#so this is completely unedited

[rorahswriting]

Story 1

Wise man say, only fools rush in… So then I will gladly be a fool.

The darknes was only broken by the delicate light of the almost full moon falling in through the window. Looking at the man next to her, the princess felt a weird pain in her chest. He was everything her family had ever warned her of.

Fierce. Direct. Brutal. Wild.

And worst of all – a "wildling" as her father called his people. A man, willing and able to kill if necessary. A man who wouldn’t hurt a fly if not necessary. But all she could think of, as she felt his chest rise and fall underneath her head was the safety she felt around him.

As much as everyone always kept talking about the fact that he could tear down mountains if necessary, she much more valued how softly he was able to hold a newborn kitten without making it nervous in the slightest. Even if said kitten had not been bigger than half of his palm.

He was snoring slightly, a delicate growl resonating around the room.

Her hands seemed so tiny lying on his body, so lost among the tattoos tainting his sunburned skin black.

Lost in thought, she trailed the dark lines, forming into animals, patterns, decorating him, her chin resting directly above his heart. His heartbeat was steady, slow and strong. Rythmic like the beating of a drum, soothing her. The absolute opposite of the chaotic and unsteady fluttering of her own heart.

But around him, it suddenly seemed to understand how it was supposed to work, finally slowing into a comfortable rythm. Still fast and quick paced… but no longer as chaotic.

Her mind drifted off to their first meeting… about two weeks ago. Gods, it had only been two weeks? Time was weird sometimes.

***

Tired, the young woman sighed. On the table in front of her lay stacks of books, explaining the nature of political alliances, correspondences between kingdoms. Books diving into historical relationships between different cultural groups and races of humanoids.

Books drafting up explanations as to which laws were made up when and why.

The massive amount of information she was supposed to know by heart.

"As the princess, it is your duty to know these things." Her father’s voice echoed in her head, his only response to her questioning as to why being the same as usual: "So you are a useful asset to your future husband."

Per the king’s orders, she was not allowed to read anything aside from the necessary. To keep her focused on what was important. And after the previous librarian’s death, his successor stuck to those orders, no exception.

She had been sitting over these books for hours. Any distraction, no matter how boring, was better than being alone with her thoughts. It would be a week before she would meet her future husband. Her emotions were running wild. Anxiety that tilted towards sheer panic was sending cold shivers down her spine. Fear and resentment were rearing their monstrous heads, a sad resignation fighting against them. A resignation that was reminding her that nothing was to be done about her marriage in three weeks. On the day of her 21st birthday.

A half-elven heir of one of the most influential noble families in the kingdom. His mother the sister of the elvish king, his father the highest ranking noble-man, advisor to her father and richest man in the kingdom. The fact that said heir was more than ten years older than her could be ignored according to her father. As could his tendency to hurt his families maids for fun. And his treatment of the horses his father was known for raising.

The prospect of being his wife, the prospect of this man being the next king… It made her stomach sink. But it was a powerful bloodline her father had stated. She was not to be heard, only to be seen the king had reminded her, when she had tried to speak up about the rumours she had heard about her fiancée.

With a sigh, she shoved her chair from the desk, sighing heavily. The chairs movement caused the giant dog beneath her to stir and grumble his distaste for her movement loudly.

A massive black head lifted from the marble flooring to look at her, mirroring her own sadness. With a pained smile, she ruffled the long fur of her favourite guardian and stood up. "It’s ok. Styx. I’ll try to sleep in a bit…", she assured him, her voice quiet and broken. This seemed to placate him, the giant dog putting his head back down with a deep sigh.

The books were not helping anymore. Maybe some fresh air would.

Her bedroom was massive and she hated it. Nothing but an oversized, luxurious prison cell. The down blanket made from exotic birds, expensive marble flooring, magical candles lining the walls, ready to be switched on and off with a single word of command… the princess would have traded all of it for a single day of actual free will. She would have cut the mahogany bedframe into pieces and slept in the dirt - as long as it meant she was allowed to make her own decisions. Stretching, she stepped outside onto the small balcony, directed towards the east. So she could rise with the sun. The lack of curtains being a direct result of that thought process.

Not that she needed any. Her chambers were on the ninth floor, only a madman would’ve tried to get high enough to look inside the giant glass front – and even if someone was crazy enough, all they would see would be a mirrored image of the outside view.

The fresh spring air immediately cooled her nerves. A delicate breeze ruffled the basically see-through, white nightgown she was wearing, carrying with it the salty smell of the sea. Usually she would have stuck close to the walls, as her fear of heights would have overpowered her, though lately she didn’t mind standing near the railing, the thought of falling no longer being scarier than what inevitably awaited her.

Stepping towards the edge of her balcony to look at the courtyard and the guards’ patrol-balcony, she realised the slightest movement in the corner of her eye. Alarmed she turned to the left, only to be met with wide, dark grey eyes. In front of her sat a man, crouched. For a mere split second, their gazes met and he looked down at her before turning his eyes away. His hand immediately raised to cover them.

Her mouth agape, she was too shocked to make a sound, even if she had wanted to. The man was muscular, clothed completely in black. His skin barely showed through the clothing, his ears were covered – but there was no way she had mistaken him for one of the elven people anyway.

However from under his hood a horn curved out, growing from his forehead. And of course… her first thought was how it’s weird that it’s only one horn. Usually the wildlings had two, if the books hadn’t lied to her. She didn’t feel fear. Only fascination. But that apparently didn’t translate into how she looked, as in a hushed voice he spoke to her. „Please don’t scream. We can sort this out like civilized people.“ A short peak over his hand, before he looked away again. She raised an eyebrow.

„And maybe you might want to put some clothes on? It is kind of cold…“

His voice was deep. Deeper than any she had ever heard. He sounded full of life, full of energy. A slight undercurrent of humour in his tone, with just a tiny hint of surprise. As always when she stood out on the balcony, she felt as though she was able to see his emotions. Feel them.

He was caught off-guard, hadn’t expected to run into anyone. He emotions and thoughts were stumbling over themselves, everything inside of him running haywire. Urgency. Intrigue. And more. Emotions she was unable to place, or describe as she had never felt those before.

But as usual, it weren’t simply one person’s emotions. It were those of every being in the courtyard.

And a specific one caught her attention, tearing her from her focus.

Boredom. Annoyance. And they were getting ever clearer, so whoever was feeling them was getting closer. A guard. All alarm bells rang in her mind. From the balcony below, the one used by the guards to get a higher vantage point over the courtyard, he would be able to see them.

She hadn’t noticed that she’d slowly gotten closer to him, or that she had raised her head when the emotions had reached her sixth sense.

He was still talking, saying something she hadn’t caught. It didn’t matter. There was no time for thinking. The approaching guard seeing them would end badly. For both of them.

As far as she could sense, there was no ill will from his side towards her. Good.

His voice stumbled and he released a huffed grunt when she grabbed his shirt and dragged him inside. It was suprisingly easy to do so, comparing their stature.

The second they were back inside, her senses stifled, suffocating within the walls of the castle. She would never understand why that always happened. It was driving her mad. But she had learned her lesson as a child when speaking up about that sense. Ever since she had brought it up to her father, the stifling feeling had only gotten worse.

She had to blink to return back to the present, before realising what had just happened. There was a man in her room. A very surprised man, but nonetheless a man. At least two feet taller than her not counting the horns, now that he was standing upright. A man looking at her, while also trying not to look. While she was only wearing her see-through nightgown.

To be continued.

[rejectedbytheempty]

actually, ykw? imagine if simon had a civilian s/o and bc he’s constantly away and the partner is there most of the time anyways, he lets them decorate the place.

they make it so cozy with a million lamps with stained glass lampshades and tapestries on the walls and an unexpected number of stuffed animals on the bed.

one time, simon invites tf 141 to his flat and their jaws dropped, bc ofc simon didn’t warn them about the absolute pinterest board that his place was.

in fact, he hadn’t mentioned a partner at all, or to you that his team would be coming over so you’re still in one of simon’s raggedy old t-shirts with a handful of dry cereal halfway to your mouth.

it’s generally a shock for both parties, simon excluded, who seems to settle himself right in, kissing the top of your head, eyes crinkling slightly as he grins, looking rather like a cat showing off the bird he dragged in.

you had some choice words for him later, but for now, you brushed the crumbs off your face and wiped your hands off on your shirt before sticking your hand out to the team to introduce yourself.

surprisingly, it goes rather well. all things considered. the team is charmed by you and your ability to make ghost blush and smile endlessly. and you’re absolutely enamored with the fact that they keep complimenting your decor.

[gossippool]

it's after their first mission together that wade and logan share their first kiss.

the fight leading up to the time ripper took place right outside their apartment with barely any witnesses around, so the journey back home was short and quiet with no prying eyes. after that, it took a while for logan to get out of the house on the regular, but when he eventually did, it was just to walk or carry out errands, and in civilian clothes, he blended in with everyone else. it's different when they get called on a mission for the first time.

it's not a hard mission by any means, but it's brutal. he and wade subdue a dozen men on the streets, chase a final one down to the underground, and turn him over to the police. by the end of it all, the sun is going down, and people are travelling home from work. logan's suit is torn, and his bare arms are caked with dirt and dried blood.

a cab would be the typical mode of transport for them after a mission, but they're already at the station, anyway, so they decide to take the train. a busker sings at the platform with a guitar, a lulling, bittersweet thing, like the soundtrack to a life not deserving of such a melody. in the exhaustion and setting sun, it makes logan long for something he can't name. but they'll be home soon.

they board the train. he leans against one of the poles, feels the cool of the metal seep through his suit and into his spine. the music fades out, and what fades in in its place is the conversation and laughter of the others in the train car. a group of teenagers out having fun, businessmen in suits off work, older people with their grandkids or their shopping bags. wade's warmth opposite him, mask moving as he chatters.

he tries to listen, he really does, but as the train speeds through the tunnel, he feels stares turn slowly towards him from all sides. he smells their slight fear, their judgement, over the odour of him and wade. he realises all at once what he must look like, dirty and covered in blood that can't be his for his lack of open wounds. his exposed knuckles a darker red than the rest of his hands. he covers one hand with the other, unclenches his fists.

he's not one to care about what others think. not before, at least. he's used to glares of resentment and pity for what he did, eyes following him everywhere he went like the phantoms of those he killed. but these people don't know what he's done, and they stare at him all the same. it's almost worse.

for a brief moment, just a moment, he feels a stab of hopelessness. coming to this world felt like a second chance, a chance to start over without the world having to bear the knowledge of his inadequacies. but what if that isn't possible? what if this is all this world ever sees of him? the aftermath, the bloodstained hands, the aged lines of his face that tell them what they want to know. he's no one here, except when people remember him like this.

"peanut?"

wade's voice snaps him out of it, and when he looks up, wade has pulled his mask off. he's about to apologise for not listening when wade smiles slightly at him. it's enough to take the words out of his mouth. wade doesn't ask if logan's okay, but his eyes flicker almost imperceptibly over the other occupants of the train car. then he places a delicate hand on logan's waist and steps closer to him, until he can feel his breath ghosting his lips.

logan just looks up at him, breath caught in his throat. what? he thinks of asking. he doesn't.

wade's other hand trails up to cup his cheek. "let them stare," he says. "they don't know anything."

then he leans down and presses his lips to logan's. the train emerges out of the tunnel and bathes the car in golden light, and all the rest of it fades away.

wade steps back eventually, and logan wants to chase his lips, but instead watches as the shadows of his scars dance across his face with the path of the dying sun. he's so beautiful, logan thinks. he's home.

wade is right; let them stare. all he wants is to find his way home, just like everyone else. that's all anyone wants. and they're all on the same train home.

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Transcript:

I'd like to congratulate you on getting your CPR certification.

Now remember, when you’re going in for compressions, it should sound like somebody is standing behind you with the worlds largest Dorito and cracking it open!

Go in firm and hard and snap as many ribs as you can on the way down, that means you’re doing it right.

You save that life. Good luck.

Or... Or... Or kill them, I don’t fucking care.

Audio source

[pencap]

someone once told me there is no demon more frightening     than a good man     who has gone to war.

someone once told me      the only things we get to choose      are a hero's death      or a villain's life.

so they said. so they said. so they say.

but no one ever told me      what happens when a good man       goes to war      and becomes the demon.

but no one ever told me      you can die a hero     and be resurrected     to a villain's afterlife.

- by sylvie (j.p.)

[pralinesims]

This game is genuinely so gorgeous.

[horsemeatluvr23]

the juppet !! i just realised he is jerma posing i swear that was unintentional...... i spent so long digging thru muppet concept art and looking at old puppet designs just to end up doing a rly simple drawing but. i love joehills!! i have only been watching them for like 4 years but their videos r so special to me :3

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 428: Night of the Kouhai

Previously on BnHA: Well at least Spinner is sort of kind of doing okay??

Today on BnHA: I see the check that I sent to Horikoshi finally cleared.

okay first things first, you all know how it is right. I’ve never made a secret of my Kacchan bias on this blog. I promise you I did actually write a recap to 426 and 427 as well, but both of those chapters went HEAVY on the themes and drama and philosophical shit, and my reactions were kind of all over the place, and the Todoroki one in particular was like a million words wrong and it needs a shit ton of editing which I don’t know when I’ll have the spoons for

on the other hand however, a chapter like this which features class 2A cuteness and an absolutely unreasonable amount of Kacchan character development fanservice to hyperfixate on, takes absolutely no spoons at all and in fact actively recharges some of my spoons, so yeah. here we are

anyway so when we last left off Kacchan and Shouto were in terrible danger from a threat more terrifying than any they’ve ever encountered before. so I already knew this chapter was going to be great

“IIDA IS BIG AND STRONG AND AUTHORITATIVE, LET’S HIDE BEHIND HIM, HE WILL PROTECT US” everyone, I’m delighted to announce that the BnHA manga ending arc, despite having its ups and downs until this point, has officially been saved thanks to this panel right here. pack it up folks. this was officially a sweeping success. this panel brought Tomura back to life and teleported Touya’s mind back into his childhood self from roughly ten years ago time travel fix-it style. Horikoshi you beautiful bastard

Shouto trying to explain that he can handle them one on one but just not ALL TOGETHER IN THIS TERRIFYING SWARM LIKE THIS... buddy you don’t have to explain yourself sob. or is he trying to negotiate with them??

meanwhile Kacchan skips the negotiations entirely because he’s already assessed the situation and knows that the best way to handle this is to appeal to Iida Tenya’s boundless love of regulation and social order

y’all it’s killing me that this boy can handle being LITERALLY MURDERED by the greatest evil the world has ever known. but a group of admiring fifteen year old kouhais? no sir. that’s where he taps out

“but I thought Bakugou liked attention” yes well, you see, Shinsou, it’s kinda a “monkey’s paw curls” sort of thing

Kaminari with the BLACK SPEECH BUBBLE lmfao. FRIENDSHIP WITH KACCHAN HAS BEEN CANCELLED. NOW MIDORIYA IS MY BEST FRIEND

“well you see up until recently the ladies all thought Kacchan was a feral troll so they avoided him at all costs” wow Deku this man literally died for you and you just throw him under the bus with zero hesitation just like that

“SOURCE: ME, HIS CHILDHOOD FRIEND” just adding in his credentials in that little footnote there lest anyone question his authority on the subject

wait so is Shinsou surprised that girls used to not like Kacchan? or is he surprised that Kacchan and Deku were childhood friends? I can see how the latter might be surprising (oh Shinsou, sometimes I forget that you effectively just got here. we have so much to catch you up on. you will not BELIEVE how badly the two of these kids just want to hold hands all the time), but ngl, I’m rooting for the former just for the implications. “you’re seriously telling me a certified ten like him never had any girls interested in him?”

Horikoshi, hear me out, I know there are only two chapters left after this, and they’ve both already been written. but if you wanted to rewrite one of them at the last minute in order to add about a dozen more pages solely dedicated to Shinsou interrogating the rest of class 2A about Kacchan’s love life, out of what he insists is just innocent curiosity with no ulterior motives. well, I would not complain about that

anyway so yes Shinsou he is still single, for now. though I don’t really think it’s the girls you need to be worried about

meanwhile Mineta is all, “I just wanted to let all of you know MY opinion, which is that Bakugou isn’t morally upstanding enough for my delicate sensibilities.” yes you heard that right. Mineta of all people is weighing in on which personalities are deserving of being popular. that’s some audacity right there

A WILD DEKU FANBOY APPEARS???!

“IT GAVE ME COURAGE” omg yesssssss. jotting this down for essay material at some future point in time!! because THIS. this right here is the true “what it means to be a hero” in my opinion. a hero is someone who brings reassurance, yes. someone who makes people feel safe. but I think a hero should also be someone who makes people feel brave. someone who inspires other people to be heroic in turn. so yes, this, all of this, inject it into my veins. wtg Deku

having an official fanboy apparently broke Deku’s brain. hang in there bud. I know you’ve still got villain angst to work through, but try to enjoy this. you’re allowed to have nice things

IS MINETA STRANGLING KACCHAN BY HIS FUCKING TIE OMFG. THAT’S WHY HE NEVER USED TO WEAR THEM. also you’ve worn my patience down all the way now Mineta. get the fuck out of my blog

also Kacchan successfully beat the shit out of him with his ONE GOOD ARM so take that Mineta

also shoutout to this KiriBaku moment right here which feels like the first time we’ve had the two of them together in ages. good stuff

I’m LOVING this panel of Ochako staring at Deku all indecipherably, but ngl it’s also giving me just the slightest bit of anxiety, because does this mean we’re finally gonna get answers on what ultimately happened to Toga. it better not be sad. please don’t ruin my happy chapter with depressing things Horikoshi

“tell them no” OH MY GOD AIZAWA’S TURNING DOWN ALL THE INTERVIEW REQUESTS FOR HIS KIDS SO THEY CAN JUST BE KIDS AGAIN FOR A LITTLE WHILE nooooo what is this. “yeah but I’m prioritizing the kids who aren’t up for dishing to the media about all of their horrific trauma.” omfg. it’s been too long since my last Dadzawa feels. I wasn’t ready after all this time

you guys Izuku finally got a new hero costume that’s not in tatters after all this time. all it took was his old costume getting literally torn to shreds. and now he’s back to looking twelve years old again lol

JEANIST AND FATGUM REUNION?!?! RETURN OF KACCHAN’S THIRD DAD, AND A SECOND WACKY UNCLE TO BACK UP GOOD OLD MIC? GOD BLESS

FAT HIRED TAMAKI AS A SIDEKICK D’AWWWW

now they’re putting the kids to work. glorified janitorial duty. Deku you better not be using up any more of your embers on this sob

this motherfucker did not just liken my baby boy Kacchan to “distressed denim” omg. we have less than three chapters left and we’re spending our hard-earned time on this and I TRULY WOULD NOT CHANGE A SINGLE THING

“Kacchan on light duty” PROTECT HIM!!! don’t think I don’t see you over there too in the background, Aizawa. he’s surrounded by dads. they’re not letting him out of their sight again until he’s thirty

meanwhile he’s out here quietly sorting through trash with his one good hand without complaint and without even the barest hint of a gremlin face. with his half-and-half costume so we can’t see how fucked up his arm is. AND NO MORE MASK. we burned the mask. my thank you letters are in the mail, Horikoshi. and you too TomurAFO, this was your actual greatest contribution to society

ANOTHER DAD?!?!?!

dfjsdlfksldkfjl

“don’t worry, I’m gradually recovering” fsdfkslfkj r.i.p. my ability to take this man seriously ever again. do you think his voice is like the normal sexy Edgeshot ASMR voice except all high-pitched like a squirrel in a Disney princess movie. it is, isn’t it

he can make hands now. buddy you’re amazing. mvp of the entire fucking manga. my son literally owes you his life. please let me see you sitting Jeanist’s shoulder like a parrot before this wonderful glorious chapter ends

Kacchan’s little cheek scar is somehow both badass and adorable at the same time. I can’t stress how fucking much this chapter is just surrounding me with “protect him at all costs” feelings.

MORE SOFT KACCHAN FEELS ON THE NEXT PAGE BECAUSE HORIKOSHI WROTE THIS CHAPTER SPECIFICALLY FOR ME, THANK YOU SO MUCH

“are you... [ever] gonna go back to normal?” because if not he’s gonna cry himself to sleep every night for the rest of his life!! no big!! YOU WOULDN’T DO THAT TO HIM WOULD YOU EDGESHOT?

NO HE WOULD NOT. THANK YOU EDGESHOT. ONCE AGAIN YOU ARE A REAL ONE

...or wait. so does he mean he is indeed going to go back to normal eventually? or is it that he’s embracing this new form as an exciting new evolution, hence the “even further”? it kind of feels like the latter, ngl. especially with this weird sad little smile Kacchan gives in response... fuck me. what the hell am I gonna do when this series ends in two weeks. nobody can rip my soul to pieces as utterly and effortlessly as Horikoshi does, man

THEY MADE THE KIDS LUNCH AWWWW. though in fairness there’s something seriously messed up with Japan if any of these kids ever has to pay for another meal again for the REST OF THEIR LIVES. like come on

noooooo goddammit I’m tired of seeing Izuku quietly despairing over things that AREN’T HIS FAULT

I am glad to see this side of the civilian population, though. sure have come a long way since the low point that was the U.A. clown mob. I like this a whole lot better ngl

what’s up with this mysterious bus all of a sudden

OH MY GOD THEY’RE BACK LMAO. QUICKLY BAKUDADS. form a perimeter

they’re apologizing again dsfkjlskdfjlsfd THEY DIDN’T EVEN CONSIDER EVERYONE’S CIRCUMSTANCES!!! holy shit these first years are all collectively my new favorite character

Cementoss couldn’t take the pressure omfg. is this your first year as a homeroom teacher?? YOU CAN MAKE ANYTHING OUT OF CEMENT BUT CAN YOU MAKE YOURSELF A FREAKING SPINE, CEMENTOSS. I love him

Cementoss is telling them to go work in the corner so they don’t bother everyone else lmao. stuck them as far away from Kacchan as possible. good looking out, Cementoss. how many dads are we up to now?? five? six if we count Iida????

“hey so anyway what actually is up with these fucking kouhai though” I don’t know but my greatest regret is that this only became a thing three chapters before the series finale. where has this nonsense been all my life

“I don’t really understand” me neither fella but here in BnHA land we just roll with it

now we’re cutting back to Ochako who’s making yet another mysterious face that makes me think she knows perfectly well how much we all want to know whether Toga is alive or not, and she’s deliberately dragging it out just to fuck with us

okay I honestly can’t tell if Ochako is being fake cheerful or genuinely cheerful. but it’s definitely fake cheerful right??

aaaaand there’s a close up of Deku with FULL LIGHT back in his eyes like the clouds just parted for the first time in an age. accompanied by a THROB sound effect. ohhhh buddy. did my boy just have a hormone. is it finally that time

THEY’RE LETTING THE KIDS GO BACK HOME OMG. if they want. awwww. r.i.p. fanfic dorms. poor Shinsou missing out ONCE AGAIN

THEY DIDN’T CATCH THE CONCLUSION OF THE TOGACHAKO FIGHT ON FILM??! oh hell no. that settles it, she’s definitely still alive

tell me this cheeky motherfucker (Horikoshi, not Ochako lol) isn’t going to try and actually END THE SERIES with Toga’s fate still all ~mysterious~ and ~up in the air~ like I’m starting to get the sneaking suspicion that he’s doing

HORIKOSHI I SAID I DIDN’T WANT A DEPRESSING CHAPTER WHY ARE YOU HITTING ME WITH THESE FEELS AFTER I LET MY GUARD DOWN

YOU REALLY GAVE MY GIRL A SYMBOLIC FRODO STYLE ANGSTY STAB WOUND SO SHE CAN NEVER FORGET THE PAIN OF THAT DAY ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW WITH THIS

DEKU AHHHHHH

oh my god lol. I’m so curious what’s going to happen next week. my money for the record is on them bonding in a STRICTLY PLATONIC WAY over their respective dead(!??!?!) villains rather than a Romance Thing happening. but I wouldn’t be bothered if they do go there though just so long as we don’t get any timeskip epilogues where they’ve all got fucking kids and such now. don’t you do that to me Horikoshi Kouhei. I swear to god two chapters left omfg. this is really happening. the inexorable march of time etc. etc. ahhhhhhhhh

[thissying]

🥰

[puretopia]

testing @folkbreeze preset with gshade and just .. wow. 

[mamawasatesttube]

i accepted im not finishing the timkon vday fic today and instead launched into yet another new wip instead. i present to you: a snippet of kon vs his deeply repressed medical trauma, featuring core four and what is gonna be some gratuitous kon & clark fambly focus...

The voices are still talking, too loud and too fast to understand. Kon tries to breathe harder, his heart racing—the beeping doesn’t help—and looks around frantically. Where’s the exit? He just came through a door, but he doesn’t know where it went—

A gloved hand settles on his arm, and a cold wipe that smells of alcohol scrubs over his skin. Kon tilts his head to see what’s happening.

A needle glints in the doctor’s other hand. They’re prepping his arm for intravenous injection.

“NO!” He jerks away, terror flaring through his stomach. It’s so poignant it almost drowns out the agony. His TTK flares, too, and the doctor and the needle in their hand fly across the room, far away. A flash of light and a person with chestnut hair catches them, so they’re not hurt.

Good. Kon didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He just—he just wants them to stay away.

He’s safe for the moment. Kon sobs for breath—

“Kon!” The person from before, the one lying and saying it’d be okay, appears again. They grab Kon’s hand and squeeze it. “Kon, she was only trying to help! You’re safe, I swear—”

Kon jerks away. “Don’t—don’t lie to me—” he manages. He needs to get up. He needs to get out of here. He needs… he needs…

When he tries to sit up, pure agony lances through his entire body. It radiates out from his gut and spears up through his chest like lightning, so sharp he can’t breathe and stars sparkle across his blurry vision.

What did they do to him?!

He isn’t safe here, he needs to get out of here! It’s only gonna get worse the longer he stays; they’ll get another doctor, another needle—he has to sit up, he needs to move—

Strong hands clamp onto his shoulders and hold him down. Despite all his strength, they hold him down. Kon cries out, a new wave of ice-cold terror spearing through him. “No! No, no let me go!”

“Cassie, you’re scaring him!” the other voice says, tugging at the new person’s wrists, completely ineffectively. “We need to calm him down, not—"

The new person, Cassie, ignores them. “Kon, listen to me.”

Kon shakes his head, terrified. “No no no no no!”

“Kon, you can’t hurt the doctors. They’re trying to help, okay? You’re badly hurt, and they’re trying to help, but you need to let them do their jobs!”

Another person in surgical scrubs approaches. Kon barely hears what they say over all the roaring in his ears, but it doesn’t matter. He knows how Cadmus operates.

“…you restrain him until we can administer anesthesia?” he overhears. It’s enough. He hyperventilates, sobs for breath, shoves ineffectively at the strong arms holding him down. Desperate, he shoves at Cassie with TTK. Thankfully, that has some effect: she yelps as he shoves himself a few inches off the bed, but then sharp, white-hot pain sears through his entire body, and his vision blacks out.

When he comes to, Cassie is over him again, and—and—

Glowing, golden ropes wind tight around his shoulders, his wrists, his thighs, his legs. He’s completely pinned to the bed. One end of the ropes is wrapped around Cassie’s hands.

He can’t move.

He can’t escape.

No. No no no no this can’t happen again, they’re going to hurt him and he needs to get out but he can’t—he can’t—oh, god, this is happening again and he’s just gonna have to take it, and—and it already hurts so much, he can’t take it—

Kon chokes on another sob. “Please,” he begs. “Please please please please—”

Cassie looks anguished. “I’m sorry, Kon,” she says, but she’s not sorry enough to let him go, so it doesn’t matter. “It’s for your own good, I swear.”

He can’t move. He can’t move and it hurts and he can’t move and it hurts and no matter how hard he struggles, he’s pinned, and it hurts it hurts it hurts so so so bad, and oh, god, he’s trapped. He’s trapped, he can’t—he can’t—

Terrified, Kon does the only thing he can think of.

“SUPERMAN!” he screams. “Kal! Kal-El! Please, please—help me, help me, don’t—don’t let them do this to me again, Kal, Kal—”

There’s a pinch in his arm.

The needle.

Kon falls silent.

It’s… it’s really happening again, isn’t it? No matter how much he fights and screams and pleads. They’re gonna cut him open and hurt him and put him back in the tube. They’re gonna make him just another slab of tissue. An experiment and not a person. It’s happening again. And he can’t stop it. He can’t escape.

He can’t escape.

His chest hurts. A single tear rolls down the side of his face into his hair.

The door slams open. Kon’s gaze snaps over.

“What is going on here?”

Superman stands in the doorway, resplendent in all his glory. He’s an even more welcome sight than the sun, and even though Kon can’t move thanks to the golden ropes, he whimpers, fingers twitching as he yearns to reach for him.

He looks furious.

[bright-and-burning]

🐑 send me a fake set of fic tags, and I’ll try to come up with a summary for it! !!!! OOOh okay. if you're up for it(!), then: #Canon Divergent #There Was Only Ten Beds #Magical Realism #Bondage #Light Decapitation

a lobby with nine hundred windows | lando/oscar, M

#canon divergence, #there was only ten beds, #magical realism, #bondage, #light decapitation

The first sign of something going really, terribly, desperately wrong is subtle, honestly. So subtle, Oscar hadn’t thought anything of it. Brakes catch fire all the time, Max was due for some bad luck; nothing more, nothing less. The explosion bit was a little weird, a little larger than usual, but that was easily explained away. The second sign, the air going wavy and thick around him as he exited the car, is almost equally subtle. Waking up to Lando holding a knife to his throat, however, is not.  Australia has a lot to answer for.

not only did i come up with a summary for it. i also uh. wrote it. it's wild what breaks through writers block 😭 so thank u for this strange and lovely tag combo. here's 1700 words of. idek what. something completely and utterly different from anything else i've ever written, that's for sure!

tw for mild description of violence

Oscar wakes, slow and groggy, to a warm weight on his chest, limiting his breaths. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and goes from half-asleep to wide-awake in milliseconds, Lando looming over him, perched on his chest. Knife at his throat.

“Lando, what the fuck?”

Oscar struggles, feeling returning to his limbs, the restraints around his wrists and ankles making themselves known.

Lando presses him further into the bed, eyes wide. He shifts his gaze around the room, frenetic, never keeping Oscar out of sight for long. Oscar’s hyperaware of the cool edge of metal against his skin. The thump of blood through his carotid is loud in his ears.

“Tell me something only you would know.”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Oscar, I need you to trust me.” Lando leans in further, so close Oscar has to fight against the urge to cross his eyes. “Tell me something no one else knows.”

Oscar thinks, hard. Lando’s face is more serious than he’s ever seen it before.

“The backs of your thighs are weirdly ticklish?”

Lando releases a little of the pressure, but stays leaned over Oscar, considering.

“At least three other people know that. Something else. Please.” His voice cracks, and with it, his expression, desperation on display.

Oscar reaches to touch him, to soothe the visible ache. The material wrapped tight around his wrist snaps taut before he can even get close. Lando notices the aborted motion, and shifts forward again.

“Oscar, think.”

Oscar wracks his brain, turning over all the stones labeled Lando in his head, looking for something novel, something truly secret. Carefully considers the little cut-off wheezy sounds Lando makes when he’s just come, the half-filled sketchbooks shoved in a drawer, his secret sleeping spot at the MTC. Discards each one, heart rate slowing now that Oscar has a task to focus on, before remembering—

“You’ve been stealing my shampoo!” Oscar says, too loud for the odd room they’re in.

“No I ha- How did you know that?”

Oscar shrugs as best as he can in the restraints.

“I realized I was running out too fast. And you smell like me sometimes. Noticed after Vegas, I think.”

Lando’s face does something complicated, flashing from shifty to smug to sheer relief. He tosses the knife to the ground with a clatter, and collapses onto Oscar.

“Thank fuck, Osc, holy shit,” he says, shoulders shaking.

“Can I get some answers now? Like why you had a knife at my throat?”

Lando sits back up, nearly knocking his head into Oscar’s chin. His face is wet. Oscar remembers his restraints, and does not go to wipe his tears. He climbs off the bed, disappearing out of Oscar’s limited line of sight, and pops back up with said knife.

“Let me get you out of here first. Before things get wobbly again.”

“Wobbly?”

Lando ignores his question, focused on getting Oscar out of the straps. His hands are shaking nearly too bad to unknot anything; the knife lays unused, for fear of accidentally cutting something else. It takes minutes for Oscar’s right hand to be freed.

“Give me that,” Oscar gestures for the knife.

Lando hands it over without protest, and Oscar cuts through the remaining straps in quick order.

When Oscar is fully freed, Lando immediately pulls him into a hug tight enough to bruise.

“God, Osc. I thought I’d never see you again.”

Oscar pats him on the back, gentle. Lets him cling on, face tucked into his neck, quiet, shuddering exhales tickling his skin. Just when Oscar opens his mouth to ask any of the million questions, Lando pulls away and tugs him towards the door.

“I think it’ll be easier now that I’ve found the real you,” Lando says, opening the door. The light beyond is nearly blinding in comparison to the dim lit room they’re leaving behind. Lando steps out, hand still tight on Oscar’s. Oscar follows.

“The real me?”

They’re standing in a long hallway now, lined with doors of different shapes and sizes. Oscar turns slightly, to look at the one they’ve just left. It’s a simple metal door in a metal frame, a neon yellow handle the only distinguishing feature.

Every fifth door or so is the same. Simple metal, neon yellow handle. The rest have no pattern, as far as Oscar can tell. Here’s a frosted glass door stretching the full height of the corridor, and then a mini-van door with flame decals on the bottom. Here’s a mahogany double door several inches shorter than Lando, followed by a door Oscar could swear is Mark’s front door.

Lando speaks up, drawing his attention away from the oak door with the familiar mail slot. He nods to the door they just left.

“That’s the tenth one I’ve tried. Every other Oscar hasn’t passed the test.”

Oscar’s blood goes cold.

“How did you know,” He stops, unsure how to phrase his question.

“To check?”

Oscar nods.

“The first one was…” Lando pauses. Shivers at something only in his mind. ���He was just wrong. I dunno. Didn’t smile right, or something. Like that valley thing.”

Lando’s clearly leaving something unsaid, some bigger reason to put a knife under Oscar’s chin, but he looks like he’s about to start shaking again. Oscar leaves it be, for now. Until they get out of this mess.

“And that’s when you…” Oscar holds up the knife.

Lando nods jerkily.

“I mean, one minute I was on the podium, the next the world went wobbly and I was here. I started opening doors, just trying to get out. Saw a lot of freaking weird shit, okay,” his voice is creeping higher, more defensive with each word, “and then I saw you, and then you weren’t you, and I-“ Lando deflates. “I freaked out, a little.”

“And then you, what, stabbed him?” Oscar tries to keep his voice even. Fails a little, maybe. Lando isn’t meeting his eyes.

“I sort of. Slithistthroat.”

“Sorry?”

Lando clears his throat. He’s tense, shoulders high around his ears, body twisted like he’s ready to bolt.

“Slit his throat.” Lando’s voice tilts up like it’s a question. It’s not.

Oscar stares.

“I freaked out a lot.”

And then he did it eight more times, from the sounds of it. Oscar can’t even imagine. Going from room to room, bed to bed. Waking Lando up, over and over, just to find something terrible in his place. Having to kill something shaped like him, time and time again, with no idea where the real him is. No idea if he’s making a mistake.

Oscar eyes the knife, looking closer. Looking for a distraction in the minutiae.

“It’s, uhm. Clean?”

“They disappear, after. That’s how I knew that I- That’s how I knew.”

That’s how he knew he hadn’t made a mistake, he means. That he hadn’t killed the real Oscar.

“Oh. That’s good, then. That they disappear.”

“Not- not right away.”

Lando looks haunted, briefly. He shakes his head, and starts moving, pulling Oscar along again.

Oscar changes the subject.

“Any idea what we’re looking for?”

“Not exactly,” Lando draws out the vowels. They’re still holding hands. Oscar is thankful for Lando’s tight grip on him, a tether to reality. A reminder that they’re both real. For both of them. “Was mostly hoping if I found the right you things would clear up.”

“Oh, brilliant.”

Lando squeezes his hand and keeps moving, walking much faster than normal.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Getting out of the car.” Oscar squints, picking over his memories. “Going to get weighed, maybe?”

They pass a sliding glass door. The interior is distorted, but it looks like his back door. From home, in Melbourne. Oscar’s chest goes a little tight looking at it, but it doesn’t feel quite right. Nothing like the growing pull towards the end of the hall, and maybe Lando was right about things clearing up. They keep moving. The pull keeps growing.

“D’you feel that?”

Oscar nods. “It’s gotta be coming up.”

Whatever it is, at least.

A quick glance at Lando’s tense face and Oscar knows he’s not alone in that thought.

Lando stops, so abrupt Oscar’s hand nearly slips from his hold.

“Somewhere around here, you think?”

Oscar steps closer, threading his fingers back through Lando’s. He closes his eyes and focuses on the magnetic pull, tugging at some place behind his sinuses. He turns, slow, careful to keep Lando in his grasp, until something clicks into place.

The pressure releases, like ears popping on a flight. Lando makes a weird noise, some kind of suppressed squeak. Oscar opens his eyes.

The other doors have disappeared, leaving only one: three feet away, right in front of them.

It’s plain. Wood, this time, painted white, set in a plain frame. Empty but for a sign with their names on it.

Oscar turns to Lando.

His eyes are wide and searching.

“This has gotta be it, right?”

“Don’t think we have much of a choice now.”

They step forward in unison. Oscar puts his hand on the doorknob, and pauses.

“Just for luck,” he says, and turns, quick as lightning, to kiss Lando.

Just a press of lips, over as soon as it began, Oscar turning back to the door.

Lando makes a noise, deep in the back of his throat, and spins Oscar bodily by the shoulders.

“Just for luck?” He asks, twitchy all over, and pulls Oscar down against him for another, quick until it’s not, both unable to stay apart for long.

They kiss, slow and steady, reassuring, until the pressure in the back of Oscar’s skull starts building again, an incessant reminder that they need to leave.

They break apart.

Oscar twists the knob, watching Lando instead of the door, and opens it, stepping through without looking. Making sure Lando follows.

The door slams behind them.

They’re in another corridor, long and full of doorways, to Oscar’s despair.

Lando starts laughing, tinged with an edge of hysteria.

Oscar opens his mouth to reassure him, and fails. What if there are more Oscars? God, what if there are Landos?

“It’s Hilton, Oscar, it’s freaking Hilton.” He spins around, arms outstretched, before slamming back into Oscar. 

“D’you feel that?“ He whispers into Oscar’s shoulder.

“No?” Oscar’s still in shock, a little.

“Exactly, Osc. No pull, no pressure, no caddy valley. We’re fucking free, baby.”

[contortedoptimist]

Like even if he's not gay solid snake has a family he lives with for many years composed of another man and a little girl for which they are the closest thing to parents she has. This is a fact.

[autumnserpent]

in honor of friday the 13th, here's the beginning of the accompanying fic for "how do you remain" focusing on wednesday's perspective. im going to post it at the same time as the final chapter so itll still be a while before i upload them 📝

just an early little treat for you guys ^^ pls enjoy

[idkwhatimdoingbutslay]

uhhhh... yeah, just had an urge because they make me feel incredibly sane

Caitlyn runs her fingers through Vi’s hair. She practices a pattern, a tried and true routine that Vi always responds to perfectly; dive into the strands at a medium pace, rest, scratch at her scalp one, two, three, four times with nails before massaging her scalp with fingertips, then curl a strand around a finger, but only after going in and out and in and out of Vi’s hair twice. 

Vi keeps Caitlyn close, so close. She keeps her arms wrapped tight around Caitlyn’s thighs, tucking herself deep into the valley between the powerful muscles. Humming into Caitlyn’s skin each time she restarts her process, Vi relaxes completely into the embrace. She makes sure their breathing matches, following the rhythm of Caitlyn’s chest rising and falling with her finger up and down the ridges of Caitlyn’s thigh.

Vi never imagined having times like these; being able to come to a better place after a bad day, having the privilege to bask in such an environment. It’s almost suffocating, but Vi wouldn’t mind losing all of her breath to this feeling, to this ease.

Caitlyn worries, sometimes, when Vi goes quiet. When the air is missing all of the snark and banter; when Caitlyn can hear Vi thinking. Despite the little buzz of anxiety in her blood, Caitlyn appreciates how still Vi is. She’s not antsy or bouncing on the balls of her feet, she’s calm. Not calm with some bubbling underneath, but a real ease that she allows herself to enjoy. She’s proud.

The hand not in Vi’s hair is occupied with a book, fingers running along the texture above the gathered pages as Caitlyn’s eyes scan the page diligently. Caitlyn is about to flip a page when she feels light kisses press along her right thigh, sending sparks all up and down her body. Caitlyn reacts suddenly, her routine coming to a halt as she grabs at Vi’s hair in surprise.

Vi breathes out a laugh, sweet and husky, as Caitlyn loosens her grip and lifts her book out of the way so she can see her partner.

Caitlyn raises an eyebrow at Vi in question. 

Vi does a poor job at concealing her grin behind Caitlyn’s thigh.

“Was missing your pretty face,” Vi grits out, her voice drenched in exhaustion after the day they had. It’s all rough and coy, just how Caitlyn likes it.

“Is that so?” Caitlyn asks, her voice just almost just as rough.

“Mhm,” Vi hums, nuzzling into Caitlyn’s skin.

Caitlyn smiles. “It’s unfortunate that I cannot say the same thing.”

Vi rolls her eyes playfully and scoffs, not daring to pull away.

Flashes of the first time Caitlyn had Vi even remotely like this rush through her mind. After their first days of exploring, discovering and bickering, they laid together and felt in each other’s presence. The first time Vi was willfully vulnerable in front of Caitlyn, wanted and needed to be vulnerable in front of her. 

Now, there aren’t as many insecurities or doubts.

The world around them is just barely scraping by as it tries to build itself back up, but they’re still breathing.

After each loss and each failure, they’re still breathing, privileged enough to do the reparation work they both know they’re meant to do.

By each other’s side.

Caitlyn cups Vi’s face with her palms, running her thumbs over Vi’s cheeks — admiring scars, freckles and a stray tattoo — for a few moments before pulling her up so they can meet face to face. She pauses, causing Vi to raise an eyebrow with a painfully soft gaze. Noticing Vi rolling her shoulder lightly, Caitlyn can’t help but take one hand away from Vi’s face to help ease her shoulder pain just a little bit.

Caitlyn smiles before pulling Vi in, pressing a light kiss onto her lips.

It doesn’t hurt, not like the first couple of times. Neither of them are trying to say a final goodbye or having their tears mix into their saliva as they kiss. Neither of them are angry enough to gnash teeth or reluctant enough to only allow the kiss to last a mere second.

And Caitlyn’s sure those times will come, but she knows that when they do, she’ll never have to guess whether or not it will be their last.

Vi forgets every weight, every Albatross on her shoulders. She doesn’t wait for Caitlyn to come to her senses and run away, she doesn’t run away herself. Instead, she plants her hands right on Caitlyn’s hip and allows the roots to flourish. Caitlyn’s seen it all and she still stays, nurturing and cultivating the seeds of Vi’s growth and attachment. Vi’s seen it all and she can’t imagine not staying, daring to grab a few blooming flowers from Caitlyn’s bush for safe keeping.

“You are so fucking stuck with me, Cupcake.”

“I would fucking hope so, Vi.”

[musette22]

November fog