#so funny how these inconsequential little decisions

[toby-du-coeur]

us, starting tmr: hm some light entertainment ya ..right, this is too clichè

us, coming back: ...but minho is Coolness Incarnate. look he's in the death cure poster too he survives. we can finish it. for minho

and the rest is history

Yeah, I watch maze runner for the plot

[babyflorencee]

Stockholm Syndrome

Part one: The shortcut

Links: MASTERLIST

Harry Styles x fem!Reader

I didn't plan to take the alleyway.

It's funny how you don't think about those small decisions—the ones that seem so inconsequential at the time, the ones that only later reveal their consequences, like ghosts you never saw until they begin to whisper in your ear.

But there I was, walking down a narrow alley, my pink dress fluttering behind me, as my gold heels click sharply against the wet pavement. The night had already unfolded into something softer, quieter. The city felt drunk on its own silence, like it was holding its breath for something it didn't want to acknowledge. I felt the silence press against me, as if the world was closing in, wrapping me up in a tight, suffocating, endless, embrace. Everything that felt familiar just hours ago now feels unreal, like a bad dream, the kind that stays with you even after you wake up.

It was 3:00 a.m., the kind of hour where everything feels both impossible and inevitable. 

I had been with my friends—loud and recklessly laughing like we didn't have a care in the world. And in that moment we didn't. Music blaring. Shots that burned a little too hot and a little too fast, but felt good none the less. A few good dances. But somewhere between the last tequila shot and my steps out the bar door, it stopped being fun. The laughter from my girls, the shrieks of excitement, now seemed so faint and hollow like the taste of the cheap wine that was sitting on my tongue. It had all seemed to blur into something unrecognizable. Like I had stepped off a cliff and found myself falling into a space that wasn't quite mine anymore.

I should've just taken the main road. 

I had told myself that. But my mind was clouded, the alcohol still tickling the back of my throat, making everything feel distant and unreal. I just wanted to go home. I missed the quietness of my apartment, the soft sheets of my bed, the soothing comfort of just being alone.

But the alleyway—it was a shortcut.

The air was heavy. Damp, even for a late-night breeze. It carried a smell of wet concrete mixed with something more metallic and old, almost like rust or iron. Or blood. It made my stomach churn a little, but I tried not to let it show. I pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders, as if it would keep the night breeze from touching me.

My heels clicked with every step, in a sharp, staccato rhythm, like the sound of a clock ticking down the minutes. Each step echoing off the walls of buildings that loomed like silent witnesses, their windows staring down at me in judgment of my decisions. For a split second, I wondered if anyone else could hear it. If anyone else was listening.

But it was late. The streets were empty. And no one was around.

And I didn't look back. I didn't want to look back.

I had learned long ago that you don't look behind you when you're already walking forward. But that's when it starts, doesn't it? That prickling sensation, the one that creeps under your skin and tells you that you're not alone.

And I felt it.

Not like a passing thought, or like a fleeting worry that can be dismissed. No, this was something that weighed me down. Something that I was aware of, something just beyond the corner of my vision.

I slowed my pace, but only for a moment. There's something about the silence of the night that makes your senses sharper, makes you question everything around you. I glanced over my shoulder, just a quick look I thought, but yet, nothing.

Nothing but the stretch of empty asphalt and the walls of the alley.

I laughed to myself, it was a little shaky, a little hollow. But it was just my mind playing tricks on me. Nothing else.

"You're just being paranoid, y/n." The words came out dry, almost as if they were meant to convince myself that the street was indeed empty. "It's just the wine. That's all."

But the feeling didn't go away. It only deepened. 

And as I turned back, I could feel it again. That weird, heavy feeling. Something was wrong. I didn't know what, but I could feel someone's gaze on my skin, even if I couldn't see it. I knew it was there. I tried to ignore it.

But I couldn't. 

I couldn't ignore that uneasy feeling that was burning inside of me. My heart started to thud, slowly but heavily, like something was crawling under my skin. I took another step, then another. Then I began to walk faster. I wasn't in a hurry or anything, but something inside of me was screaming at me to get the hell out of there. The noise of my heels picking up, the sound growing louder and louder, as if I were trying to outrun the discomfort that was settling in my stomach. But no matter how fast I walked, no matter how hard I tried to push the feeling back, it followed me. 

And then—there it was again. A sound. Just one. A footstep. Light. Almost too soft to be real. But it was there, like someone was stepping on a twig, just behind me.

I froze.

I couldn't stop myself from looking behind me again.

There, just at the edge of my vision, a shape emerged—slight, but it was there. A man—I think— standing a few paces behind, walking with a slow, measured pace, almost like he was trying to give me space.

But space isn't comforting when you don't know who it is that's giving it to you.

The air between us felt thick, like something just waiting to be caught.

I quickened my steps again, trying to breathe past the tightness in my chest, trying to dismiss it. It was just someone on a late-night stroll. Or maybe it was a man wanting to go to the nearest pub to drown out his sorrows. Or maybe he was just heading in the same direction as me.

That's what I told myself. That's what I wanted to believe. 

But the footsteps behind me kept their rhythm, matching mine. Each step falling into sync with mine, like they were wired to keep pace.

It felt like I was being stalked by the darkness itself.

I reached the end of the alley, where the world opened up into the glow of streetlights. The security of the building was just ahead, the front door waiting for me.

Almost there. Just a few more steps. Just a little farther.

I could see the front door of my building from here, the lights beaming from the lobby just ahead. I was almost home. I was almost safe.

I reached for the door handle, the cold metal biting into my palm, and I shoved the door open with more force than I intended to. The building's lobby greeted me with its usual quiet— but safe, familiar feeling.

The security guard didn't even look up from his phone. Clearly unaware of my presence. Or maybe he was just ignoring it.

I'm fine now. I'm safe.

But I didn't feel fine. And I definitely didn't feel safe. And I just couldn't shake the feeling that I was still being watched. That something was still following me, even in here.

I made my way toward the elevator, running now, pressing the button so hard I thought the glass would crack. When the doors opened, I stepped inside, pressing myself into the corner, feeling the walls close in around me.

You're safe now. There's nothing to worry about.

But I couldn't make my body relax. It was like I was trapped in a place between sleep and waking, where things aren't quite real but they aren't exactly an illusion either.

The elevator hummed as it climbed, but the sound didn't soothe me. It just made the seconds stretch longer, feeling like minutes.

I tried to steady my breathing, but I felt like I couldn't. My chest was tight. My body was still too aware of that presence—his presence.

The doors slid open as I reached my floor, and I stepped out, walking quickly toward my apartment. I told myself it was over. I am home now. Safe. But if that's the case, then why do I feel so afraid?

I unlocked the door, stepping inside, and closing it behind me. Making sure that I locked both of the locks on my door. The normal, yet familiar quietness of my apartment surrounded me like a warm blanket. I dropped my purse on the counter, my shoes beside it, before walking towards my bedroom.

I should've felt relieved. But I didn't. I couldn't.

Just as I stepped into my room, something froze me in my place, a chill creeping over me as the blood drained from my face, leaving me pale as if I'd seen a ghost.

My balcony door.

It was wide open.

I don't remember leaving it open. In fact, I know I didn't. I always made sure to close it. I always made sure to double-check it before I left. Always. But tonight...I must've forgotten. I must've.

Or maybe it was the doing of the wind, just the draft that the air carried in.

But either way it was wide open now, the curtains billowing in the breeze.

But I didn't move. Not at first at least.

The night outside was still. The air thick, almost as if it had been holding its breath.

But as I stepped closer to the door, my body stiffened. The faintest sound came from the hallway behind me, the unmistakable sound of footsteps.

Getting closer, and closer, and closer.

My stomach dropped. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I just stood there, frozen, my body refusing to obey my mind.

I slowly turned around, my eyes scanning my surroundings. But nothing.

But as I turned back around, I heard it again. Closer this time.

My pulse quickened, my mouth going dry.

And that's when I heard it. A voice.

Low. Drawling. Barely above a whisper.

"I saw you earlier," it murmured. I didn't turn around, but I could feel the words. They slid down my spine like silk dipped in something more... dangerous. "With your friends. You looked stunning." he breathed out, his voice a slow, velvet drawl, heavy with something darker than desire itself.

I don't dare move.

I don't dare breathe.

As a chill spread through me, cold and deep, like something had reached into my chest and frozen the blood in my veins. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, like they could feel him before I could.

I couldn't make myself turn around. My body refused to obey me, even though I knew he was standing behind me. But then again, did I even want to?

"That dress," he went on, his voice curling around each word like it was secret for only my ears to hear, and maybe—probably— it was. "It makes you look like you're caught in the middle of a dream. A dream that's almost too perfect, too beautiful to be real."

He was standing close enough now that I could feel the heat of his body against my own, there was a darkness that clung to him, threading its way into the air between us.

 "It glitters on you like you're caught in the middle of some kind of spell. Makes you look like something ethereal, something more than just human. Like you're made of light, and y/n I'm drawn to it. Almost like a craving." he said, his words teasing, but with something darker beneath the surface.

I hadn't even told him my name. And the way he said it, almost in a possessive way. Like he owned that name. Or even that he owned me. 

The words curled around me like smoke, thick and suffocating, each one laced with an invitation that I didn't want to accept. His breath was warm against my neck, and the world shrank around me until all I could hear was the thud of my own heartbeat.

"I want you to be mine now, I need you to be mine," he whispered, his voice barely audible, almost like it was a promise and a warning, all in one breath.

The words fell heavy, but with a strange, unholy sweetness. They wrapped around me, tighter than anything I've ever felt. As if they were choking me with something that felt like hunger, something that pulls at me from the inside. I felt them sink into me, deeper than I ever wanted them to.  

And for the first time, I didn't know if I wanted to fight or give in.

Even after a moment, his breath still lingered on my neck, warm and thick, as if it were made to burn into me, to keep me from moving, from thinking, from fighting, from resisting.

My body was frozen, but my mind was scrambling, wild with thoughts I couldn't quite catch, like wisps of smoke that were slipping through my fingers. I couldn't tear my eyes from the door. The wide, open balcony door—just a few feet away from the outside. 

"I'm sorry, but I told you," he whispered, the words teasing now, as if we were no longer strangers. "I need you to be mine." His voice slithered around me, a soft, seductive pull. I couldn't help but wonder: was I already his? Was this what it meant to belong? To feel wanted? To be needed?

I couldn't breathe. The weight of the air pressed against my lungs, thick and unyielding, the walls of my apartment suddenly feeling so small, so claustrophobic.

And then I felt it—his hand, so cool against the back of my neck, his fingers brushing my hair away gently, almost tenderly, before he pressed something soft and cold against my face.

The scent hit me first—a sharp, chemical bitterness, like something that didn't belong in the world I knew. Something like medicine. Like poison.

 I tried to pull away, to scream, to fight, but the air around me went heavier, thicker. It wasn't just the rag anymore—it was the whole room, as if it were closing in on me, folding in on itself, suffocating me. The walls felt closer, the shadows darker, as if they were creeping toward me. My lungs burned. And I couldn't breathe. I didn't want to breathe. My chest felt too tight, too small for the panic that was filling it, and still, the world blurred at the edges, slipping out of focus. My heart thudded against my ribs, a frantic beat that didn't match the calmness laced in his voice.

I gasped, but it was a weak sound, a breath that barely made it past my throat. My limbs—why wouldn't they move? My body felt heavy, slow, like it was no longer mine to command. The rag pressed harder against my nose, the sickly bitter smell seeping into my lungs, coating my throat as a sharp scent coated my tongue. It tasted like metal, like something old and disgusting, and it clawed at my throat, begging to be released.

I tried to pull away once again, but my muscles betrayed me, refusing to answer the frantic commands my brain was sending. The rag was cold. But it wasn't just cold, it felt wrong, like something foreign invading my body, invading my thoughts. I couldn't think straight. The world was slipping—no, falling—away from me.

"You might not remember this, y/n," he murmured, almost soothingly, as his other hand gripped my shoulder, keeping me still, anchoring me put. "But you'll never forget me, I promise. And you're not going to want to."

What does that mean? What does he mean?

I don't know if I'm screaming anymore. I don't even know if I can. My head is spinning. My body is numb. My thoughts are a blur of fragmented images—of the alley, the streetlights, the man behind me, his touch, the rag, and... the door. My balcony door. It wasn't open when I came in. Was it? Was it?

The air feels colder, though. The chill from the night is creeping in around me, seeping through my clothes. But that's not what's cold. It's the feeling. The feeling that I'm no longer in control. The feeling that I'm slipping away from myself.

I struggled against him, against the weight of his arms, against the weight of the darkness pressing down on me, slowly trying to consume me. But my limbs felt numb. 

My mouth was dry. My head spun in lazy, uneven circles. My knees buckled, and I felt his arms catch me, steadying me with a strength that was too calm, too sure for someone who had no right to be near me. He held me close, and I could feel his body heat through my clothes—like fire, but not warmth. It was a dangerous kind of heat.

The air around me felt too suffocating, and I was drowning in it. The more I tried to fight, the more I felt my body betraying me. My vision was slipping—swirling, spinning—like the whole room had turned into liquid, everything blurring into a dream—no, a nightmare that I couldn't escape. No. Please, no. I wanted to scream, but the words stayed lodged in my throat, tangled with the darkness crawling over me.

The edges of the room blur, bend, distort. I know I should move, I should do something, but my body refuses to listen. My feet feel rooted to the floor, and the walls seem to press in around me, their sharp angles becoming soft curves, like the room itself is closing in, folding around me. The faintest sound, a creaking of the floorboards behind me, echoes in my skull, but everything is distant, muffled, like I'm underwater. His voice, still low and whispering in my ear, is the only thing that feels real.

"Just breathe, baby. Just breathe," he cooed, his voice wrapping around me like a soft, cruel lullaby that I didn't want to hear, its sweetness making my skin crawl. "You're safe now. You're mine now. And I won't let anything happen to you." The words were thick with something darker, something I couldn't quite name. He wanted me to breathe, wanted me to take in the poison that was slowly sinking into my lungs, and I could feel myself weakening with every ragged breath I tried to take.

I try to, but the air... it's wrong. Each breath feels like I'm drowning in it, filling my lungs with something dark, something toxic. I can taste it in the back of my throat. It coats my tongue, sticks to the roof of my mouth. My stomach churns, but I can't even make myself gag. My body won't respond.

I could hear him, but the words were now fading. The world was fading. Everything was stretching thin. The air tasted like it had turned to ash, and I couldn't tell if I was hearing him anymore or if it was just my mind echoing back his words to me. The room was now blurred, the edges of reality bleeding into one another like watercolor. 

"You're mine now," he whispered, his voice sinking deeper, darker, wrapping itself around me like a noose. "You're mine." It was a promise. It was a command. It was all I could hear.

I try to call out, try to say something—anything—but my voice is just a rasp, a faint whisper against the storm in my head. My body is betraying me. My limbs feel like they belong to someone else, someone I don't recognize. Who am I anymore?

I should fight. I know that. I should try to run, do anything to get away from him, but my body betrays me. I try to push him away, but my hands are sluggish, like I'm moving underwater. It's all happening too slowly. I can't make sense of it, of what's happening, of the way the world around me is sliding—no, melting—into something that feels like nothing at all. Like I'm falling, but there's nowhere to fall. Like I'm being swallowed by the night, by the silence, by this strange, suffocating fog that's stopping my thoughts.

And then there was nothing. The world stilled. The room went quiet.

But I didn't let myself drift. I couldn't. Not yet at least. Not until I knew what he'd do to me. What he wanted from me.

With the last bit of energy that I could muster up I fought against the heaviness in my limbs, against the pull of darkness closing in on me. But that was no use. Everything seemed to stop. As it had become too much—too much to hold on to. I was losing my grip. I knew I was.

It's too much. I can't breathe. I can't think. The world is fading, and I'm sinking into it, deeper and deeper, like I'm falling into a void.

And then, there's nothing.

Nothing but the dark. Nothing but his voice, his hands, his presence wrapping around me, smothering me, holding me down, until all I can feel is the weight of him,m the weight of surrendering.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice soothing, almost affectionate, but there's a something to it now, a finality. The words hang in the air almost like a trap. But I can't tell for sure.

I felt the unrelenting darkness take over, as the world slipped away entirely. A quiet, suffocating weight filled the space where reality had been, and I let go, not by choice, but because there was no other option. I didn't know where I ended and the darkness began.

I gave in.

"You're mine now," he whispers once again, and the words are an inevitability. A claim that is final, no matter what I do. It doesn't matter if I scream, if I fight, if I beg for help, for mercy. There is no escape.

 I give in. 

I have to.

[niningtori]

nini's works in progress

no lie (choi beomgyu x reader)

beomgyu is a go-getter who's had to fight for everything he has, and he's not done fighting. when his boss instructs him to enter their biggest business rival's company, he has no choice but to agree. enter you, the bumbling mess he gets stuck training with, who also happens to be the company's heiress. he has no qualms with using you, a person he assumes to be a spoiled idiot, to get what he wants; but as he gets to know (and maybe even love) you, he finds he might just regret it, after all.

genre: angst :-/, romance, melodrama

warnings: extremely depressed and naive reader

progress: 4.9k

should have known better (choi beomgyu x reader) [requested work]

beomgyu should have known better. he knows his parents think of him as little more than a pawn in their never-ending game of monopoly, and he knows that if he ever strays from the suffocating mold that they force him to shrink himself into, they will cut him off without a sliver of hesitation. he also knows he can’t really do anything about that, either, but that doesn’t make him any less surprised when they tell him that not only will he be marrying the person of their choice, but that choice is you.

you’re not the worst person beomgyu has ever met, but you’re certainly not his favorite. how could he possibly have feelings for someone as vapid and seemingly inconsequential as you?

genre: angst :-/, arranged marriage!au, romance, melodrama

progress: 1.5k

too good to be true (kai kamal huening x reader)

kai is a stereotypical fratboy if there ever was one. at least, as far as you're concerned, he might as well be. he's known for breaking hearts, but he's cute, charming, funny — everything any girl could ever want. well, any girl except for you, it seems. when his advances towards you prove fruitless, he's even more determined than ever to show you that he's serious about his feelings, but your not-so-great history with men leaves you with little patience for his antics.

genre: probably smut (mdni), angst :-/, college!au, romance, melodrama

warnings: smut (mdni), emotionally unavailable reader

progress: 2.6k

never saw the point (choi beomgyu x reader) [requested work]

the night before beomgyu leaves to begin living out his dream as a musician, you dump him out of seemingly nowhere. he's blindsided, devastated by this fact. he begs for you to stay with him, but you're steadfast in your decision, choosing to part ways on the most heartbreaking terms. you have no choice, though, because the baby you're carrying would certainly ruin his life.

genre: angst :-/, secret baby!au, second chance romance, melodrama, famous!beomgyu x reader

progress: 1.1k

hybrid!beomgyu

progress: 0.3k

stepbrothers!beomkai

progress: 0

the way we were before (choi beomgyu x reader)

genre: so much angst it's genuinely not even funny, rebirth!au, second chance at life!au, melodrama, unrequited love, romance

warnings: mcd (and rebirth), mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts

progress: 3.1k

*if you would like to be tagged in any of these works, please let me know! if you are a minor or ageless blog, please do not ask to be tagged in any 18+ works. thank you!

[rin-hanarin]

Justice, Hermit and Hanged man for the boi 💀✨

I don't really have good examples for these from the game, so here's a funny one, it Represents the general mood lmao

Tarot Ask Game questions

Justice: How does Rook feel about the circumstances that led to them leaving their faction? What does returning feel like?

Renzo ultimately thinks he did the right thing: he did think that at the very least dispatching 20 Antaam soldiers was worth something, if not the reason behind doing it. He was very bitter and disappointed by Viago's decision to send him away: he didn't understand and wouldn't believe it if told that it was for his safety from other Talons, but he was also just dumbstruck by the sudden freedom it gave him. He's never left Antiva before, his only purpose has been assassination for most of his life, so doing something else was new, but getting sent away for the most random, nearly impossible “contract” to maybe kill some ancient mage guy felt like some kind of sick joke he wasn't in on.

The return is weird to Renzo: on one hand he's happy he's allowed to be home at all, but on the other he kind of expected more of a reaction from Viago at least, by the Dellamorte situation ended up taking the central stage, and Renzo's own absence was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. He wouldn't admit it, but he's disappointed by that: he was gone for a while, and from his perspective not only absolutely nothing changed, but bringing back Lucanis was more important to Viago and Teia than his own presence or lack thereof. Renzo doesn't really separate personal and professional because to him it's all the same under the Crows anyway, so under fifty levels of jokes and deflection there's this little part of him that resents Viago in particular: he is his family and Renzo missed him, but he's just given more work and sent on his way like he was never gone. He knows that he's supposed to be happy to be trusted with something as important as First Talon's big secret and that it's his chance to prove himself again, but the knowledge doesn't help, so Renzo is just petty and passive-aggressive for a while.

The Hermit: When Rook is alone with their thoughts, what do they think about? Is solitude a blessing or a curse for them?

Renzo hates being alone and thinking, so he'd rather do whatever with and for other people than engage with his own thoughts, but he doesn't immediately arrive at this conclusion.

He sees the whole Veilguard situation as a curse at first: he's not that good with people outside of Antiva, he learns that he acts kind of bizarre to foreigners, but he's also given an opportunity to, as he sees it, pretend to be a decent person and help someone for a change, which helps him avoid thinking about anything regarding his own situation, starting with the Crows and ending with the gods, which is a blessing.

When Renzo inevitably has to do it, he ends up feeling homesick more than anything, even when he's one mirror away from Antiva. He wants things to be simple: accept a contract, finish the job, have a stroll in Treviso, visit his favorite stalls at the market, have some strong drink and repeat it all over again. He instead has to deal with ancient blighted mages and struggle with the fact that he's completely out of his element in every aspect: he's not a leader, he's not some kind of saviour or even particularly good for anything other than killing, and even that is compromised with gods, darkspawn and dragons in the picture, so other people's struggles and ignoring how terrified he is deep down has to come first. Thankfully for him and unfortunately for others he's also reckless and dives headfirst into things before he gets a moment to think, so no thoughts in this birb’s head!

The Hanged Man: What does Rook do when their hard work doesn't pay off? How do they cope with failure?

Renzo is stubborn and doesn't acknowledge his feelings, so he breaks walls with his forehead, so to speak, and makes a joke out of everything when it doesn't work. Then he finds himself a bottle of alcohol and pretends he's not sulking, and after his biggest failure (before Solas' ritual) he ends up in a drinking bout and nearly manages to get alcohol poisoning, which actually impresses Varric who's heard of the famous poison resistance of the Crows, and spooks Harding enough that she's very nervous every time Renzo is near a bottle in the Lighthouse.

[bvckbiter]

that being said though... given that they've announced the casting for an original character (with possibly another one on the way) as well as the PJO Villains of the Week aka circe, polyphemus, tantalus, im really wondering if the background campers are going to be featured in this season since no casting has been announced for them. chris in season 1 was announced and had publicity despite having pretty much fuck-all contribution to the story; so if no casting is announced for the campers we meet in sea of monsters (stolls, silena, beckendorf), it probably means that theyre not in the story or are just literally passing, no-lines cameos/easter eggs. that would be ABSOLUTE bullshit because som spends more time in chb than tlt, and having known/named camper characters is essential to the whole logic of how camp fucking runs in the first place, which would tie into the whole cabin inequality thing that is the seed of luke's wrath in the first place. luke's anger at his father and at the gods is incomplete without the backdrop of camp half blood.

the small screen is a very good medium for expanding on chb and background demigods; unfortunately the first season just pretty much treats it like a checkpoint for percy to pass through. adaptations will always have changes, but those changes should be made for the better and in the spirit of the original source, so if the writers' room is ignoring the untapped potential that the background campers could have while creating entirely new characters, thats... troubling. to say the least

on one hand i really am not confident in the show's writing but on the other im just happy to have another canon rogue/ta member :3 and anyway i have way too much experience just using canon as a springboard and completely ignoring everything else lmfao

[luv-again]

sonic movie 3 spoilers bc I got to flush this all outta my system. incoherent ramblings below :

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD PLEASE I AM NOT OKAY ABT THIS MOVIE HOLY SHIT

firstly, keanu's shadow was beautiful. no further criticism from me. he was everything I could have asked for in a film adaptation of shadow

I'm so glad they handled the G.U.N situation better than I assumed. I genuinely thought they weren't going to be rightly villainised, but they were. only thing I'm unhappy with is the handling of maria's death, since it seemed semi-accidental. like,, they were fully liable stfu

MARIA ???? OMG MARIA ??? she was well cast, I loved how she was a little skating gremlin, who showed shadow all these things (things I predicted somehow AGAIN ? while writing the sli au). shame we didn't get more of her, but we all know what happens, so I guess it's only reasonable. only gripe is I wished they bothered to address her illness bc there was none of that

SHADOW ???? there was a scene with maria that struck me deep. his origin story change is funky, but definitely not unwelcome. and the way he notices the researchers look at him weird and he feels like a freak who doesn't belong ? ofc that's concordant with canon, but fuck me man. that's always been something I've connected with in shadow's character, so to see it crop up actually made me emotional

I nearly CRIED watching this film guys. I can't even be mad that amy wasn't there to rouse shadow onto humanity's side, bc the way they handled shadow's inner turmoil and his epiphany of light- UGH PLEASE I CAN'T BE OKAY EVER AGAIN. it was stunning. to see him struggle with his convictions all throughout and pose those deep questions to the other characters like gerald, asking if revenge was really what maria wanted. or stone. or with sonic, when he was driven by anger and grief. I LOVE that shadow noticed their similarities and asked those questions why, not because he was goading sonic, because he genuinely wanted answers, most likely to understand what he himself was feeling. I adored their chat on the moon, dealing with a sensitive topic, man to man. that was so sweet and they both convinced EACH OTHER to do the right thing. that was beautiful. I teared up. also super shadow was just so pretty I tried not to squeal. beautiful boy. he was just so genuine the whole time and nothing, not once, charged him as 'bad'. he was hurt and misguided but he knew he was doing wrong when he stepped back. he really came to his own realisation and I couldn't be prouder

gerald man ??? it's still not clear to me how he lived past his expectancy, but whatever. I'm actually okay they went fully down the dark route with him, using manipulation tactics aplenty and just being generally insane. for that, I can understand and accept eggman's family issues done in this way in this continuity

also STONE ???? I LOVED HIM I AM SO SAD WE DIDN'T GET MORE OF HIM. he tripled down on the homoerotic sycophantic pining. it was brilliant. the stobotnik moments were a joy. every single one

there were a few jokes that made me grizzle and groan, but other than that, it was still a light and funny movie despite dealing with more sincere topics of loss, family and potentials

tails was so adorable I loved him and everything he did. knuckles too. my favourite moment was trying to talk down sonic and almost hitting him from rage but letting go to concede to sonic's poor decision to walk the wrong path

shadow's death was glossed and inconsequential but that makes sense. it was gorgeous seeing him draw maria parallels throughout everything

my favourite little giggle from him was when he was watching that telenovela or sumn and he said the woman should get rid of both men bc she doesn't deserve to be treated like a prize. MY BOY <3

AUGH CAN I TALK ABT AMY OH MY GOSH ???? finally. it only took 3 films. she looks gorgeous. love her assassin hood thing, her badassery- Perfect. I can't wait for her to take the limelight next. metal also looks banging too, I noticed the split second frame that looked like the forces trailer

speaking of amy, the audience in the theater (including me), clapped SO LOUD when the amy scene was over. sighh my people <33 I will miss them. especially the one that said shadow 05 movie shld happen after seeing the second post-credits scene. they're after my heart lmao

OHH the references. so many to mention. even if some were obnoxiously obvious, they all were awesome. the musical ones, the cinematic frames, the direct quotations, objects and whatnot. all of them were bloody fantastic

THERE'S SM ABT THIS MOVIE MY BRAIN CAN'T EVEN. I'm still trying to digest all that I saw tbh, so I've probably missed things I wanted to blab abt but oh well

it surpassed my expectations. we've been fed so good this year. amazingly done film, would 100% go and see it again if I get the chance

[fanniepentarra]

Hello, Fannie. I... well, I don't mean to pry into the details of your personal life, but, well, I was over on Ben's blog, and I heard about the things that happened when he came to visit you.

To be honest, part of the reason I popped over here is because I'm actually quite worried about him. He's a wonderful guy, funny and smart and with such a capacity for good inside him- which I suppose hardly bears repeating, given that I'm talking to you, who of all people should know this the best- but lately I've been watching him spiral down a dark path that only seems to be getting darker. It frightens me, a little. No, that's an understatement. It frightens me, a lot.

I... don't really know why I'm telling you this. But-- well, I suppose what I'm trying to say is keep an eye out for him. I hate to come across like I'm trying to meddle in other people's private lives, but I do care about you, the both of you, quite a lot, and it just... it would break my heart, if anything were to happen to hurt either one of you in a way that could never truly be fixed.

So, just. If you would. Look out for him, please.

Hello, dear! <3

I…do apologize for the lateness of this response. I have been thinking over what you’ve said.

I know that Ben is…rather a different person than people would expect me to care for. This used to bother me. At this point, I…

…I am going to be with him. I’ve decided that.

Ever since becoming Master Luke’s student, I have always followed the advice he has given me. This is the very first time that I have not, and I have not spoken to him since then. It’s so unlike me—then again; I have been becoming more and more unlike myself as of late, and perhaps I am simply changing altogether—but…I’ve felt afraid to speak to Luke again, and afraid of what he will think of me, for choosing not to listen to him.

I am hurt, too. Ben said that Luke told him to…simply stop speaking to me—which caused me much distress, a month ago. I suppose part of my decision to disregard Luke’s opinion and be with Ben was borne out of resentment for that.

No—that was the catalyst, rather; the decision to be with Ben is purely my own. I have always done what I thought I should do—this is a strength of mine—but, perhaps, something that is usually a strength may not always be.

I am going to be with Ben, no matter what anyone has to say about it! And I do feel a bit wicked for that—but—I remind myself that it is only wicked to disobey the universe’s laws of right and wrong. To merely disobey one’s teacher is not.

And I suppose “disobedience” is rather a strong word. Luke has never asked me to obey him. He has guided me, for which I will always be thankful—but, I am free not to follow his guidance.

…I did notice something that concerned me. We had dinner at Ben’s parents’ house, recently; and his mother asked if we had told Luke yet about our relationship.

Ben and I exchanged glances. I was thinking about how best to explain the situation, when Ben spoke suddenly: “Oh, yeah, Luke knows. He’s supportive.” And then he looked at me and raised his eyebrows and quirked his mouth a little, asking me to go along.

“…Yes,” I found myself saying, and I couldn’t believe I was saying it.

I have always believed on principle that lying is wrong. No matter how small or inconsequential the lie, a Jedi must never deceive in order to serve herself (it is possible, I think, for deception to be a moral action when used to protect the lives of others—but, that is a different discussion). Still, even I have to admit that the rest of supper went much more smoothly and comfortably than it otherwise would have, had we told the truth.

Could it be possible that Ben would ever lie to me? I wondered, for a moment, as I watched him breathe a nigh-imperceptible sigh of relief upon hearing my corroboration. His knee was still bouncing rapidly, and his fingers tapped anxiously on the edge of his seat, even long after the conversation had departed from the subject of Luke.

But, then I spent a couple of minutes observing him in other ways: his oddly charming smile (his teeth are not fully straight; he had them straightened as a teenager but has since failed to use his retainer at night), the way he hugs his mother (he towers over her), makes jokes with his father (they are so sweet together; his father is so unlike mine), and plays with his sister (you can tell he’s so protective over her)—and, of course, the way he held my hand under the table, his grasp large and warm, making my heart thump like a drum (ah!!! <3)—and, it restored my confidence in him—that, perhaps, he has some different convictions from me, in a few small areas…but that, on the whole, Ben Solo is a good man. (And my boyfriend! Ah!!!)

Ben has often told me that he has always felt everyone was afraid of him, and thought the worst of him, and feared the darkest outcomes for his future—but, that is not the man I see.

I choose to see the best in him. And I always will—never mind what anyone else may think.

[micahwright]

Micah Wright

A playbook of the variety of small, largely inconsequential tattoos that Micah got while he was living in New York seven+ years ago. Some were done on a whim, others he picked off the wall, some he doesn't remember getting, and others were done by friends after a day of drinking or other illicit activities. Some of them Micah regrets, but he isn't the kind of person to ever get them covered up; truthfully, he's grown out of getting tattoos in general; this point, he has so many random small tattoos that there is not really a cohesive story. Just some silly little splatters of ink from the beginning of a very dark time in his.

cw: drugs

1. cupid with an assault rifle, left ribcage

at 18, Micah got his first tattoo; it was supposed to be ironic because of the recent breakup that he'd gone through with Emory. A new face in New York City, Micah started off waiting tables, and when he'd scraped together enough money, he got this with some coworkers on a whim.

2. sword through the collarbone, left side

another sober addition, Micah was still in his first year in New York City when he went with a friend from work to keep them company. While waiting, he saw this on the wall and said, "Yeah, sure, that one."

3. broken cigarette, right ribcage

one afternoon, when he was out with his friends, he lost a bet and had to get a tattoo of someone else's choice. There's a story attached to this about how he'd broken his last cigarette and almost put his face through the wall, so they went with this.

4. happy/sad face, left forearm

not done professionally, he had a friend who wanted to practice on something other than oranges so Micah offered them his arm one morning when he was high.

5. sunrise, left interior middle-finger

a tattoo that matches one that Emma has. Micah talked her into this through their journal before she knew he was getting high.

6. dat ass, left exterior ankle

inspired by a girl Micah was sleeping with, he looked nothing like her, but that's how Micah said he always thought of her. A decade later, he hasn't really changed much in that regard.

7. spark up, right thumb and left pointer

another decision that he made one afternoon when he was under the influence; he thought it was really funny, and the artist that he paid to do it was used to Micah putting down whatever amount of money he needed to get it done.

8. reaper on a skateboard, right exterior ankle

after coming to in the hospital, it was kind of a running joke among him and his friends that death couldn't keep up with him. On a whim, he ended up getting this, although he is, always was and always will be terrible on a skateboard.

9. abduction, right interior heel

a faiman living among humans, he'd lost his job by the time he'd gotten this and was more or less living off whatever charity he could get from his mom and Emma. There was never much thought put behind his tattoos, so he just got this because he'd always felt very out of place and was compensating.

10. fuck u (affectionate), middle finger

the first time Emma cut him off resulted in this, he really thought he was so rebellious and cool.

11. colorado, right ring finger

vaguely sentimental, he doesn't remember getting this one, whether it was done professionally or by his friend.

12. rock on, left knee

micah had scraped together enough money and went with some friends, this was another case where he saw something on the wall and just went with it. A lot of the time, he felt dead inside but just kept moving forward, and rock on was his usual response to what felt like endless bad news.

13. hang loose, left interior ankle

while Micah remembers waking up with this one, he has no recollection of ever getting it done.

14. lost in space, left bicep

the last tattoo Micah ever got, this one was before he went completely off the rails. At this point in his life, he'd been fired from a few gigs, he was putting more stress on his mother than anyone ever should, and he was completely blowing up the life Emma was trying to build for them. Shortly after this, she moved the two of them to Rome.

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

random hcs for rob. 'scuse me if some have already been written out-

robin:

while not religious, what's his opinion towards deities, aspects, and so on?

should he be given the means to, would robin do it all over again or take another path regarding his deal with a demon?

how does robin feel about socializing?

what keeps him going when all odds are stacked against him?

robin has one single wish granted, right now, without thinking about it too long. what does he wish for?

WHAT'S UNDER THE HAT

═══ HEADCANON INQUIRIES ═══

While not religious, what's his opinion towards deities, aspects, and so on?

Robin's views on "higher beings" definitely changed after the incident with his family, they fall more in line with Pantheon's view if anything. Throughout his life Zaun already felt like it was going to kill him, he was a poor little Zaunite rat and Gods (or help) were always missing whenever he went looking for them. They represent the callous heartlessness of the universe to him; they don't care and human lives are like candy wrappers to them, light as air and inconsequential.

This also becomes a positive driving factor in the new AU I'm working on for Robin, where he changes course and works to save those already living instead of focusing on reviving the dead. He's well aware that the deities of the universe don't give a damn, so he'll do it himself. "The people cry out for strength that is already theirs" <- That sort of thing.

The only entity that Robin doesn't have a dislike for are the Kindred, within their neutrality he has no place to judge them, they are what they are.

Should he be given the means to, would robin do it all over again or take another path regarding his deal with a demon?

I've often said that if Robin had a single person to push him in another direction his story would have been very different <- New AU is actually going to explore this idea. That being said, if he was able to go back with the knowledge he had today, he wouldn't make the same decision since he'd know the horrific consequences of such decisions. He WAS the villain of his own story - not Abel, not the person who killed him, he was the one who led himself into Hell.

Though...if he simply went back without anything changing, he'd make the same decisions easily, and go through the same hardship. Robin's doom wasn't spelled out on the day of the incident, it wasn't an immediate damnation but a slowly simmering destruction that took about 6-7 months to finally boil over. He didn't immediately lose himself, but no one was there to help him from fading away. The tiniest little change could have shifted this; which therein lies the true tragedy.

How does robin feel about socializing?

Despite his high level of charisma and easy sociability he doesn’t usually interact with people in his spare time, preferring to skulk around by himself and take in things he finds interesting. He's REALLY good at talking to people for the most part, but usually needs a push from Bel to do it. This was the same when he was alive, but he was much more open to the idea of being the one to approach someone else.

Shockingly he has interacted with a WIDE variety of muses and made quite a few accidental friendships - these people are the ones that will actually get his genuine attention and care. He will actively seek them out since they, for the majority, don't drain his social battery or make him feel like he has to play a part.

What keeps him going when all odds are stacked against him?

Well! Funny about that actually--

“Loss is nothing but change, and change is nature’s delight.” Nature’s delight and Man’s personal hell: a foe to friendship, an inescapable punishment, a necessary evil in the never-ending cycle of existence. There was no relief, steadily he had lost all joy once found in everything around him, had it ever mattered? What did this cruel misery have to offer him? Any beauty had turned to ash as he saw what Life was worth when the rest had gone. His mind wandered to the window sill, how far would he fall until Lamb's arrow pierced his heart? He craved it. An escape from this nightmare.

As I said a slowly simmering destruction. The promise of him finally having someone through A/Bel stopped him during the past, but without that intervention he would have ended it. He was tired and in too much grief without any support system.

Now....well, he has no choice but to perservere, he can't die, the demon won't let him.

Robin has one single wish granted, right now, without thinking about it too long. what does he wish for?

"Take me back to that day, just a few hours earlier." - Funnily enough, at least in the canon timeline of his life, he doesn't wish for them to be revived. I think by now he's WELL aware of the calamity that would bring to them. But given the chance he would go back and get them out, avoid the entire issue by removing them from the house for that night. Even if it ultimately only buys them a little more time.

WHAT'S UNDER THE HAT?

UNDER EVERY HAT IS ANOTHER HAT.

TWO WHITE MICE PULLING HIS HAIR LIKE IN RATATOUILLE.

BEAUTIFUL FLUFFY HAIR THAT HE SHOULD GROW OUT AGAIN.

A SMALL ROSEMARY PLANT.

AN ELDRITCH GOD WITH COUNTLESS EYES THAT WILL BLACKEN THE SUMMER SKIES WHEN IT OPENS ITS BURNING WINGS.

A single, long forgotten piece of bread - probably moldy.

[wolfreader]

december 2024 wrap-up - children's fiction

this month i read four (4) children's books.

the case of the peculiar pink fan by nancy springer 📖 🌟🌟🌟

finally making progress in my reread of the enola holmes series. loved seeing cecily again, though she unfortunately brings back to mind how weird the case of the left handed lady was.

while the general fandom seems to interpret book!enola as sapphic, personally (as a lesbian) i find there to be more evidence for her being asexual + potentially aromantic as well. this is probably because her character was obviously heavily based on sherlock holmes (go figure) as he's characterized in the original acd stories and he can very easily be interpreted as ace and/or aro.

the developing relationship between the holmes siblings is obviously the highlight of the series. as much as i think the film series having sherlock being on enola's side from the end of movie one was the right decision for that medium, the slow progression of his understanding and respect for her in the books has it's own charm.

the elders by inbali iserles 📖 🌟🌟🌟

another childhood favorite that i'm rereading - this is has major "second book in a trilogy" syndrome. for all that the wildlands are described as the true home of free foxes, the book taking place in teh wildlands sure feels inconsequential. it's mainly a pit stop so that isla can be pointed toward the snowlands and be given some exposition about the mage.

the case of the cryptic crinoline by nancy springer 📖 🌟🌟🌟

it's honestly really funny when nacny springer tries to implement real-world historical figures. even just having enola read marx in order to espouse the author's (?) thoughts on how dumb and stupid communism is (L) felt a little forced and out of place. having an entire story where florence nightingale, real historical figure, is a major character was kind of laugh inducing.

but once again the genuinely well written sibling relationship between enola and sherlock makes the whole silliness worth it. it was clear from the very beginning of the series that he genuinely cares for her, but it's only in these last three that he begins to understand her and they have an actual relationship. his willingness to change his views on her was likely influenced by her help saving watson in the third book. anyway, one more book and i'll have finished my reread!

the case of the disappearing duchess by nancy springer 📖 🌟🌟🌟

and now i've finished the series proper! there are technically more books in the series, written and published after the first movie came out and i think? written for a slightly older audience, but i'm debating on if i want to pick those up or not.

certainly the simplest mystery out of the series (though not necessarily the weakest...), mainly because the primary focus of the series finale is the holmes family drama. for the most part i like how it concluded. while i understand that the movies wanted enola's mother to be a regular presence in the serie and thus changed the entire reason she left ferndell, i like the book's verion better...? not only is it, i think, stronger character building for enola, but book!eudoria's reasoning for abandoning enola, while obviously still flawed, makes so much more sense than movie!eudoria's.

i do feel that mycroft's change of heart was very rushed. i've already said that i think sherlock's slow and followable character arc in regards to enola is very well executed and one of my favorite parts of the series. throughout the series you can see how and why sherlock's opinion on enola comes to change. meanwhile, with mycroft, he's mostly absent from the series and he's going on tirades about how enola has to be stopped and berating sherlock for not catching her in this very book, but by the end he's changed his mind and has abanonded his mission to put her in finishing school. this is something i hope the movie series does better.

[blues-at-the-harbor]

Dear Lovebug

Dear Lovebug,

It's October 7th, which means it's safe to say we've been together for six months.

Seeing you on Wednesday, March 13th felt inconsequential. There I was, talking to a guy I'd met on the internet while in the midst of an employment gap and tense family relations, only days after an embarrassing end to an embarrassing situationship. I didn't feel all there: rather, I felt scattered -- and nervous about setting anything new into motion -- but for some reason, things fell into place and we were planning our first evening together. I didn't know it would lead to six months of falling asleep and waking up with my other half.

We'd texted the night before about what we're looking for, and this is what I said: "I want someone to be real with. I want someone who matches my energy. I do not want any hinge friendships so I am not looking for anything platonic. I want someone to spend late nights with. I want someone to watch tennis with. I want someone who won't use me as as a social crutch or a crutch of any kind but who opens up to me and values my input. Someone adventurous. Someone I can build trust with."

This is what you said: "What am I looking for? Well I'm glad you asked and not me. To be honest with you, I'm not looking for something casual. I like to think I have my life in order. As I've said before, I'm not one to waste my time, but also not naive to jump into anything too quickly. If it feels right and I see respect, then I'm happy to continue and see where it goes."

Thank you for being real with me. Thank you for matching my energy. Thank you for spending late nights with me. Thank you for watching tennis with me. Thank you for holding your own, socially and otherwise, and opening up to me with genuine appreciation for my input. Thank you for being adventurous with me. Thank you for building trust with me.

I hope you see respect from me and that this feels right for you. I don't know that it always does, I don't know that you always do. Like anyone, I have an ego that I can fall victim to, but be assured without a doubt my love for you is resolute.

And what I love most about loving you is our shared imagination and follow-through. You dream, I dream. You do, I do. And we build and we build 'til we're bulletproof.

I sometimes can't believe you actually exist. I had some very specific expectations of a partner and you meet them: - first-generation American - dark hair, dark eyes, taller than me by several inches - with a voice sweet like honey - someone with humble roots - a soccer player

It's vital that my partner has familiarity with a multicultural upbringing, and moreover life experience as an American-born raised by immigrant parents -- all the better if they emigrated from the Middle East. It's crucial not just for how well he is able to treat and understand me, but also for how he treats and understands my parents.

You've wondered if I am ready for long-term commitment and I maintain that I am. I don't like here-and-now relationships in any realm: professional, platonic, romantic, familial. If I have issues with decision-making, I would think this only proves how committed a person I am: I want to be careful and make the right choice. I know we're only six months in, but I want you for life. It's who you are -- warm, witty, funny, bold -- and the little things you do, like: - changing the sheets, scrubbing and putting lotion on my back - holding me, - riding on rollercoasters with me - going to Charlottesville with me - dining out at my favorite restaurants - watching movies that matter to me - cleaning up after me when I don't have the time - making sure I have a towel - taking me to work, and picking me up, when I'm in need . . . TBC

[restapesta]

🔫🧑🏻‍🦰

Watching Ian beat the shit out of Lip was something Mickey thought made him a lot more turned on than it should have.

It really was a long time coming—those little, seemingly inconsequential things Ian constantly complained about were piling up, and all it would take was one wrong word from Lip about something—or someone—and Ian was bound to explode.

Mickey never thought it would be him whom that wrong word was said about.

Ian had been on the edge of his seat the entire day. Mickey knew it was partially his doctor's appointment stress. That combined with some asshole at work who was bothering him, and on top of that, Lip with his whining—Ian really wasn't having a good day.

So when they all met at the Gallagher house and immediately upon stepping across the threshold, Ian was enveloped into talk about selling the house and Debbie and Tami, Mickey knew that the desperate eye roll meant he wanted to get away.

Mickey couldn't do shit to help him, though, Franny looped around his knees, smiling up at him widely.

Ian was unfortunately on his own.

Was it s surprise when not even five minutes later Mickey heard a crash from the living room where Ian and Lip where?

No.

Was it a surprise to witness it all and feel incredibly turned on by the way Ian was punching at him brother as Tami yelled at them to stop?

Yes.

He couldn't help it—his husband was angry and there were beads of sweat dripping down his forehead, and his muscles were flexing as he pummeled his fists into Lip's gut.

Fucking hell.

He should probably stop this, right?

Ian was unrelentless and pissed off, fists flying down and head tilting away from Lip's punches. He seemed to be getting in a few, but overall, Ian was winning.

Tami shook him by the shoulder. "Uh, how about you help me!?"

He suppressed an eye roll but eventually did move from his spot, making sure Franny wasn't following him into the fucking battlefield.

He grabbed Ian by the shoulders, and lightly—because he knew there was no way in hell he'd actually be able to pull an angry Ian off of anyone—he nudged him back, whispering into his ear that it was enough and that he should step away.

Ian listened, pushing Lip away from him and wiping at the blood on his lower lip.

Tami was the one to ask, "What is wrong with you two? Why are you fighting?"

Mickey turned to Ian, waiting for him to explain. He held a hand on the small of his back, trying to steady him. He felt a pang in his chest at the obvious bruises forming on his cheeks—not to say the rough look did anything to diminish the barely hidden tightness in his pants.

"Well, Tami, your boyfriend here," Ian shot daggers at his brother. "Thought it was a good idea to insult my husband in front of me."

Mickey, on impulse, whipped his head to look at Lip and then proceeded to give him the bird. It really didn't bother him—whatever he said, it really couldn't have been that bad. Ian was just angry and needed an excuse, and Lip 'insulting' Mickey was right there at his disposal. That shit happened every night. It really wasn't that big of a deal.

Lip shrugged. "Fuck you both."

With a scoff, Ian turned around on his heel and sped-walk upstairs, the floor thudding as he did. Mickey watched as he left—for their old bedroom probably—and he once again faced Lip, who was being silently scolded by Tami whose it was now turn to walk away herself, exasperated.

Lip checked for blood in his nose. "What do you want?"

"I know that he's your brother," And that this is a simple tussle, and that it really isn't that big of a deal. He knew all of that, yet he schooled his expression into true Milkovich charm—a dead stare that really nobody could rival. "But you hit him again, I'll make sure you're buried where nobody will ever be able to find you."

Lip seemed to wince at that. He nodded.

"Good."

And with that he was stalking up the stairs to get to Ian who was hopefully cooled down, at least a little.

Mickey's threat was true.

As much as he loved seeing Ian dominant in a fight and as much as he loved seeing Lip's ugly mug get pummelled in—Ian's face was going to hurt like a motherfucker and his lip would bleed at the slightest of touch, so Mickey wouldn't even be able to kiss him properly.

Out of selfish, yet completely unselfish reasons, he felt really fucking angry.

Ian was pacing in their old, now empty, room.

If this were a cartoon, smoke would've been coming out of his ears.

"He kept saying how you were trash!" Was the first thing Ian greeted him with. "How 'scum like you' should fuck up the neighborhood more." He let out a humorless laugh. "I should have hit him fucking harder."

There was no way Lip said that. And if he did—Mickey had to keep in a laugh because that was genuinely funny.

And seeing Ian angry over Lip offending Mickey... Well, it was definitely not the time.

"Did he really say that?"

Ian sputtered, turning to look at him. "Y-yes!"

"Why don't you seem sure?"

"I..."

"You?"

Ian's eyes hardened again. "Well, fuck you too Mickey."

Shit. That wasn't what he wanted to do.

Ian was passing by him, careful not to knock into Mickey, and Mickey reached out, placing a hand on top of his shoulder, attempting to stop him from getting far.

It was maybe the worst, and best decision he ever made because Ian was suddenly gripping him by that hand and pinning him against the wall at lightning speed.

His tall-ass husband was pinning him against the wall, hands above his head, a knee between his thighs, face unbelievably close to Mickey's, their breaths mingling in together.

And as much as Mickey didn't want to get Ian's lip even more busted up, he definitely didn't stop Ian from shoving his tongue down Mickey's throat.

Mickey licked the blood off of Ian's tongue as they pulled away. Ian's hair was all over the place. Mickey must've been gripping onto it.

"Fuck, Gallagher, first the fight, now the manhandling; you're really tryna' get your dick sucked, aren't you?"

Ian smiled, the wide grin gracing his face, despite it all. He said, "Maybe I just wanna suck yours." And then he went lower.

This was truly everything Mickey ever wanted in life.

---

"What did Lip actually say?"

They would've probably been cuddling in bed had the room not been completely empty. Instead, all they did was get dressed, and Mickey missed that little bit of warmth.

As he buckled his belt—it was truly as if Ian could read his mind—his husband pulled him in, arms going around his back. Mickey leaned into the hug, clutching Ian's waist.

He heard him exhale.

"He said Milkoviches, not you."

"Huh?"

"He said," He cleared his throat. "Scum like the Milkoviches should make the Southside what it was again."

"And you got angry at that?"

He felt Ian shrug against him. He didn't need to explain. Mickey understood.

"Well, it was hot."

"Hot?"

It was Mickey's turn to shrug. "You getting all angry and shit. It was hot."

Mickey felt his dick twitch at the memory.

Ian must have felt it because, "Are you already ready to go again?" He huffed out a laugh.

He was, but...

"You should apologize to Lip first."

Ian pulled away so he could look him straight in the eye. He searched his face for the hint of a mocking joke, but when he found none, he asked, "You serious?"

Unfortunately.

"As much as I love seeing you defend me... I don't think he deserved it from you."

"So if it were you...?"

Mickey grinned against Ian's lips. "Your level of damage wouldn't be nearly as big as my level of damage."

He pressed a kiss to Ian's lips.

"Okay, I'll apologize."

A pause. Ian's fingers were undoing Mickey's belt again.

"After I fuck you again, because you being this sweet is turning me the fuck on."

Mickey laughed so loud, he was sure the entire neighborhood heard him.

[stellocchia]

So, I once made a post about c!Tommy and c!Dream’s relationship throughout season 1 (which you can find here), but today I was thinking, why not do the same for the Exile Arc?

There are some people that still don’t seem to have a comprehensive idea of what actually went down during that time (either because they joined the fandom afterwards or haven’t watched it at the time) so I’ll try to do that here. I’ll cover the first 2 streams here, and then continue in the next part because this is gonna be way too damn long otherwise...

As always I’ll be talking only about the characters and the roleplay from here on out and also I’ll be touching on some very heavy topics under the cut (such as gaslighting and abuse). Also this is gonna be another one of my Overly Long Analysis, so... you know... be warned of that.

I’ll be going through this vod by vod, so It will be so long... God why do I always do this to myself?

Let’s start with TommyInnit Is Exiled From The Dream SMP... which is the vod when Tommy actually get’s exiled.

So, the exile scene per se has been covered a 100 times over, but, right after Tubbo asking Dream to “please detain and excort Tommy out of my country” Dream yeets Tommy off the walls and then he immediately establishes the general idea of how it’ll be in exile: “I don’t think you wanna die Tommy. You need to- to listen to me”.

Also it is to be noted that in this “exile” time and time again Dream establishes arbitrary rules that were most certanly not meant in the initial sentence (which is why it’s much more of a kidnapping then an actual exile). Starting from before they even leave L’Manburg completely. In fact when they are still in the vc with the others and still just down from the obsidian walls, Tommy and Dream have this exchange:

“Do I have any time to speak words? What can...” “NO. NO. NO. NO!” “what the...” 

And then right after (just after leaving the vc):

“Do you have food?” “Yeah...” “Good, we’ll be going a long while still” “Am I not allowed- well surely- surely I’m only exiled from L’Manburg-” “Oh, no no no. You’re exiled from everywhere that’s been touched”

The sentence was only for him to be exiled from L’Manburg. Dream theoretically only had authority over the Greater Dream smp in any case, so how come immediately Tommy’s “sentence” becomes being exiled from “everywhere that has been touched”? What authority did Dream have to exile him from the Badlands? Or the Holy Grounds (considering those are widely considered neutral)?

This is from right after Ghostbur joins them:

“Well, I don’t- I don’t have to come with you” “Well, I mean, I’ll kill you” (...) "I don’t have to follow you! I don’t-” “Tommy! Then I’ll just kill you. What happens if I kill you?” “I die...”

Again, technically Tubbo only asked Dream to escort Tommy out of his country, not all the way to his place of exile. Tommy here is right, he is exiled, he is not supposed to have a jailor going with him, he is not supposed to be imprisoned. All he supposedly had to do was get off the lands he wasn’t allowed into and then he’d be good. Of course Dream’s plans were different there.

Also the trend of constantly undermining anything Tommy is feeling at any given moment sure doesn’t stop with the Exile Arc! 

“No, no! I don’t want to head anywhere! I wanna to go back! I wanna go back!” “Fine fine, we’ll head this way then. It’s fine, this is fine” “I don’t wanna go!” “Tommy come on...”

Honorable mention to Dream talking about the first time he exiled Tommy:

“Do you remember- this is actually funny! Do you remember the first time you ever joined the server? And uhm... you got exiled? By me?” “Yeah?” “It’s kinda like that, except now if you don’t listen you die”

And the conditioning begins all the way here, with Dream trying to decide Tommy’s emotions for him:

“Oh... I hate you” “*laughs* Okay Tommy, you don’t hate me” “No, no I definitely do” “Noooo, you don’t hate me”

Cue Dream just blowing up Tommy’s second Summer Home after he explained that it was supposed to be a safe haven for him and Tubbo. Also note that Dream is already getting rid of any mob attacking Tommy even if at this point he still had armour and weapons to defend himself. I talked about this before, but Dream does seem to want Tommy to be as dependent on him as he is on Tommy, which is why during exile he made him dependent on him for protection/safety and company and in prison for food. Also Ghostbur going: “I don’t think this man is very nice...”, thank you Ghostbur, I wish you could remember that, but you’re trying your best and I appreciate it...

“How long is- how long am I exiled for? When can I just go back?” “You can’t (...) if you go back you die”

Again, not Dream’s decision to make. Tubbo was the one exiling Tommy meaning that, if Tubbo actually had the decision power in that istance, Tubbo was the one who should have decided when he could come back. Also, again reiterating the point from before:

“I thought I was only banished from L’Manburg, that was the deal, not the entirety of the smp-” “Oh no. No you’re banished far enough where they don’t see you”

Also, a little look into Tommy’s mentality here:

“Tubbo said he wasn’t thinking with emotion, but with reason, but: what the fuck is the point if there isn’t any- any emotion?!”

This is honestly why he is Dream’s exact opposite and probably why he finds him fun, while Tubbo is irrelevant to him. Tommy thinks emotions should always be taken into account when making decisions and he values sentimentality over everything. Dream is the opposite, to him emotions are irrelevant and sentimentality is a weakness. Tubbo is a bit of both, which makes his clash of ideologies with Dream a lot less evident. 

Anyway, they get to the island and Dream builds Tommy a dirt shack for him to set his spawn into. And then there is the first istance of Dream taking all of Tommy’s stuff (building blocks and food included) and blowing it up. Which, again, is in no way an actual exile condition. Tommy is in jail basically. He got kidnapped and now he is in jail. Also right after that Dream gives them food and obsidian (of course acting like he is doing them a big favour, when he actually just created that need), which Tommy bromptly refuses, later burning the obsidian.

Also Dream’s parting words here are: “I’ll see you never”. Which couldn’t be less true! There is quite a bit more after that, of Tommy and Ghostbur settling in, finding a ruined portal with some armour and the village nearby and Techno visiting, but this is about c!Dream and c!Tommy and it’s already incredibly long as is, so maybe I’ll talk about everything else another time...

Onto the next one: Tommy Is Alone in Exile with Dream...

This stream starts off with Bad visiting Tommy to give him a few presents (which consist of Chirp, 2 diamonds, an enderchest, and almost dead diamond pick with silk touch, some coocked chicken some bones and a few stacks of oak wood logs). Also Tommy sees Logsteshire for the first time. Then Dream arrives and he is not happy about the present (something something, having other people giving Tommy useful stuff would make him less reliant on Dream). Also Bad seems to be slightly scared of Dream since he immediately tells Tommy that he should not say that any of the stuff he gave him was from him. Anyway, Dream destroys everything, but Tommy, with Bad’s help, manages to save Chirp. Here’s their exchange in this scene of course:

“Tommy?” “Yes! Yes?!” “Do you have uh... something you wanna put on the floor here?” “Yes *throws in 3 red concrete blocks*” “Anything else Tommy?” “No! You’re evil by the way, you’re an evil man-” “Come on... I know there is something else you wanna drop down here...” “No there-... *gives disk to Bad* I don’t reckon there is!” “Okay are you sure...?” “Yes!” “Alright... how about uh- how about your armour Tommy?” “No this is- I actually earned this myself” “I know you did! Just drop it in the hole Tommy” “No, no! You can’t just come and demand things from me! I’ve been exiled, I’ve done your shit! What- what do you mean-” “Tommy~” “What?” *Dream hits Tommy with an enchanted netherite axe* “Drop them down~” “Hooooo okay okay okay!”

So, in case anyone was wondering, physical abuse is there as well. And this is fully depicted as physical abuse. Like, normally, with this being Minecraft, it is implied that violence is generally inconsequential, here though c!Tommy reacts to it clearly in pain and shock. There is no doubt there. 

Sapnap arrives at this point as well. After that Dream makes it a point that Tommy cannot have the enderchast that Bad gave him because you can never have enough random arbitrary rules when kidnapping someone apparently! 

“Why are you here? Why are you here? What- what could you- what could you possibly want more from me? You’ve tortured me-” “I’m just! I’m just... keeping an eye on you Tommy” 

I’ve highlighted this because, considering the last time Dream was there he said he would never see Tommy again, Tommy’s confusion here is more then understandable. But of course Dream acts like it’s obvious that he would be there and that it’s necessary to make sure that Tommy is not “up to no good”. Also, another extremely important exchange: 

“You’ve exiled me you stupid manipulative green bastard!” “Yeah I know! I know! And you know why I did that” “Yes? Yes?” “No, you know why” “Why?” “Because you don’t listen to me ever. You’re the only person who doesn’t ever listen to me (...) listen, you are like a little annoying bug in my room and it pisses me off so I take you and I put you outside and that’s what I did. And now I’m just making sure that you stay outside”

So... the bullshit about this being about George’s house is out of the window by the first proper exile stream. Also Dream goes in the ever increasing list of villains who, if annoyed enough, will reveal all their evil plans to the protagonist. Like Tommy screaches enough and Dream will immediately go in evil monologuing mode...

“So what do you actually want from me then?” “Well nothing, I’m just here to talk to you. Tommy, we’re still friends ok? Just because I exiled you doesn’t mean we’re not friends-” “Just because I killed your friends and family doesn’t mean we can’t be bros...” “Well, it’s true!”

Ok so, it’s confirmed that Dream would still go on with this “friendship” facade even if he killed Tubbo or Wilbur then. Also:

*Tommy sees a creeper* then in the most monotone tone ever: “Help me” Dream sprinting from the other side of the cave: “TOMMY!”. I love this scene and I love this two dumbasses (and I mean the cc’s here). Also, to go back to the serious stuff: once again Dream is the one killing every single mob around Tommy because he blew up all his means for defence. Also Bad and Sapnap are still there as well, but Dream is always the on interveening (mostly because he is the one following Tommy around more closely). I’ll have a few of the more interesting quotes here afterwards until the next interesting scene:

“If I had 8 legs I would fuck you all up” “Oooh, no you wouldn’t” (Dream de-valuing Tommy’s anger once again)

“Stop following me” “NO” “Well okay then...” (honestly this was just funny...)

“Can I call you Wilbur? Or is it Ghostbur...?” “You can call me whatever you like” (for those saying that Ghostbur not correcting Tommy was weird)

“Alright Wilbur, what do you need an enderchest for? I might make an exception but-” “We- we need it so that we can access our stuff from the old world, the old world” “But not to go back” “How would we be able to go back with an enderchest?” “Well I don’t know maybe there is stuff in there that’s... better” “Tommy do you have anything that could get you to go back? In the enderchest?” “A boat? What’d you mean?” “Yeah to be honest we just need wood to get back, it’s not really-” 

Here we have Ghostbur poking holes in one of the new rules that Dream added that day. As a matter of fact, why would an enderchest be dangerous? Tommy mostly keeps sentimental stuff in there and a bit of iron. Still that’s the whole point: Dream is trying to get Tommy under his control so he needs to bring him to a point where he’ll listen to his orders even when they don’t make any actual sense. Also, btw, Dream doesn’t actually give them an enderchest after this exchange.

“Do you want to come with me Tommy? Do you want to come with me and visit the old library?” “No no no” “Yes! Yes please!” “No he wants to stay here with me” “I don’t. I definitely don’t” “He does! He’s just trying to be nice to you Wilbur. He’s trying to be nice to you” “I’m not Wilbur, I want to come with you” (way to gaslight an amnesiac ghost...)

“So how long is Tommy supposed to be here?” “Like a week?” “Oh, a week is not bad!” “*laughing* No he’s here forever” (Like goddamn, imagine if every minor griefing was punished with permanent exile!)

“M-maybe like- does Tommy gets like visitations? Like once every month he get’s to go to L’Manburg-” “No! No no no” “No visitation, huh?” “No visitation” (well, let’s thank Sapnap for trying...)

So, after this Tommy gets his plan to go through the Nether and find a quick way to and from L’Manburg to, perhaps, sneak in unnoticed at some points. Dream “allows” him here to go to the Nether (even though technically there is no reason why the exile would extend to there as well), so they get to work on fixing a ruined portal. “Did you know, I apparently blew up a nation and killed everyone” (thank God we have Ghostbur, he makes everything better). One thing I want to note though: at this point Tommy still kills the mobs attacking him when Dream is not stalking him and doing it for him, which is kind of nice. We are still at the first exile stream though...

“Can I go back for like an hour and see all my friends?” “No, they can come here though. I-I mean Tommy, I think- I think that someone could come here and visit you, but you can’t ever go back. Like I-I don’t have anything against people coming here and visiting you if they want to. They don’t HAVE to, but they can if they really want to” “Tommy think of it this way: whenever you’re in prison you can’t just go and visit your friends, but they can come and visit you” “They can come and visit you, yeah, that’s actually a very- that’s a perfect analogy”

I wonder why the best analogy for Tommy’s situation is not a f*cking exile analogy, but actual prison. Maybe because he is confined to one place, not allowed to keep any personal items and never allowed to go back? Also they actually get to Nether hub at this point and there is the famous scene with Tommy looking at the lava: 

A curious thing about this scene (aside from being a clear indication of the beginning of Tommy’s depressive spiral) is both that Dream didn’t seem to particularly care about Tommy dying up until now (and in the future as well) as long as he is the one to kill him. Meaning that he seemed fine with it as long as he had control over it. And yet at the end there he agrees with Tommy’s statement of “it’s never my time to die” which kinda makes me think that Dream by this point was already entirely set on his idea of Tommy needing to be alive for Dream to control the whole server. Tommy and Dream head back to Logstedshire after this scene.

*Tommy looks at the lava while standing very close to the edge* “I’ll go back through just to... check and see” *Dream hits Tommy away from the edge* “Come on” *Tommy goes back to the edge and Dream pushes him away again, this time covering the hole* “It’s not your time to die yet Tommy” “It’s never my time to die” “That’s true” 

“Home sweet home...” “Home sweet home. I think it’ll be good! People might visit you all the time, I mean, I can visit you! It’s- it’s actually fun to come here! It’s a little bit- it’s a change of scenery, you know?” “It’s not fun to be stuck here” “Well... you’re not ’stuck’ it’s your vacation home!” “Can I go back? I’m ready...” “No but you can leave this area, you can go somewhere else. This is just- like, I took you far away, you can go further if you want”

So, if anyone is wondering, this is not, in fact, Dream giving Tommy more freedom. Especially considering that when Tommy does leave Logstedshire later on Dream literally hunts him down, so no, that was never an option. What Dream is doing here is make himself sound benevolent by comparison by telling Tommy that the only other options he has are worse since they are even further away.

“I’m here for a good time, not for a long time” (more hints towards Tommy’s depressive spiral)

“Guys how do you know when it’s too much?” (and again)

“Can I go and see the tree?” “Tommy, you can’t go and see the tree” “Dream why don’t you let him just- it’s not in L’Manburg! Why don’t you let him just see the tree and then escort him back?” 

Ghostbur my beloved, pointing out holes in Dream’s rules all the time. Something tells me that’s the reason why Dream tried to kill him later on...

Anyway! This concludes this first post because it’s... Oh fuck this is REALLY long.... welp! I’ll make the others in the next few days! 

[kcgarashi]

shisui-uchiha-anon​:

plotted starter for @kcgarashi

27. June. Year. 2021- Kyoto. Japan-

 In one of the oldest municipalities in Japan lives a young and prospective carpenter, whose work is well known not just in his hometown but even outside his country’s borders. He made quite a name for himself, doing what he always liked the most. Carving the wood, turning it into art. And even when some didn’t know his real name, he would call him ‘Leaf Artist’ His pieces of timber are signed not with his name but with a small leaf symbol. That became his emblem his mascot. His blog and online catalog have it on the welcome screen.

Shisui Uchiha, age 30. Residence Kyoto~Japan. Street:  492-1000, Amagi. Phone number  +8146-699-5458….And so goes the info page on his site with a little picture of him.

A bit of a rascal he is, playful with that inviting smirk, raven black hair, onyx black eyes, almond shaped, dark eyelashes giving the impression that he wears eyeliner. His curly hair was collected and tied into a small tail on the back of his hair, making a small fuzzy palm tree. Then there goes is education info, from elementary to university education. A short description of what he can make, furniture, frames, doors, windows, jars, bowls, tea sets, chopsticks, figurines, statues, deep carvings, shelves, decorations, and musical instruments. Almost anything your heart desires. A perfect life or so it seemed like that.

At the age of 30 and still alone. His sister Alustriel was married. Two kids already. Yet, Shisui refused to have a serious relationship. With every woman he searched for something, his heart ached for that yet he was never able to find it. After his 25th birthday more and more often he would feel pain in the right side of his head, and his strange nightmares intensified, as if something magnified his torment. In one of those nightmares, he saw that leaf symbol, lying next to him, on some silver headband, only crossed with one line.

They say… for those who believe in resurrection, death is inconsequential, it’s not an ending but rather a new beginning. A second chance. A reunion a chance for him to find that what his eyes can’t see what his heart can’t feel and his arms yearn to hug. The very idea of resurrection is so seductive its concept is easy to forget. Before you can rise from the dead. You have to spend a few days in hell. His will begin when he meets HER.

Because with Heaven that she brings comes Hell as well. Hand in hand like day and night, like sun and moon…..

It was funny, really, how life turned out. Matarera had never imagined that she’d end up in Kyoto of all places, a Hokkaido native from Sapporo, she’d managed to go to university in the former capital and had liked it enough to stay. Even if it had taken some getting used to., especially since her family had been adamant about her coming back to Sapporo eventually. Then she'd met someone while studying, settled down and...gotten divorced a year later.

Not exactly the whirlwind romance she'd wanted. The fact neither of them could afford to move out meant they still lived together, with a mutual friend of theirs. On the bright side, it had made the divorce hassle-free, on the not-so-bright side, it made dating difficult. For her. Not so much for Shinbei.

The less she dwelled on that the better. Getting married had felt like the right thing to do then, but she'd had her doubts halfway in. Nothing Shinbei had done, but she'd never been able to shake the feeling that their decision had been too fast.

But there had been a bright side to moving to Kyoto, she had a fulfilling job as a kindergarten teacher and her coffee Instagram had been popular enough. But to say she was happy and fulfilled would never be right.

Especially when she dreamed of a dark eye, conflicted emotions and a tortured soul.

It had started somewhat innocently, going through the web only to stop suddenly when a familiar symbol caught her eye, a leaf. Not like the Ainu designs she'd familiarised herself with over the years, but enough to spark something. Finding the artist's website hadn't been a problem either, Shisui Uchiha (Rera had felt a headache come along the moment she'd finished reading his name), from Kyoto and...she'd closed her laptop when she'd gotten to the small picture of him on his site. Her headache had gotten worse, and the teacher had opted to not give it much thought.

At least until she'd walked through the streets of Kyoto, her favourite coffee in a to-go cup. A normal day, at least until she spotted an eerily familiar figure.

"Excuse me," she called out, not entirely sure as to why. The teacher hadn't even planned what she'd say next if the strangely familiar stranger did respond.

But if it helped solve any of her questions, stupid as they seemed every time she thought of them, it'd be worth it, right?

[atmostories]

Johnny Lawrence x Reader

Tags: Angst, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Alcohol Abuse, Depression Matter - Chapter One The first few weeks after you broke up with Johnny, you were a complete mess. Even though you had made the right decision it didn't make it any easier. The days were a vague blur, where you muddled through your daily routine without really experiencing it. You couldn't stop thinking about that night, it was the anniversary of his mother's death. You'd found him unconscious and sprawled out on the floor by the sofa. A strange sound was coming from him as his body convulsed slightly.

When you crouched down beside him, you'd realised that he was choking on his own vomit. Immediately you turned him onto his side and lifted up his chin to open his airway. He started to cough only a couple of seconds later as the vomit spewed out of his mouth.

He noisily wheezed in air, but he still didn't come to as you called out his name over and over. After accepting that he wasn't going wake up anytime soon, you wiped his face clean and laid down beside him. You tried not to shake in fear as you placed a hand on his chest to make sure he was still breathing. He'd almost died right in front of you.

You didn't sleep. You were wide awake the whole night watching over him. It wasn't until the morning when he finally woke up. His first instinct was to grab a bottle of beer on the table and down its remaining contents. When you told him what happened, he didn't even bother to apologise before downplaying the whole thing. You should have been angry, you should have told him to try to get sober, to go to therapy, to go to AA, but you'd said that all before. Every time you'd try to suggest him getting help, he'd shoot you down, saying that he didn't need any of that pussy shit and he didn't have a problem in the first place.

You just couldn't do this anymore.

After he stalked off to work, you packed up your stuff from his apartment and left. He called later that evening, asking where the fuck you were, demanding to know why your clothes were missing from the closet. You told him to meet you at a diner, it wasn't a conversation to have over the phone. You were waiting in the parking lot when he turned up. Rather than going inside, you got into the passenger seat of his Firebird.

Johnny didn't say hello, he didn't say anything for a while. He must have realised what was happening. Fuck, you really didn't want to do this. You'd been contemplating it for months, always managing to convince yourself to give him another chance, to respect that his addiction was a very complex and difficult thing.

Every day you'd worry about him, fearing that he might have gotten into a fight with someone again, panicking that he'd blackout at the wheel of his Firebird after coming home from a bar. He wasn't just putting himself at risk, but everyone he came across. You had numerous arguments with him about the drunk driving. He'd say that he hadn't had too many and he was perfectly fine to drive. He would then apologise and say he wouldn't do it anymore, and then a week later he'd do it all over again.

You knew he was a good man. That was the problem. It was buried underneath decades of shame and guilt and regret and hurt. You were not equipped to deal with it. You'd tried, you had tried so fucking hard. It had become such a burden that your own problems didn't matter, what you felt was always inconsequential.

But now what you said was going to matter.

“Look about last night,” Johnny mumbled, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. “Things might have gotten a little out of hand. . .”

“You almost died, Johnny,” you told him numbly. He looked at you then, his eyes searing into you and making your heart ache profusely. The tears welled up in your eyes. “You almost fucking died.”

Guilt bled across his expression before he looked away. The reprieve from his gaze gave you the chance to suck in an unsteady breath. You were still for a few moments before you pulled the key to his apartment from your pocket and held it out to him.

“I can't be with you anymore.”

“What, so that's it? You're just gonna leave because of one fuck up?” He asked angrily, his arm resting on the wheel as he turned to face you. You scoffed out a curt laugh, he was unbelievable. “You think this is funny?”

“You know that's not true,” you replied calmly, not wanting to get into an argument with him. He didn't reply. You let your arm fall into your lap, not bothering to keep holding the key out for him. Rather than wait for him to take it, you opened up the dash to put it inside. Before you could put it on top of some receipts, he snatched hold of your wrist.

“That key's not on loan, I gave it to you,” he snarled, he was deeply offended by the gesture. It was an insult to reject his gift, but you knew he didn't mean just that. You were rejecting him. Staring down at his hand, you waited until he loosened his grip and let your wrist go.

“When I told you that you're always welcome, I meant it,” he spat at you. In his eyes, what you had said to him didn't matter, when you had told him you loved him you didn't really mean it. You were nothing but a worthless liar.

“I'll always care about you,” you replied, hoping that he would understand you were telling the truth.

“Bullshit. You're just like the rest of them.”

“Johnny-”

“I thought you were different, but you're gonna leave like everyone else.”

“You don't understand-”

“No I get it. You know what? Keep the key, throw it in the trash, I don't care. Just get out of my car.”

“Please I-”

“Get out!” He shouted, your body jolting at the sound of his rage. You barely managed to swallow down a sob as you scrambled to leave the car. He started up the engine as you closed the door and he gunned it out of the lot.

You watched him drive off, not quite believing what had happened. But he was gone, just like you wanted.

- - -

It was almost a month since you'd last seen him. You got a call from Sid, that mean old bastard, as he explained how he graciously bailed out his step-son for the last time and that Johnny was no longer his responsibility. He managed to throw in a couple more insults as he told you to deal with Johnny from now on, suggesting to try payday loans or hustling the next time you had to pay for his bail. You hung up right after that, infuriated that Johnny had to grow up with someone like him.

Though your first instinct was to go straight to his apartment, you gave him a call instead, not wanting to cross any boundaries.

“Hello?” Johnny answered, he obviously hadn't checked to see who was calling him.

“Hey, Johnny.” The other end of the line was silent for a beat too long, you hurried to say something else before he could hang up. “I wanted to make sure you're okay. Sid gave me a call, he said that he bailed you out of jail.”

He huffed and hummed in displeasure. “Of course he did.”

“A-Are you?”

“What?”

“Okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“I was worried, I-”

“Yeah well, you don't need to do that anymore, do you?” Before you could say anything else, he hung up. The pain in your heart was the same as when he had driven away from the diner. Why wasn't it easing, even a little?

You missed him so much.

- - -

The new apartment you were living in was worse than Johnny's. You had to work extra shifts and overtime to pay the rent, and you were still struggling. It hadn't been as bad when you'd lived with him, he'd split the bills with you.

You were on a lunch break, thinking about going to the grocery store to buy some dish detergent. There weren't any clean dishes left, you'd gone through everything. You'd already used a mug as a substitute for a bowl several times. Your phone started ringing, distracting you from the thought. Seeing that it was Johnny calling made your chest twinge in discomfort.

“Hello?” You answered hesitantly.

“You left some of your stuff here,” he said bluntly without preamble. You were so shocked that he had called that you didn't manage to spit out a reply.

“Are you gonna come pick it up?” He prompted.

“Uh yeah, of course. What um. . .when do you want me to come over?”

“Anytime past eight.”

“Okay.”

“I've gotta go.” He didn't you a chance to say goodbye, or to ask whether he meant tonight. That must have been what he was saying, right? The rest of the day you were a wreck of nerves, unsure of how badly the next meeting with Johnny was going to go. Hadn't you taken everything from the apartment? What if he thought you had purposefully left it to give yourself an excuse to see him again?

Ten minutes past eight o'clock, you were walking up to his apartment, worrying that you might be too early. Should you have come at half eight or nine? You tried to stead yourself before knocking. When he opened up the door, you were surprised to see that he was clean-shaven. He looked good. . .healthy. The last time he'd shaved was when he saw Robby a while ago. The two of them had gotten into an argument. Johnny didn't take it well. After picking a fight with you, he went on a two day bender.

From the way he was looking you over, it was like he wasn't expecting you at all. Did he not mean tonight? Before you could tell him you'd come back another time, he opened up the door fully, gesturing for you to come inside by tilting his head.

After he closed the door behind you, he walked over to the kitchen. You didn't know what to do with yourself. The place felt so familiar, but at the same time there was now an underlying hostility to it. Sitting down would be too presumptuous, you didn't want to upset him. He opened up the refrigerator, you wondered how much stuff he had in there but you couldn't quite see from this angle. Johnny had a tendency to be forgetful about the groceries, but not the beer though. He never forgot the beer.

“You want something to drink?” He asked, you weren't sure if he was actually offering alcohol.

“No, thanks.”

“I've got orange juice,” he clarified.

“I'm okay.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah.” He shut the refrigerator and walked up to you, his finger pointing at your face.

“Those bags under your eyes say different.”

“I've worked a couple long shifts, that's all.”

“Sure,” he replied, with a hint of irritation to his tone. He always could see right through you. Rather than bothering to ask you for the truth, he picked up a box and put it on the coffee table. “Your stuff's in here.”

He migrated back to the kitchen, giving you a chance to take a look at what was inside. There were some toiletries, a toothbrush, a couple CDs, a tupperware box and an old Metallica shirt.

“This shirt is yours,” you told him, folding it up and placing it onto the table.

“The amount of times you've worn it. . .pretty sure it's yours.” There was a weak smile on his face. He was trying to break through the tension, ease up the conversation. You almost breathed out a sigh of relief, appreciative that he was trying to make this easier.

“It's really comfortable. Couldn't ever fault your taste in classic band shirts,” you responded in kind in an attempt to keep things jovial.

“Just everything else, huh?” He retorted, his eyes flicking away, his mouth twitching like he hadn't meant to say that. Awkwardly, you shuffled the items around the box, wondering how to recover the conversation without it degrading into something unpleasant. A knock on the front door pulled you from the thought. He had a grimace on his face as he went to see who it was. There was a kid the other side of the door.

“Sensei! I forgot to ask earlier, are there some exercises I should be doing in the morning? I was reading this article about metabolism and-”

“Now's really not a good time,” Johnny told him, trying to gently dismiss him. The kid then spotted you, his eyebrows raising in surprise. You gave him a half-hearted wave, wondering why he was calling Johnny Sensei.

“Oh, is that your friend?”

“What part of not a good time don't you get?”

“Sorry I uhh. . .guess I'll come back tomorrow?”

“Mmmhmm,” Johnny hummed. He answered the kid's question as he began to close the door. “Fifty crunches, forty lunges, thirty push ups.”

“Is that forty lunges per leg or-” The door was shut before the kid could finish. Johnny turned around, shifting his weight uncomfortably like you'd seen something you weren't meant to. You wanted to ask what the whole Sensei thing was about, why some kid was asking him about what exercises he should be doing in the morning.

“He seems like a good kid.”

“Yeah, when he's not being annoying.” There was no insult to his words, you could tell that Johnny liked him.

“What's his name?”

“Miguel. He lives in the apartment opposite.”

“Oh right,” you replied, unsure why he was making friends with the neighbours. He hadn't ever done that before. You turned your attention back to the contents of the box, fingers running along the edge of a CD case. It felt so strange being removed from Johnny's life, being unwelcome to the facets of his life. You had asked the most polite and unobtrusive questions you could think of, but you couldn't come up with anything else.

“I opened up a dojo,” he told you, his hands hanging awkwardly by his side.

“A dojo? You're doing karate again?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you hadn't done karate since you were in high school?”

“I haven't. Not until now.”

“Oh,” you muttered, mind replaying everything he had told you about Kreese. Sometimes he had nightmares about his old Sensei, he'd wake up shaking, struggling to breathe. One time he accidentally elbowed you in the face because you were too close. You had an arm around him, you had been pressed up against his back, spooning him. That was the last time you'd slept like that.

“But after everything that happened with Cobra Kai, I thought. . .” you trailed off.

“It's going to be different. It's not going to be like how it was before.” With Kreese, you finished wordlessly, understanding what he meant. Was it really a good idea for him to be doing karate again? You remembered the fights he'd gotten into, he was proficient enough as it was. It would give him direction though, something to focus on, something to work towards. He needed that.

But where did he get the money to open his own dojo? It must have expensive. Was it Sid? Was it part of his final pay off to get rid of Johnny for good?

“Miguel's your student then?”

“Yeah, he's my first one.”

“That's great, Johnny,” you told him honestly, knowing that this could get him back on track. “I'm happy for you.” He stared for a few moments, there was something off about his expression. Did he not believe you? He nodded non-committally in response.

You pointlessly shuffled around a few things in the box to give yourself something to do. The silence hung heavy in the air. You didn't want to leave, but you didn't feel welcome anymore.

“Was there anything else?” You asked, after you refolded the Metallica shirt and carefully tucked it away into the box. There wasn't anything more you could do to prolong your time with him.

“No, it's all in there.” Picking up the box, you slowly approached Johnny as he stood by the door.

“Thanks for calling me.” You pressed your lips together in a polite smile. “I hope everything goes well at the dojo.”

“Me too.” Johnny didn't move to open up the door, you wondered if he was expecting you to go around him. You took another step forward, shifting your grip on the box. Another few seconds passed until he finally opened the door. He brushed his hand along your arm as you moved past him. The sensation of his touch was a harsh reminder of how much you missed the intimacy you once shared with him. You were nothing but acquaintances now.

“Maybe take it easy with work, hmm?” He suggested gently. You must have looked worse than you realised. You nodded your head, you couldn't tell him that you would take it easy, that wasn't a choice you had.

As you walked off, you were perturbed by the thought that that was the last time you'd ever be in his apartment. - - - Hope you enjoyed it! I’m currently writing the next chapter and will share it when it’s finished. Do any of you want me to start a taglist for this? I’d be more than happy too. 

[border-spam]

Leech Lord - Nobody loves me like you

It was so late it felt like time itself had passed out, that void somewhere in the AM between being tired enough to fall asleep where you stand and feeling the nervous energy of dawn approaching.

The air in the Mechanicum was crisp with night chill when the E-Dev in her pocket vibrated, and Saint Ur-Machina's heart sunk in her chest as she grimaced under her welding mask. No need to check who it was, she'd known before he'd even sent the message.

The God-King was angry.

She sighed, rubbing oily hands into oilier overalls, and frowned at how pointless a gesture trying to clean them had been at all, picking bits of filth out from under her nails as she leaned against the rough wall of the hangar. Pointless maybe, but a distraction, and Seifa needed one of those right now.

The God-King was angry with himself, and that meant the people he cared about the most would take the rage.

The workfloor clock read 3:56AM where it hung from the rafter above her station, clunky ticking echoing across the empty bay. No one but her still working, and she shouldn't really have been there either considering the hour, but that had stopped feeling like it mattered a long time ago. She was always there now. Always working, like she haunted the place. Funny, she used to be so good about managing her time...

The welding mask threw a cloud of sawdust as it bounced across the floor towards the machine she'd kicked it at. She didn't even know what to call the horrible thing that loomed in front of her, some juggernaut of sleek metal she'd been ordered to run performance checks on, jagged lines illuminated by the sickly floor lamps she'd arranged around its skeleton.

Warmachines. Unnamed projects with stacks of paperwork marking them as highly classified, Troy's insignia and the same word she kept seeing over and over in confidential documentation - Uroboros. Tasted like a bad idea, reeked of poor decisions, and she'd always sniffed those out like a Skag.

What the hell did Seifa A'Rosk know about warmachines anyway? They used to build Technicals here, outriders. COV custom Cyclones for stream events, this wasn't what she signed up for, none of it was. Managing the engineering crew should never have shifted into whatever the fuck THIS was.

The steel monster in front of her bled oil silently into the sawdust, refusing to give an answer. Whatever this was, it was for Gods and Sirens, and that was a world she wasn't part of, not really. She wasn't a Saint, she was just a ghost, caught repeating the same mistakes over and over till she faded away.

The E-Dev in her pocket vibrated again, and she tapped the back of her head against the plate steel wall, trying to convince herself she wasn't ready to vomit as she squinted up towards the hangar's ceiling, lost to the night murk the lights around her couldn't quite cut through.

She figured she should answer, making him wait was just going to make this worse.

Jak-Knife had already warned her, a curt ping earlier today to "sstay ou t of his way it s bad seiifa". Ven too when he'd dropped by in the afternoon with the excuse of worrying about if she'd eaten yet and half a bag of something spicy and dripping in grease. He'd said the Cathedral staff were noose tight and whispering nervously about an incident a few hours before, something had gone wrong in a talk with visiting sponsors - with the twins. Word on the rumour mill was it had nearly turned vicious, the suits looking ready to brick themselves as they'd all but ran through the meeting room's doors after Troy had flung them open hard enough to unhinge one, and according to priests who'd been on hand? Tyreen had really embarrassed him.

Sei had winced as Ven explained, both painfully aware of this behaviour pattern and what it meant for everyone he was close to. Why the God Queen had been going out of her way to put her brother down in front of high-value clients recently was impossible to guess - no one could really get into her head or understand her decisions lately, but this wasn't the first time, and if anything it was getting worse. Little insults. Little knife-sharp jokes that weren't jokes at all, and mockeries masked behind a paper thin smile like it made them less deadly. She'd imply he was a burden, or undermine his expertise in ways so cleverly worded that the officials would have no choice but to laugh awkwardly as Troy seethed while his twin continued with negotiations.

Today she'd apparently told him to make himself actually useful and fetch their guests some drinks, right in front of servant crew and moments after he'd finished a grueling breakdown of growth projections and profit expectations for this quarter to a rapt audience. It's hard to tell if him snapping had actually surprised her or had been exactly what she wanted, but the staff who'd been there were terrified, and insisted the Vault Mother had looked genuinely shocked when the desk he threw had missed her head by barely a few inches.

He'd stalked out of the meeting and vanished into the upper cloister, and now it was the middle of the night and her E-Dev pinged for a third time.

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe out the fear coiling through her ribs in a shaky exhale. She knew exactly what was happening, it was the same as always with him. Enraged, dripping with self-loathing, and lost somewhere in that toxic mood somewhere between vicious and pitiful - looking for something to hurt, looking for a way to vent the pain as he paced like a snarling monster, muttering like he was arguing something with himself, a back and forth of accusations and desperate apologies to something no one else could see.

Tyreen couldn't eat him alive with her powers but she could do it with her words... and maybe that's what had changed. Maybe she'd realised a new way to control her twin with manipulations that left him so emasculated and damaged in confidence that he wanted to tear something he loved apart just so he could turn the hatred on himself after.

Of course it was going to be her.

The same dance every time now, the same frustrating steps that she'd memorised by this point, trying to break him out of his deadly spiral as he'd rant at rave at her, till he'd attack her somehow, then skulk into the shadows when he was done foaming at the mouth, leaving her to carry everything he'd piled onto her shoulders - the threats, the hate, the aggression, only to beg for her forgiveness the next day and be ignored.

He'd spend a week desperately apologising, showing how much he understood how pathetically wrong what he had done had been, sending ridiculous gifts to the mechanicum where he knew they'd have to be accepted under his sigil, reassure over and over in messages that it wouldn't happen again, that he'd just been under so much pressure, that he'd just snapped, that it wasn't right and she hadn't deserved it and how much her friendship mattered.

The E-Dev pinged one last time, and Seifa straightened, dusting off her overalls and adjusting the toolbelt slung around her waist.

God-King Calypso demanded a sacrifice - self harm masked as a blade he'd lash at someone he loved so it would cut him all the deeper. She'd take it, better her than someone else. She could handle him. 

She always had.

It was raining again, felt like that hadn't stopped at all this month. Pandora had wet seasons, it's just that the water never seemed to go anywhere. The acrid dust absorbed it almost as fast as it could fall, but in the city it flooded the streets as it rushed down gutters. Neon light reflected from gaudy signs in pools of colour that swam across the uneven paving stones as she slowly made her way towards the Cathedral, a waterproof canvas thrown around her shoulders protecting from the downpour.

Even at this time of night, the city was still alive. It never really stilled anymore, too many deals going down in alleys and money changing hands in clubs for it to ever actually sleep, and as she picked her way past huddled locals far too engrossed in their own business to pay her any mind, Seifa wondered when it was things had changed like this.

This place had been a shanty town, hadn't it? When she'd arrived to take over the engineering division there had been maybe one, two thousand COV followers camped around the cathedral in rickety shelters. Bandits mostly, erecting camps and functional living quarters with expertise alien to any outsider. It was a city now, fuck, it was a metropolis. She'd overseen the building of half of the major apartment systems in the inner ring around the holy quarter, so how did it still feel like it had grown of out nowhere?

Sei huffed out a steamy breath into the chill night air as the cathedral began to come into view, bass music and laughter fading as it was swallowed into the drumming of the rain on the buildings she left behind her.

She used to be so proud when she saw it, the awesome majesty of its twisted spires and jutting angles framed against the rocky outcrop that loomed behind it. Nowadays it just looked like something grotesque, a mirror of what it contained maybe. The COV was rotting from within, and everyone knew the source.

She'd been warned by friends more willing to face the harsh realities of the twin's decline that time was running out.

Tonight, tomorrow, a week from now, it didn't matter why it was going to happen, just that it would, and as much as she hated admitting it to anyone, Seifa knew she wasn't strong enough to do this much longer.

He was killing her.

Anything could set him off now, it was constant. Numbers under-performing this week, an underhanded comment from Tyreen that tipped the balance, not enough sleep, too many stims, not gaining weight, an article mocking his appearance, anything. It could have been any of them he had summoned, her, Ven, JK, the why or who was inconsequential because the desired outcome was always the same.

Troy wanted to hurt himself, not them, but he didn’t know how. The pressure would build and build till he broke down, lost logic, went wild-eyed and shaking in barely controlled rage. He hated being Troy Calypso so much there were times he wanted to tear his own skin off, he'd told her as much on nights alone and open in shared sadness, but there was no escape. It was this, or starving in a manner she couldn’t even comprehend, and when he'd asked before if maybe that would be the better option?

...She'd not known what to say. She'd failed him then, tripping over the words catching in her lungs as he desperately waited for an answer that would make sense of things, and she'd never been able to give one. Just sat next to him as they both sank deeper into the trap of their titles and the horrible reality that there was no clear way out.

He was waiting in the throne room for her, just like she'd imagined. Pacing back and forth across the dias as the city light streamed through the stained glass windows, glinting sharply off the rattling gold spines his ritual gear was decorated with as he moved.

She'd stood in silence, watching, trying to catch what he was asking himself as he'd snap a muttered retort in spite, but not able to ever make out the questions. Like an animal snared in gilded chains she figured, or something else maybe - an idol pretending to be something living? A shiver had ran through her as she waited for him to turn his frantic attention to her, quietly waiting for the blow to come. No one had even been there to greet her or open the doors to the throne room, they were ajar, the staff knowing better than to risk being in his presence when he was like this... she smirked, knowing better than her, anyway.

He'd shifted attention to her so smoothly it felt like the rant he'd been hissing to himself just continued directly into her as he'd turned, beckoning her closer with a quirk of those horrible claws. She'd bit her lip and swallowed down how much that enraged her, being summoned like a fucking dog when this man so often made clear he viewed himself as dirt in comparison to her, but months of dealing with him had tempered the reaction. Easier to go along with it, placate him, nod and let him vent out the bile till he realised how much of a fucking asshole he was and came crawling back later.

It was the same dance as usual, the exact same steps. She could feel where he was going with each shift in direction, jumping topic to topic in an attempt to place blame and becoming more enraged with each simple refute she could offer. She never made it easy, that wasn't her nature in the end, she'd calmly reply back to each accusation with logic that left him shaking harder as the fury built, like a caged predator or roid-mad Psycho desperate to attack but not getting the opening. She could play this game for hours, long enough to make sure he worked for the satisfaction, even if it left her exhausted.

She'd always been petty, after all.

He threw snarled jabs at Mechanicum performance, raised complaints that she knew weren't true, accused "concerns" about output she could disarm easily, the same as always, till suddenly he shifted.. and everything went wrong.

She could handle him with spines raised and teeth bared, she could stand unflinching as he aimed blows that he never really landed, but she hadn't been prepared for him to suddenly relax. He'd stood straight, rolling the weight of the prosthetic on a shoulder all casual and friendly like suddenly he wasn't seething under the grin his snarl melted into, and she'd felt a jolt of fear. This was something new, this was something... worse, she could feel it like electricity crackling up her spine, and for the first time that night her heart began to pick up a stuttered pounding as cool sweat beaded down her back. He took a step closer, and for just a second, there was a question flittering across the back of her mind that screamed something she couldn't ignore before it vanished into her practiced calm.

For a split second, Seifa questioned if this was Troy.

"You know, it's funny, Sei..."

She opened her mouth to warn him to stop, the atmosphere was at fever point, he was going to go too far, something in how terrified his eyes looked against he vicious curve of his smile sent panic through her chest.

"Troy" her voice cracked "Come on, Troy you know you shouldn't keep going, this is -"

He cut her off with a tsk and raise of a bladed finger, bending to lower his face closer to hers from where he towered above her.

"Rude Seifa, I was talking."

He was near enough to feel the body heat glowing from his chest, and her voice choked in her throat as the point of a talon tapped gently against her nose as if he was chiding some kid.

"Funny isn't it?" He cooed, and it wasn't.

"You used to have so much time for me, didn't you. We used to really spend time together..." the lack of his stutter was a warning she knew him too well to ignore.

"... but nowadays you're so desperate to get out of my presence that I can literally see your skin crawl while you're forced to be around me. It's happening right now Sei... ain't it."

That was a lie, and she wanted to slap his hand away from where it pointed towards her chest, push him back towards the throne behind him and tell him how stupid an attack that was. She's always had time for him, she gave him infinite time, she gave him so much of herself that she'd been crumbling, she wanted to tell him the truth of it, that how much she gave him had been killing her, but she couldn't, he didn't give her the chance.

"You've got allllll the energy in the world for your little friends though, don't you. You've got laughter and happiness to pour all over them, fill them up with, show them how much you care, but not me, not anymore. And you know, that's got me thinking recently!"

The smile was fake but the monster behind it wasn't. He may as well have been snarling, and she was fully aware he wasn't really attempting to hide that at all.

He stepped a fraction closer again, close enough for her to reach and press a warning hand against his chest as he leaned further down to meet her eyes, the veneer of his calm cracking under the weight of the now haggard, panting breathes he whistled through that vicious smile, the terror in his eyes. She didn't understand any of this, why was he so afraid when it was him pressing this onwards, why was he so panicked when the act was so calm? His skin was like fucking fire under her hand and the push she gave to try and move him back did nothing.

"Made me realise, maybe I was never your friend really - maybe I was just something you held onto like a lifeline in the storm of your shitty life choices, huh?" She felt tears rise, this wasn't fair, this was too real now, this was being aimed at his friend not his employee, but he wouldn't stop.

"Taken for a ride while you lead me on all these years. That would explain it, right? How much you got for them, how much you'll give them, when I'm just a burden to you. Or..."

His mouth was next to her ear and she wanted to beg him to stop before it was too late, before he did what she knew he was about to do. To stop before he decimated everything, but the words were caught behind the sob she refused to let spill as he drove the knife home with one last twist.

"Maybe the real problem here Seifa, is they are more than friends, hmm? Because that's your real operation method, isn't it. That's how you get what you want, everyone knows it. Maybe they met your standards, but you just never saw me as good enough to fuck."

The crack of his jaw against her fist echoed through the stone throne room for long enough to make the silence that came after all the more horrible.

She remembers that, that noise and the pain ripping through her hand in burning waves, but she doesn't really remember the rest. 

She doesn't fully remember what she saw, the flash of those glaring, monstrous eyes that burned down on them both as Troy reeled in horrified shock, cradling his face in confusion like he couldn't understand why she'd just hit him, she doesn't remember the flicker of Siren wings or the laughter that echoed somewhere in the back of her mind but made no sound.

It's a daze. Whatever he whispered pleadingly after, teary-eyed and shaking, she didn't hear.

She doesn't remember leaving and how she stormed down the Cathedral halls and into the freezing night air, doesn't remember who saw her or if clergy had been there. Doesn't remember the way she'd mindlessly picked towards the hi-rise Ven's quarters were in before realising she was walking the wrong way, or how effortlessly she'd flipped the ignition in her ship, or how prepped she'd been to jump out of Pandora's orbit soon as she hit safe distance, doesn't remember any of it.

But the pain in her hand and the look in his eyes after, she fucking remembers that.