

To be fair, Aang said he'd go with them, not that he'd stay with them.

Burrito Zuko

Aang's whole defense is running away. And it's working! Not the bit with burrito Zuko but he's actually winning this fight.

That mattress slam is brutal. I know this is a cartoon and physics isn't real here, but that caught me off guard. How is Zuko still conscious?

Prince burrito is a parkour champ.

Appa! Has the same problem as Sokka re: announcing sneak strikes.

Zuko what was your plan? Knocking him into the water doesn't recapture him.

Yep. Appropriate reaction to cyclone Aang.

So Aang does know how to waterbend. Katara didn't need to go north after all.

Love the head bonking callback.

This is genius on the fly problem solving. Only works backwards? Then do it backwards! Also these guys are dead. They'll suffocate long before they freeze.

"Shoot them down!" He orders... himself?

Siding with Zuko over the old man on this one. Aang is crazy powerful.

I just realised his eyes are different sizes. Does that impact his vision? For that matter, if that is a burn from taking a fireball to the face, how does he still have an eye?

So so pretty.

A literal cloud passes over when a cloud passes over their conversation. Clever.

Aang's waterbending was instinctive? Or only accessible during the glow-up. So they do still need to go north.

Katara you know your brother so well. He does indeed want to knock some fire bender heads. Sokka, having defeated his nemesis the potty break, now moves on to greater targets.

No matter what goes on in the show, all episodes end on a high note because that credits song is just so good.

Final thoughts

This was good! I think I liked this episode better than the first one, which makes sense. The first episode has to do all the set up, it's the next one that can have fun. Those moves Aang was pulling in the ship were really impressive. And really clever too.

Still loving Sokka, still loving Aang, Zuko was less of an asshole this episode. He also felt more competent, or maybe coherent? Like his character hangs together better, despite the butt honking. I laughed just typing that. I'm still not used to Zuko's voice actor though. I like how unique all of the characters' voices are in this show so far, but Zuko's still feels out of place to me.

The show doesn't dwell too much on Sokka facing down the fire nation ship (there is lots of build up but it gets played for laughs), but I think it's the stand out moment for me in this episode. Obviously it was foolhardy and a doomed effort, but it was also Sokka very literally fulfilling his responsibilities to the village. He was tasked with protecting his sister; he did. Goofy as it is, this moment is a win for Sokka. Not wise, but a win.

I love that Aang is 12, and feels 12. So often fiction about kid heroes that is intended for young readers/viewers has characters that feel like adults despite their stated age, but Aang feels 12. Katara feels like she's trying to be a grown-up so hard but keeps slipping up and acting her actual age. Sokka feels like he's trying to act as he thinks a man should, but keeps getting called out by Katara and responding in a way that fits his actual age. They close out this episode with plans for a multi-stage animal-riding safari. I love these priorities. Saving the world can wait, hopping llamas cannot.

My one problem with this episode is Katara. She needs to slow down, dial it back, stop yelling at grandmothers, and stop feeling everything at 110% before she exhausts herself. I get that the South pole and a grand total of like 25 people is probably a really boring way to grow up, but she threw herself heart first at Aang with near-suicidal enthusiasm, assuming that banishment in the South Pole would actually be a death sentence. I don't know how old she is, but that is such a teenage girl thing to do. And she's gonna get hurt!

Next episode needs more Sokka quips and more Appa. I would watch whole episodes with just Appa. I'd watch a whole Sokka episode too.

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #The Avatar Returns #avatar the last airbender

43 notes · View notes

karlachismylife · 11 days ago

Note

Gorilla!reader you say ? 👁️ 👁️

Yeah! Sorry I'm actually excited to yap about it hahaha cuz it has been really forming quite in details in my head last days

It is obviously very self-indulgent (in case not everyone noticed, I refer to myself as gorilla and it's a lifelong thing), not fully self-insert, but uhhh. My ideal self insert? Maybe not that either. But deeply personal and with a lot of my issues/problems/feelings projected there, that's what I mean. I don't know how enjoyable it will be for people reading it, but it's just something I really wanna write, so I'll do it anyway. And post it cuz well I'm an attention whore.

So I have been going back and forth on whether make it shapeshifter or hybrid, and I ended up deciding on shapeshifter. First of all, "weregorilla" is prime for stupid puns fueled by gorilla talk, and second, it will kida help me avoid misrepresenting gorillas (because this reader will be very aggressive and gorillas ARE NOT) + adds actually a layer of depth in the sense that I can play off the contrast of animal/human form in this case. Don't know if I'll go full on "two souls in one body" route, but there are things I want to show through the duality.

It's gonna be a classic "new addition to tf141 is a shapeshifter" plot, cuz I'm a basic bitch like that, and yes, it's gonna be poly 141 x reader but also big emphasise on found family. The more I think about it, the more I realize that it doesn't feel right for me to write it without touching on racism, in the military and in general, and it's probably gonna be very on the nose and clumsy, but this whole thing is basically on the nose and not nuanced at all. It's very much stemming from all the pent up rage I have inside, and rage knows no nuance. Oh and gender stuff too, cuz yeah, well, self-insert part, and I don't know gender. Never met her. That one would be fun actually, cuz gorillas are pretty patriarchal and form harems, but like. Where does a genderqueer gorilla fit into this hierarchy? Since obviously 141 will be like this reader's troop (gorilla pack), that would be a fun disruption if I manage to do it like I see it.

But I am very anxious about touching the race issue, and while I very much know that it's not anyone's job to educate me, if there are any black readers of mine that would be kind enough to let me run those episodes by them to make sure they are not downright awful before I post them, I would be immensly grateful. Maybe if people tell me there is no way this does not come across wrong, I'll cut it from the story. But help would be appreciated. Yeah.

So in short, it's my childish tantrum I have been dying to throw for years now, but packaged into text with four big guys liking the tantrum for no other reason than I want all four of them to be my troop.

I saw recently a post mocking the "strong female characters who are badass because they don't wear makeup and their only emotion is anger" and welp. That's gonna be it. Honestly I don't even feel upset that it looks so shallow.

One time a friend made me a birthday gift in a form of one visit to a "wreck it room" where they give you some plates and cheap old furniture and some other trash, and also baseball bats, crowbar (my favourite), a mallet and some other things. Blast heavy metal and such things through speakers. And let you break EVERYTHING in that room. Only walls are off limits, and I ended up even accidentally breaking a brick out while I was trying to break a stubborn chair leg in half. I destroyed everything they gave me in that one hour limit, even the guy who worked there was impressed. That's still one of my happiest memories.

And if channelling it makes for a shallow walking stereotype of a character, well, I don't give a fuck this time.

honestly even relaying all this made me feel better, sorry I dumped it all on you, I realize this might be not yours or anyone's cup of tea, but it's really something for me first and foremost. i think allowing myself to write dumb shallow angry shit might fix me just a little bit.

#juju's grumbles

6 notes · View notes

lessnearthesun · 2 years ago

Text

Charles is very, very drunk. He’s been drunk a lot lately, more so than usual— but he’s fine. Really. He’s just tired. Stressed out. He hasn’t been sleeping too good, either. He tosses and turns in bed, heart racing restlessly, eyes refusing to close and let him drop off into oblivion. So, he drinks until he passes out. Sometimes Camilla finds him and drapes a blanket over his still form, splayed across the couch. Sometimes he wakes alone in his room, slumped against the wall with an aching back.

When he doesn't drink, he dreams of Bunny, of the horrified look on his face during the split second where he flailed and hovered between life and death. Eyes wide and betrayed under his glasses. He hadn’t had time to scream or to say anything. He’d had time for nothing more than a disembodied noise of shock when Henry shoved him. A clean break through the neck, Charles read later, sitting at the dining room table, hunched over the paper, a cold cup of coffee beside him.

I did that, he thought and felt his stomach churn.

So, Charles drinks, because then he doesn’t have to think about it. He doesn’t have to think about any of it.

He stumbles up the stairs to Francis’ apartment on unsteady feet, nearly crashing into a potted tree. “Jesus— fuck,” he curses, glaring at the plant. Who the fuck plants stuff there? It’s basically the middle of the walkway, anyway. But he somehow makes his way to Francis’. He knocks, swaying slightly for unknown reasons. No one answers. He knocks again. Silence. He calls out, “Francis, it’s me! Let me in.” Still nothing.

Charles looks around, shrugs, and sits himself down outside the door to wait. He could just go home, but Camilla isn’t there and the apartment is too quiet. Lately, when he looks at her, he wants to strangle her, mangle her pretty face, bruise her tiny wrists. He looks at her and he sees red. But it brings him no pleasure these fights they have— especially when no matter how much he rages, she stays impassive, with nothing to say but an exasperated Charles.

“Jesus.” Charles looks up to see Francis standing a few feet away, one hand pressed to his chest. “You gave me a fright.” Francis looks at Charles critically, lip curled. The expression makes Charles wish he hadn’t come, makes him want to knock it right off Francis’ stupid face.

He gets to his feet and asks in a harsh tone of voice, “can I come in?” Francis retrieves his key and unlocks the door. Charles stumbles in, gritting his teeth when he trips over Francis’ rug. Stupid fucking thing. Everything is so fucking stupid.

Francis disappears into the kitchen and reappears a moment later, two glasses and a bottle of whiskey in his hands. He fills both the glasses, saying, “I figured you’d want one.”

Maybe it’s his tone, or maybe Charles just feels like shit generally, maybe it’s this whole day, but he snaps, “what’s that supposed to mean?” His hand hovers over the glass, not quite touching it.

Francis blinks. He raises his hands. “Nothing. We’ve all needed a drink lately.”

“Oh.” Charles feels stupid. God, what’s wrong with him? He drains the glass and holds it out for Francis to refill. He sips from the refilled glass, slumping down on Francis’ nice couch, chin tucked into his chest. He wonders what Camilla’s doing, then he realizes she’s probably with Henry and he swears that he can hear the erratic thumping of his pulse in his ears. Fuck Henry, fuck them all. God— how are they here? How did they get here?

Francis gingerly sits down beside Charles, ankle resting on his opposite knee. There’s an exhausted set to his shoulders that Charles has seen in everyone (except Henry, the fucking psychopath) as of late.

“Where were you?” Charles asks, the whiskey a pleasant burn in his throat.

“With Richard,” Francis answers, digging around for a cigarette. He offers the pack to Charles, who takes one. Charles leans forward, face inches from Francis’ as the flame flickers between them.

Leaning back, Charles exhales a cloud of smoke. He watches it, fascinated, the question he was going to ask slipping from his mind. He’s noticed that lately. Everything is so hard to grasp. But that’s life and he’s just tired. Plus, he watched one of his best friends get murdered. He’s fine. What else can he expect? He could be doing much worse, he’s sure. Yes, yes, definitely.

And at least he has a conscience. Unlike Henry, who seems not to have a goddamn care in the world. This whole thing is his fault, as far as Charles is concerned. He’s stupid and now they’re all paying for it. Charles presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, blinking harshly. When he looks up, Francis is watching him with wary eyes. He says, “you look tired.”

Charles replies, “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Francis hums and nods. They fall into silence. Charles kicks his feet up and throws his head back to stare at the ceiling. He can feel Francis’ eyes on him, carefully tracking every movement. Charles spares him a glance, crossing his ankles. Francis, perched on the coach’s arm like a bird, drains his glass, baring his white throat.

Charles sets down his glass and pulls Francis towards him, pressing their lips together. It’s all very smooth, as Charles knew it would be. Francis takes it all in stride, straddling Charles and setting his glass aside.

Charles kisses him, lets his hands venture. It’s an old dance, one that they both know well. Francis stands up and pulls Charles’ after him to the bedroom where he kicks the door shut with a bang that Charles only distantly hears amidst the much more pleasant sound of Francis whispering his name.

———

They lie together on the bed, sweat pooled around them. Charles’ mouth tastes like smoke and whiskey and his heart sits heavy in his chest. He feels nothing beside muscle relaxation. Francis lays beside him, cigarette between his teeth. He blows smoke rings that Charles watches, his chin propped on his hand. It’s dark outside, the streetlights casting light through Francis’ curtains.

“Camilla is probably home by now,” Charles says to no one.

“Of course,” Francis replies, tone carefully devoid of anything.

Charles gets up and puts on his clothes: socks, pants, shirt, sweater, shoes. He peers into the mirror with his red eyes and fluffs up his hair. He looks like he’s just been fucked. Although what is he so upset about? Like Camilla has any fucking room to talk, whoring herself out for Henry fucking Winter.

Francis, from where he lies on the bed, calls out, “get home safe,” when Charles leaves.

It’s warm outside, a pleasant night. Charles regrets putting on his sweater but he doesn’t want to try removing it. He hums a tune under his breath all the way home, tired and hot. Why does everything have to be so horrible all the time? Is this their punishment? Charles was raised on sin, on confession. He’s had plenty of sins to atone for, but this one trumps them all. There’s no one to confess to now, though. Not for him, anyway.

Camilla is just getting out of the shower when Charles stumbles in. She’s wrapped in a white towel, water dripping from her hair onto the floors. Her face is flushed pink from her shower. Why was she taking a hot shower? Her whole life, she’s taken cold ones. Glaring, Charles slips past her to his room.

Camilla catches the door before it can slam. “Where were you?” she asks.

“Where were you?” Charles spits back. How dare she, like she has any place to question him when she’s—

“I was visiting Henry,” Camilla replies, voice flat, arms crossed. Charles isn’t surprised and yet his fists clench still. Is Henry punishing him? Is the bastard that cruel and petty?

Charles snorts. “And how’s he?” he spits.

“He’s fine,” Camilla answers evenly. In a tone he doesn’t much like, she asks, “how’s Francis?”

He could kill her. “Get out,” Charles snaps, striding over to her and grabbing the doorframe. If she doesn’t let go, he’ll gladly crush her fucking fingers. She must sense that, because she steps back. Charles slams the door in her face and stands there, breathing heavily and listening to her retreating footsteps. He stands by the door for he doesn’t know how long.

He remains there long after the footsteps have died away.

———

“Honest people don’t hide their deeds.”

— Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

#i am normal about the macaulay twins #the secret history #charles macaulay #camilla macaulay #francis abernathy #donna tartt #my writing

12 notes · View notes

apex-academy · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 6: The Decay of Our Lives (#9)

With my socializing done for the day—or week—I resume my file cabinet quest. At least it’s not too drafty in here, even if the silence has a weird pressure to it.

“And maybe the next time I talk to someone, I won’t accidentally bring this stuff up.”

Not that the young master shouldn’t be able to see me in here, anyway. But they've given us some leeway when it comes to the non-murder stuff. If they don’t think it’s a threat to them, then they won’t bother interrupting.

As to whether I can outsmart them with info they don’t mind me taking...

We’ll just have to see.

“All right. Where was I?”

I keep jumping around avoiding people, but I should probably go ahead and check Kaichi’s before I start on the third drawer.

Then I’ll have to figure out how to strongarm my way into the last one. I’m sure I could do it with help. But should I really be talking to anyone about this if I don’t have to?

“I’ll worry about that when I get to it.”

So. Kaichi.

I pluck up his folder without further ado, take a deep breath, and open it up. Some normal, basic stuff—his recent grades are all over the place, but I don’t know how you could fairly compensate for his condition in a lot of subjects.

“Speaking of...”

Not much in the way of actual hospital documents here, but I’m sure those would be some legal nightmare to get. Still a few articles, interviews, doctor’s notes for class—enough to verify he wasn’t somehow faking that.

Past that are academic journal articles with his name in the credits in some place or other. The studies are all so specialized I can barely decipher anything from the jargon, but I get some kind of gist. Nuclear medicine stuff.

I aimlessly flip through pages, but that’s about all there is here. A few footnotes on his dad, but nothing that makes me think he’d put his son in a killing game. I silently slide the folder back into place.

So, pretty much what I expected to find. All right. Moving along...

I shut the drawer a little more forcefully than intended and wince. A glance at the door tells me Monochap hasn’t come running over, at least. After opening the next drawer more carefully, I slip its first file out and just hold it for a second.

“Kazusuke...”

If I keep hesitating at every dead person, I won’t make it far here.

It’s just disorienting. How long it feels like since I’ve seen him alive. If I based my estimates on that, we may as well have been locked up here for a year.

Will we be here for a year? If we don’t jump at any more motives...

“WHO is making a RUCKUS in here?!”

I jump at that instead, chucking Kazusuke’s file back into the drawer and slamming it shut. Which I guess would not endear me to someone who didn’t like me making noise.

“You’re making about as much of a ruckus as I am.”

Ichiriki ducks his head inside without leaving the hallway.

“Well maybe I wouldn’t HAVE to if YOU would let me CONCENTRATE!”

“Concentrate on what? More murals?”

“NOT the best surfaces up here.”

“As a matter of FACT, I was trying to find a way OUT of here!”

“From the fifth floor?”

“YES!!”

“.........”

“For your INFORMATION, there’s nothing left above us but the ROOF. So if we WANT to break through without anything COLLAPSING on us, this is EXACTLY the floor to be on.”

Well, that kind of makes sense.

“Wouldn’t you have better luck at the stairwell? Surely it’s designed to go to the roof.”

“Shows what YOU know! UGH!”

“Not an awful lot when it comes to you, that’s for sure.”

“I’m done making noise if you want to get back to work now.”

“OH? Just trying to SCARE me off now? RIDICULOUS!”

“That you are. Do you want to find a way out of here, or keep complaining?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t HAVE to keep complaining if YOU people would just—UGH!”

He finally storms off in a flurry of artistic rage.

“.........”

A few seconds later, he storms past again, this time in the direction that actually has rooms we can access.

“........”

I’ll just get back to my thing.

I slide the drawer open and dig Kazusuke’s file out from where it fell to the bottom. Maybe I’m a little distracted browsing it, but I’m not noticing anything of interest. Races, biodiesel. A few notes on his parents, who are in fact serving a great deal of time for drug dealing.

“.....”

Guess the chemistry affinity came from somewhere.

At any rate, nothing suspicious for our situation. I replace the file, actually hanging it on the runners properly this time, and...

“Wait...”

My fingers hover over the next tab.

“ ‘Kiiko’...?”

Who on earth is Kiiko?

I snap up the folder like it’ll vanish if I'm too slow. It doesn’t, but it doesn’t feel too hefty, either.

“Did someone already empty it?”

Maybe while I was distracted yesterday, Tsunyasha—But no, I had a completely different drawer open then. She couldn’t have. In which case...

“Or I can actually open the folder instead of just assuming it’s empty.”

I do that. And while there aren’t, in fact, a lot of papers, there are some.

“Right. Okay.”

Still doesn’t mean nothing was taken out, but... Anyway.

“Kiiko Senade, Super High School Level... Kuroko?”

The term sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it. There are some articles about a kabuki troupe in here, but none of them actually mention our mysterious student. Some photos of the actors, but no one I recognize.

Is Kiiko even someone in our class? Someone who was supposed to be here?

“But the building only has sixteen dorms.”

If it’s not one of us, then someone would have had to replace them outright for this little misadventure.

“...”

I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s probably just someone who uses a different name. Which, considering the file tabs I’ve seen so far, would pretty much be down to Tamiko or Tsunyasha, unless bento arrangers use stage names these days. And I don’t have any real doubts about Tamiko or Yuki’s talents.

“Oh—or Mary Jane.”

Could that be an alias?

Not like it doesn’t have a meaning of its own, if you wanted to pick something based on... what? Weed jokes?

“Am I really considering Mary Jane for our criminal mastermind?”

We’ll see how plausible that sounds after I’ve actually looked at all of the files. For now, I'll note it mentally and keep going. Next is...

“Kokoro...”

I take the file out and open up to the demographics page, but half of my brain is busy seeing her body in the art room all over again and the other half is still buzzing about Kiiko. Nothing right in front of me is registering.

“Maybe it’s about time to break for lunch...”

Can’t say I’m hungry, but I guess it’s getting a little late... Might as well see what I can manage.

I carefully replace Kokoro’s file, lock up, and head out.

[BACK] [NEXT]

#apexplot #apex6 #fangan

4 notes · View notes

schnellonline · 2 years ago

Text

I cannot sleep right now, because I have formulated a simply epic dissertation on something that I've probably complained about before regarding the modern internet.

This is very long and can come off as overly serious and preachy, but it's my blog so I can do whatever I want.

The internet being incredibly accessible nowadays is such a double-edged sword for any sort of idea or concept. Like, yeah, your idea can spread faster and farther than ever before. That's great for some things. But it means your thing can also burn out faster too without ever truly being digested by the greater internet audience. Like people noticed this stuff over a decade ago when it came to really simple things like memes.

People would just parrot them and absolutely run them into the ground without ever understanding the true meaning and origin for them. Was it important to know both of those things to enjoy a rage comic or whatever? Probably not. All memes or ideas are obviously made for humans by humans so there's this like this baseline understanding to them that we all get in one way or another. You don't always need context for a Troll face, but for some memes or jokes the context can like make whatever meme or idea like 100x more enjoyable or shed them in a different light. I don't know how to describe it to be honest.

I think another thing is how easily digestable everything is now regarding the internet. Everything is so absolutely streamlined and consolidated to a sickening degree. Short-form media consumption is just insane to me. Why watch a movie when you can watch a 15 min review? Or a 1 minute long TikTok? Or a 30 min video essay by a boring guy? Why put in the effort to actually learn about and engage yourself in a piece of media or literature or whatever? People have pre-chewed it and set it down on a nice little plate for you to easily digest. What if they got info wrong or their ideas or harmful? Who cares! Just move onto the next thing. Don't think about. The algorithm thinks you should watch this next! Keep scrolling and keep consuming the next piece of media without ever really thinking about it. Never question it. It's so absolutely bizarre to me. Maybe it's because I'm probably autistic or something. I personally like to know every single thing about a something until I'm satisfied and can move on. That form of media consumption where you're constantly taking in new things and shove them out of your thoughts to make room for other shit cannot be good for you. It definitely ruins your attention span. It's just information and sensory overload. It gives me a fucking headache sometimes when I'm scrolling through Twitter or YouTube. It is so absolutely mind-numbing.

Like for example: Iceberg explained videos. The whole concept of the Iceberg images was to rank the obscurity and niche-ness of certain things from most well-known to least. It was a natural progress from top to bottom. You knew the stuff at the top, but wanted to know more so you moved down. You saw things you didn't recognize as you moved down. It incentivizes you to do research. To ask around. To do more than just basic cursory Google searches. I found a lot of cool and niche communities through my research on these Iceberg charts and the mystique and inaccessible nature of them just pushed me more to do harder research. It made it exciting to take risks and explore the collective internet. It was exciting! I loved mulling over something for days so I could learn more about it.

But now there's like 30 min to 2 hr long multiple part YouTube video series breaking down that exact chart and EVERYTHING about it and ruining any sort of mysterious and fun quality to it. Why do the research when some boring podcast dude did all the work for you? Who cares if his info is wrong and is misrepresenting something important? Just move on. Consume the next thing. Fuck Wendigoon, dude. I hate that cunt.

It is just SO lazy to get all your info from shit like that. The algorithm chucks it at you, because you fit a demographic. It's consolidating culture. It's making these things blunt and explaining everything to you so you don't have to think. People won't believe you or take you seriously or care unless its popular and its been fact-checked by Snopes or whatever. Fuck that, dude. Bring back wild west internet.

Everything you like will become bastardized at some point. Those trendy late adopters who immerse themselves in the algorithmically controlled pop culture will ruin everything you love and permanently soil it. They will move onto the next thing and leave you there in the dust. They're like cultural locusts. The people/entities harbingering them are probably the worst thing to happen to the Internet and information.

6 notes · View notes

loveandscience · 2 years ago

Note

1, 2, 7, and 9 for the ask game?

Thanks so much, this is fun! :-D 1. What is your most popular fic? Weirdly enough, the most popular one in terms of 'hits' (9051) on Ao3 is one of the very few I never finished. It's this Mycroft/Lestrade fic from when I was into Sherlock, called "And Goodnight to the British Government Whispering Hush." I started it when my kid was a baby and so at the time I was really into babies (babies like, have to be the greatest thing ever, when you're taking care of one. It's the only way to escape that period of life without losing your mind lol). But then I ended up really disliking Benedict Cumberbatch with some of the crap he was saying, and it just ruined the series for me. In the TF fandom, it's "Cause and Effect." which is one I'm actually proud of. Soundwave dealing with grief and crisis of conscience was really personally meaningful to me to write and marked a point where I actively began to use writing on purpose as a way to process my own 'stuff.' 2. What fanfic do you wish you got more response on? Hm, "My Mind is No Longer Mine" got to me in a big way, because I got to write out the recovery and therapy processes for Shockwave. I loved taking someone so on-paper irredeemable and having him suddenly have to deal with having emotions again, and what that could do to someone. I liked exploring the idea that not only can people be traumatized by what's done to them and what they've seen, but also by the things they've done, and how someone could possibly recover from something so difficult. The biggest thing with this fic was that like, while I objectively never did anything so awful, when my depression was at its strongest (a long long time ago) I did hate myself AS IF I had done that kind of horrible stuff. It was very irrational, of course, but there's something healing in seeing meaning being made after coming out of that even if in real life I'd not be having the same reaction as I did for Shockwave in writing this fic. It's not that this fic didn't get a 'good enough' response or anything, I just have such a love for it that I want more excuses to talk about it with more people. There's so much to say about it. Plus, I want more Shockwave/Cosmos shippers, I am literally carrying that entire tag on Ao3, lol! Last thing before I force myself to stop writing about this fic: it was really great to write how a toxic romantic relationship can become healthy through therapy. I enjoy working with couples as a therapist and don't get to do it enough. It was fun to draw from some really old tendencies I had like back in high school for Cosmos and Shockwave, and amplify those to create their mess of a relationship, and then to work through it. 7. What’s a trope you love to write? I'm a huge sucker for characters that are basically breaking down or broken down, and then the other one comes in and gives them so much love and tenderness (romantic or not, tbh) that they realize they deserve to heal. 9. What’s your favorite line(s) or scene(s) that you have written? One from "Cause and Effect" that I go back to read time and time again:

Soundwave’s cables lashed out, smashing against test tubes and the deactivated computer, thrashing about the room. Fury raged in his spark and the destruction wasn’t enough, no, it just took the edge off. Shattered glass flurried across the room, slashing him as he continued to rip apart everything, a tornado of grief and shame and pain.

When his cables had nothing left to hit as they whipped around, and he couldn’t tell what pieces went where anymore, Soundwave sank to the floor. Exhausted. His spark that had felt like it was spinning wildly finally seemed to slow, and he stared at the ground in front of him.

Hours seemed to pass, but then again, he didn’t have the energy to check his chronometer. His helm whipped around at the sound of pedesteps crunching over glass and metal bits, to see First Aid walking toward him with nothing but worry in his optics. Not even judgment, which he deserved.

First Aid kneeled down beside him and drew him into a tight hug that Soundwave didn’t want to let go of. How had First Aid found him?

“You sent me your frequency,” First Aid said softly, answering the question he hadn’t asked yet. “That means you wanted me to find you.”

What? When had he done that? He realized he was clutching the doctor like he was desperate, and maybe he was. He noticed his frame was slightly shaking.

First Aid pulled back and Soundwave let him, wondering if he would finally understand the severity of what Soundwave had done. But he was still holding on to him as he inspected the parts of Soundwave leaking energon, the dozens of small cuts and embedded shards of glass. “ Can you come with me so I can clean you up?” he asked, and Soundwave didn’t think he had the strength to decline anything First Aid asked of him right now. He let himself be led into an adjacent room, where First Aid patted a counter for Soundwave to sit on.

As Soundwave sat, too tired to even wince when First Aid dislodged bits of glass from all along his cables, he decided that the doctor deserved some kind of explanation. So he detailed his culpability, his guilt and shame, without giving away what the mini-cons were. He told him about his failure and not being good enough, and that he would understand if First Aid didn’t want to be around him anymore, knowing these things about him.

First Aid read the messages quietly as he worked, until Soundwave had finished. He set aside the latest shard of glass to reach up to Soundwave’s visor and take it off, carefully placing it on the counter. First Aid rest his servos on either side of Soundwave’s face, and placed their helms gently together. “This, what happened to those mini-cons, was not your fault,” he said seriously. “It just wasn’t. If you had known about them, you would have stopped it, you said so yourself. This was deliberately hidden from you precisely because of that fact. Maybe you could have pretended to be more unethical—what would that have cost? You would have had to allow other things slide to have learned about this, and who knows what that would have led to? Yes, there were other things you ignored because you thought that was for the greater good, but you always had good in mind. Look, I also know you did some bad things in the war, but this? This was not one of them. And I don’t for one nanoklik think you deserve any of the shame or guilt you’re putting on yourself.”

First Aid gave a sharp, short intake as Soundwave’s servos landed on either side of his faceplate and Soundwave started to lean his lips closer. First Aid pulled his helm away. This wasn’t the right time, not when Soundwave was hurting and not thinking clearly. He couldn’t tell if Soundwave was disappointed or relieved, but they each dropped their hands and First Aid stepped back to continue removing bits of glass. But maybe a part of him, despite the situation, was a little bit thrilled at the idea that one day, if Soundwave still wanted to, they might possibly kiss.

#ask game #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #sorry this is long!#long post

4 notes · View notes

lifewiththelulus · 1 year ago

Text

Do you think he’d ever miss Lily, simply because she’s been his parental figure for so long, and he just misses the familiarity of her presents?

Oh of course She might not have been a good parent, but she was his only example of one so he's attached himself to her She basically taught him the way she was treating him was what love is So he doesn't understand at all when he's taken away and suddenly in a new place with people who don't constantly snap at him/ignore him/ spoil him to get him to go away It was always a toss up on how she treated him from day to day, being a heavy party personality that's come home hung over and locks him in the closet, or being still intoxicated and giving him whatever it is he wants.

He does miss her a lot for a long time, and he'd often fuss over wanting to go back to her, but as time goes on he stops doing that and in fact starts to feel guilty because he finds that he wouldn't wanna go back anymore

So one time Lily came home already pissed off because she got ditched by someone who brought her to a party as a date, and once seeing how demanding she was ran off. So she walks in the house to an absolute mess. She left him alone all day to his own devices, and having been ignored the past few days he had gotten to a boiling point and went on a little rampage. The TV was tipped over, the trash was dumped everywhere, clothes everywhere, broken stuff everywhere. He had literally torn through the house like an out of control tornado.

She snaps at this and marches up to his room to wake him up. She picks up the closest thing and throws it towards him, it shattered on the wall behind him. They scream at each other for a good bit before Lily yells "I WISH I NEVER HAD YOU! YOU RUINED MY ENTIRE LIFE!" before grabbing him by the hoodie and throwing him into the closet He was left in there for a long time as she stomped around and threw things herself, saying some pretty nasty things about him He heard all of it

And she fuckin wonders why he acts that way

oof Vapor and Bog having a rough day and needing some me time, which would make Fume do the same thing, trash the place while they're asleep, once he breaks something heavy and hears them wake up, he'd run out of the house in fear. Witch would just make it look like someone broke in and took Fume to Vapor and Bog.

So when he runs out he's panicked out of his little mind and just goes as far as he can before stopping because he doesn't know where he is anymore He was definitely too afraid to back though because he thinks about the mess he just made and what happened the last time he did that. He doesn't even know what made him start doing it, it was just a blind rage moment

When he's eventually found and brought back to them he's fully expecting to be yelled at and put in 'time out'

Wah oh! Do you think he’d keep it to himself or would he tell them the truth?

He would probably think they already know until they ask what happened He considers lying, but seeing the genuine worry on their faces, then the mess he made behind them, he looks down and fesses up. He backs away from Vapor and Bog and frustrated, starts to go on about how he really wanted their normal movie night, and he just got really angry and couldn't stop himself from doing it. He doesn't dare look at them because he starts to cry and struggles with keeping himself still as he silently sobs He's bracing himself for harsh words, yelling, even getting moved to another home because it's happened twice already. He's still convinced Lily called and had him taken away, not that he was taken from Lily

Instead they do the last thing he expects them to do, they apologize to HIM. For putting off movie night, and that they didn't mean to make him feel like his needs weren't important

Of course they still have to punish him, so they tell he has to help them clean up.

He just looks at them with utter confusion, but stays quiet. He's silent the entire time they clean. No complaining, no whining. Just does as he's told, thinking of only one thing. Why? Why weren't they mad? Why weren't they yelling and screaming and throwing things? For the first time he truly feels guilty for his actions, he really thinks hard about the things he did.

Once everything is clean and they tuck him back in bed, Just as vapor and bog shut off the lights he speaks up "I'm sorry."

He's making progress It just takes baby steps

#cool guys don’t cry 🤍#can i call you vape? 🤎#it’s just a prank bro 🫗#rabid child 💢

0 notes

reallyromealone · 2 years ago

Text

Super self indulgent

Mikey x male reader omegaverse

(name) followed behind his brothers quietly, decently someone tried to kill the omega and thus Rindō and Ran had to bring him to the Kanto manji gang headquarters and the alphas were apprehensive to say the least, keeping (name) a well hidden secret until now.

They basically drowned their baby brother in their scent to ward off any unwanted suitors and any Kanto manji men who would try and seduce their brother.

(Name) was tired, having woken at the crack ass of hell and dragged god knows where by his brothers and he just wanted to take a nap honestly "you can nest in one of our offices if you want, we had someone get nesting supplies for you " ran said fixing his brothers hair, knowing (name) was less than pleased with being dragged into his brothers criminal activities.

"We know your pissed (name) but we just need to find the guy and then you can go back home and do your stuff" what stuff was that? (Name) was a university student, it wasn't crazy uncommon for omegas to attend higher education but it was still seen as unusual for one to do so.

"Fine... You're lucky I'm on break" (name) grumbled as he was led to the eldests haitanis office, a pile of nesting materials in the corner of the room "we will leave you to it, text us if you need us to scent anything " familial scents were common for nesting and the brothers were no strangers to their clothing temporarily stolen by their baby brother, something he had been doing since he was a pup.

"Alright... I will text you guys when i need you" (name) huffed angrily and the elder Haitani brothers left him to his own devices.

(Name) was carefully making his nest when he smelt it, his mate.

You see every person has one or hell maybe a couple people that are made for them.

Their mates.

Sometimes people can go without ever meeting their destined partner/partners but sometimes they do.

The haitani siblings were told as children, it's like an angels call but with scent and your second gender can't help but feel pulled to the person.

And that's exactly what (name) felt as he slowly got up and walked out from the safety of his brothers office, eyes hazy as he walked down the hall and ignored the Kanto manji men.

The Kanto manji members were all seated at the couch as they had a meeting, Mikey sitting at the head serious and all when it hit him like a punch in the face.

He didn't know what happened honestly, one moment he's cool and collected sitting on the couch and next minute he has an omega sitting on his lap, snuggling into him "(name)?!" Rindō said slighly horrified and scared for his brother as Mikey looked down at the omega with an unreadable expression, the blond alpha recognizing the omega as his mate.

(Name) clung to him as ran spoke slowly "(name), bud could you get off Mikey?" This behavior was completely out of left field for (name), the omega rather reserved with physical contact and only really went to his brothers for it when he was in pre heat, when his omega practically demanded snuggles before booting his brothers out to suffer through a heat.

(Name) shook his head and clung to Mikey harder, not wanting to be away from his alpha as his omega took over fully.

Mikey gently lifted the omegas chin to look at him, (name) purring at the omega "hello little one" Mikey said with a softness that fucking Blindsided the rest of Kanto Manji, only ever seeing their leader as cold and ruthless and not a kind alpha.

"Hi alpha...." (Name) said slowly as he looked into those deep black eyes, hypnotized by them as he exposed his neck slightly in submission as Mikey made a soft noise "what are you doing here baby?" Mikey asked keeping the omega close "someone tried to kill him" Ran said seriously, really not sure what to make of this fucking situation right now but he was not gonna pry his brother away from Mikey.

That was a death wish.

"What?" Mikey said coldly as his scent turned foul and simmered with rage, the sudden shift messing with a mates first bond.

When two mates meet, they typically scent each other and let their second genders mingle and any sudden changes can be stressful on either of them and the sudden scent shift freaked (name) out as he whimped slightly, not understanding why his alpha was angry so suddenly.

Was he angry at omega?

(Name) gripped Mikey's black shirt as he looked back at his brothers, the elder haitanis immediately recognizing what is going on in his brain.

"We aren't sure yet, we think it was from a rival gang" Ran said slowly, keeping a close eye on his baby brother who might be misinterpreting Mikey's rage as rejection.

Mikey's scent grew more sour at this and the distressed scent from (name) was driving the men mad as (name) teared up and moved away from Mikey, an expression of heartbreak on the omegas face "alpha...doesn't want me?" (Name) said slowly and the smell of distressed omega made the men around him far more stressed as their alphas struggled not to comfort the omega.

Mikey looked shocked at the omegas declaration before lifting the omega up and walking out, poor (name) shaking and crying into his neck as he took him to Mikey's area, the best out of all of them.

Mikey's office had a connected bathroom and bedroom in case he didn't have the time to go back home and sleep, he kept the dojo but... To many Memories.

And he didn't want to go to his empty penthouse sometimes.

"The fuck just happened" shion said confused as the Haitani brothers sighed.

It was never easy was it?

Mikey tried soothing his omega, soft kisses and relaxing pharamones as his alpha took over "shhh omega, alphas here" his voice deep and soothing as the omega calmed down slightly, brain still frazzled "alpha wants omega?" He said with a slight crack in his voice and Mikey nodded "of course alpha wants you"

(Name) purred as he let the alpha kiss him gently, the bonding continuing as Mikey soaked the omega in his scent and vice Versa.

The couple claiming one another.

The real claiming would have to wait until (name)s heat.

Mikey practically burritoed (name) in a blanket, grabbing his snacks and feeding the Omega to show he can provide for him.

Mikey would murder anyone who even thought of touching his snacks and food but he happily let his omega eat them and even fed him himself, a weird sense if pride as he did so.

Mikey watched as the omega accepted him, chirping as he snuggled into the alpha.

(Name) wasn't quite sure what happened when he woke up, feeling warm and safe as he snuggled into his new found mates chest as the smell of melted chocolate and macha, a wonderful combination as he looked over the sleeping alpha and realized who be was.

Holy shit.

His alpha was the leader of one of the most feared gangs in Japan and his brothers boss.

(Name) strangely enough didn't feel stressed though, his instincts only seeing Mikey as safe and comforting.

(Name) did have one worry though.

Omegas had rights yes.

But not a crazy amount.

(Name) still needed his brothers permission to open a bank account and do most things, like attend higher education and such and now that he found his alpha.

Mikey had all those decisions in the palm of his hand.

If he decided he didn't want (name) in university, he could pull him out and (name) wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

The thought sent dread throughout him.

Mikey woke the the smell of distressed omega, eyes snapping open to see his mate mumbling to himself as he stared off into the distance.

"You're thinking to loud" Mikey said snapping (name) from his thoughts and (name) stared at him stressed, unsure what to say.

"What's your name pretty?" Mikey asked pulling (name) close, blond hair draping over his face as he stared at (name) with an intensity like no other "(name) Haitani...." He said shyly and fiddled with the end of his shirt "to think my mate was just in Roppongi all this time..."

"I want to continue school..."

"Wait are you in high school?" Mikey asked staring him apprehensive and (name) shook his head "I'm in university..."

Mikey thought it over and nodded "I won't stop you from going... Do you want pups?" Mikey asked nosing (name)s scent gland gently, smiling slightly when (name) shows his neck in submission "maybe one day... A few wouldn't hurt..." (Name) was blushing heavily as Mikey gently kissed his scent gland.

"I will have your brothers send me your medical and schedule, don't worry baby" Mikey said before pulling him back down into bed and snuggling into him "for now we go back to fucking bed" Mikey said with the utmost seriousness.

(Name) couldn't help but giggle as he snuggled into mikeys warm chest, feeling lighter knowing Mikey wouldn't make him some subservient omega.

Mikey eventually had to leave poor (name) by himself, giving him his Kanto jacket to snuggle as ran and Rindō brought him his nesting supplies and checked on their baby brother, Mikey could understand as he was the same with Emma.

Once the haitani brothers left Mikey's room, Mikey immediately called a meeting "so what's this about someone trying to kill my mate?" Mikey said coldly, staring them down with an intensity like no other and the Haitani brothers explained the situation that happened and Mikey felt his blood boil "find them and bring them to me"

The men immediately went to work, looking through camera feeds and everything to hunt the asshole down while Mikey went to check on (name), not wanting to be away from his mate for long.

When he walked in he saw (name) in a nest, his bedding stolen and kanto jacket used as a blanket as he slept and Mikey hadn't felt this urge to protect in a very long time as he sat infront of the nest and watched his mate sleep and the more stared the more possessive he got.

Why wouldn't he? He's his mate.

He was made for Mikey.

Only Mikey.

He had him now and he wasn't going to let anyone take him, he struggled with his dark impulses to not lock sweet (name) away like a pretty doll for his eyes only but decided against it... His Omega had aspirations and dreams after all.

#tokyo revengers x male reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #kanto manji gang #haitani brothers #mikey tokyo revengers #mikey x reader #omegaverse #x male reader

1K notes · View notes

writingsofmax · 2 years ago

Note

what albums do you think ed/riddler would be into? what would he play for Y\N in disarm?

ANON THIS MADE MY DAY-- i'm putting this all under a read more bc this basically is a dissertation

Okay so I think that there's 3 groups of music Eddie listens to, sad introspective music, harsh angry wall-of-sound music, and then music he discovered in college So if you read his journal there is a lot of (imo) really really sad stuff in it. He writes about how he was born into hell and that the only reason he was put on this earth was to suffer and that no one understands him or will ever understand him, that when he looks in the mirror all he sees is hell/pain and suffering. So when Eddie gets into this state of thinking about being in pain and suffering and feeling out of step with the rest of the world I think that he would be into listening to quiet, introspective sad music. I'm thinking Elliot Smith specifcally and that is because Elliot Smith had some demons, and his songs have a LOT of despair and rage written into them. I think that Edward could heavily relate to a lot of the lyrics in them.

Elliot Smith Lyrics that remind me of Edward: Christian Brothers: Fake concern asks, "what's the matter, man?" And you think I oughta shake your fucking hand. Well, I know how much you care // Nightmares become me, it's so fucking clear

Riot Coming: And I want to tell you that there's a riot coming, like a drug in the water. A punch in the stomach makes sons into daughters. Roman Candle: I wanna hurt him. I wanna give him pain. I'm a roman candle, my head is full of flames. I'm hallucinating, I'm hallucinating. I hear you cry, your tears are cheap. Wet red hot swollen cheeks, fall asleep. Ballad of Big Nothing: Watching the parade with pinpoint eyes, full of smoldering anger. You can do what you want to, whenever you want to. You can do what you want to, there's no one to stop you. Okay anyway, I really could write out Elliot Smith lyrics that relate to him all day long but then this post would be 10 miles long so I'm gonna stop there. Okay so when Edward is in Riddler Mode, he's very manic, he has so many thoughts that they spill out of his head onto every other surface in the room. I think that when he's like that or going into that mode he's listening to loud, screamy, heavy, angry, wall-of-sound type music. Sometimes when your brain is screaming at you and everything is a lot, a lot, a lot, then you need music that will Drown That Out, or help focus the energy by matching it. (in my experience) So this is where My Bloody Valentine, Pixies, Smashing Pumpkins, Nirvana comes in. (Some nirvana songs could be in the previous category as well) Lots of songs with heavy guitars, screaming and violent imagery. There's a reason that every chapter title in my fic is a Smashing Pumpkins lyric and it's because they fit him SO WELL. There's a lot of religious imagery that's used in pumpkins songs as well too and that also fits Eddie. Songs and Lyrics that I think fit Eddie: Quiet//Smashing Pumpkins: Quiet, I am sleeping, In here we need a little hope. Jesus, are you listening? Up there to anyone at all?

Tonight, Tonight// Smashing Pumpkins: We'll crucify the insincere tonight, we'll make things right, we'll feel it all tonight Zero// Smashing Pumpkins: Emptiness is loneliness, and loneliness is cleanliness, and cleanliness is godliness and God is empty, just like me. Mr. Grieves// Pixies: *sung sarcastically with laughter in it* Hope everything is all right, hope everything is alright! What's that floating in the water? Oh, Neptune's only daughter. <- this whole song is very eddie-core, there's a part where the singer keeps asking "do you have another opinion?" in a taunting sing-song manner as well Debaser// Pixies <- he is this song Something Against You// Pixies Break My Body// Pixies Bullet With Butterfly Wings// Smashing Pumpkins <- he is also this song Disarm// Smashing Pumpkins <-- and this one Only Shallow// my bloody valentine (lots of noise) basically every nirvana song

Alright now onto the third section, music he discovered in college/highschool. So: Every iteration of the Riddler has a SUPERIORITY COMPLEX. Every single one. I think that this would absolutely extend into music tastes and he would have Music Opinions. I think going off the music I addressed above, it would naturally lead him to bands like Modest Moue and Death Cab For Cutie for sure. He is a sad boy at heart. Modest Mouse makes music for people that are sad and nuerotic and I will die on this hill I think that he would also listen to Aphex Twin and more experimental music like that, stuff that itches your brain in a good way by listening to it. I could see him listening to Aphex Twin and Boards of Canada while dinking around on his laptop for SURE. He would say something like, "Yeah I listen to Radiohead but you should listen listen to Boards of Canada they inspired Radiohead." I also think that he would listen to japanese shoegaze/garage rock stuff as well and would dig through record stores and garage sales looking for obscure presses. OKAY AS FOR WHAT HE WOULD ACTUALLY SHOW Y/N in my fic, I think he would go with safe bets like Modest Mouse or Death Cab to talk to her about, and then go into the 90s rock stuff once he was more comfortable but I think he would keep the Elliot Smith stuff to himself because it's more deeply personal. albums he would own/listen to: in utero/nirvana, bleached/nirvana, surfer rosa/pixies, doolittle/pixies, something about airplanes/dcfc, the photo album/dcfc, siamese twin/smashing pumpkins, mellon collie and the infinite sadness/ smashing pumpkins, Westing (by musting and sextant)/pavement, Brighten the corners/pavement, roman candle/elliot smith (basically all the elliot smith albums) loveless/my bloody valentine, Goo/sonic youth Ummmmm ANYWAY Sorry that this is NOVEL I just loveeeeeeeeeeee talking about music omgggggg

#riddler headcanons #riddler playlist #riddler music headcanons #edward nashton headcanons #edward nashton hc #riddler hc #edward nashton music #edward nashton playlist #this is a novel #i am ANNOYING about music sorry

51 notes · View notes

l4verq · 4 years ago

Text

crossed out | b.b

bucky barnes x reader

in which you’re one of the names on bucky’s list

warnings : angst, fluff?, mentions of choking

fic : one shot

a/n : u know i’m a sucker for therapy bucky lol

He should have skipped today’s session.

Cause he’s starting to regret coming when she brings it up.

“You gonna tell me about her?” Cecelia questions, casually flicking through a thick folder labelled James B.B.

But it was never casual.

Bucky knew she was observing his every move, his every tick. And he’d been pretty good at faking through every session until now.

“I thought you were helping me make amends.” He forges an unamused smile, which was second nature now.

“Yes and that’s why I asked you about her.” She looks up from the folder, the smallest smile tugging at her lips.

“It says here that you guys were complicated.” She continues, eyes skimming over a particular page.

Complicated was the last thing he’d use to describe it.

Cause it was the one thing that gave him some clarity, hope that he could be deserving of love again someday.

“We used to date. We broke up.” He gruffs, crossing his arms.

Maybe he should fake a mechanical failure in his arm, reschedule for another time.

“Do you still love her?”

He doesn’t answer but it’s written all over his face and Cecelia can read him like a book.

She turns over his list that she’d assigned him to make, eyes trailing down names until it reaches a hastily crossed out name at the end.

“Why don’t we pick this up next week? I hope you’ll be more comfortable to talk about it then.” She hands him back the small, black notebook.

He hesitantly takes it back, his feet already springing to get out of the room.

Was it just him or was the air running out in this tiny room.

“And, James?” She calls out.

He looks back, slightly winded.

“Remember, sometimes you need to just take a leap of faith, trust your heart.”

He nods solemnly, almost tripping over his legs trying to get to the door.

Hands fumbling over the handle, he’s greeted by a rush of cool air when he finally opens the goddamn door.

He stuffs the notebook in his pocket, taking big strides towards the exit.

It’s the same everyday.

Keep his head down, one sharp left, stop by the nearby cafe if he feels like it.

But today, he takes a right, taking out his flip phone he prefers to the touch screens these days.

Punching in the only number he knows, his stomach’s doing flips.

Don’t pick up, don’t pick up.

“So you do know how to call someone.” Sam picks up after a few rings.

He could almost hear the stupid smirk.

“How are you?” He cringes, the grip on his phone tightening.

It’s a small pause before Sam chuckles, “Y/N’s doing fine. In fact, she just got back from a mission in Prague yesterday.”

Of course, you’d still be going on missions, it was the only thing you knew.

“That’s not why I called.” He huffs, leaning against his car now.

It was an old, beat up Honda that he’d fixed up from the local junkyard.

“Really? Then enlighten me.”

It was Cecelia’s fault for bringing you up. If she hadn’t brought her up, he wouldn’t be here doing this.

“Where is she?” He closes his eyes, wanting the ground to just crack open and swallow him whole.

“Right where you left her.”

He mumbles a hasty goodbye cause he’s not sure he can trust himself to keep his composure any longer.

Getting into the car, he pulls out the notebook, going through the list.

He’d ticked off the list last month, even adding a few more names just to avoid the crossed out name at the end.

He jams the keys in, the car purring to life, before he can change his mind.

The door is taunting him.

He doesn’t know how but it is.

A quick exhale and he raises his hand to knock on it, half hoping you won’t open it.

But you do.

He always loved your eyes cause they held so much life to them.

Like for now, confusion morphing to recognition and rage in an instant.

You’re in bad shape, he can gather from the slight limp and bruises.

It feels like forever before you call his name in disbelief, what he’s longed to hear for so long.

He wishes you’d curse him out, hit him or tell him to go away cause that’s what he deserves.

But you don’t.

Instead, your pretty eyes brim with tears.

“Don’t.” He grits his teeth, unable to meet your eyes.

He always hated to see you cry.

“Then, why’d you leave?” Your voice breaks as months of bottled up heartache pour out.

He had to.

You were the only right thing he’d done in a long long time and he couldn’t mess it up.

“I needed to fix myself before I could trust myself around you.”

He grimaces as he remembers the life draining out of your face, while his hands were wrapped around your neck.

That very night he’d left, requested for therapy and could only hope it would work.

But it didn’t.

There was no fixing anything, he’d realised that waking up from nightmares far too many times.

“You could have picked up the phone.” Your voice barely above a whisper, stinging like a nasty burn.

He almost did, everytime.

But he hated himself too much to allow that.

“I’m sorry.” That’s all he can whisper, fighting the urge to take you in his arms.

“If you’d just let me in, realise that I do understand you.” You’re basically pleading at this point but you don’t care.

“I know you do. But you don’t have to. You deserve a better guy.” He says the same thing when he left like a broken radio.

“There is no better guy for me, Bucky. Why can’t you get that through your thick skull?” You limp over closer to him.

You know he’s focused only on your limp, eyes filled with concern as they rake over your wounds.

“Does it hurt?”

The same thing he always used to ask after a mission while tending to your injuries.

“Yea, here.” You pat the left side of your chest, biting down a smile.

He has to fight back one too, but it’s kinda hard.

You meet his eyes, a little too long cause you’ve missed gazing into them every morning.

Maybe this is the leap of faith Cecelia keeps droning on about, he thinks as he leans in, “We should take a look at that, then.”

You sniffle, “I’m still mad at you.”

He laughs, which involuntarily makes you 2% less mad.

“I missed you.” He whispers, his lips inches away from yours.

You don’t have to say it back cause he knows.

He leans in closer, ghosting over your lips, waiting for your approval.

You close the distance, lips crashing into his almost in desperation.

Which you regret almost immediately cause you taste blood.

A split lip and kissing, not so pretty.

He pulls away and you mewl, pulling him back.

“You’re only making your lips worse.” He chuckles, hands slipping into yours.

Instead, he kisses your forehead, trailing all the way to your lips where he pecks them gently.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers again, head leaning on yours.

“I forgave you a long time ago. I was just waiting for you to come back.” You sob, tears springing out again.

He pulls you into his chest, steady hands you’ve craved for so long.

Gently rocking you back and forth, he strokes your hair, fleeting kisses to calm you down.

You’re struggling to keep your legs stable as your eyes grow heavy but you ignore the blatant aches in your body cause you don’t want to leave his embrace.

And he somehow always seems to notice.

“You need to rest.”

You shake your head, holding onto him even tighter.

He knows he won’t win against your stubborn ass so he lifts you up carefully, legs swinging over his arms while you snake your hands around his neck for support.

“Stay.” You mumble as he takes you in the room you two used to share.

And he does.

Boy, was Cecelia in for a ride next session.

a/n : im cringing as i post this🧎🏻‍♀️🔫🏃🏻‍♀️jsneyswjausowkaw but supeerr excited for tfatws this friday :)) also i named bucky’s therapist for convenience lol im pretty sure she’s not named in the first ep? i could be wrong tho

#bucky barnes #tfatws #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #mcu #marvel

873 notes · View notes